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itneverendshere · 19 hours ago

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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SIXTEEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: angst; mentions of abortion; grief; mental and physical health issues;

Your last coversation with Rafe had been a week and a half ago.

It didn’t ruin you, nor did it magically fix you, but at least it didn’t leave you sobbing. That was progress.

In that time frame, you had three doctor appointments. Two for the anemia, which still left you weak even when the sun was out. And one for the baby.

Rafe offered to come; it mattered to him. But you didn’t let him yet.

You were okay with him or, at least, okay enough to look at him and not feel like screaming and “okay” didn’t mean ready. Letting him into that room—to hear the heartbeat, see the tiny body growing inside you—would be handing him access to the part of you that was still so new it trembled, the part that was what was hurting most.

The morning after your conversation, your phone buzzed earlier than it should.

You squinted at the screen.

Sarah <3 Calling...

You slide the answer button with a groggy sigh. “Hi?”

“Okay, don’t think I’m crazy,” she said immediately, “but… did something happen last night?”

Like clockwork, your brain started coming up with excuses. Say you went to bed early, you didn’t see him.

Your stomach dipped. “Uh… what do you mean?”

She huffed, “I called Rafe an hour ago. Wanted to make sure he was okay, y’know? I drove him home. But this morning, I checked in again. He picked up, and—he sounded different.”

You remained silent. Different how? You wanted to ask. But you already knew.

“Calm! Genuinely okay for the first time in months,” she emphasizes. “Which is rare for him lately. And the only time he ever sounded like that was when you two were—”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, weighing your options. You could lie, keep this between you and Rafe for a while longer, say maybe therapy was finally kicking in, or he got a good night’s sleep, or anything else.

“He came over last night.”

“…Oh.”

You stared at a spot on your ceiling, the memory of Rafe's voice spinning in your head. “We talked.”

“You talked?” Sarah repeats. You could practically hear the raised eyebrow. “Talked? Or did you throw something at his head?”

You let out a tired laugh, the first one of the morning. “No. Talked.”

“Okay. Wow. I mean… I’m happy. You two needed that.”

“Yeah.”

“And? Did you… tell him?”

You hesitated, letting your eyes drift shut.

“I told him everything, Sarah.”

“Wait. Everything, as in... everything everything?”

“…Yeah.”

“Everything?” She still wasn’t sure she heard you right the first time.

Your throat tightened. “Yeah.”

“Holy shit."

You had watched the blood drain from Rafe’s face the second you told him about how far it had gone, how sick you’ve been the entire time. You remembered his hands; they’d gone still, then started to shake.

You weren’t mad at him then, not how you used to be. You were tired of being the one who knew what it felt like to wake up in a body that could betray you at any moment.

Sarah’s voice cut back in: “And how do you feel now?”

You blinked back into the present.

“I don’t know. I think it broke him a little.”

“Good,” Sarah muttered, not meaning to be cruel, just matter-of-fact. “He should break a little.”

“I didn’t feel like I wanted to hurt him either.”

“That’s something,” Sarah said gently.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “It’s something.”

You sat up against the pillows, the room dim with morning light.

“He offered to come with me to the appointments. I said no, but he still offered. That’s new.”

“Do you wish you had said yes?”

You thought about it.

“No. I think I need to be in that room alone for a while.”

“You did something really brave."

You didn’t feel brave, though; you felt like someone standing on an isolated road with no map, with a body that hurt in ways it shouldn’t. A baby that might or might not make it and a man you used to love still orbiting you like a planet you couldn’t land on safely.

Sarah was quiet for a second, then said, “Are you gonna talk to Topper?”

You sucked in a breath through your nose, not surprised she brought him up. You swore she and Rafe were more alike than what they let on.

“I don’t know.”

It wasn’t a lie. You had thought about it, more than once, since Rafe mentioned it. You debated texting Topper, calling, and asking if he still kept that dumb contact name in his phone for you.

He had stopped being just a cousin when you lost your family, turning into your almost-brother.

But you've been so angry, in pieces. Letting yourself feel that anger had been necessary, you didn’t want to fake forgiveness before it was real; you had to be able to look him in the eye without flinching at the memory of what he’d done.

The bitterness in your chest had started to quiet after a while, not gone, but calm enough to think clearly.

After talking to Rafe, who’d torn your heart in such evil, deeper ways, you’d swallowed your pride, bitterness, and pain for the sake of peace. Your peace of mind, that is, not his.

You needed closure more than you craved revenge nowadays. Acting civil, even with someone who broke you, was a step toward healing yourself.

How could you give that grace to Rafe and not to Topper? Your cousin who hurt you, yes—but less. If you could offer space and civility to the boy who shattered your trust, you could extend honesty and an open door to the one who merely cracked it.

“I don’t know how to look at him. I don’t know if I’ll yell or cry.”

Sarah was quiet again.

You smacked your forehead. “It’s stupid. I forgave the guy who ruined my idea of love, but I’m still bitter at the one who flaked on family.”

“It’s not stupid,” she said. “You expected more from him.”

“I’ll talk to him eventually.”

Sarah didn’t push. “Okay.”

You texted Rafe five days later in the afternoon, not particularly eager to ask him for a favor, but alas. The conversation had to happen somewhere private. Your house, not a public scene. God forbid it happened in public again, where some kook could overhear—or worse, Ruthie.

You knew she was still lurking around him, trying to win him back; she never wasted time running off to her group chat, turning it into gossip.

“Tell Topper to come by my place Friday at 7.”

You stared at the screen before hitting send. No emojis or small talk, only instructions. Rafe read between the lines, you know he did—he always had. It didn’t take him long to reply.

“Okay.”

Topper showed up exactly at seven, not a second earlier or later.

You watched from the window as his car idled out front like it was nervous too. You left the gate and doors unlocked, so he had to open it himself. When he finally walked through the main door, you were on the couch, half-sunken into a pillow you didn’t like anymore.

“Hey,” he said, awkwardly waving from a distance.

“Did Rafe threaten you, or did you come willingly?”

Topper flinched. “I came 'cause you asked.”

“I told you. There’s a difference.”

He looked around your living room, scared you might bite him.

Fair.

“You look... tired,” he said, as if that was a neutral observation.

You arched an eyebrow. “Yeah, growing a human while hating most people around you is exhausting. Shocker.”

“Right,” Topper muttered, hands stuffed in his jacket, hoping he could disappear inside it. He was still standing there like a dog that got caught pissing on the rug, eyes never staying on you for more than a second.

“You want water or something?” You reached for your sarcastic vein, hoping to make him squirm. “A moral compass while you’re at it?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t mean to.” Your voice rose, not yelling yet. “You didn’t ask. You didn’t come to me or knock. You went through my shit like a creep, found one phone number, and assumed.”

“I thought you were sick!” he said, like that excused it. “Rafe said you were off, that you looked pale, tired, not like yourself—and I got worried!”

“No,” you snapped. “You got nosy. You played spy for Rafe because God forbid I have one fucking private thing in my life. You found that number and ran to him like a little lapdog.”

“I didn’t know it was—”

“But you told him anyway!” You retorted. “And guess what? You were right.”

He flinched as if you had punched him, but you didn't want a recurrence of the last time you saw each other.

“I thought he already knew.”

“Are you stupid?” You spoke through gritted teeth. “Why would he know? We broke up."

“I’m sorry.” He apologized again, this time with a smaller attitude. “I didn’t think. I just—I thought you needed help.”

“Help?” Your eyes narrowed. “I needed two boys whispering behind my back about my uterus like it’s public property?”

“Oh, come on,” he barked, shocking you into silence. “So you can forgive Rafe—Rafe!—who fucked you over in every way that matters—but I get crucified for screwing up once?!”

Your jaw had clenched in defiance.

“I didn’t forgive him, and that’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” He stepped forward now, finally showing some of the Topper you used to know—the one who didn’t roll over. “He broke your heart. You talked to him before you spoke to me; you’re texting him when you need something. You’re playing a fucking peace treaty with him.”

“Top—”

“I make one shitty call, yeah—a really bad one, I own that—but I thought you were in danger. And I don’t get a second chance? I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You stared at him, the room pulsing with shame. There was the part you hated: he was right. You’d twisted the narrative to make yourself the victim in every corner, and yeah, you were the one who had been hurt the most—but that didn’t make you righteous.

You made peace with Rafe because it was easier than holding on to that brand of pain. But Topper? He was family, which made it worse when he hurt you—it made you hold him to a higher standard.

You sat back down, hating how much that hurt—how scared he looked of you, as if you were a landmine instead of the person he used to eat cereal with in pajamas on summer mornings. The girl who cried next to him because you got your period for the first time and thought you were dying, and he just sat there, pale-faced and googling it in a panic like you’d been shot.

Yeah, he fucked up. But not like Rafe, not with malice.

Topper didn’t want to hurt you; you knew that. You always knew that, but you’d been… scared. And so angry. That was what it was, wasn’t it? Not betrayal per se—exposure. You’d felt naked and defenseless, and Topper had been the one to fuck you over.

“I know I’m being unfair,” you admitted quietly. “I know. But I’m not mad because you were wrong, Topper. You chose to go behind my back.”

He didn’t say anything.

You sighed, “With Rafe...at that point, I expected it. No with you."

“I didn’t want to break anything. I panicked.”

“I know that now. But it was easier to stay mad at you. If I forgave you… I had to admit how scared I was that Rafe knew.”

“You’re allowed to be scared.”

You looked up at him.

He shifted awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “So… you’re pregnant. And Rafe’s the—uh…”

You lifted your brow questioningly, not expecting the conversation to change tone.

"The donor?" he asked tentatively.

“What the fuck, Topper."

“I don’t know the terminology!” he argued. “I didn’t want to say ‘baby daddy’—that felt too Jerry Springer.”

You rolled your eyes. “You could’ve just said ‘the father.’”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Yeah, that’s—yeah.” He looked at you again, a little sheepish. “So… I’m gonna have a nephew?”

You almost wanted to laugh. It wasn’t funny, but for a second there, it felt like you were living in a cute movie moment, about to pull out an ultrasound and cry happy tears and pick out baby names.

Topper had always been softer than you.

You leaned into the couch again, head tipped to the ceiling. “I don’t know if it’s gonna…” Your throat locked up for a second. “If it’s gonna make it.”

Topper’s face dropped, and he was confused. “What do you mean?”

“I have anemia,” you say. “Severe. It’s why I’ve been so tired. I nearly passed out walking up the stairs last week.”

He swallowed. “But they’re treating it, right? Pills or something?”

You shook your head slowly. “Iron supplements aren’t enough. I’m doing treatments every week.”

The hope drained from his face, replaced with fear or guilt, trying to morph into protectiveness.

You kept going because once you started, it was easier to spill than stop.

“There’s a chance… a pretty decent one… that I won’t carry full term. And even if I do—if I survive that—there’s a chance the baby won’t.”

“But it’s a chance,” he said, almost begging. “Not a sentence.”

“It’s a gamble. I don’t know if my body’s strong enough to win.”

Topper looked gutted. He sank into the armchair across from you, hands clasped between his knees, looking like a kid who just found out the monsters under the bed were real the whole time.

“When were you gonna tell me?” he asked finally.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I didn’t want to make it real; it makes it harder to pretend I’m fine.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you said last time; I am your family,” he choked, eyes red. “You don’t get to die on me, do you hear me? You don’t.”

You stayed still, letting him spiral because he needed it. You knew what it felt like to be scared into saying too much.

“That shit’s not fair.”

His hands were shaking.

“I’m not dying, Topper,” you said, because he needed to hear it. Even if you weren’t sure.

He looked at you with wet eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered for the third time, and it was no longer about what he did. “Do you even… want this? Any of it?”

“No,” you replied, “I found out too late to get an abortion.”

You keep the rest of the information hidden away.

He nodded. “Yeah. That’s… fair.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “God, what kind of person does that make me?”

“The honest kind,” he added, without missing a beat.

“You’re not gonna try to make me feel better?”

“I figure if I try to wrap it up in some bullshit about silver linings, you’ll just want to throw something at me.”

You almost smiled.

“Did you tell Rafe all this?”

“Yeah. I did.”

“Really?

You nodded again, slower this time. “And more.”

Topper swallowed that. His mouth opened, then closed again, wanting to ask what “more” meant, but he thought better of it.

“Wow.”

You moved in your seat, arms tightly wrapped around your midsection.

"I was upset that he found out before I was ready to tell him. But a part of me also wanted him to see and feel it.

Topper looked at you, still piercing it all together. “So, why did you tell him?”

“I needed to.” You didn’t sugarcoat it. “It was gonna stay stuck inside me, and I was hoping that it would hurt less. That he’d carry some of the weight too.”

Topper ran a hand through his hair. “Did he?”

“Yeah.” You cleared your throat. “But that’s enough misery for one day, so...” You forced a breath that was exactly a sigh, forcing levity into your voice, “What have you been up to these past few weeks?”

Topper blinked, being the one caught off guard now.

“Uh—honestly?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I spent four days trying to get the stains off my Loewe shirt after you threw the drinks on me.”

You let out a snort. "Good. I hope it’s ruined.”

“Almost was,” he said, with exaggerated pain. “It was a limited drop. I tried vinegar, peroxide, baking soda paste—”

“And?”

“I couldn’t get it out,” he admitted. “But Sofia did.”

Hold on.

Your head snapped toward him, suddenly not blinking. “…Sofia?”

He paused, realizing the trap a second too late. “…Yeah.”

“As in Sofia, Sofia?” Your voice was constricted.

He responded with a nod at first.

"Yeah. She came by. She’s, uh, been around.” Topper’s face twitched. “We...talk? Sometimes, since that night. She saw the shirt and offered to try. She’s good at that kind of stuff—fabrics, whatever.”

You looked at him as if he had grown a second head.

Your eyes didn’t budge. “Uh-huh.”

You recognized the tone in his voice and the way he pronounced her name. Oh, my God.

This fucker cared about her.

You couldn’t process it at first—because it was Topper. You squinted at him, hoping that if you looked hard enough, the truth would pixelate into something different.

You knew that voice. You’d heard that every time your cousin fell for someone he shouldn’t, like when he said Sarah’s name at fifteen, high on the fantasy of her, long before she ever gave him the time of day. You heard it again when he stupidly gave Ruthie a chance.

And now…

Your voice sounded flat. “You like her.”

Topper flushed immediately. “I didn’t say that. She’s...pretty.”

“You don’t have to.” You had already sunk back into the couch, dragging a throw pillow over your face. “Pretty?” you echoed, sitting up straighter, hands dropping to your lap. “That’s the word you’re going with?”

He looked defensive, shrugging. “What? She is.”

“You’re unbelievable. Do you only fall for girls you’re not supposed to?”

"What does that mean?" he inquired.

You tossed the pillow at him. "Sarah? Ruthie?”

He scowled. “Okay, first of all—” He stood and rubbed his temples. “It’s not like that.”

“It is like that. You’re already defending her.”

You wanted to hate her, but she wasn’t a villainous bitch who went after your man for sport. She was a girl who saw an opportunity and seized it, openly expressing her emoticons. She was overly polite in groups. That made her a little pathetic in your eyes—but it also made her honest. Even so, you were never going to like the girl.

“I’m not—okay, I am, but that doesn’t mean—” He stopped himself. “It’s not serious.”

You blinked at him across the room, expecting resentment to bloom in your chest again, but it didn’t. This was not a backstabbing betrayal or a desire to one-up you. It wasn’t personal.

“You have a crush on Sofia.”

You felt exasperated. Maybe vaguely annoyed, but not mad. And shit, wasn’t that the strangest part? Your claws didn't come out for the first time in months.

You shook your head and let out a soft, disbelieving breath.

“Topper. She's—she’s not like us.”

“I know.”

“And what exactly are you planning to do with that information, Romeo? You gonna start bringing her to country club mixers?”

“I like talking to her. And she makes things feel less...”

You went quiet.

He looked at you again, brows drawn. “You think I like her?”

“I know you do,” you said, more tired than teasing.

Topper sat back down. “Shit.”

You hummed in agreement, "You know Ruthie's going to kill her, right?"

Topper groaned, “Don’t say that.”

You gave him a look. “Why? It’s the truth.”

“She won’t—she’s not—Ruthie wouldn’t actually—”

“Oh my God, Topper.” You leaned forward. “Ruthie keyed a girl’s car because she thought she flirted with you. What do you think she will do once she realizes the girl she has been having pool parties with and pretending to laugh with for months is talking to you?

“She doesn’t know yet!”

“She will.”

He nodded slowly, as if facing death. “Yeah. She will.”

You despised the part of yourself that understood Sofia, that knew that even if she was the one who stepped into Rafe's life after you had left, she did so with a genuine heart.

Your arms tightened around your stomach.

Topper was staring up at the ceiling. “Ruthie's going to destroy her.”

You scoffed.

He laughed dryly, devoid of humor. “Sofia’s sweet.”

“She better learn how to bite.” You weren’t trying to sound cruel, but maybe it came out that way because the second it left your mouth, Topper's gaze shifted to you.

"She is not like Ruthie," he explained quietly.

Or me, you thought to yourself. Sofia was good, not performatively.

She had goodness that still made you roll your eyes, hardly believing it could be real without strings or hidden self-interest. But that girl truly trusted that people meant well and rooted for happy endings.

That had to be nice.

You dion’t know what that kind of believing felt like; you had spent too long preparing for the worst. Hope got you here. Sofia would cry when she was hurt, but you would burn down the entire room before admitting you were bleeding.

“No. She’s not.”

Ruthie was always prepared to pout and smile as she stabbed you in the back. You knew because you would done it too. Once. Maybe more than once. But she was a different breed; she never got hurt and only hurt back.

“It’s not important,” he muttered. “It’s not like Sofia likes me anyway. We’re friends. She’s still in love with—”

He stopped mid-sentence and you only watched the words die in his throat.

“She’s still in love with Rafe,” you finished for him, letting out a small sigh, gaze flicking away, eyes fixed on nothing. “I know she is.”

Topper scrubbed a hand down his face. “How did we get here?”

You looked back at him, tilting your head. “Do you think you're the only one doing the falling?”

He grimaced. “I didn’t think I was falling at all.”

You hummed, nails digging into your sleeves.

“If it makes you feel better, I don’t hate her. I’d sleep better if I did.”

He looked at you sideways. “You don’t?”

You hesitated. “I don’t like her; I’ll never like her. But she didn’t steal anything from me.”

Topper opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. Whatever he was going to say, he must’ve decided it wasn’t worth the lie.

“I think she wants to move on,” he said instead. “She’s trying. She knows he’s in love with you, still. She’s angry about it,” he added, softer this time. “At the way it all played out.”

You swallowed. “She should be.”

God knows you would've done a lot more damage if you were in her shoes.

He let out a groan.

“Dude, it’s been so long since you’ve been a sappy bitch; this is making me uncomfortable.”

“Shut up.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my cousin?” Topper teased, tossing a couch cushion at you as if you were thirteen again, trapped in summer vacation hell with only mosquito bites and each other for company.

You tossed it right back. “Don’t act like you didn’t cry during Marley & Me, asshole.”

He huffed, “I had allergies.”

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever helps you fall asleep at night.”

When he looked at you again, he was still smiling; you were both in this strange limbo of pain and healing, treading through all the shit that had happened.

"I missed this," he stated abruptly.

You cast a glance at him. “What?”

“This. Fighting over dumb shit. "Talking to you," he said, picking at a loose thread on his shirt's hem. “Felt like I lost you.”

You looked down at your lap. “You didn’t lose me.”

For a few weeks, it felt as if grief had permanently divided you, and neither of you knew how to get back to normal. But sitting there now, it didn’t feel so far away.

The old you would’ve let that comment slide, pretended you didn’t hear it, or made a sarcastic joke.

“I’m glad you told me,” you said quietly, nudging his leg with your foot. “About her.”

“Regretting it already.”

You smiled. “Shut up. I can understand why you like her."

You missed being someone who believed that those who loved you would never hurt you—at least not on purpose. Topper had been stupid, but he was trying. Genuinely trying to understand why it mattered so much.

He gave you a side-eye. “You just said you’ll never like her.”

“I won’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’d be good to her.”

A beat passed. “Are you sure you’re doing okay?”

"Today? Yeah.”

Topper let out a low chuckle, the familiar sound tugging on something deep within your chest. "You’re gonna be fine.”

"Yeah?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. You’ve got a good heart beneath that bitch exterior," he teased, but his eyes were genuine.

You didn’t want to admit how much that bit of vulnerability—shit, even just his words—meant to you.

"Missed you too, asshole."

"Good."

“But if Ruthie shows up with a baseball bat at your door, I’m not bailing you out.”

He snorted. “Noted.”

Rafe stared at the wood floors in his therapist's office, a vein in his temple showing.

"Rafe?" Dr. Keller called, pen still against her notebook. "You said you were ready to talk about it."

He wondered how the fuck he was going to get the words out.

"Yeah. I... I don't know where to start."

"You don’t have to say it perfectly."

Rafe nodded as his fingers twitched in his lap.

“She told me.”

Dr. Keller tilted her head. “She told you about...”

“The baby,” His eyes flicked to yours, “And everything else. What the doctors said.” His jaw clenched. “She looked so calm when she said it, she's already making peace with it. She was more worried about others than herself, and I…I don’t know what to do with that. How am I supposed to be okay with any of this?”

What if you died? What if you died and Rafe was stuck here—left with a crying newborn that was supposed to be yours but feels like a ghost of you? He exhaled shakily and violently shook his head, trying to push the fear that was crawling up his spine away.

“I swear, I—I can’t breathe sometimes, thinking about it. If she doesn’t—if she doesn’t come outta this, then what? What am I supposed to do? Raise a kid alone? Be the guy who tells the kid why their mom’s not there? Me?” He scoffed again, “I can’t keep my own shit together. You know what I did after? I drove to the docks and sat there. I didn’t realize I’d been there for hours until my phone died. Just... stared at the water. Tryin’ not to think about what it’d feel like if I jumped in.”

His eyes darted to Dr. Keller for a second before looking away shamelessly.

“I wouldn’t, okay? I’m not... I’m not gonna do that. But what if I mess the kid up the same way I got messed up? What if I scream, or drink, or disappear for hours, and the kid grows up thinking that’s normal? What if I become him?” The last word burned coming out of his mouth — him meaning Ward, the monster behind his bloodline.

Dr. Keller watched him, her pen resting motionless on the page now.

“Rafe,” she started, carefully, “you’re carrying a lot more than grief right now. You’re carrying fear, guilt, and a future you feel completely unprepared for.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“You mentioned the thought of becoming your father,” she continued, gently. “That’s not a small fear. That’s generational trauma and you’re trying to break that cycle with zero margin for error in the middle of a crisis.”

“And what if I already am him and I’m just too stupid to see it?”

“You’re not him,” Dr. Keller gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You’re scared of becoming him. That’s not the same. Your awareness, the self-loathing, it's proof enough that you’re trying; you care."

Is that supposed to make me feel better? Rafe wanted to snap, but it stuck in his throat; he did want to believe her.

“Trying doesn’t bring her back.”

Dr. Keller nodded slowly. "You’re mourning her before she dies; this is called anticipatory grief. And it’s paralyzing. But… she’s still here.”

He closed his eyes; the words should have been reassuring, but instead felt like a curse. For now. But how long?

“Do you want to be there?” she asked softly. “If the time comes?”

His eyes snapped open. “What?”

“If something does happen...would you want to be in the room with her? Holding her hand?”

Rafe opened his mouth — then closed it. The image slammed into his chest: your hand going limp in his, that godawful beeping.

“I’d rather it kill me than let her go through that alone.”

Dr. Keller paused for a second before responding again, "Thank you for saying that.”

Rafe sneered. “Don’t thank me. It’s the bare minimum.”

His knee bounced, fingers drumming against it now, twitchy.

Classic Rafe.

“She was scared. I could tell, even if she was trying’ to be calm about it. That fake smile she gives when she is making things easier for everyone but herself." He laughed under his breath, “Always thinkin’ about everyone else.”

He dragged his hand down his cheek, the heel of his palm pressing firmly against his eye socket.

Dr. Keller’s voice was calm. "You said she appeared at peace with it. How did that make you feel?"

“It pissed me off,” Rafe snapped, sitting back hard in the chair, the memory shoving him. “It made me wanna shake her. I’m not even close to ready to let her go.”

“That’s not how this works, Rafe.”

“I know that. I do. But if I’d been anyone else, we wouldn’t be talkin’ about what happens if she dies.” He scratched at the back of his neck, agitated. “I should’ve protected her better."

“You can’t protect people from fate.”

“No,” he said, bitterly. “But I should’ve been the one to get hurt. Not her, never her.”

Dr. Keller leaned across her legs, as if talking to a child. Rafe hated that—that way she leaned in patiently like he was going to lose it if she used a firmer tone, as if he was a sulking boy. It made him feel smaller, somehow, back on the porch steps at seventeen, bleeding pride and fury while Ward talked over his head like he wasn’t there.

She must've noticed the change in his posture because she pulled back instantly.

“I’m not here to judge you. You’re not responsible for what’s happening to her. You didn’t cause this.”

"If I hadn’t gotten her pregnant in the first place, she wouldn’t be sick. She’s... she’s been so fucking sick, and I—"

"Stop."

Dr. Keller's voice was loud enough to stop him from spiraling.

"Rafe, you can’t keep doing that. You’re blaming yourself for things that you can’t change. Yes, the pregnancy put a strain on her body, but it wasn’t a choice that caused this. You were not the one who decided that she was going to have severe anemia, these things happen.”

“She almost didn’t tell me,” he muttered. “She was gonna go through all of it and not tell me she might—” His breath hitched, voice cracking.

Dr. Keller’s brows pinched in sympathy. “That’s because she cares for you.”

"I know. That’s what makes it worse; I don’t deserve any of it.”

“What happened after she told you?”

He swallowed hard, his throat tight, similar to swallowing broken glass. “I cried. In front of her. She held me. She’s the one whose iron’s so low she can’t stand some days, and she held me. I told her I’d take care of her, that I’d—” His voice faltered. “I meant it. I don’t know if she believed me.”

The silence fell like dust.

Dr. Keller spoke cautiously. “Do you want another chance to show her that you mean it?”

Rafe looked up, his eyes rimmed with red.

"I want every chance. I want her to hate me, scream at me, and call me selfish, if it means she’s still here to do it. I want her here.”

She waited for him to settle before pivoting.

“May I ask you something?”

He nodded, scrubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, angry that they remained wet. "Yeah. Go ahead.”

“When did you realize you were in love with her?”

His brows lifted, and he dropped his gaze back to the floor, a hint of a real smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, almost imperceptible.

"The first time I saw her," he admitted quietly.

Dr. Keller didn’t write that down.

“We were kids. She had these stupid braids in her hair and this pout on her face ‘cause her mom made her wear a dress she hated. And I remember thinking, 'Shit. That’s her’.”

He huffed a breathy laugh through his nose.

“I didn’t know what love was back then," His throat bobbed. "That night, I asked my mom—‘cause I felt weird. Not bad weird. Just... warm. And I asked her what it meant when someone made you feel like that. When you’d do anything to sit next to them or punch anyone who made 'em sad.” He paused, exhaling shakily. “My mom smiled and said, ‘Sounds like love, baby.’ I told her that was stupid; I was too young to be in love. She said, “It’ll wait for you’.”

Dr. Keller glanced up then, but still didn’t write. The recorder between them was already doing its job.

"The love you feel for her is your compass. Neither your guilt nor your fear. That’s what will get you through this. And it’s what will help you raise your child too, if it comes to it.”

“Just want her to know I’m tryin’. Even if I’m scared shitless, I’m want to be the guy she thought I could be.”

“You’re already becoming him,” She nodded. “The moment you walked in here and chose to speak instead of staying silent, you became him.”

“She waited for me, all these years. I’ll wait for her too, however long it takes.”

Rafe hadn’t been sleeping much.

He hoped that by finally letting it all out in Dr. Keller's office, something would settle. But if anything, he was restless.

He’d taken to pacing the house, rubbing his thumb raw over his knuckles. Anything to stop thinking. He was fed up with that shit.

When his brain got too loud, he felt it—the old itch in his bones. The voice that said just a drink. He’d gone down to the liquor cabinet once, stared at the bottle, hands shaking. Thought about calling Barry, just to talk. Or not talk.

But he didn’t pour the drink or make the call.

It was a little past noon when Sarah showed up at Tannyhill. He heard the front door open, the sound of her voice calling out for Wheezie, and he tensed where he stood in the kitchen. He wanted to back out to the dock, or into his truck, or anywhere her eyes couldn’t pin him down.

He stayed put.

Sarah came to a stop in the kitchen doorway.

“Rafe.”

He didn’t look at her, only ran his hand down his face, the skin along his cheek red from where he kept doing that—rubbing, scraping.

“Wheezie’s not here,” he mumbled. “She’s at choir practice.”

“I know.” Her tone was less accusatory than it had been the previous few times they spoke. “I came to see you.”

“Great. You’ve seen me.”

“You look like shit.” She set down her keys. “She told you.”

He nodded once.

In another life, you would’ve told him first. That thought looped itself over and over, winding tighter around his throat every time it passed through. If things had been different—if he had been different—you would’ve trusted him enough to say it before Sarah.

“She didn’t flinch,” Rafe said, more to the floor than to her. “Acted like it was another Tuesday.”

He braced for the lecture—a speech about stepping up or being better, some bullshit he already told himself every night.

Instead, Sarah walked over. "That’s how she is. You know that.”

He nodded again, stiffer this time. “I feel like if I blink, she’s gonna—"

Sarah gave him a look. “She didn’t want to tell you, but she still did.”

Rafe's throat felt parched as he burned holes in his hands. “I don’t think she expects me to stick around.”

“Can you blame her?”

He winced, curling his shoulders, hoping to make himself smaller.

“Did she...?” He had to stop himself. The words tasted wrong.

Sarah waited with arms crossed loosely.

"Have you seen her? Did she seem like she’s…” He clenched his jaw. “Like she’s getting worse?”

“She’s tired all the time. Can’t keep food down sometimes. Fainted last week during treatment and told the nurse not to call anyone.”

He averted his gaze and clenched the counter's edge until his knuckles turned white.

“I would’ve been there.”

Sarah arched her brow. “Rafe, you left her.”

He gave a rough sigh, tipping his head back. The ceiling provided little comfort. He had been staring at it a lot lately—at night, in the early mornings, whenever sleep refused to come.

“You can’t disappear and expect her to wait with the door open.”

“I haven’t been sleeping.”

“I know.”

He pressed his tongue to the inside of his cheek. “I’m scared.”

Sarah’s expression didn’t change. “I know that too.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You already do. You love her.”

“She hardly cried, Sar. Is that normal?”

Rafe was aware of the consequences of ignoring it and continuing. That shit didn’t vanish; instead, it buried itself deep, carving its way around your entire being.

“She cried enough already,” Sarah confessed. “She’s tired.”

He didn’t want her to fall apart for him or cry so he’d feel better. But he was terrified you weren’t letting it out at all, that it was going to eat you alive like it had him.

He’d stared at the bottle that morning, stomach sick. Not because he craved the burn, the familiarity, but because drinking was easier than dealing with this helplessness, this love.

The urge was there, caged and pacing.

Rafe could feel it some mornings before his feet hit the floor, but therapy helped. At first, he thought it was bullshit, but when it was him and the silence and all the thoughts he couldn’t outrun, it started to make sense. And it worked—sort of. Worked enough to get him out of the house, to make him want to be good.

For himself. For you.

These past few days, however, he wasn’t sure if it was enough.

He’d done rehab before, for coke. Back when it was clear he was ruining his life at ninety miles an hour. He hadn’t needed anyone to spell it out for him—he’d looked in the mirror and known he wasn’t human anymore.

Drinking didn’t get that bad, at least not in the same explosive way.

He hadn’t driven drunk or gotten violent or collapsed in public. But it slipped in, and it started around the time Ward died—almost four months ago. Everyone kept telling him he was fine now because he had money, a house, and a second chance.

He decided to quit on his own.

What if it came back? What if he needed more?

He didn’t want to end up on that floor again, have you or his sisters walk in and find him like that. He wanted to be better.

Rafe clenched his jaw, dug his thumb into the same spot on his knuckle, “You think I’d be a better dad than Ward?”

Sarah clicked her tongue. “Low bar, don’t you think?”

“Sarah.”

“You think he asked himself that question? Lost sleep wondering if he was screwing us up?” She scoffed. “He just did it and moved on. You’re not Dad."

The screen door banged open right then, footsteps thudding across the porch like a stampede, which only one person ever managed to pull off in flip-flops.

“Hello?” Wheezie’s voice rang out. “Anybody home? I swear, Rafe, if you ate the last of the garlic knots again—”

She skidded to a stop in the kitchen doorway and blinked. Her eyes bounced from one sibling to another, and her mouth popped open.

“Wait. Are you two…” Her pupils shrank dramatically. “Talking? Like, with actual words?”

Rafe huffed.

“We talk sometimes.”

“No, you shout,” Wheezie said, grinning like a lunatic now. “Or someone storms out. Or something gets broken. This is… peace talks. Historic.”

“We’re not that bad,” Rafe argued, though his tone said even he didn’t believe it.

“You’re so bad,” Wheezie laughed, dropping her choir folder on the table and tossing her shoes into a corner. “This is beautiful. Sibling bonding. I might cry.”

“Dramatic much?” Sarah snorted.

“I’m underfed; let me have this.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“I live to serve,” Wheezie bowed. Then she perked up. “Wait. Are you staying? For dinner?”

“I hadn’t really—”

“Please,” Wheezie cut in, clasping her hands like a cartoon orphan. “We never all eat together. It’s always me and a sad grilled cheese and whatever Rafe finds in the freezer. We have chicken tonight! And mashed potatoes. Homemade, not the weird box kind.”

Sarah cast Rafe a suspicious glance. “You made mashed potatoes?”

"I peeled them," he flatly stated.

“He actually peeled them!” Wheezie was beaming. “With that weird frown he gets when he’s concentrating. It was adorable.”

“Jesus Christ,” Rafe groaned, turning away, hiding the flush crawling up his neck.

“Come on, Sarah. Please. One night! We’ll even let you pick the playlist.”

Sarah hesitated for a moment before sighing and returning her gaze to Rafe. He didn’t say anything, only gave a small nod.

“Fine,” she relented. “But I’m picking good music.”

“YES. Oh my god, this is the best day ever. Historic peace treaty, family dinner. I’m writing about this in my journal.”

She dashed off to set the table with the zeal of someone preparing for a royal banquet.

Rafe and Sarah watched as she left.

“You know she’s gonna talk our ears off the whole meal,” Sarah said.

“Better than the quiet.”

Sarah gave him a brief stare before nodding. “Yeah. I guess so.”

460 notes · View notes

elodieunderglass · 20 hours ago

Text

Dr Glass: I was looking at this specific power saw

Me: oh why?

Dr Glass, who is good at making wooden boxes: well, all sewing boxes are too feminine or too awful for me, and obviously the one I’d make myself would be better. But I work with handtools, and a key thing about power tools is that they’re labour-saving.

Me: right

Dr Glass: this is an excellent saw, because it has a special electric current that makes it stop just before it cuts off your finger. Unfortunately, it’s £900.

Me: I don’t really know anyone else who would want a £900 saw to support their embroidery habit.

Dr Glass: haha well! it means I can have conversations with most people.

Me: ehhhhh…

Dr Glass: did I ever tell you about that time I was in a mixed climbing group of strangers in Bangor, all taking a coach together, and this one Scottish girl said, “do you realise you’ve managed to talk to everyone on the coach about something, that’s a great skill” and I was like “oh, not everyone” and she pointed to someone and said “talk to that guy” but although he was a random guy I was able to point to him and say DEVIZES TO WESTMINSTER CANOE RACE -

Me: which killed him instantly-

Dr Glass: it made me look good, yeah.

Me: the Scottish girl was hot, then?

Dr Glass: shut up.

Dr Glass: anyway I THEN considered how a chronic fatigue condition would intersect with buying an entire power saw - so I’m not buying the saw -

Me: no the hell you’re not, we are negative broke -

Dr Glass: but in the process of picking my fantasy saw, I saw a really useful review of it, and looking at the initials, decided it had been written by my brother. So I just texted him asking if he has the Spinmeister Bobcat Switchblade X2000 powerdrive with turntable and record player attachment (NB: this may not be the name of the saw.)

Dr Glass: (checking phone) he does. Hahahaha it’s him

Me: you do have to tell him how you know…

(Curtain. Weird man)

#dr glass lore reveals #this is what I mean about how he’s just living in a different genre than everyone else #he has a magnetic field that attracts things but also attracts things to cancel it out #resulting in net zero affect on him

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galene-gothic · 1 day ago

Text

𝖸𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗆𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗍𝗍𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗊𝗎𝖺𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝖿𝗎𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗉𝗈𝗎𝗌𝖾

ˏˋ༻ʚ♡︎ɞ༺ˎˊ˗ PAID SERVICES TIP JAR

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 1 ꒱

You’re someone who will know everything about everyone. It’s actually sort of funny. You’re a very curious person and it leads to you finding things out about other people in an almost intrusive manner in order to feed it. You will do so in a very innocent manner. Like, for example, you were talking to a guy and happened to really like him but you got ghosted or he just didn’t stay in touch with you even though he seemed really interested in you while you were around each other. You’re going to be emotionally affected but will lean more towards seeking the truth. You won’t let it show externally just how much it affected you, instead, you’re going to find out that they entered a relationship with someone after losing touch with you and it will happen very casually. Like, the person who broke the news to you will have no idea what they just did. It will cause you to connect dots and things will start making more, and more sense the more that you do this. You’ll also know more about people than they’d like you to because of this quality of yours but they’ll have no clue that you know all of these things about them. For example, if you knew that a professor was dating a student, you’re going to continue acting as if you know nothing about it until one of them says something to you. Even so, you’re going to be like “oh really?” Or another example, supposing you were on a date with someone who you knew a lot about because of your top notch research skills, you will continue acting like you know nothing about them, asking them basic first date questions. You’re going to be someone very passionate and fun loving, causing you to talk a lot or/and loudly when you’re excited, and comfortable causing you to be perceived as almost dumb by some people or too busy living in the moment, pursuing goals, living life and having fun to keep a mental note of things but you’re going to be someone who will keep things in your mind even if others think that you’ve missed their words or the details of things completely. It’s almost as if even your perceived innocence and dumbness is a calculated strategy. I think it comes or will come naturally to you but it’s going to be as effective as carefully woven and well thought out strategies. They might assume that you’re a bit more naive and might think that you’re not keeping a mental note of things but they’ll be so wrong. Once they get into a relationship with you, they’ll learn that you’re the most sharp person who memorises every little detail and thinks them through. The closer that they grow to you, the more that they’ll realise that you’re not as dumb as others consider you to be. In fact, you’re quite the opposite, you remember every little thing, connect the dots and overanalyse the situation if required. You might say something that makes them realise how much you analyse people and situations, and don’t forget even the smallest things. “She said this to me and she said that behind my back but she’s not aware that I know what she said.” It’s not going to be a one time thing, you’ll say things like this a lot, making them realise that you’re mentally really analytical. The duality will be wild though because on the surface, even if you know certain things about other people, you will continue acting normal and oblivious. Even if you dislike them because you know what intentions they hold towards you or are at least cautious in your interactions with them, you’ll seem very carefree and will interact with them like normal as if you don’t know shit.

They’ll be highly attracted to you physically and energetically right away. It will simply just be a primal attraction. I don’t think that I can put it into words and even need to. They’ll just be attracted to you in a way that is undeniable, exciting and comes naturally to them. You’re going to be a very passionate and adventurous person, simply just being around you will make them feel something stir within them and they’ll even be able to feel the heat physically. For you, passion, fun and inspired action will be very important. You’re going to be flirty but also the type to disappear because you’re busy doing other things. You’re going to push their boundaries and challenge their authority but it’s going to be almost a method of flirting for you, they’ll really enjoy it. You’re going to be impulsive sometimes but will embrace passion wholeheartedly and naturally act with it. They’re going to be looking at you with soft heart eyes and a soft, natural smile while you’re talking about something that you’re passionate about or while you’re having fun because it will genuinely make them feel warm on the inside. They’re going to adore you so much. Also, you’re going to be someone who is able to self validate and doesn’t seek external validation but will seek praise, and attention from them. It is actually so cute. You’re going to be someone who is unapologetically living life. You will be following the philosophy of “my life is not mine if I care too much about what other people think” and will just be doing you. You’re not going to be one of those wannabe nonchalant people, instead you’re going to think that “nonchalance is the death of passion” and will be accepting, and embodying your nature as it is. If you want something, you’re going to pursue it with passion. If you feel excited about something, you’re going to express that excitement wholeheartedly. You’re going to be very wholehearted about expressing love to them as well as physical passion. They’re simply not going to be able to get enough of you. Everything will feel fun with you and they might assume that you’ve forgotten certain things that they’ve told you about but you’ll remember every little detail about them despite your passionate way of living, and the way you’ll also seek for them to see, notice and praise you will make them feel oh so special. I hope that the reading resonated. Thank you for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 2 ꒱

You’re someone who will be very ‘no bullshit’ but not in an egoistic and bitchy manner. You’re going to be a very hopeful person who will have walked away from a lot and will be willing to walk away despite any hopes for the future that you may have had if it starts affecting your mind and peace negatively. I’m not sure if you’ve reached such a point yet but by the time you meet, and get with them, you’ll have experienced life, learned lessons and are going to believe in consequences over negotiations. That’s the best way to be respected because most people don’t believe that they’re worthy of being forgiven and given a second chance so if you let their behaviour slide once, they’re going to do something worse next time. Due to this, your future spouse is going to see you cutting people off left and right. The fact that you respect yourself so much and are still choosing them is going to be a matter of pride, and a point of attraction for them. You might also help them transition away from something that affects them this way for which they’ll be very grateful. You’re going to be their peace and they’re going to love you so much for it. You’re going to be very influential and will truly convince them to let go of whatever is not serving them. I just heard ‘joru ka gulam’ which means ‘wife’s servant/slave’. I don’t think that that’s exactly true but the thing is, sometimes when someone is taken and they start acting differently, they believe that the partner must be controlling them or influencing them in this way, and that will be the case for the both of you as well but it’s not going to be like you’re literally controlling them. It’s more so that you are so convincing and influential that they willingly want to move on, away, and seek peace in whatever way that they can. You’re also going to be someone who is deeply romantic and obsessive but only they’ll get this side of you. Actually no, others will also get this side of you but they’ll get it in a different way. You’re going to be idealistic and will romanticise your life but you’ll do it in a way in which you do not seek attention from others, and instead self validate. Most people do not understand this way of living because they’re very externally focused and so to them you might seem… I’m not even sure about what word to use but it’s just that others won’t get it. Are you the type of person to “OH MY GOD, I HAVE EXPERIENCED THIS BEFORE. I JUST GOT DEJA VU!” Even if you’re not, you might be that way with them throughout your relationship and marriage, and they’re going to find this side of you to be very adorable because you will look genuinely excited and amused every time this happens, no matter how many times you may have experienced it already. Wide eyes and all that but back to what I was saying. Many different energies are coming through but I’ll just put forth the one that is coming through the strongest. Overly soft, dreamy and sensitive, that’s how some of you may be perceived by some. Like, they might just assume that you’ve not had to deal with the harshness of life and so you have not matured much but gosh, there’s this duality in which you seem so open but you’re so selective with people. You are going to be very closed off to connections especially romance or will seem like such to them. If not, that’s just not going to be your priority and you will not even give a single fuck about the attention. If you don’t like someone, you are going to make sure that you don’t lead them on even if it may come off slightly tactless or mean. Some of you may not seem soft, dreamy and sensitive but the truth stands, to some level no matter how approachable or unapproachable you may be, you’re going to be closed off to connections especially romance and will not care about external validation so you’re going to seem hard to reach to some extent.

You’re going to be enjoying life wholeheartedly when you’ll meet them, not giving into loneliness and will be validating yourself instead of chasing external validation. That’s something that they’ll find extremely attractive about you because initially, you might be a bit closed off and cautious despite your romantic desires. Like, even if you desire romance, you’re not going to be desperate for it and you’ll be fine without it so you may not display your romantic, flirty, and sexual side right away but when you open up, you’re going to be deeply romantic and also obsessive over them. You, who doesn’t seek or need external validation is going to want it from them and gosh will they feel so prideful of it. They’ll really enjoy giving you this attention because they’ll feel special knowing that it’s only them who you share such a side with. They’re going to feel as though they’re living in a romance movie with you and this side of you will be theirs, and theirs alone. The sex is going to be really good too. That’s all I’m getting. Either or both of you could be a bit more on the private side when it comes to your sex life together but they’re going to enjoy it thoroughly. Actually no, you’re going to have a praise and degradation kink, and they’re really going to enjoy this back and forth. In fact, you might have either or both of these kinks even outside the bedroom. If you have a praise kink, you’re going to want them to compliment, praise and just look at you endearingly, and with pride like a kid who just got an A+, and a star sticker on their exercise book showing it to their parents xD. You might enjoy feeling as though they’re proud of you, when they show you off and also appreciate you equally in private, you’re going to really enjoy it. Something like “good girl” might make you very happy or “I’m so proud of you”. If you have a degradation kink, you’re going to like it when they put you in your place by firmly scolding you in some way while you’re acting like a brat and well, if you have both, you will enjoy both. This is honestly so adorable. You’re going to have many different sides to you and they’ll be contradictory. You’re going to be out of control and the connection is going to be one in which the both of you are going to be opposites of each other or just contradictory and will clash a lot with each other. You will also be highly dramatic at times but it will bring out their own dramatic side too or will just give them an adrenaline rush, and they’re going to love it. You will have a very high ego but maybe it’s only when it comes to them but even so, you’re going to want something real with them and they’re going to want the same with you, and the connection itself will feel very real. It’s also going to be a connection that brings about many new things emotionally and just in life. You’re going to meet them and it’s like seeds will be planted that will cause the both of you to grow through each other, and it is going to happen throughout the connection. It’s going to be thrilling but also grounded and the growth that you’ll both experience with each other is only going to make things seem realer than ever. Not to mention, you’re going to be consistently building together too. If you want kids or ever have them, they’re going to find you very attractive when you’re pregnant with their kid or will just enjoy raw dogging and creampie-ing you, or it might just be a fantasy of theirs. I just heard “my vanilla kink is breeding.” Also, if you use an earthy or woody scent, I specifically heard ‘soil after the rain’, they’re going to find that very attractive. I hope that the reading resonated. Thank you for reading, much love and take care.

⊹ ! ೀ Pile 3 ꒱

Your future spouse is going to greatly desire you. That’s for sure. You’re going to be someone very sexual and will really enjoy… sex. I’m sorry but there was no better way to put it. You’re going to enjoy sex in many ways but all are very intimate. The first one is sort of rough with a lot of manhandling but them holding you close, one in which you can feel each other very deeply and in a primal manner, deep but rough thrusts, and a lot of passion, the type in which you can feel each other’s breath, feel consumed by each other and get lost in the throes of passion. There’s a lot of moaning in this one. Another one in which you might be in bed after a long and tiring day of work but are still enjoying each other in the sideways position, and missionary but you’re just lying there and taking it. Another one in which the sex is fiery and similar to the first one but you’re a bit bratty, talking back, scratching, biting and whining. Another one in which you are enjoying each other sensually and passionately but it is more breathy than filled with moans, if that makes sense. This is likely not all but I’ve now gotten a feel of your sexual nature, the first thing that I got here is that you enjoy being manhandled but are not the type to be passive and not engage either, you instead partake by touching, feeling, rubbing their back, running your hands all over their body, biting, kissing, moaning, talking back and just whatever you can do. The second thing that I picked up on is that you also have days when you’re very horny but may have no energy or just prefer not having to do much and being taken care of, or just lazy sex to put it bluntly. The third thing is that you really enjoy sensual and intentional sex too. One with a lot of touching and rubbing on the right areas, and a more breathy feel. Well, the most important thing is that you’re going to be sexual and they will be too, and the physical connection between the both of you is going to be very strong but besides that, you’re going to be a place of rest for them. You’re going to place a lot of value on intimacy and not just sexual, and will give them the space to lead you but you’re also going to be willing to step up if and when needed, and they’ll be able to lead you in a way in which it favours the both of you. You’re going to be a visionary, offering ideas and sometimes questioning things, and will have a lot of integrity but also a lot of faith in them, and their leadership. Only weak people who don’t trust their own vision get mad when their followers question it, they’re not even leaders, they’re just dictators. Your future spouse going to be a leader so they’re going to take your concerns into account or will explain things properly to you for you to understand it better. They’ll enjoy being a protector and provider to you. They’re going to learn a lot from you and will be taking your ideas, your vision into consideration, and bringing them to life, as well as their own which will make them a really good leader and partner. I’m honestly so happy for you. Also, another thing is that they’re someone very charismatic, they have a big aura and warm, in fact even hot presence, and they’re used to being a leader in various places and situations but even they need a place to rest, rejuvenate, and relax and you’re going to be that for them.

You’re going to be a contemplative person and will need a lot of solitude. Your contemplation is going to give them the insight, ideas and vision that they need to lead you effectively, and your need for solitude is going to be attractive because it will make them crave you more. When you’re going to meet them, you might be going through a period during which everything fell apart and you’re a bit guarded, and wounded. I believe that they’ll have gone through something like this and will still be going through this period of extreme changes, and falls too so they’re going to be wounded and guarded too but meeting each other is only going to cause things to fall apart harder. Even if your physical and emotional world had changed in many ways, you both were deeply stuck in your own ways and meeting each other may cause resistance but will somehow still bring about changes intensely and easily. It is not going to be easy, it will be very hard but it will just happen easily after meeting each other despite any pain or intensity is what I meant. They’re going to love you and find everything about you to be very attractive. They will have experienced intensity with you and will have witnessed you undergo such intense experiences, such falls, and instability and come out of it. They will also feel a sense of familiarity and connection with you, having seen you through such changes that it will feel very deep because even they themself will have experienced such intensity and changed as well. There is a chance that some of you will go through a no contact period before getting together officially. Whether that happens or not, they’ll remember you as being very defensive, wounded and guarded, and they’ll have been that way too but you’ll both have changed, and grown, and the changes will be all thanks to you. In your connection with each other, once you’re finally officially together, you’re going to have a lot of strength and resilience, and will not be willing to let the connection go just because troubles occur. You’re going to push forward stubbornly and courageously, wanting things to work. The thing about connections is that you cannot make excuses. You either make it work or you don’t. “Life happens sometimes” okay, life will continue happening, will you abandon them again and again? Blame the connection and yourselves, not life. Knowing that you’re willing to fight for the connection and truly try, they’re going to be able to do so too, making you both a power couple. It’s not going to be 50-50, 60-40 or anything, it’s going to be 100-100 from both sides. Emotionally, they will have changed so much because of you but also not, you will also have changed so much but also not. It’s like, you’ll either still feel young with and towards each other, having seen each other at such intense, and dramatic yet young times. This does not have to mean that you’ll meet your spouse young, even if you meet them in your 30s or 40s, you’re going to be younger than when you’ll have spent years together. You’re going to have internally changed a lot and so will they, even externally actually but with each other, there’s still going to be a lot of drama. However, there’s also going to be a place to rest at, a person who is a sanctuary and feels like a safe haven :,).

You’re going to act very intensely with them, bringing out an equally intense side of them, there’s going to be a lot of stubbornness but oh cara mia, how they’ll love you. You are going to cause them a lot of turmoil and make them experience a lot of drama, and intensity but they’re going to share something real with you because of this. You’re going to cause them to feel very mentally vulnerable and vice versa, and this will cause you both to grow individually, as well as develop deep intimacy. You’re going to have them on your mind and in your heart even when they’re away, and will not do anything to breach your connection. The intimacy you both share and the trust you’ll have is something that you’ll not even think about breaking because you are going to be fine with being alone but if there is a genuine connection, that’s all you’ll need and it will be just them that you’ll share such a thing with. They’ll share this sentiment and you’ll have the realest connection ever in which you both grow, avoid showing vulnerabilities and changing but end up deeply changing, and showing your vulnerabilities. Things will be dramatic and intense but you’ll both be stubborn, and determined to make things work no matter how much you may get on each other’s nerves sometimes. You’ll love, adore and desire each other so much. I’m not sure if I expressed the “no matter how much you change, you won’t change” part correctly but what I mean is that they’ll still see you as that vulnerable baby that was going through hell and was overwhelmed no matter how much time passes by. Yes, they’ll see you as who you are in the present too but they’ll be very soft with you because they’ll remember the past soft yet wounded and ‘trying to be hard’ side of you. They’ll also remember how vulnerable, chaotic and intensely they felt, and changed so they’ll feel young and I keep on hearing ‘like a child’. They’ll feel so vulnerable yet so manly yet so fragile yet so strong yet so soft yet so authentic yet so changed with you. They’ll also see you as being the same way with them. How could they not find you attractive? They love you in every way. Oh my god, I’m crying. There may be this thing in which you’re overly submissive with other people which is why you push all your intense energies on them anyway but they’re going to see how meek you tend to act with others and will fiercely protect, and stand up for you. “What did you say to my wife?” “Don’t talk to my wife like that.” “Apologise, right now.” “On that gentle body of yours, I want to fall. Forgetting everything for a while, I want to get lost. Even if it’s just a few steps I want to walk with you, in the depths, I want to dive and see. Your arrival in my life has caused a different effect, look into my eyes, you’re going to clearly see, your own name. Even the fate that won’t bend in my will, must not be deaf. This is my oath to you, I will never leave your side. Whether we have to laugh or cry, it wouldn’t matter. The steps that we are taking together, will not divert for as long as I live.” “Be it joy or sorrow, I’m going to be with you. Whenever you need my support. I can’t love anyone else the way I love you. These are my last words.”

#pac reading #tarot pac #pac #intuitive readings #pick a card reading #tarot pick a card #pick a card

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moondustbaby · 1 day ago

Text

Sundress Season

Blue collar!Rafe x Wife!Reader

a/n: based on this request! 💌

Summary: You surprise your husband Rafe with lunch at his worksite—wearing a sundress that turns a few too many heads. His coworkers are bold, but Rafe’s jealousy is bolder. He handles it the only way he knows how: by making it very clear you’re his.

⸻

You should’ve known better than to wear the sundress.

It’s not like you were trying to be a distraction. You were just hot, the Carolina sun beating down through your windshield, and the soft yellow cotton was the only thing in your closet that didn’t make you want to cry. So you threw your hair up, grabbed the brown paper bag of lunch, and headed to the job site with a smile.

You knew Rafe was working somewhere out off the mainland, some big house renovation, and he’d sounded exhausted on the phone earlier. You figured a surprise lunch would be the least you could do.

What you didn’t count on was the way the crew looked at you when you stepped out of the truck.

A couple of guys near the framing area went silent mid-conversation. One of them let out a low whistle.

“Damn, Cameron’s wife is somethin’ else,” one muttered, not quietly. “No way she came out here lookin’ like that just to see him.”

Your cheeks burned instantly. You weren’t trying to make a scene—you just wanted to feed your husband. But you were very aware of how the dress clung to your waist, how the breeze caught the hem and played it around your thighs.

You smiled politely, tried to focus on the little path leading to the house, pretending not to hear the not-so-subtle commentary.

“Need a hand, sweetheart?” another guy offered, jogging up beside you with a grin. “That bag looks heavy. Bet I could carry it better than your man.”

You blinked. “Uh, no thank you. I’ve got it.”

“Sure? Don’t wanna strain those pretty arms—”

“You talkin’ to my wife?”

The voice cut through the air like a blade. Deep, rough, unmistakable.

You didn’t have to turn around. You felt Rafe before you saw him.

He was stomping over from the other side of the site, sawdust in his hair, sweat dripping down his neck, and he looked like he was about to throw someone through a two-by-four.

The guy beside you went stiff. “Was just being polite, man.”

Rafe didn’t blink. “Polite looks different than flirting.”

He took the bag from your hands without saying anything else and slid his arm around your waist, tugging you in close—close enough that you could smell the mix of sawdust and soap on his shirt. Close enough that no one could mistake whose you were.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, your hand brushing his chest. “They were just—”

“Did he touch you?” he asked quietly, jaw clenched, ignoring everyone else.

“No. Rafe, really—”

His eyes flicked back to the guy who’d offered to help. “You look at her again like that, you’re off my site. Got it?”

The guy mumbled something and backed off, and Rafe didn’t even wait to see where he went. He was already guiding you inside, big hand firm on the small of your back.

Inside, where it was quieter—unfinished drywall and the faint hum of a portable fan—he finally stopped. His eyes scanned you slowly.

“That dress,” he muttered.

You gave him a look. “What about it?”

He swallowed hard. “You wore that here?”

You crossed your arms. “Why, you don’t like it now?”

Rafe ran a hand down his face, looking borderline feral. “Oh, I like it. Too much. That’s the problem.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “So you’re mad ‘cause I look good?”

“I’m mad ‘cause you look good around other men.” He moved closer, eyes narrowing. “They shouldn’t even know what your legs look like. That’s for me.”

“You think I wore this for them?”

Rafe grunted. “I know you didn’t. Doesn’t matter. You still walked out there lookin’ like a damn dream.”

You shook your head with a soft laugh, resting a hand against his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re mine,” he said, kissing you hard before you could argue.

He didn’t pull back for a long moment. Just stood there, hands firm on your hips, lips pressed to yours like he was still staking a claim.

“You really came all the way out here just to bring me lunch?” he finally asked.

You nodded. “You sounded tired. Figured you could use a break.”

His gaze softened. “You always know what I need.”

“I also know you’re gonna murder your coworkers if I show up again like this.”

He smirked. “Not if you wear my jacket over it.”

You grinned. “Deal.”

And when you finally sat on the tailgate of his truck to eat—Rafe beside you, protective as ever, practically growling if anyone even looked your way—you couldn’t help but love him a little more for it.

Because sure, he was over-the-top. Maybe even a little unhinged. But you knew underneath all that jealous rage was the same man who always kissed your knuckles, remembered your favorite drinks, and called just to hear your voice.

And the way he looked at you—like you were the sun and the moon and every star in between—made you feel beautiful, wanted, his.

Even in a sundress at a job site.

༶⋆｡ﾟ☽✿⋆˚✧✿☾ﾟ｡⋆༶

a/n: i’d like to personally apologize to the guy who tried to offer you help—Rafe will let him live, eventually. maybe. moral of the story: don’t flirt with the boss’ wife especially if she’s in a sundress, unless you’ve got a death wish (or a strong dental plan). shoutout to blue collar Rafe for keeping jobsite HR in business.

♥️ lani

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kxsagi · 3 days ago

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heyyy it’s 01/05 so i wanted to request a blue lock fic with the characters finding readers jealousy adorable? with isagi, sae, rin, nagi, and others? ty!

“𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚�� 𝐡𝐢𝐦? 𝐣𝐚𝐢𝐥”

a/n: if my man giggles at another girl’s jokes, i’m pushing him down the stairs

ft. isagi yoichi, itoshi sae, itoshi rin, nagi seishiro, kaiser michael, ness alexis, shidou ryusei

isagi yoichi

he’s so confused at first. like, genuinely puzzled when you glare at a waitress who calls him handsome.

“love… you know you’re the only one who calls me that, right?” he says as if it’s a codename.

once he realizes you're jealous, he gets all flustered and smiley.

you pout? he melts. you roll your eyes? he giggles. you cross your arms? he starts poking your cheeks to make you laugh.

“you’re jealous? of her? love, she doesn’t even know me like you do. you’ve seen me ugly cry after missing a penalty. she could never.”

kisses your temple 400 times until you stop being fake mad.

itoshi sae

you try to be subtle. keyword: try.

but he catches it instantly.

“you’re staring like you want to fight her.”

cue your smug little shrug like ‘maybe i do.’

he leans down real close, eyes lidded and smug. “you know i only like one girl enough to deal with her attitude 24/7. and she’s standing right here.”

he acts like he’s unbothered but the moment you look away, he has this soft little smile like yeah... my girl’s possessive. hot.

next time someone flirts with him, he wraps an arm around your waist just to watch you smirk like that’s right, mine.

itoshi rin

oh, he’s obsessed with it.

you’re fuming and he’s just standing there trying not to grin.

“you’re mad?”

you: “why was she touching your arm?”

him: “i mean. i do have really nice arms.”

bastard.

he fully uses it as an excuse to tease you. every time you get possessive, he’ll lean into your neck and mumble, “mine,” just to make you say it back.

but if someone gets too bold, he’s not smiling anymore. one cold stare and they’re gone.

then he turns to you like, “happy now?”

(you are. you’re very happy.)

nagi seishiro

thinks it’s lowkey funny that you’re huffing over something so “small.”

“you jealous again? that’s kinda cute.”

deadpan, lazy grin, but he scoots closer anyway.

he starts being annoying about it. uses it as a way to get your attention.

“someone looked at me today. you gonna kiss me or fight them?”

but he actually gets really clingy when you’re jealous. like he’ll throw his arm over your shoulder in front of people and go, “mine,” like a sleepy toddler claiming a toy.

and he always looks smug when you glare at someone. like, that’s his girl. look at her go.

kaiser michael

oh. he lives for it.

“you’re jealous? that’s so sexy of you.”

literally eggs it on just to see you snap a little.

“schatz, should i give her my number? you look like you’re gonna push me down the stairs.”

he’s not going to. he just wants to see that sparkle in your eyes when you’re about to fight someone.

kisses you all over when you get feisty. “you care about me soooo much. it’s adorable.”

and he starts getting even more possessive back. if you get jealous, he’s clinging. arm around your waist, hand in your back pocket, whispering “mine” in your ear with that cocky smirk.

ness alexis

ness is clingy by default. but the second you get possessive? he goes full anime blushy mode.

someone complimented his eyes and called him “soft boy material.”

you didn’t like that. at all.

you pulled him away mid-conversation like “he doesn’t talk to strangers, sorry.”

he was literally glowing. “oh my gosh. that was soooo hot.”

“i was serious.”

“even hotter.”

he starts fluttering his lashes like a cartoon schoolgirl.

“are you gonna fight someone for me? steal me away? ruin their credit score?”

you make one vaguely aggressive comment and he’s spinning in the air like a ballerina.

sometimes he acts extra petty just to provoke people so you’ll act mean and protective.

it backfires. you punish him by ignoring him for two hours.

he cries into kaiser’s shoulder and kaiser tells him to “be normal.”

he never learns.

shidou ryusei

oh. oh he’s INSANE about it.

“awww, you wanna bite someone? that’s so hot.”

he deadass starts wagging his metaphorical tail when you get mad.

“do it. scratch their eyes out. c’mon. you’d look so sexy in mugshots.”

you: “i am one inch from strangling you.”

him: “kinky.”

he loves it so much, he starts acting even more scandalous.

“you’re mine,” you snap.

he groans like you just proposed. “say that again but with a little more ‘i’ll ruin your life’ energy.”

he posts selfies with you captioned “don’t touch or i’ll bite” with a smiley face.

you hate it. he lives for it.

“you really like when i get crazy,” you mutter.

“baby, i like it when you get homicidal. you’re so hot when you threaten violence.”

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estrellami-1 · 1 day ago

Text

Steddie Microfic

May prompt: delay

408 words

Rating: G

No warnings apply

@steddiemicrofic

“Harrington’s got her, don’t’cha, big boy?” Eddie asks, grinning wide like he’s talking about something lower-stakes than this, like stealing a Winnebago is a game.

Steve doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know what he can say.

Later, Robin certainly knows what to say. “Steve.”

“I know.”

“Steven.”

“I know, Robs.”

“Steven Annette-”

“That’s your middle name, Robin, and I know! Okay? I know! What the fuck do you want me to do about it?” He runs a hand through his hair, clamps his fingers shut. Pulls a little, relishes in the slight sting tickling along his scalp. “I froze up, and I’m just gonna freeze up again, because it’s the end of the fucking world and what am I supposed to do? Tell the dude?”

“Would it really be so bad?”

Steve levels her with a look. “Oh, I dunno. How would you take it if the person whose friends in high school bullied you came up to you and was talking about how they like you?” He sets judgmental hands on his hips.

“Yeah, but Dingus,” she says softly, “big boy? Even I couldn’t make that sound like anything other than what it is. He’s flirting with you. And what’s wrong with a little end-of-the-world flirting?”

“Nothing,” Steve mutters, scuffing his shoe and sighing. “Everything. I want it to mean something, Robbie.”

“And it won’t with him? Or it will with him? And which is the bigger problem?”

“Either. Both.” He sighs. “I dunno.”

“Well,” she tells him, “way I see it, you got two options. Either you tell him how you feel, or you don’t. You talk it out, or you keep it locked up forever.” She leans against him, taking a break from making Molotovs. “And I know which sounds worse.”

He sighs, watches Eddie tackle Dustin, their laughs ringing out over the field. “Yeah. Me too.”

It’s later, after the War Zone and planning and more preparation, when they’re in the Upside Down and Eddie tells him, “Make him pay.”

There’s no hesitation. No delay from Steve’s brain to his body, to his mouth to form the words. He steps forward and kisses Eddie, hard and needing. “Make it out alive,” he demands. Begs. His hands, around Eddie’s neck, tremble.

Eddie brings a hand up, clasps Steve’s forearm. “I’m no hero,” he murmurs. “I told you that. And you just gave me the best kind of incentive.”

“Good,” Steve breathes, off-kilter.

“Good,” Eddie agrees, grinning.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #robin buckley #platonic stobin #robin being a great wingman #steddiemicrofic #steddiemicrofic may #may prompt #delay #starambles

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alchemistc · 1 day ago

Text

in three, two, one (anxiety)

The door swings on its hinges to reveal the crossed arms and unimpressed expression on Henrietta Wilson's face.

"Okay," Tommy says, with no idea what he's about to experience.

Hen doesn't move, but she does lift an incredibly judgmental brow. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Well. No sugarcoating it, then. "Several things," is not an answer that's gonna make her happy, however it is the one he has available to him at the moment.

Hen rolls her jaw the same time she purses her lips, and Tommy remembers that for a while there he'd stopped having an expressive face around her because he was afraid she'd somehow know.

She had known, but not because his eyebrows did half his talking for him.

"I'm gonna be honest, I don't know what answer you wanted from me."

"Not that one."

And then suddenly Hen is in his house.

He doesn't really have people over. He's certainly never had Hen over.

He took a sledgehammer to a side wall three days ago and he hasn't had more time to work on it than sweeping away the debris.

It's very noticeable.

Hen stops in her tracks halfway down the main hall to stare at it. "Several things," she repeats mockingly, under her breath, and makes a beeline for the kitchen that's now clearly visible behind the skeleton of a non-load-bearing wall.

He hasn't seen the 118 since the funeral. Not unexpected. Definitely not on purpose. He's always been just a hair outside of that group.

"So, my best firefighter is moping because the man he's been obsessed with for more than a year now hasn't called, and you're... knocking out walls."

"I've been meaning to knock out that wall for three years."

Her eyes roll around in her skull for a while before they catch his gaze. It's not an easy gaze to ignore. "Sure, nothing to do with the fact that the one conversation I know you two had in recent memory has to do with how annoyingly small and closed in the kitchen in his rental is."

A single moment of levity in a horribly sad day. But Evan hadn't asked to talk. Evan just lost the man he considered a father. So Tommy made small talk, and bit back the envious beast inside him when Eddie and Evan devolved into a squabble about the general layout of the house.

It had just reminded him of his plan, is all. The plan he's had for years, now. Nothing to do with Evan at all.

"You want some coffee? Orange juice? Maybe my drill so you can just lobotomize me instead of giving me cryptic, judgy eyes?"

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

Tommy shoots her an exasperated look. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here against my own nature, to tell you to grow a pair and reach out to the man you stole government property and committed multiple felonies for."

"I've texted Howie," Tommy shoots back, just to avoid the inevitable for a few more moments. Out of all of them, he definitely never would have expected Hen to be the one staging an intervention. Or whatever this is meant to be.

The glib response was a mistake. The cheese Danish she tosses at his head looks delicious even as it bounces off his cheek and sails to the floor.

Tommy sighs. "Evan is fully capable of picking up the phone."

His daring rescue had ended in a loss. A major one. Tommy still doesn't fully understand what Athena had been thinking, asking him to help the 118 carry Bobby to his final destination. Something about firsts and lasts, although he'd been a little too wired to catch more than the gist, when she'd called.

"And what, exactly, is your issue with picking it up?"

The million dollar question. He'd dropped everything the moment he heard I need your help and it's weird and probably super illegal. A little breathless, like he was running. Like Tommy has heard him countless times in much more pleasant scenarios. But then there'd been Bobby. The funeral. Evan's stoicism leaking from his pores, three weeks on.

They'd both done a great job of making it not Tommy's place to do anything about that. And grief - grief changes the whole world. Entire personalities. The loss hasn't even had time to fully bruise over, even for Tommy. He doesn't know how he could have a place in that. Doesn't know if he'd even be wanted if he tried.

"So you're both idiots, is what you're telling me."

"Where'd you get those danishes?" Tommy asks, because avoidance is his bread and butter.

Hen's got a big ass Tupperware full of them he hadn't noticed until she cracked it open to commit assault with a pastry.

Hen groans. "These are Buck's Missing Tommy But Still Not Calling Him For Some Reason Danishes. Pretty sure he hasn't slept in three days. Half the station woke up to some sort of baked good on their doorstep this morning."

The fact that Tommy wasn't in the rotation probably means something. His house is a lot closer to Evan's than Hen's, Maddie's, likely Ravi's too.

"Eat a danish and call him, idiot," Hen says, and shoves the Tupperware at his chest.

---

The danish is to die for. Perfect flaky crust. Cream cheese mixture to die for. Three blueberries on top, a perfect little dusting of powdered sugar.

Tommy eats three in the husk of his kitchen and decides he hates the subway tiles he installed after he hooked up with Evan and immediately blew up any chance at reconciliation.

He's got the oven pulled out and a crowbar in hand to yank them out before he manages to take another full breath.

Hen seems to think he's got another shot at this. At the life he'd dipped his toes into, constantly darting away from that first chill of the water, never allowing his body to get comfortable. Never allowing his mind enough time to adjust to the temperature of it.

And yet somewhere along the way Evan had baked himself into Tommy's life - his routines, his itineraries, the day to day mundanity of Tommy's life. He'd made the world momentarily brighter, exponentially more terrifying.

Tommy'd been looking for ways to bail out even as he was giving Evan glimpses of his life.

He'd waited too long. Given himself too many allowances. Let Evan settle under his skin, in his bones.

Tommy lays the crowbar out on the counter. Wipes his suddenly sweaty hands on his jeans.

Reaches over the back of the oven to grab his phone.

Bangs his head on the overhang of the microwave as he tries to slip out from behind his panic project.

Well.

This is gonna go well.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #tevan fic #hen saying 'what the hell is wrong with you' came to me at 6 am and i couldn't get rid of the bunny

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sirfrogsworth · 2 days ago

Text

So Elon has decided to skip the imminent disaster of global climate change and just move on to a calamity 5 billion years in the future.

If you ever need to understand Elon's motivations, it's all this.

Okay and a little bit the woke mind virus.

But mostly this.

He wants to get to Mars more than anything. It's why the only thing he can speak intelligently about is his rockets. He has put in the time and effort to learn about them because this is his singular passion.

A lovely Youtube physicist did a video about SpaceX and she said half of the rockets blow up and Elon just wants more money. And it was disappointing to hear her say that because she is a scientist and both things are inaccurate.

SpaceX would be an amazing company without Elon. His leadership is the only thing really holding it back. They have put lots of cool shit into space. Their Falcon program is the most productive and cheapest rocket program in history. They put more stuff into space than everyone else combined.

They had to blow up part of the graph just so you could see the competition. Half of the SpaceX rockets are *not* blowing up.

Starship is a specific prototype. It has nothing to do with their main rocket business. Starship is Elon wanting to go to Mars. It is basically him trying to send a 3 story building into space. And he keeps blowing it up because that is the fastest way to develop a rocket. He's wasting a lot of money by trying to speedrun a trip to Mars in his lifetime. And these tests are bit more like crash test data than expecting the rocket and Starship to actually function properly. It's a process and they have goals for each launch, and for the most part, they reach those goals. Any success after those goals is gravy to them. But they are pretty certain it is going to end in fireworks at this stage of development.

I don't know if they will get it to work. It would be nice because a functional spaceship that size could do a lot of cool science. But Elon's goals and NASA's goals are going to conflict in a major way at some point in the future. And I'm worried that may damage space exploration.

Starship is very different than their Falcon program. It's a science experiment. Falcons rarely blow up. They get shit to space like the James Webb telescope.

And as far as Elon just wanting more money... sort of.

His personal wealth has not been a huge concern of his for a while. Otherwise he wouldn't have let Tesla fall apart like it has. The wealth he is actually concerned about is not his own. Going to Mars is a trillion-dollar-plus endeavor. Even the richest man in the world cannot raise that much money.

Only a government could fund that.

Elon knows this. He figured it out a while ago. And when he saw an opportunity to get his hands on the government purse strings, he jumped at the chance.

He jumped in the shape of an X like a giant loser.

I'm *positive* Elon thought, "If I could save the government a trillion dollars, they'll give it to me so I can go to Mars."

But it is probably breaking his brain right now after learning he isn't this super genius who can figure out government bureaucracy in a weekend with a bunch of coding dorks.

He got depressed and realized his cool plan to get to Mars was falling apart.

Whoops.

Elon will say anything to get to Mars. He will lie about anything to get to Mars. He will consort with anyone to get to Mars. If you are ever unsure why Elon is doing something, it's to get to Mars. His moral calculus is based on this. In his delusional mind, everything is justifiable to save the human race.

He does have side quests. He wants to repopulate the Earth with his seed. And he uses IVF because you can drastically increase the odds of getting a boy if you pay extra. And he is angry at his trans daughter because he wants boys to continue his mission to spread Musk seed. He spends $50,000 extra to make sure he gets boys and she is messing with the plan.

Oh, and he really really wants people to think he is good at video games. And he wants people to like him. And he wants to kill the woke mind virus because he didn't get the boy he paid for.

But Mars is *almost* all he cares about.

Elon thinks Earth is doomed and he wants immortality from being the man who saved human civilization. He truly believes our existence is dependent on being "multiplanetary." It might be the only thing he believes.

Saving the human race is supposed to be his legacy.

And it is killing us.

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lizardho · 17 hours ago

Text

One of the weird things about growing up me is just the increased lack of social awareness sort of slowly reaching a crescendo in junior high. I remember getting picked on a lot more as I got older and older in elementary school, and the bullying started hitting in a weird way in Jr. High. Like, my knowledge of age-appropriate things had finally capped out and I was just entirely oblivious to the fact I was being picked on. Sometimes people made it easy, like the kid who told me my mom made me wrong, but sometimes it was harder. I do have some interesting memories from that time, though, and a lot of them are centered around a very small group of people who were willing to explain things to me. I remember in 7th grade I met a girl in a math class who was incomprehensibly kind to me. She wanted to be a special ed teacher, her older and younger brothers were both on the autism spectrum, and she was friends with all the emo and goth kids, so she was like the perfect storm of patient kindness and anti-establishment knowledge I needed. I remember one day walking out of math class after a fairly hard quiz, and she said,

“Oh man, that quiz was hard. I could really use a hug.”

An I responded with, “Oh, yeah, a hug would be awesome.” And then we just kinda sat there until I saw the light flick on in her brain, like “Oooh, that’s what her deal is!” and she said “Hey, can I have a hug from you?” and I said, “Yeah!” And gave her a hug, and like, even if I didn’t know what my deal was, she sure as hell did.

In addition to being absurdly kind, she was also EXTREMELY conventionally attractive, good at makeup, funny, and had an insatiable bloodlust for bullies, so she drew a lot of a certain type of people in. I always kinda felt lucky just being her friend because God only knows how I would have lived otherwise. One day we were walking to an assembly and she did a little jog to catch up to me because my confused gay ass always walked SUPER fast, and she got me to slow down so we could talk and that was VERY kind. And because of that, one of the kids in our class who had a HUGE crush on her and didn’t know the next thing about her thought that if he made me look mad enough or dumb enough or something that she’d stop talking to me and start talking to him. So he starts by coming up to me and saying,

“Hey dude, I fucking fingered your sister last night.”

And I am a bonafide grade-a dumbass who Does Not Know What Sex Is so I thought he meant he fingered her for a crime. But my sister was like 5 so I was like “What crime could a 5 year old commit?” so I was like “What do you mean? Like, shoplifting?”

And to his credit, he kinda stopped for a second. Not because he wanted to, but because with all his experience as a bully he had yet to encounter someone quite as earnestly confused as me. After he recovered from what, to him, was a bizarre crazy-person non-sequitur, he said,

“No, dude, I mean I fingered your sister last night.”

And I said, “Dude, she’s like…5, what could you have fingered her for?” And he was doubling down so he goes “Because I fucking wanted to,” with a big cocky smile on his face, which was NOT an answer to my question because I NEEDED to know what crime this dick thought a 5 year old could commit between 6:00 dinner and 8:30 bed time. So I kept asking, “But like, what was the crime? Like what did you finger her for?” and he kept being like “Because I want to” or “Because your sister’s nasty like that,” both of which were wholly insufficient answers. He thought I was ignoring him or stupid, and I thought he was a total moron, and realistically both of us were right.

And the whole time we’re talking about this, she is glaring daggers at him and telling him to Shut The Entire Fuck Up because she knows what he’s saying and she knows I do not and she doesn’t want me to learn like this. And finally, because he thinks she’s doing that thing that girls don’t actually do but that boys THINK they do of feigning being mad to play along and egg me on, he starts looking at her like they’re in cahoots, and she says “Oh my God you sick jerk just leave us ALONE!” and that gets a teacher’s attention. And suddenly he’s red-faced and confused because he thought he was looking like Chad Thundercock the top king stud of all time and realistically he’s looking more like the comedy relief pseudo-bully from an 80s film. And because she yelled at him to leave us alone, a teacher almost immediately comes over to check on what’s going on, and she explains it all in graphic detail and that kid got detention and probably a tension headache from trying to make his brain think good enough to figure out how all this happened. And once it was done she just grabbed my arm by the elbow and said “I’m so sorry about that, come on, let’s just go,” and I said, “Idk why you’re sorry, I don’t even know what’s going on.” And she said, “I know, sweetie, I know. Do me a favor and don’t look it up.” And because I promised her I didn’t end up knowing what fingering was until I was a Sophomore in high school when someone in theater explained it to me and I was retroactively so mad at this kid I almost went blind.

I actually have a LOT of stories about this kind of stuff so if y’all like this I will post more.

#tgirl swag #mormon #ex mormon #exmormon #trans pride #trans stuff #bullying #tw bullying #tw bullies #autism

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cassiemaebarnes · 3 days ago

Text

Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 13

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 6,607

Warnings: 18+ only, minors DNI, explicit content

Dinner had come and gone in a blur of laughter, drinks, and more food than anyone really needed. Plates were cleared, the server brought out coffees and dessert menus, and no one seemed in a rush to leave. The group had lingered, sprawled out around the big round table, as they settled into casual conversation.

You were leaned slightly into Bucky, your shoulder against his, both of you sipping from warm mugs while the others chattered around you.

Inevitably, the conversation circled back to the elevator.

“So,” Sam said, leaning forward with a smirk, “we’re just not gonna talk about it anymore? Like it didn’t happen?”

You groaned. “We already talked about it.”

Clint pointed a spoon at you. “We watched it. That’s different.”

Wanda nodded thoughtfully. “It was very…passionate.”

“Explosive,” Nat added with a smug grin.

Peter looked mildly traumatized. “It was so fast. The doors closed and it was like – bam.”

“You didn’t even breathe first,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Just immediate heat.”

Bucky gave an amused sigh beside you. “You act like we staged it.”

“Honestly,” Tony chimed in, “with that kind of timing? I’m not ruling it out.”

Wanda shook her head, but she was smiling too. “We knew something was going on. It was obvious.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Obvious, but still…surprising.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, looking between the two of you. “You guys were all slow-burn tension, lingering glances, brushing hands – then suddenly we’re watching a rom-com finale in an elevator.”

Nat tilted her head. “So…when did it actually start?”

All eyes turned to you and Bucky.

You exchanged a glance. A silent agreement passed between you.

“Yesterday,” you said casually. “After shopping.”

There was a beat of silence.

“That’s it?” Sam said. “You go shopping and come back soulmates?”

“Must’ve been some really good sales,” Tony muttered.

Clint leaned forward. “Did something happen at Victoria’s Secret?”

You just gave a tight-lipped smile and took another sip of your drink.

Bucky rested his hand on your knee under the table. “Let’s just say things escalated.”

Peter buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”

Wanda laughed softly. “You don’t have to tell us. We already know too much.”

“Way too much,” Steve added with a pointed look at Tony, who was still very proud of himself for digging up the footage.

“Not like that,” you said, waving them off. “We actually almost got kicked out for laughing so hard.”

“You almost got kicked out for laughing,” Bucky said, giving you a look.

“You were the one making me laugh!” you fired back, pointing a finger at him.

“Not my fault I’m funny,” he said, smirking.

“Well if you didn’t get kicked out for laughing, you would’ve gotten kicked out for touching all the thongs,” you said, raising your eyebrows at him.

That got the table’s full attention.

Tony nearly spit out his drink. “I’m sorry – what?”

“Excuse me?” Nat said, eyes already gleaming.

Bucky held up a hand like he was under oath. “Okay, pause. That sounds worse than it was.”

“Oh, I need to hear this,” Sam said, leaning forward with way too much interest.

“I was just–” Bucky started, but you were already cutting in.

“He was grabbing them. Holding them up and inspecting them like he was on a mission.”

“I was making observations,” Bucky said defensively. “They were tiny. It was a scientific evaluation.”

Clint was nearly wheezing. “What kind of science experiment involves fondling lace?”

“I wasn’t fondling! I was–” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Okay, look. I was just picking them up and making comments.”

“Oh, he was,” you said, eyes twinkling. “He picked up this bright pink one and said, ‘This barely counts as fabric.’”

Sam was laughing now. “He’s not wrong.”

“He held up a mesh one and said it looked like a bag of onions from the grocery store,” you added.

That sent Wanda and Nat into giggles, and even Steve had to bite back a smile.

“You’re killing me,” Peter mumbled, red-faced and trying not to picture anything.

“I was just trying to entertain her!” Bucky said, throwing his hands up. “It was a distraction tactic. She was blushing so hard I thought she might pass out.”

“And yet,” you said sweetly, “you still walked me in there. Proud as anything.”

“I carried your bag,” he muttered. “Like a gentleman.”

“You also asked the cashier if they made bulletproof versions.”

That broke the table.

Even Steve lost it, laughing into his glass as Sam wiped tears from his eyes.

“I cannot believe you two are real,” Nat said, shaking her head.

“Oh, they’re real,” Tony said, already reaching for his phone again. “And I’ve got a whole folder to prove it.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Bucky muttered under his breath, “I’m going to rewire the elevator system. Tonight.”

“Why, you planning on doing more in there?” Clint said, raising his eyebrows.

You just shook your head as the rest of the team kept laughing.

The teasing continued for a few more minutes, but eventually, someone changed the subject – probably Steve, out of mercy. You leaned back into Bucky’s side, still red-faced but laughing, your hand brushing against his under the table.

And even if you couldn’t keep the story straight, the secret was long gone.

But somehow, it all felt even better this way.

Eventually, everyone started to get up from their seats, finally filing out of the restaurant. When you got back to the compound, it was almost midnight.

Everyone else scattered, heading back to their rooms, but you stayed in the kitchen, pulling the freezer door open.

“Midnight snack?” Bucky asked, coming up behind you.

“Yep. I deserve it,” you said, grabbing a pint of your favorite ice cream out of the freezer.

Bucky was already opening the silverware drawer, pulling out two spoons. He handed you one as you pulled the lid off.

You dug in first, taking a big bite and sighing as you leaned against the counter.

Buck took a bite next as you just looked at him.

“I thought you only liked old man flavors,” you said, scooping up another bite.

“They’re not old man flavors,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Then why is it only old men who get them?” you asked, raising your eyebrows.

“Because they’re the only ones smart enough to know that this,” he said, pointing his spoon at the container, “is too sweet.”

“Oh please,” you said, waving him off. “Only an old man would say that.”

He just side-eyed you and smirked. “I guess you’re into old men then.”

“I guess I am,” you said, smiling up at him.

You kept eating in silence for a few minutes, until you finally decided on a plan of action. You didn’t forget about what he did in the elevator earlier, and you needed to get him back double since everyone else saw it now, too.

You took another slow spoonful, casually leaning against the island. “Hey, Buck?”

He glanced over at you, still chewing. “Yeah?”

You grinned – then let your spoon “slip,” just slightly, letting a dollop of ice cream fall right onto your shirt, just over your chest.

You gasped dramatically. “Ugh – dammit.”

Bucky froze, spoon halfway to his mouth.

“I hate when that happens,” you said, voice as innocent as possible, looking down at your shirt like it was just another everyday inconvenience.

He just eyed you with an amused look on his face before reaching over and grabbing a paper towel.

But before he could say anything, you set the pint on the counter, grabbed the hem of your shirt with both hands, and in one fluid motion, pulled it off.

Revealing your new red bra.

You shook your head like it was nothing, plucking the paper towel out of his hand as his eyes swept over you, landing on your chest.

“Ugh, thanks Bucky. Such a mess,” you muttered, patting at your skin.

Bucky had not moved.

Not a blink. Not a breath.

Just wide blue eyes, completely transfixed.

“Bucky?” you asked sweetly, glancing over your shoulder.

Still frozen.

“Hmm?” he finally croaked.

You tossed the paper towel in the trash and casually walked past him toward the doorway, letting your bare shoulders and red straps do all the work.

You paused beside him, your voice low and smooth in his ear. “That was for the elevator.”

Then you disappeared down the hallway, leaving him standing there, spoon still in hand, looking like someone had just hit pause on his entire nervous system.

But you weren’t done yet.

You pulled your shirt back on before stepping in the elevator, not wanting Tony to have any more embarrassing videos.

And as you walked down the hall to your room, you pulled the group chat up on your phone, attached the video of Bucky sleep talking, then pressed send.

You grinned as you stepped into your bedroom.

You pulled your shirt off again, then threw on an oversized t-shirt, making sure you could still see the red bra straps as you made your way back downstairs. As you walked into the elevator again, the group chat was already blowing up.

Natasha: Oh my god😭

Sam: “THE CAT TOOK THE SYRUP” I’M LOSING IT 💀💀💀

Tony: Please tell me this is the start of a documentary. “The Waffle Wars: Barnes’ Untold Story”

Peter: WHY DOES THIS SOUND LIKE A PIXAR MOVIE

I would 100% watch it

Steve: He always did take breakfast seriously.

Clint: “Waffles got legs.” Me too, man. Me too. 🤝

Wanda: Is he okay?? 😭😂

Sam: This man is fighting demons in a diner at 3 am

Tony: “NO BUTTER” – he said that with his chest

You: He’s literally going to kill me when he sees this 😂

Natasha: Worth it. We needed this.

Peter: can we auto-tune it and make a remix???

Tony: Already on it. Dropping the track by midnight. Featuring DJ Syrupcat.

Steve: Please don’t encourage him.

Sam: Too late. It’s gonna be my ringtone

Bucky: …I hate all of you

Tony: 🥞🥞🥞🥞🥞

Sam: 🐱🥄

Peter: 🧇🦵

You: I’m sleeping with one eye open tonight.

Bucky: Good. So am I. Gotta protect my pancakes.

When you walked back into the kitchen, Bucky was leaning up against the counter on his phone as you tried to hold in a laugh.

He looked up right away, giving you a look. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I had to get you back double since you got us exposed.”

“I don’t remember you exactly pushing me off in the elevator,” he said, raising an eyebrow at you. “In fact, I remember you wrapping your legs around me.”

“Because you picked me up and pinned me against the wall!” you yelled, trying not to laugh.

“And you know you liked it,” he fired back, smirking.

You paused, then just sighed and rolled your eyes, knowing you couldn’t argue.

Because you did like it.

You leaned back against the island, and before you could reach for the ice cream again, Bucky took a step toward you, looking down at you with a smirk. He stopped right in front of you, then reached out and placed his hands on your hips.

“So you do like when I pick you up, huh doll?” he said, picking you up effortlessly and setting you on the counter.

Your heart started beating like crazy, but you didn’t want him to get the satisfaction of making you flustered again. So you just raised an eyebrow at him.

“I think you’re the one who likes picking me up.”

He just kept his eyes on you, trying to make you break. But you just held his eye contact for a little longer, before turning to grab the pint of ice cream and your spoon.

You started swinging your legs back and forth, with them brushing against Bucky’s legs, like sitting on the counter like this was completely normal. You scooped up a big spoonful of ice cream, eating it before you dipped it back in and held up a spoonful to Bucky’s mouth.

“Want some?” you said with your mouth full.

He just huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

“I hate you, actually.”

“Really?” you said, tapping your chin while your legs were still swinging. “Because I vividly remember you telling me you liked me just this morning.”

He just chuckled and shook his head again. “Just eat your ice cream.”

He took a step back so he wasn’t so close, but he still kept a hand on your hip as you continued eating.

A few minutes later you sighed and set the container down next to you. “I’m full.”

Without saying a word, Bucky just stepped away and put the lid back on the ice cream before slipping it back in the freezer. He took both of your spoons and rinsed them in the sink as you leaned back on your hands, watching him.

Then, he walked back over to you, grabbing your waist and lifting you up off the counter, setting you back on your feet on the ground.

You raised an eyebrow. “You seriously think I can’t jump down from the counter.”

“No. I think you wanted me to pick you up again,” he responded, smirking.

You just rolled your eyes again and smacked him lightly on the arm as you started walking away, him following right behind you.

“Ugh, I can’t wait to get out of these jeans,” you said, pulling at the waistband. “I should’ve changed when I went up the first time.”

“Are you gonna come back to my room after?” Bucky asked, looking down at you.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What, you think you’re gonna get some?” you asked, laughing.

“No,” he said, softly, looking a little embarrassed. “I just sleep better when you’re there.”

You could’ve melted right there.

But you just smiled at him, feeling bad for joking with him now. “Of course I will.”

He smiled at you, then you looped your arm through his, leaning your head on his shoulder as you continued down the hallway toward the elevator.

When you got in, Bucky pressed 8, saying he would just go up to your room with you.

You walked into your room and went straight to your dresser as Bucky plopped down on the edge of your bed.

You pulled open your drawer and immediately peeled off your jeans, stepping out of them. You grabbed a pair of sleep shorts and pulled them on, then bent down and picked up your jeans.

You took a step toward your laundry basket, then froze, not even realizing what you did until now.

You slowly turned toward Bucky, jeans still in hand.

He looked a little shocked when you made eye contact with him, but not as bad as you thought he was gonna be.

“Sorry,” you said, cringing. “I promise I didn’t mean to do that. I already got back at you enough,” you said, laughing.

He just shook his head and looked down, chuckling. “You’re gonna kill me doll.”

You threw your jeans in the basket before going into the bathroom and getting ready for bed. You also took your bra off, knowing you definitely couldn’t do that in front of Bucky.

When you came back out of the bathroom, Bucky was standing near your door, waiting for you. You padded over and gave him a little smirk as he fell into step beside you, both of you walking quietly to his room.

Once inside, you headed straight for his bed, climbing in and laying back against the pillows. You pulled the blanket up over you, watching him from across the room without bothering to hide it.

Bucky didn’t say anything, just started getting changed – right in front of you. He reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged it up over his head, his muscles flexing with the motion, the ridges of his abs visible in the soft lighting as he tossed the shirt aside.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep your face neutral, but your heart rate definitely didn’t get the memo.

Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and slowly pushed them down, leaving him in nothing but his boxers. He stood there for a moment before turning toward you, clearly aware of the way your eyes followed him, the smallest smirk tugging at his lips.

“See something you like?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

You rolled your eyes, even as your face heated up. “Please. Don’t flatter yourself.”

He chuckled, clearly not buying it, then turned to grab a pair of sweatpants, tugging them on at a leisurely pace before pulling a t-shirt over his head. You just kept watching, not even trying to be subtle anymore.

When he disappeared into the bathroom, you let out a slow breath and blinked up at the ceiling.

A few minutes later, the bathroom light flicked off and the door opened again. You watched as he crossed the room and climbed into bed beside you, the mattress dipping slightly as he slid closer and wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you in against his chest.

“Comfortable?” he murmured against your ear.

You smiled softly. “Very.”

There was a pause, then he added, “You know you drive me crazy, right?”

Your smile grew. “I know.”

His hand lightly traced patterns against your side through your shirt, and you shifted to look up at him.

He was already looking down at you, a mix of softness and hunger in his eyes.

You pushed yourself up slowly, giving him a little smirk before kissing him.

His hands immediately went up into your hair, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. Your hand cupped the side of his face, before you slowly lowered it and roamed over his chest and abs.

You broke the kiss, breathing heavily as you sat up. Bucky lifted his head immediately, looking at you like a sad puppy, causing you to smirk at him even more. He pushed himself up and shifted back, so he was leaning against the headboard.

He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, you swung your leg over him, straddling him. He froze, then slowly smiled, leaning back in to kiss you before his hands grabbed your hips.

You slung your arms around his neck, one hand going up into his hair as your other stayed on his back, feeling his tight muscles through his t-shirt.

He deepened the kiss once again, tongue beginning to part your lips, exploring your mouth.

Slowly, you started to rock back and forth on his lap, pulling a low groan out of him. He gripped your hips harder now, not stopping you, but making sure you keep a slow, steady rhythm.

You slid your hands down his chest again, then around his waist, pulling him flush against your chest. Bucky’s hands slowly slid up, underneath the hem of your shirt, resting on your waist.

You stopped moving as you grabbed the bottom of Bucky’s shirt, pulling away from him as you pulled it over his head. He gave you a smug smirk as your eyes roamed over his chest and arms before you leaned in to kiss him again.

Bucky’s hands slowly started moving higher, the difference between the warm flesh and cool vibranium sending shivers throughout your body. He noticed, smiling against your lips before moving his hands to your back, pushing you further into his chest.

You could feel him getting hard beneath you now, the growing pressure unmistakable as your bodies pressed together. It only made your breath hitch, your hips stuttering slightly in response.

Bucky let out a low groan against your mouth, his lips moving with yours before he started trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. You tilted your head for him instinctively, eyes fluttering shut as he nipped lightly at your pulse point, then soothed it with his tongue.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered against your skin, his voice low and raspy.

You let out a soft sigh as he kept going – down to your collarbones, taking his time, tasting every inch of exposed skin. His hands roamed your back and sides, fingers gripping like he didn’t want to let go.

When he reached the neckline of your shirt, he paused. One hand slipped down to the hem, fingers curling under it, lifting just slightly.

His other hand pressed gently to the center of your back, holding you against him as he looked up at you. His eyes were dark, but still so tender.

“Is this okay?” he asked quietly, breathless but careful. “Can I take this off?”

Your heart clenched at the way he asked – checking in, even now, with so much care in his voice.

You nodded, whispering, “Yeah. It’s okay.”

He didn’t move for a second, just stared up at you like he was trying to memorize the moment. Then he slowly tugged the shirt up, lifting it over your head and tossing it gently to the side.

When his eyes met your chest and he realized you weren’t wearing a bra, he froze again.

His breath caught in his throat, and his hands moved instinctively to your waist, holding you in place as his gaze slowly traveled over your bare skin.

“Jesus,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re so beautiful.”

Your cheeks flushed, but the way he looked at you – like he couldn’t believe you were real – made you feel like you were glowing.

You leaned in and kissed him again, this time slower, more deliberate. Bucky let his hands wander up your back and over your sides, memorizing every curve like it was sacred.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging gently as you kissed him, but then Bucky suddenly shifted.

In one smooth, effortless motion, he flipped you – rolling you onto your back and pressing himself over you in one fluid move. You let out a soft gasp of surprise, heart pounding as you looked up at him.

He was smirking again, that same cocky expression that said he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Show-off,” you breathed, your voice slightly shaky from the rush of movement.

“You love it,” he whispered, his nose brushing against yours before he kissed you again – slower this time, but deeper. His body settled between your legs, weight supported by his elbows as he moved against you.

Then he broke the kiss, lips trailing down your jaw and neck once more, making you shiver as he lingered there. His tongue flicked out over your skin before his lips followed, warm and soft and relentless.

He kissed down to your collarbone, then lower.

Your breath hitched.

His mouth found the curve of your breast, and he paused, eyes flicking up to meet yours one more time. Just making sure.

You gave the faintest nod, already dizzy with anticipation.

That was all he needed.

His lips wrapped around your nipple, sucking gently, his tongue swirling in slow circles before he moved to the other, giving each the same reverent attention. His metal hand held your waist, grounding you, while his other slid up your side to cup your breast, thumb brushing lightly as his mouth kept working.

You arched into him, moaning softly, fingers gripping his shoulder. His hips rocked forward, slow and deliberate, pressing himself against you.

Even through the layers of clothing, you could feel the heat between you – the pressure building, the tension thrumming just under your skin.

“Bucky…” you whispered, voice barely there.

He didn’t rush.

He stayed there for a while, still worshipping your chest with soft, open-mouthed kisses, dragging his tongue slowly over your skin and letting his teeth graze lightly before soothing the spot with a kiss. You were a mess beneath him – breath shaky, fingers tangled in the sheets, body aching for more.

But he took his time. Like he wanted to memorize every inch of you.

When he finally started to move lower, his kisses trailed down your stomach, slow and deliberate. He paused at your belly button, giving you a little smirk before kissing just below it.

Then, just as you were starting to squirm from the anticipation, he pressed one last kiss to your lower stomach and started making his way back up. He kissed between your ribs, up your sternum, then back to your lips, where he kissed you deeply – tongue sliding against yours, one hand cradling the back of your head.

When he pulled back, his lips brushed against your cheek as he whispered, “Can I take these off, sweetheart?” His fingers were already hooked lightly in the waistband of your sleep shorts, waiting for your okay.

You nodded, voice caught in your throat, but that wasn’t enough for him. His eyes locked with yours again, more serious this time. “Say it, baby.”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Please.”

That was all he needed.

He sat back a little, pulling your shorts down slowly – like he wanted to savor it – and dropped them off the side of the bed. You were left in just your underwear now, your chest rising and falling fast.

Bucky’s eyes drank you in for a second before he lowered himself again, trailing kisses over your hipbone, then down your inner thigh. His vibranium hand held your knee gently, keeping your leg steady as he pressed kisses there too.

You gasped softly when his thumb rubbed lightly over the damp spot at the center of your underwear. He groaned, low and rough in his throat.

“Fuck, baby…” he said, voice low. “You’re soaked.”

You turned your head to the side, heat blooming across your cheeks.

He leaned in, lips brushing against your ear now. “That all for me?” he asked, voice rough and teasing. His thumb rubbed slow circles over the wet fabric, applying just the slightest pressure.

You whimpered, biting your lip. “Yes.”

He kissed your cheek. “Good,” he said, voice barely a growl. “Because I’m not stopping ‘til I’ve got you falling apart for me.”

Bucky pressed one last kiss just above the edge of your underwear, then looked up at you, eyes dark but still so full of care.

“Can I take these off too, baby?” he asked softly, his fingers already toying with the sides, but not moving further until you answered.

You nodded quickly, breath catching. “Yes. Please.”

He didn’t waste another second.

With slow, steady hands, he hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged them down your legs, eyes never leaving your face. Once they were off and tossed aside, he leaned back in, one hand resting on your thigh as he trailed kisses up the inside again – this time much closer, much more deliberate.

You felt his breath first – warm and slow against your already-sensitive skin. Then his lips. Gentle at first, like he was easing you into it. But when you gasped and your hips twitched, his hands held you down more firmly.

He looked up for a second, smirking. “That’s it, doll…just let me take care of you.”

And then he really started.

His tongue moved in slow, expert strokes, switching between teasing licks and deep, purposeful movements that had you gasping for air. Your fingers dove into his hair without even thinking, tugging hard as you moaned his name like it was the only word you knew.

“Bucky – oh my god–”

That only spurred him on. He groaned low against you, the vibration sending a fresh wave of pleasure through your body. He gripped your thighs tighter, keeping you spread for him as he focused entirely on you – like this was all he wanted, all he needed.

And you couldn’t stop saying his name.

Over and over, breathless and shaky, like a prayer.

Your hips started to roll against his mouth on instinct, every slow stroke of his tongue drawing you closer and closer to the edge. He kept you there, his hands steady on your thighs, mouth relentless in his focus.

Then – without warning – he shifted slightly, bringing one hand up, and you felt the lightest press of his finger against your entrance.

Your breath hitched. His eyes flicked up to meet yours.

“Okay?” he asked, voice low and hoarse against your skin.

You nodded quickly. “Yes – yes, please.”

With that, he slowly eased one finger inside you, keeping the pressure firm but gentle, still moving his tongue in perfect rhythm.

You arched beneath him, the new sensation overwhelming in the best way. Your fingers tightened in his hair, your thighs trembling around his shoulders as you gasped.

“Bucky – fuck–”

He groaned again, loving the way you said his name, the way your body reacted to him. He added a little curl of his finger as he moved it in and out of you, syncing the pace with his mouth until your whole body was practically humming with tension.

“That’s it,” he murmured between kisses. “You sound so good, baby. You taste even better.”

You whimpered, hips jerking as you clung to the edge, your whole body coiling tight like a spring. His finger moved deeper, firmer, mouth never stopping – his tongue, his lips, his voice all combining into something that pushed you higher and higher.

You were so close now it was unbearable.

“Bucky – I’m–” you gasped, barely able to form words.

He just hummed in response, his free hand sliding up to hold your waist gently, grounding you while you started to come undone.

Your words fell apart as your body seized with pleasure, a high gasp escaping your lips as your back arched and your thighs clamped around him. He didn’t stop – his finger kept moving in that perfect rhythm, his mouth softening just slightly but staying with you through every wave, every tremble, every broken moan of his name.

“That's it,” he murmured, voice low and full of awe between kisses to your inner thigh. “That’s my girl.”

You felt like you were floating, your whole body trembling as the rush of your orgasm pulsed through you. Your fingers slackened in his hair but didn’t let go entirely. He slowed his pace gently, easing you down from the high, coaxing you through every last ripple of sensation.

Only when your legs finally stopped shaking did he press one last kiss to the inside of your thigh, then your hip. You let out a soft, breathy sigh as he pulled back, and the bed dipped when he crawled up over you again.

His hand slid up your side, and then you felt the warmth of his mouth on your jaw, your cheek, your lips. He kissed you like he meant it – slow, sweet, and deep.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered between kisses. “So damn beautiful. You should see yourself.”

Your heart clenched at the way he looked at you – like you were the most precious thing he’d ever held.

You smiled sleepily, still catching your breath. “You’re kind of amazing, you know that?”

He grinned, brushing his nose against yours. “Yeah, but I’ve got nothing on you.”

Then he leaned down and kissed you again, his hand gently brushing your hair back as if you were something to be cherished.

Bucky’s mouth moved hungrily against yours, hands caressing your waist as the heat between your bodies grew almost unbearable. He finally sat back slightly, eyes never leaving yours as his hands moved to the waistband of his sweatpants.

With one swift motion, he pulled them down and kicked them off, followed by his boxers. You felt your breath hitch as your eyes instinctively dropped – he was fully hard now, and…big. Like, bigger than you expected. Your heart thudded in your chest.

“Too much?” he asked, the tiniest smirk playing on his lips, but there was sincerity in his voice too – he was asking seriously, giving you an out if you needed it.

You shook your head slowly, smiling. “Not even close.”

That look he gave you – part hunger, part adoration – sent a full-body shiver through you. He leaned back in, kissing you deeply, slowly. His hips shifted slightly, and you felt him brush against your entrance, just enough to make your body tense with anticipation.

Bucky pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again. “You sure, doll?”

You nodded, voice soft but sure. “I want you.”

He smiled and pressed another kiss to your lips, then trailed down again – along your jaw, your throat, the tops of your breasts. He lingered there, worshipping every inch like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His hands held your sides firmly, grounding you, steadying himself.

He pulled away again, reaching over to open his nightstand and pulling out a condom. He ripped it open before rolling it on, then bent back down to kiss you again.

You felt him guide himself gently, the anticipation building with each heartbeat.

And then – he paused, breath mingling with yours, his eyes never leaving yours.

Everything about this moment was electric: the heat, the tension, the closeness. But more than anything, it was the trust, the care, the way he looked at you like you were his whole world.

Bucky hovered over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other gently cupping your cheek. His thumb brushed softly across your skin as he looked into your eyes, waiting – checking one more time.

You nodded again, barely breathing. “I’m okay,” you whispered.

He leaned down and kissed you, slow and deep, full of warmth and patience. You could feel the way he held himself back, every movement cautious, like he was determined to do this right. To make you feel safe. Cherished.

As he started to press in, he moved slowly, pausing when he felt you tense just slightly.

“Breathe, baby,” he whispered against your lips. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You took a shaky breath, wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders, grounding yourself in the strength of him, the warmth of his body. He kissed the side of your neck as he pushed in a little further.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re so tight baby.”

When he was finally fully inside, you let out a soft gasp, your body adjusting around him. He stilled, resting his forehead against yours.

“You okay?” he asked again, voice low, barely more than a breath.

You nodded, your voice just as soft. “Yeah.”

He kissed you again slowly and began a gentle rhythm, each movement careful and intentional. His hands cradled your sides, holding you like you might break, even though the way you clung to him said the opposite.

After a few minutes, the tension shifted. Your fingers started tugging a little harder at his hair. Your hips rolled to meet his. Your breath caught differently now – more desperate. Needier.

Bucky felt it too. His pace quickened slightly, his grip tightened, and he groaned softly into your neck.

“You feel incredible, baby,” he murmured, voice thick and rough with restraint. “So perfect for me.”

The tenderness was still there – woven into every kiss, every touch – but now the heat was rising between you fast, spreading like fire under your skin.

“Oh, Bucky…” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulder.

Bucky’s breath started to quicken, leaning his forehead against yours as he started to whimper.

“Fuck, doll,” he groaned, quickening his pace.

He let out one last groan before he came unraveled too with a groan, breathing heavily while you let out a sigh.

His breathing was still uneven, chest rising and falling as he hovered just above you, supporting himself with a forearm beside your head. Your hands were gently tangled in his hair, fingertips trailing lightly along his scalp, and Bucky leaned in to rest his forehead against yours.

Neither of you spoke at first. The room was quiet, other than the soft hum of the building and your slow, steady breaths syncing together.

“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice low and sincere, his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You nodded, eyes still half-closed. “Yeah,” you whispered. “More than okay.”

Bucky smiled softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then another to your temple, before shifting his weight and lying beside you. He curled his arm around your waist, pulling you close until your head was tucked against his chest. His hand rubbed small circles on your back, soothing and warm.

“I still can’t believe you’re mine,” he murmured, lips brushing against your hair.

You laughed softly, the sound muffled against his skin. “I’ve been yours.”

He exhaled, almost like a laugh, and tightened his grip just slightly. “I mean it, doll. You have no idea what you do to me.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your fingers tracing lazy shapes on his chest. “I think I’m starting to.”

For a moment, you just looked at each other – all the teasing and tension from earlier replaced with something quieter, deeper. His expression was so open, so full of affection, it made your heart ache in the best way.

Then he leaned down and kissed you again – slow, tender, like a promise he was sealing between the two of you.

A few minutes later, you slowly sat up, muscles pleasantly sore and spent. The room was quiet except for the gentle hum of the AC and the sound of Bucky’s breathing beside you – steady, calm, comforting.

“Be right back,” you whispered, brushing your fingers softly over his arm before slipping out of bed.

You padded to the bathroom, still a little wobbly on your feet, and shut the door behind you. You went to the bathroom and splashed some cool water on your face after you washed your hands. You caught your reflection in the mirror and smiled to yourself – flushed cheeks, messed up hair, and a kind of glow you couldn’t quite describe.

When you returned to the bedroom, Bucky was sitting on the edge of the bed now, leaning down to pick up his boxers. As he pulled them back on, you grabbed your sleep shorts and put them on, along with his shirt – oversized and soft – before crawling back into bed beside him.

He rolled toward you immediately, gathering you up like a blanket he’d been missing all night.

“You’re so warm,” he mumbled against your hair.

You giggled softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re the one radiating heat like a space heater.”

“Mm, shut up and cuddle me,” he said, smirking at you.

You settled in closer, his arm wrapping tightly around your waist as your head tucked beneath his chin. His fingers lazily traced up and down your spine, slow and absent-minded.

After a long, peaceful pause, he whispered, “You really stayed.”

You tilted your head just enough to look up at him. “I told you I would.”

“I know, but…” He looked down at you, brushing some hair back from your face. “I still can’t believe I get to fall asleep like this.”

You smiled, heart clenching. “Get used to it.”

He smiled back, soft and sleepy. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice a little raspy. “I think I could.”

With one last kiss to your forehead, you both sank into the mattress again, legs tangled, bodies perfectly aligned. Sleep tugged at your limbs, but it wasn’t the exhaustion of before – it was the kind that only came with feeling safe. Held. Loved.

You drifted off in his arms, the steady beat of his heart the last thing you heard before you fell asleep.

Part 14 | Masterlist

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rafesgiirl · 3 days ago

Text

You’ve seen bits of tenderness in him, but he’s more hard, icy edges than anything else, and he’s not the type of person you’d ever feel safe giving your heart to.

ugh rafe you go good and then you fuck it up man

“Yeah,” is all he can say. Because he’s already found the girl he needs. She just doesn’t need him back.

BYE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭💔💔💔💔💔💔

His stomach flips and he feels like a little kid with a crush on a girl in his class. The effect you have on him is starting to get really damn embarrassing.

oh rafey rafey...

I usually hate slow burns cause they're so... slow

BUT THIS ONE has me on a chokehold

the power play (part six)

pairing hockeyplayer! rafe cameron x tutor! reader

rating mature 18+

summary rafe is your complete opposite. the only thing you have in common with the hockey player you tutor is that he’s also recently had his heart broken. in a last-ditch effort to make the people who hurt you regret it, you agree to pretend to date.

< prev

Rafe drives down the dark street, silent while his mind races and whirls with regret.

He shouldn’t have offered to come with you tonight. He shouldn’t have let himself see you like that, with all your friends, with the guy who’s blind to how lucky he is that you love him.

Envy courses through him, burning and vicious. Who would he be if he had a life like Beck, surrounded by people who loved him? Why couldn’t he have that? Why couldn’t he be someone else? Someone you’d want?

“You might be right,” you say happily. “Maybe Beck is jealous. He wouldn’t stop looking at me tonight.”

Rafe is still in his head. He hated that your eyes wouldn’t stay on his at that party. That other eyes were on you.

“Neither would that guy who plays for Hatfield,” he mutters.

“Marcus?” You sink further into the passenger seat, settling in for the hour-long drive back to campus. “What do you mean?”

He rubs his jaw, reminded of how warm your cheek felt on his when you whispered to him during that stupid game of truth or dare.

“He likes you, too,” he says.

You have to laugh.

“No way.”

“So, he’s never tried anything,” Rafe states, unconvinced.

You look out your window as he turns onto a busier street. Through your high school days, Lyla had implied that Marcus had a crush on you, but you refuted it every time.

“Well…” You sigh. “Lyla thinks because he asked me to a dance one time, it meant something, but he told me himself he was asking me as a friend.”

“He said that to not look like a loser if you shot him down,” Rafe huffs.

“I’m not so sure,” you say.

His pain weighs even heavier. It’s messing with him how you imply that guys don’t look at you like that. It took you this long to say that maybe Beck’s jealous.

You’re oblivious to the effect you have on people. On him.

Frustration wrenches in his chest and his words come out unfiltered.

“You really are clueless about this shit,” he mutters, his voice clipped.

It’s the first time Rafe’s words truly cut into you. You’re used to his brashness, to how he doesn’t hesitate to let you know when you’re irritating him, and normally it makes you laugh or roll your eyes.

But this stings. And it throws away the joy you’d felt seconds ago. You’re already painfully aware that you’re inexperienced, having spent so much time stuck on one guy who kept you trapped in a confusing loop.

Despite the pang in your heart, it’s comforting to know, to really know, that you could never like Rafe like that.

You’ve seen bits of tenderness in him, but he’s more hard, icy edges than anything else, and he’s not the type of person you’d ever feel safe giving your heart to.

At least you know you’ll be able to avoid Rafe hurting you the way Beck has.

Rafe glances over to see you turned away, your dejected pout reflected in the window. He hates himself for being such a dick, but fuck, it kills him that you act like it’s ridiculous that someone could have feelings for you.

He’s falling off the edge right in front of you and you don’t see it. And it dawns on him that it’s a good thing you don’t, because you wouldn’t fall with him.

“That was mean,” you say quietly. You look over and catch glimpses of the writing you left on the inside of his wrist as the streetlights flood in and out of the car. “Even for you.”

The thinness of your voice is a razor that slices into him.

“You’re not always right about everything, okay?” Rafe says stiffly.

“I never said I was,” you reply. You look out the window again and take a moment before you continue speaking. “But what happened with Beck did mess with my confidence, if that’s what you’re getting at. And you’re not making it any better.”

Knowing he’s only adding to your baseless insecurities cuts him deeper.

“I’m sorry, alright?” he mumbles. He stares ahead as he pulls onto the freeway. “All I’m tryin’ to say is that you don’t need to be so jaded just because one asshole strung you along.”

Your ache numbs a little. In his own, tactless way, he’s attempting to help.

“Your approach needs work,” you say flatly, “but I see your point.”

Tension sinks between you, every sense of camaraderie gone. And Rafe is desperate to undo it, to make you feel better.

“You can tell you’re getting to him?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you say in a hush, although the high of witnessing Beck’s jealousy is gone now.

It’s satisfying to know he’s seeing what he’s missing, but it hurts that you had to go to these lengths for it to happen. It hurts that you still care.

“Good,” he says.

Rafe’s met with no response. And he wants to beg you to speak. His lips part, heart hammering.

“What are you thinking?” His deep voice fractures the silence.

You bite your lip, remembering the first time you were in this car, when Rafe suggested he drive you back home because you wouldn’t stop talking.

Now, he wants you to talk, and if he didn’t ask, you wouldn’t offer up your thoughts like you usually do. Not after that dig.

“You ever wish you could make yourself not care about something?” you eventually say.

“All the time,” he admits within an exhale of relief that you answered him.

“Really?” you ask, your brows lifted in surprise.

He knows he manages to seem like he doesn’t give a shit about most things. It’s a defense mechanism that works until his anger gets so heavy that he cracks.

He refuses to crack in front of you again. Right now, he’s okay with giving you the vulnerability you’re always trying to coax out of him if it means you’ll be you again.

“She told you I wouldn’t move on, right?” he says sardonically.

You gaze at him, reminded of the way his ex had laughed when she told you he wouldn’t stop bothering her.

“I kept trying to work things out and I – I wish I didn’t.” He shakes his head, embarrassed. “And I don’t even want to be with her now, but I care enough to want to piss her off. I know that’s not normal.”

You eyes are fixed on the license plate of the car ahead of you. The things you know about his past relationship, things that Emma said, things that he said, come together to paint an ugly picture.

“I think it’s how a lot of people would feel,” you say. “It doesn’t sound like she was very nice to you.”

Rafe knows he could be just as poisonous, raising his voice and escalating fights, but Emma made him feel like he was insane for being human.

Any time he was hurt, she said he was overreacting. He wasn’t allowed to be angry. To be sad. To be anything.

And he always feared she was right. He was too much, felt too much. He’d heard it from so many people, the first and loudest voice being his father’s.

“She wasn’t,” he answers. “I wasn’t, either.”

You don’t doubt it. You can only imagine how vicious their arguments were.

“Can I tell you something?” you say.

He’s upset, but he takes a page out of your book, trying to lighten the mood.

“You’re going to do it anyway,” he mumbles.

Despite yourself, you chuckle.

“You already very kindly established that I’m no expert on relationships,” you say, your joke splitting the tension, “but do you ever think that maybe things were toxic between you?”

You’re prying again, but Rafe’s relieved you are, because it means you’re okay.

Maybe his relationship was toxic, but he doesn’t know otherwise. It’s how he operates, always on the cusp of chaos, always on the edge of imploding.

“What?” he asks, just to stall.

“You said you wanted to hurt each other when you fought, right?”

The tires continue to rapidly roll over the asphalt with rhythmic pats, the wind whooshing over the windows.

“Yeah.”

“What’d you fight about?”

“Everything,” he says. “I mean, yeah, I have a short fuse and I – I say shit I don’t mean, but she acted like she never did anything wrong.”

“That’s hard to deal with,” you sympathize. “What’d she do wrong?”

He grits his teeth. The memory of how Emma would shut him down whenever he had a problem with something she did flashes through his mind like a bad dream he wants to forget.

“She acted like she only liked me when I was happy,” he tells you, on edge, in disbelief that he’s hearing his voice admit these things.

“What would she do when you weren’t?” you ask.

His jaw tenses, the memories of Emma’s shouted words a punch to the gut.

“She’d tell me to grow up,” he says dryly.

Rafe is sure you’d never say something like that to him, but there’s still an alarm going off in his head that he’s opening up too much, giving you what you need to hurt him, sharing criticism that you might silently agree with.

Every piece that he shares with you could serve as proof that he’s a catastrophe of a man that you’d be better off staying away from.

You look down at your lap, your heart pinching. The space between you is delicate, fragile, a bond you never could have imagined growing between you.

You’re upset to think about how Rafe clearly already doesn’t really do feelings and was made to feel bad for showing his to his girlfriend.

Emma had called him pathetic, but you feel that the word describes her instead.

“That’s not fair,” you say. “Nobody deserves to hear that from someone who’s supposed to care about them.”

He only offers a rigid shrug.

You’re still curious about what he told you when you asked him why he liked her. He’d said things were simple with her, that she made him feel uncomplicated, but it sounds like all they did was bicker.

You want to know why he tried to get back together after they’d had such a rocky relationship, why he’d called her crying.

“You said she made things easy?” you say.

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel, not sure how much more of this conversation he can take.

“When we weren’t fighting, we had fun,” he explains. “I didn’t have to think about anything, you know?”

And she never pushed to see the pieces of himself that he hides. And all you do is push, so why the hell is he losing his mind over a girl who’s done nothing but try to make him face what he runs from?

But when he looks at you again through the darkness, it’s like he can see how good you are.

And that’s why.

That’s why you’ve taken him captive. You’re warm, the way you find joy in almost everything, the way you’re unabashedly yourself, the way you want to understand people for who they really are.

You take in his awestruck expression, looking like he can’t believe he just told you all that.

You get it now. Emma didn’t want to deal with the heavy stuff. And it worked for him. Until it didn’t. It doesn’t sound like they had that deep of a connection if she punished him for having feelings.

“I really don’t like her,” you say quietly.

“Damn,” he murmurs. “Brutal coming from you.”

You chuckle. Rafe takes a few breaths before he speaks again, hating that he actually feels shy right now.

“Sorry I said…” He trails off, not wanting to repeat the word clueless. He went too far. “You’re smart, okay?”

“You’ve mentioned that a few times,” you laugh.

“We friends again?”

You smirk.

“Maybe if you say please,” you say.

“Shut up,” he laughs.

“Hmm.” You squint. “Try again.”

You watch him with an expectant expression, a playful smile on your face.

“Please,” he mumbles, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Alright, you don’t have to beg,” you chuckle.

Rafe groans in annoyance and you laugh again, picked back up out of your low mood.

You get the feeling of being linked to him again, the one you had when you watched him from the stands before you even spoke.

He’s wading through the pieces of a broken relationship, and you’re trying to shake yourself out of infatuation, and they’re different circumstances, but you both need the same thing. To not care anymore.

“I read something about how the opposite of love isn’t hate,” you say. “It’s indifference. Eventually, you won’t care about what she thinks. And you’ll find the girl you need when the time’s right.”

Rafe stares ahead.

“Yeah,” is all he can say. Because he’s already found the girl he needs. She just doesn’t need him back.

════════

In the span of almost five days, Rafe has gone from bad to worse.

On Sunday, the team just barely won the first game of the tournament. He watched from the bench, pissed off beyond belief watching the gameplay. They were lucky the opponents’ offense was so choppy.

It was both frustrating and validating when his coach told him that he hopes Rafe can play game two, because defense is suffering without him.

Yesterday, he saw the team’s physical therapist. He managed to move his arm with full mobility, but still felt a minor, stubborn pinch. He was cleared for game two, so long as he saw a doctor to get imaging done and make sure he wasn’t putting himself at risk.

He had the appointment this morning and he’s already dreading the call with the results. He can’t lose hockey. It’s the one thing keeping him sane.

Now, he’s walking under the hot afternoon sun, on his way to an off-campus uptown cafe you’d suggested for your tutoring session. He had to park two blocks away after looking for a spot for ages.

He’s in a foul mood, rereading your text just so he doesn’t take it out on you. You gave him the head’s up that this place is usually busy and parking could be tough, offering to stick with the library if he preferred.

He went along with what you wanted, because he’d rather not let you down. At this point, it hurts seeing any hint of sadness on your face. He’s still pissed off at himself for what he said to you in his car last weekend.

He steps into the small cafe, the air smelling of coffee, the machines whirring over overlapping conversations. He finds you in the corner, your head adorably tilted in thought as you type on your laptop.

The knot in his stomach loosens once you look up and smile at him.

Every morning, every afternoon, every night, you’re on his mind. You’ve thrown him completely off center, dominating every second of his day, the longing to see you when he’s not with you insatiable.

Rafe strides towards you between full tables, and you take a moment to drink him in, the strong, self-assured way he walks, never the type to act like he thinks he doesn’t belong wherever he is.

“Hey,” you say. “Was parking okay?”

“You warned me.” He pulls out the chair across from you, dragging it across the hardwood. You shut your laptop. “Why are we here? I got that tattoo for nothing?”

You glance at his wrist to see that the marker has washed off.

“It’s gone anyway,” you giggle. “I thought we could use a change of scenery. Plus, this place has the best treats.”

You slide a small brown paper bag towards him.

“I’ll trade you for your laptop,” you say.

Minutes later, you’re checking in on his grades. Your stomach drops when you see a warning in red text next to last week’s submission link.

7 days late.

“Rafe,” you say soberly. “You forgot to send it in.”

You look up at him from across the table, confusion creased into his features as he finishes chewing.

“Remember, last week?” you say. “Your laptop died and I told you to submit the essay before midnight?”

He readjusts his posture.

“It’s not a big deal,” he sighs defensively.

“It’s 5% lost every day,” you reply. “I’ll submit it now.”

He scowls, agitation rippling over his features. It discredits the text that Lyla sent you the morning after her birthday party, not that you believed it anyway.

My mom said it’s cute how obviously in love Rafe is with you.

The way he’s looking at you right now is the farthest thing from love. Like he said, he’s a great liar.

“This matters,” you reiterate. Rafe glances away. It’s hurtful to witness how disinterested he is.

You submit the assignment, displeased by his apathy, reminded of how much his bad attitude and moodiness can get to you, but try to remain positive.

“Let’s see what you have so far,” you say, opening his draft document. “This week’s discussion question is about the significance of time in the novel. Did you notice it was sometimes spelled with a capital T?”

Your brows pinch in concentration as you lean forward, reading what he’s put together. It’s sparse, disjointed, just like his work when you first started tutoring him. It’s like he’s gone backwards.

You look up at him, but his eyes are downcast, lips turned down. Something’s wrong.

“You didn’t get much time to work on it?” you say, keeping a kind tone to your voice.

“This book made no sense,” he mutters.

“It is pretty convoluted,” you say. “But there’s substance to it. I like how it explores the idea of friendship. Speaking of, friends tell each other when something’s wrong, so get to talking.”

If Rafe didn’t know better, he’d think you're trying to hurt him.

Disappointing you was painful enough. It’s why his instinct was to act like that late assignment wasn’t a big deal; because then, he wouldn’t have to accept that he was messing up in front of you yet again.

And now, you’re rubbing it in that you only see him as a friend, adding salt to the wound.

“It’s been a shitty week,” he admits.

You lean over to push the bag of treats a little closer to him, earning a nearly silent chuckle.

“Is your shoulder feeling okay?” you ask.

“I had to do some scans,” he says. “I’m waiting to see if I can play. But I’m good.”

Your lips purse in thought. It’s like Rafe is nothing but knee-jerk reactions, snapping when he’s mad, direct about when he’s annoyed, but he hides everything else, as if he’s telling himself he’s not allowed to feel anything besides anger.

You wonder if he was always like that, or if his last relationship left that particular scar.

“Is midterm season getting to you?” you ask. “Because it’s getting to me. Studying’s hard enough and now I have a group project that’s been keeping me up at night.”

“It’s that bad?” he says, a hint of amusement in his tone.

“You know when you’re put into a group with guys who think dropping paragraphs into a slide deck counts as contributing?” you say. “And when you try to meet up outside of class to practice the presentation, they pretend they didn’t see your text? Does that kind of stuff not happen to you?”

A smile pulls on his lips.

“Just me, then,” you reply.

“Do I need to talk to anyone?” he asks, and he realizes he’s only half-joking.

“You mean like, to threaten them? Only if you can fit it in your schedule,” you joke. “I don’t want to put you out.”

You think he’s kidding. He’s not. He feels insanely protective over you, and while he can see that you’re not that bothered by this, he’d get those idiots you’re working with in line if you needed him to.

This is only getting more difficult. He wants to tell you that he’s serious. That he’d do anything to make things easier for you, that you don’t deserve to be ignored, that you should cut this act out and be with him for real.

But he has to accept that while he’s spent his life being ruthlessly honest about what he thinks about people, good or bad, he needs to swallow down his words around you.

He can’t talk like that with a girl who’d never want him. Who he’d never recover from getting rejected by.

“You know you can tell me when something’s bothering you, right?” you say. “It’s not like I’d…”

You don’t finish your sentence, your gaze soft. He can tell you’re trying to reassure him that you wouldn’t criticize him for being stressed like his ex used to, the reminder of your last conversation planting discomfort in his chest.

“I didn’t mean to forget,” he utters, eyes darting away again. You nod. So he does care. And now you feel bad if you made him feel ridiculed.

“Was I too intense?” you say dolefully. “I’m sorry. I just want you to do well. We worked hard on that assignment and it’s a waste of effort to lose points for lateness.”

You pull out your notebook, full of study notes you took last semester.

“It’s okay,” you conclude. “It’s just one assignment. We’ll finish up this essay and then start prepping for the midterm.”

Rafe’s muscles loosen, in awe of how quickly you just turned his mood around.

“Oh, before I forget,” you say, “do you want me to come to the next game? I can drive up with Lyla. It’s an away, right? This Saturday?”

“You did your homework.”

“Did you forget who you’re talking to?” you laugh.

“Yeah, you should come,” Rafe says after a beat. “If I play.”

“Deal,” you say with a grin.

He’s hopeful you follow through. Because even if you’re there as a friend, as all you’ll ever want to be to him, he plays better knowing you’re watching.

════════

Rafe sits on the team bus on the way to game two, his eyes following the dips and valleys of lush trees lining the road. Music buzzes in his earbuds, his fingers interlaced in his lap, his knees bouncing.

He needs this before big games; the closest he can get to solitude, confining himself into his own mind, finding focus.

He’d never liked quiet until he started playing hockey. He chased noise, commotion, distractions. And he still gets his dose of chaos with every game, but it’s always preceded by this stillness. This moment he gives himself for the calm before the storm.

He got the call yesterday. The scans came back fine. They showed nothing serious, no signs of tearing, no reason for him to be freaking out.

Rafe texted you right away, finding himself wanting to tell you of all people the good news first, even before his coach.

As expected, you responded with an enthusiastic message telling him you couldn’t wait to cheer him on. The focus he’s trying to find right now keeps getting derailed by thoughts of you.

The song fades out, replaced with ringing. He picks up his phone to see that you’re video-calling him.

His stomach flips and he feels like a little kid with a crush on a girl in his class. The effect you have on him is starting to get really damn embarrassing.

Your pretty face appears on his screen, the backdrop a well-lit ceiling and colorful display shelves.

“Hello,” you greet him cheerfully. “We just stopped at a gas station. Do you want me to grab something for you for after the game? You know, because you’ll need nutrients and electrolytes and all that.”

“I will?” he says, his lips turned up in a smirk. “No shit?”

“Okay, I’m just being nice,” you laugh. “Don’t you get tired of being so sarcastic all the time?”

“Not really,” he replies.

Isaac, who always sits beside him on these drives, hears Rafe mumbling. He leans over and gazes at the screen.

You see the corner of Isaac’s face, then grin and wave.

“Hey, I have a really quick question,” Isaac says.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“She said to leave her alone,” Rafe murmurs.

“I did not,” you laugh, realizing only Rafe can hear you through his earbuds.

“Lies,” Isaac says. “I have this essay that’s killing me. You’re good at that stuff, right? Could you look at it for me? Please? It’s a huge chunk of my grade.”

“Sure,” you say with a nod. “Send it to me. You can get my email from Rafe.”

“She said no,” Rafe says.

“I saw her nod,” Isaac retorts.

“I’ll give you her email, alright?” Rafe says impatiently. “You done now? I’m trying to talk to my girl.”

Isaac feigns offense and leans away after giving you a thankful smile.

“You don’t need to get me anything,” he tells you.

“Suit yourself,” you say. “How are you?”

“Good,” he says simply, because he can’t be honest that he’s nervous about this game, nervous that he’ll mess up his shoulder again, nervous that he’s falling so hard for you that you could shatter him without even knowing it.

His mind is blank, words refusing to form.

“Okay,” you say, unhappy he’s being so short with you.

You don’t know what you did wrong, why he gets so irritated with you all the time. You’d called him impulsively, only ten minutes into your drive with Lyla when you stopped to buy a drink, but you assumed you were in a good enough place to call whenever you felt like it.

It’s all too familiar, this sinking feeling of questioning what a guy thinks of you, just like you always did with Beck. You know things between you and Rafe are platonic, but you thought he’d like to hear from you, because you like to hear from him.

Still, you can’t pretend that the sound of him calling you his girl didn’t make your heart lift with an unwelcome warmth. You remind yourself it’s a lie. Beck’s surely sitting close by, overhearing Rafe’s words.

“I’ll see you after the game,” you say low-spiritedly.

Rafe grimaces, guilt sinking into his bones. You’d once told him he makes you feel annoying and you were joking, but he hates to think that he’s really making you feel like that.

“How ‘bout you?” he asks hurriedly. “How’s your drive been?”

“Aside from Lyla’s road rage?” you joke.

“I do not have road rage,” Lyla defends herself with a playful gasp from the other side of the aisle.

Rafe watches as you look off-screen, the corners of your eyes crinkled as you laugh.

“Be careful,” he says, worry icing his chest. “Tell her to drive safe.”

“Oh, my God, I do!” Lyla half-shouts with a laugh. “Is he always that protective?”

“It’s why I like him so much,” you answer.

This is the point where Rafe would just be direct. He doesn’t play games. Never has. He’d ask you, straight up, the next time you're alone, if you meant that or if you were just faking affection in front of your best friend.

But he can’t do that when he already knows the answer. You told him yourself last weekend. I like you. Just not like that. Imagining something more with you just makes him a masochist.

“I’m offended that your boyfriend doesn’t trust me,” Lyla says.

“He doesn’t trust anyone,” you counter playfully. You look back at the screen. “I’ll let you go. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Look what I found,” Lyla sing-songs. She holds up a bottle of the drink you’ve been looking for.

“I love you,” you tell her.

Hearing you say those words and knowing they’ll never be directed to him is its own brand of agony. And it’s so soft, so insane that he’s already thinking about love, but you’ve thrown him for such a loop that he can’t control it.

He catches his reflection in the corner of the screen. It’s almost unbelievable how good he is at it, looking so careless, numb, when his heart is cracking down the middle.

“Good luck today,” you say to him. “You don’t need it, though.”

“Thanks,” Rafe replies. “See you.”

You hang up.

“For a second, I thought you were telling Rafe you love him,” Lyla says.

“Oh,” you laugh, turning to look at the items on the shelves again. “No.”

“Do you?” she asks. “Or do you see it getting to that point?”

“Maybe,” you reply.

“You’re giving me crumbs,” she whines.

You meet your best friend’s eyes, having already heard her complaints about how little you share about your relationship. You’re tight-lipped about Rafe because you’d rather not have to stomach the shame of feeding Lyla lies.

“What do you want to know?” you ask.

“Everything. Start with the juicy stuff. Have you guys kissed?”

Imagining what it’d be like to kiss Rafe makes your stomach flutter. You wonder if his kisses would be like him; rushed, hard, impatient, or if he’d be soft and gentle and slow.

Your cheeks burn as you think about it, once again trying to pull yourself back into reality.

“Lots of times,” you say with a shrug.

“Have you guys…?” She raises her brows.

You laugh nervously. Her brother saw you leaving Rafe’s room. You doubt they’d ever gossip about you like that, but it’s better to keep the lies consistent.

You nod in response.

“And?”

“Let’s not do this here,” you chuckle, playing it off. “I don’t want strangers overhearing.”

Less than a minute after you hang up, Isaac gets Rafe’s attention with a nudge. He takes out an earbud.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Isaac says, “but how’d you get her to like you?”

“How the hell do I take that the right way?” he replies.

“No offense. She’s just so… nice,” Isaac tells him. “It’s a good thing. I can tell you’re happy. Way happier than you were with what’s-her-name.”

Rafe suggested this ploy so it’d seem that way. But with time, with getting to know you, with seeing what it’s like to be someone you care about, it’s become the truth.

════════

The game is hardly a nailbiter. Within the first period, you can tell the opponents aren’t strong contenders. It ends in an easy win.

You catch Rafe’s gaze a few times throughout the game, but you don’t get a chance to talk to him. On your way back to campus, he texts you that the team is celebrating their win in one of the common rooms in the athletes’ dorm building.

Lyla parks and before you can let her know you’ll call Rafe to come downstairs, she pulls out her phone.

“Hey,” she says after a pause. “Can you come down and let us in?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt, stomach turning. You know she’s talking to her brother.

“I could’ve called Rafe,” you say nervously when you step out of the car, walking side-by-side to the building.

“It’s no problem,” she says. You can tell that she thinks she did you a favor by taking care of it, but these days, being around Beck brings you an unwelcome, awkward tension.

Beck lets you in, holding the front door open as you exchange casual greetings. You pace through the lobby and the elevator door slides shut behind you.

Beck stands by the buttons, Lyla leans against the corner between you, and you cross your arms and look up at the numbers changing.

“When’s the last time just the three of us hung out?” Lyla says lightheartedly. “And this doesn’t count.”

Your eyes flit up to Beck, whose stare is already on you. Lyla has no idea what’s gone on between you, that an unspoken heaviness has settled between you since that day in front of his exam room last semester.

Does he regret it? Does he want to take it back? Does he wish he’d never spent years leading you on and just pursued you from the beginning? Does he want to tell you what he’s really thinking? Will he ever?

The questions swirl through your head, a pattern that, at this point, you could do in your sleep.

And you realize that the answers don’t matter. Not really. Because if it takes a lie, a delusion that you’re with another man for Beck to see your worth, he never deserved you in the first place.

It gives you hope that you’re finally taking back your heart, piece by piece.

You need to allow yourself to see who you are without this hold he has on you. To love yourself instead of waiting for somebody else to. To give yourself space to be you, unencumbered by what anyone else thinks.

“It has been a long time,” you say. “I think we’ve all just been swamped.”

“Swamped?” Beck asks you. “You doing okay?”

His eyes drift over your face, shadowed with a hint of sadness.

The elevator reaches its stop. The doors open with the ding of a bell. And you nod.

“Yeah,” you answer. “My head has never been clearer, actually.”

════════

Rafe was hoping you’d still be wearing his jersey, rubbing it in Beck’s face that you’re wearing his name, no matter if it is just a ploy.

His throat tightens when his eyes land on you as you step into the common room, taking you in as he leans against the armrest of a couch. You’re not in his jersey. And you’re with Lyla and Beck.

His heart sinks. Why didn’t you call him to come get you?

“Hey,” you say, beaming at Rafe as you approach him. “You were great tonight.”

You pull him into a hug, arms draped around his wide shoulders, inhaling the smell of his body wash.

Part of you is embracing him because it’s what a girlfriend would do. The other part is because it feels good to be held by someone who knows just how much pain you’ve been holding onto.

Rafe’s hands tighten at your waist, his nose in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“Pretty relaxed celebration,” you say, looking around when you part. Teammates and their friends and girlfriends are scattered around the room, grouped in different conversations.

You look at Rafe again and you swear that he’s somehow getting more handsome the longer you know him. Being inches away from him after daydreaming about kissing him makes the realization all the more overpowering.

The only thing you can feel is frustration because this is the last thing you need, to jump from liking one guy to another. Especially to one who has proven that he’d only hurt you.

You need your crush on Rafe to remain superficial. Any deeper and you’re just opening yourself up to more heartache.

“Yeah, this is really lowkey,” Lyla agrees with you. “You guys didn’t have it in you to party?”

“We’re pretty worn out,” Beck explains.

“Are you?” you ask Rafe, gazing up at him in that way that he’s grown to adore.

He is. He’s exhausted. And he’d fucking love it if you could go to his room just down the hall, lie in his bed together, doze off wrapped up in each other.

“Getting there,” he replies.

“I’ll let you guys talk,” Lyla says, then looks at you. “Or whatever it is you do.”

“Lyla,” you groan with a laugh. She slips away, prompting Beck to do the same. Nowadays, he seems to hate being around you when you’re with Rafe.

“What was that about?” Rafe murmurs to you quietly.

You lean on the armrest, settled next to him with your arm pressed against his, finding that you’ve grown to enjoy the conversations you’re always having outside of the crowds, the feeling of being tucked away into privacy together.

“She’s annoyed that I’ve been so secretive,” you reply just as quietly. “I don’t give her details about us, but can you blame me?”

“What does she want to know?”

“If we’ve kissed and… stuff,” you say, looking at the floor, feeling too awkward to tell him the truth. “I said yeah, but I couldn’t exactly come up with details about something that never happened.”

Rafe’s eyes lower to your lips, staring while your gaze stays on the floor.

“You tellin’ me you want to break your ‘no kissing’ rule?” he asks in a joking tone, as if his heart is pounding in his ears right now.

“No,” you chuckle, looking back up at him. “I still want my first kiss to be real.”

It’s the first time he doesn’t like the sound of your laugh, because it’s apparently funny to you to consider having genuine feelings for him.

He swallows down the bitterness, determined not to punish you for his own pain. He’s done that before and he hated himself for it.

“If I played so great, why’d you take off my jersey?” he asks.

He didn’t his best tonight, feeling pricks of pain in his shoulder only a few minutes into the game. It made him afraid of getting into any hard collisions. He’s never been like that. It’s just as aggravating as it is depressing.

You lace your fingers together in your lap, fidgeting.

“I left it in the car,” you answer. You don’t offer him anything else, a faraway look in your eyes.

“Did something happen?”

You breathe out slowly, still in disbelief of how easily Rafe can read you. It’s a good thing you’re not really falling for him. He’d be able to tell.

“You’re too perceptive,” you murmur. He smirks. “It was just a weird elevator ride.”

“You could’ve called me to let you in.”

“Lyla called him before I could.” You clear your throat. “I’m finally seeing him act how I always wanted him to and… it doesn’t feel like I thought it would.”

Rafe studies you intently, hanging onto your words like they’re the only thing keeping him breathing.

“Everything that happened with him made me so insecure,” you confess. “And I think I shouldn’t date for real until I’m totally over him.”

At least Rafe won’t see you with another guy once you call this off, but now he’s wondering if he’ll see you at all, if you want to stay friends with someone like him, if he can manage being platonic with a girl who has so ruthlessly claimed his heart.

“And that’ll be long after we stage a mature, civil breakup where we mutually decide we’re better as friends,” you say. “And we are staying friends, got it?”

You offer him a smile. He returns it, relieved that you answered his unspoken concern, lucky that you want him around at all.

Rafe hopes you mean it, that you’re not just being nice. He can’t not have you in his life. He’ll just have to get used to quietly wanting you.

“Do we have to?” he teases, keeping his pain hidden.

You breathe a laugh, gently elbowing him, the contact making your heart feel a little less heavy.

It’s moments like these, when Rafe jokes with you and flashes his dimpled grin and shows glimmers of softness, that you worry your feelings will plunge into dangerous territory.

But you spent too long silently hoping someone would like you back. You can’t do it again.

(to be continued)

author’s note my bad… i love a man yearning too much to end it just yet… slowest slowburn i’ve ever written stg

if you want notifications on when i post my fics, follow @xorafe-library and turn on notifications 💘

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron and you #rafe cameron and reader #rafe cameron and y/n #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfic #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe x reader

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yunamoona · 3 days ago

Text

formation a !

summary: you’re getting hit on!!! Luckily your friends have a protocol to neutralize this very situation.

content: fluff, satoru gojo x fem!reader (ft. Shoko and Suguru), silliness, gojo vs jealousy. Gege if he was full of joy and whimsy AU where they all at least make it to their last year of school together. Oh and thug Geto (but not really) allusion to the “Formation b” og at the end.

a/n: we all saw how quick Gojo was to reacting to Megumi “getting hit on.” formation b??? yeah, that was NOT his first rodeo…anyways, this is my first oneshot! please be forgiving, but I’m open to constructive criticism! also feel free to send feedback & reqs! info in my pinned.

“I don’t waannaaaaa!”

“Then go home.”

“I don’t wanna do that eitherrr”

Before you can snap at him again, it’s Suguru who smacks him upside the head, “then quit whining,” the man grumbles as Satoru whimpers and rubs the back of his head. “It’s already hot as balls out, you’re giving me a headache.”

Satoru huffs at that, purposefully stumbling along the sidewalk to knock himself into Suguru. There’s an oof as Geto returns the gesture by elbowing him in the gut, and some of your and Shoko’s shopping bags slip down Gojo’s arms as he shoulders the other man again, more intentionally this time. It’s moments before the two break out into a full on scuffle.

“Let’s bring Haibara and Nanami next time, kay?” Shoko jests loud enough for the two behind to hear, her thumb jabbing backwards towards them with that feline smirk on her lips. “They’re way more well-behaved than those idiots.”

“You can’t replace me— maybe Suguru, but not me!” Satoru wheezed out, sputtering a bit. Out of the corner of your eye you can see Suguru tightening the headlock around the other boy’s neck, squeezing a choked sound from Satoru as his sunglasses slipped down his nose. “You’d miss me too much!”

You roll your eyes. “Whatever, we’re almost done shopping, alright? I just wanna get one more thing.” You point a little ways ahead to the shop you’ve been meaning to get to after hearing they had a sale on all their blind packs.

Yet looking backwards, you could see the heat was getting to your friends, making them more irritable and haggard. Even Shoko looked about ready to call it a day, but it was Satoru who appeared to be the least tolerant. He was practically dragging his feet across the ground, cheeks flushed red from the absurd heat and a rare genuine frown on his lips. The sight made your heart pang just a little.

Your gaze traveled around the little outdoor shopping center, landing on something that you were sure would bring up the mood— at least for a certain someone.

“Oh!” You pepped, pointing out a little cart stationed at the corner across from the store you wanted to hit up. Perfect. “How about we stop for ice cream?”

The way Satoru brightens immediately is almost uncanny, azure eyes sparkling and wide. “How’d you know that’s exactly what I was thinking?” He beamed, toothy grin wide and unabashed. “See, this is why we’re soulmates!”

You wish he’d stop saying thoughtless nonsense stuff like that.

The four of you stroll up to the stand, the older man running it joyfully greeting your group as Satoru leaned over the counter, enthusiastically giving your orders. You can’t stop thinking about that shop across the way, though. Clarence. Blind boxes. Marked down. MiniBrands…other people were gonna buy them all out…

“Shookoooo,” You whine, your bottom lip jutted as you reach for her hand, nodding your head towards the store. “Come with me pleeaaase? I’ll be quick.”

Lie.

Both of you told the guys you’d only be a minute, but it’s been at least 15 by now. Where the heck were they hiding your stupid discount mystery boxes??

“I know they’re here,” You reassure Shoko after dragging her into the same aisle you’ve checked three times now. “Somewhere. I have that feeling.” She doesn’t argue, but you feel her unspoken doubt.

After a while still, Shoko taps you on the shoulder.

“You keep looking, I’ll be right back,” she hums, middle and pointer finger tapping her lips. Then she was waving and strolling out the automatic doors, right back to where you both left Satoru and Suguru. The latter was manspread on a bench and scrolling on his phone, the former half-perched on the armrest watching the screen over Suguru’s shoulder. He had his second half eaten popsicle in one hand, taking sneaky licks of your ice cream in his other when he thought no one was looking.

He didn’t pay Ieiri any mind for a good several minutes, not until he peered up into the glass window of the store across the street, tongue frozen mid-lick of your ice cream. You were in there, without them— with some guy— chatting. Laughing. Suguru’s head rose when he heard the plop of frozen dairy hitting the asphalt, following his friend’s gaze after registering his alarmed expression.

The ebony haired man sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth. “That’s rough.”

In a blink Gojo’s hands grip Shoko’s arms with urgency. “Shoko.” He gritted, hand flying to make wild motions toward the shop.

The girl squinted, spotting you inside after a few seconds, talking to some guy. “Oh. Good for her,” she’d acknowledge coolly around the cigarette at the corner of her lips.

Satoru’s frown drastically deepens.

“You were supposed to stay with her— what happened to girl code?”

“I needed a smoke. And what do you know about girl code?”

“Queens before nicotine!” Satoru stressed while jostling the easygoing girl.

“C’mon, c’moonn, we gotta hurry. Do it like we practiced, alright?”

“These what you’re looking for?” The man who’d originally approached you pulled out a small colorful package from a larger cardboard box, lopsided grin on his plain face as he held it out to you.

“Omg, yes!” You cheered, clasping your hands together. At long last, you’ve been reunited with your cheap blind boxes. “Thank you so much, you have no idea—“

Your name is called out somewhere down the aisle, and when you turn to look, you spot Shoko back from her smoke break.

The brunette looked less than enthused, however, eyes flitting down to very obviously scan some note cards between her fingers. She briefly cleared her throat.

“Another one? Damn girl. Isn’t this your third one today? I thought what we had meant something to you.” She exclaimed flatly, articulating every word like a robot. She shuffles to the next card. “Girl, you crazy.”

???

You stare at her with a gaped jaw and knitted brows, lips barely forming the beginnings of the word “What—“ when you hear the chime of the door. And in the storefront’s entrance stood Suguru- reimagined to look…vaguely thuggish?? Your eyes don’t know where to look, between the rolled up sleeves of his rumpled uniform that showed a poorly scribbled tattoo sleeve on the arm of his pocketed hand, and the jagged scar with a smudge of red that’s suddenly appeared on his right cheek. (You’ll learn later they’re sharpie marker and Shoko’s red lip stain.)

“Hey babe,” BABE?? “Sorry to keep ya waiting. There was…a complication.” He grunts around a toothpick. You only notice he’s lugging a bat over his shoulder when he taps it twice against himself for an intimidating emphasis. He begins to stride toward the three of you, unimpressed glare landing on the man who’s now shuffled slightly behind you. “But there’s no trouble here. Right?”

The poor guy looked ready to piss his pants out of fear. You were ready to explode out of shock and embarrassment.

“I—“ You open and close your mouth like a gasping fish, but no words are forming as your baffled expression shifts between Shoko and Suguru. “What the hell is happening?!”

Admittedly, you did feel a sense of foreboding. Like a piece was missing from this debacle of a puzzle. A grand finale that would ensure you would never set foot into this store for at least another decade out of pure shame.

“Would you step away from her? You homewreckers!”

No. Nononono—

To your horror, large hands clap over your arms, spinning you around to face teary cerulean eyes.

God knows where his uniform jacket’s gone, or where he’s managed to get a tie to wear at the collar of his white button up on such short notice.

The way he laments your name is already enough to make you cringe, his disheveled white hair cascading as he slumps his head forward between his shoulders, his hands bracing on yours.

“I knew you’d be out here, fooling around! Don’t tell me it was a lie? When you said I was the only one for you?? I slave away everyday at that damn office— to provide— for us!!” He’s sobbing, in the midst of his own soapy k-drama. You half expect cherry blossoms to start raining from the tiled ceiling covered in harsh fluorescent lights, or for some violin-heavy ballad to start playing.

“Come home,” he begs, lifting his face stricken with faux tears to meet your eyes. “the kids miss you…”

There are no words to describe how much you wish to disappear. The blood that had drained from your face comes back tenfold, now buzzing in fiery humiliation.

There’s a too heavy, too long, awkward pause.

“…Okay, well. If you don’t need anything else, I should get back to restocking…” The man who’d been the target of Satoru’s strategic wrath half-bowed his head, anxious to shuffle away with a forced polite smile. “Glad I could help you find what you were looking for, miss.”

“Huh.” Both Gojo and Geto chirp in unison, heads tilting in confusion. Only then do the men maybe register the fact the guy who was “hitting on you” was wearing a uniform and a name tag. And then understanding dawned. Not before you yank at either of their ears, unfortunately, which they begrudgingly accept.

“What is wrong with you guys??” You fume, and either of them shrug, wincing when you tug harder. Best to take this sitting down. “Why would you embarrass me like that— and why’re you dressed like the villain of a low budget movie?” Geto glances sideways and you can almost see the guilty cartoon sweat drop.

With a long suffering sigh you release the both of them, whipping around to Shoko with hands on your hips. “Okay, but why’d you go along with this?” You ask in exasperation. She merely gives a halfhearted shrug.

“‘Was bored.” Figures.

“So mean! We had good intentions, where’s the love?” Satoru pouted, faux tears in his eyes as he rubbed at his reddened ear.

“You,” Was all you could muster in a dangerous tone, accusing finger jabbing towards him. He jolted, at least having the decency to look somewhat fearful even if it was mostly overshadowed by thrill. “I know you’re behind this.”

“Sweetness, hey,” He attempted to pacify you, palms forward. “before you get mad, I—“ The squeal that elicits from him is girlish as he twisted just out of your reach. Then he’s booking it. Slippery bastard.

The way he cackles at you as you give chase makes your cheeks burn hotter, curses and promises of strangling him spilling from your lips. He howls when you nearly crash into the ice cream stand while whipping around the corner after him, the owner shouting his own swears at the two of you and…

…and the remainder of the memory escapes you as sunspots dance in your vision. Bright light sears your eyes the moment you manage to blink them open, a bead of sweat rolling from your forehead down the bridge of your nose. You just sit there for a minute like this, dazedly staring at the sky. Trying to hold onto the vivid imagery before it began to fade back into the recesses of your mind once more. With a grumble you gain your bearings, wiping your face with a sleeve as you stand. You swear there’d been shade over this bench when you sat down…just how long had you been sitting here in this heat?

You look side to side. Where have your students gone? Well, your students, and that overgrown manchild—

“Fushigurooo!!”

“No.”

“But Fushigur-“

“Stop following me.”

Your head snaps to where your students are zipping past the sidewalk, Yuji stumbling after Megumi as he stormed off.

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Fushiguro! I really thought she was hitting on you— y’know, Bros before Does!” Itadori placated with a pleading gesture of his hands. With one glance behind him however he jolted, picking up the pace into a sprint almost immediately after spotting Kugisaki barreling towards them.

“Itadori, you idiot!” She squawked, waving a fist as if to clobber him once she caught up. “Making us chase down that angsty sea urchin in this heat! You’re gonna get it!!”

All three disappear around that corner where that ice cream stand always used to be posted, an echo of the past. Come to think of it, it hasn’t been around for years, and you idly wonder what became of the old man who used to run it.

As if on cue, Satoru meanders up to you, ruffling his snowy hair as he readjusts his blindfold over his eyes. He beams simply at the sight of you.

Your glare hardens, and he startles. He knows that you know he’s the mastermind behind that spectacle you’d just witnessed. Was it really that long ago since he pulled this same stupid stunt? He never did quite change.

“Ehehehhh,” He pitters nervously, putting on a wide innocent grin as you approach, index scratching a nonexistent itch at his jaw. “Hi sweetie, baby, love of my life—”

What makes him give pause though is the way you just trudge into his side and nod your head against his chest. You feel an arm instinctively wrap around you, and it makes you uncomfortably warm in this hot weather, but you don’t entirely mind it either. “Hey, what’s up,” he murmurs more sincerely, head craning to get a better peek at you. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Is what you mutter in response, still replaying the dream of that memory in your head. It made you feel poignantly happy, but the aftertaste of the emotion left you…tired. “Heat fatigue.”

“Right.” His grip tightened, nestling you closer. He doesn’t say anything, just letting the quiet fill the air aside from the croak of locusts. You wonder if he’s reminiscing on those times, too. Before everything— “I betch’ya got a nasty tan line.”

“Satoru!”

“I’m kidding! You’d be sexy even if you had a redneck tan.”

“Ew, don’t even say that!” You scold even if you can’t keep the ridiculous smile off your face. You still check under your sleeve for good measure, to which he chuckles.

“Wanna get some ice cream?” There’s a smile in his voice, and you feel his lips stamp a kiss to your sweat damp forehead.

“Y’read my mind.”

#⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆moonwrites #gojo satoru #geto suguru #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo saturo #gojou satoru x reader #shoko fluff #geto fluff #suguru fluff #jjk fluff #fushiguro megumi #yuji itadori #nobara kugisaki

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kxsagi · 16 hours ago

Note

i am back with another request >:3

how would the bllk men try and comfort reader when they tell her that they hate her as a joke but reader believes it because she thinks she’s very easy to hate and no one really likes her. so being in a relationship with them is surprising. can you include the itoshi brothers, kaiser, ness and whoever else you want pls 🙏🏾 tyty

“𝐢'𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰”

a/n: daily reminders that my fine shyt readers are absolutely lovable and worthy of all of the love in the world + more

ft. itoshi rin, itoshi sae, kaiser michael, ness alexis, mikage reo, bachira meguru, shidou ryusei, nagi seishiro, isagi yoichi

itoshi rin

he says it with a deadpan tone during a teasing moment, like when you steal his fries or call him a loser for using google maps.

“ugh. i hate you.” it’s dry, automatic, and you laugh, or so he thinks.

but then he sees the flicker in your eyes. the way your posture drops just slightly.

“.. .oh,” he blurts, realizing too late.

rin’s not good with panic, so he short-circuits at first. it’s in his nature to brood and analyze, but now he’s scrambling to fix it.

“wait, wait no. i don’t hate you. are you serious?” he pulls you close, gripping your waist like he’s grounding both of you.

he’s quiet, sincere. “i don’t say things i don’t mean. i would never say i hated you if i meant it. you know that, right?”

when you tell him you’re just surprised anyone could love you, rin’s face changes.

“... what the hell are you talking about?” his voice cracks, barely above a whisper. “how could you think you’re hard to love? you’re the best thing in my entire life.”

he doesn’t leave your side the whole day. hand in yours. lips on your forehead. he needs you to feel how much he doesn’t hate you and how much he can’t.

itoshi sae

he says “i hate you” with a half-smirk when you win a bet or outsmart him. something casual, barely a breath.

you laugh it off, but he notices you retreat, go quiet.

he’s not slow, sae’s emotionally perceptive under all that apathy.

“... you know i didn’t mean that, right?” he asks, eyes flicking to you while he’s scrolling on his phone.

you brush it off, but he puts the phone down. “look at me.”

his tone is even, but his eyes are gentle. “you think i’m the type to date someone i don’t actually care about?”

when you admit it’s just hard to believe someone like him could love someone like you, sae physically flinches.

“don’t ever say that again,” he murmurs, voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

“you’re kind. you’re funny. you’re smart. i could go on, but i’d rather just keep showing you why you’re everything i want.”

after that, he doesn’t just say he loves you more. he shows it. kisses on the shoulder. forehead touches. hand on your lower back whenever you pass by.

kaiser michael

he says it dramatically, mid-argument over something dumb like who left the toothpaste cap off.

“ugh, i hate you.” paired with the most flamboyant eye-roll.

you try to laugh, but your voice wavers. and he clocks it instantly.

“liebling?” he calls, voice dropping all theatrics.

when you hesitate, he goes from 100 to 0 in two seconds. arms already around you.

“hey. hey, no. i was joking. i thought we were being dramatic together.”

and when you say, “it’s fine. i get it. i wouldn’t like me either,” his whole world flips.

“what the fuck?” he says, not out of anger, but sheer heartbreak.

“baby, who told you that? who made you believe that?”

he cups your cheeks and leans in, forehead pressed to yours.

“you’re literally the only person on this earth who can put up with me. of course i like you. love you.”

for the next few weeks he’s overly sweet. he sings cheesy songs to you, buys you flowers, tells ness to remind you every hour that kaiser thinks you're amazing.

ness alexis

he says “i hate you” in a joking whine when you won’t let him pick the movie or steal the last cookie.

he doesn’t expect it to land. you always laugh.

but this time, he sees you shrink.

“noooo, nonono, i’m sorry!! i didn’t mean it!” he throws himself dramatically on top of you.

you try to laugh it off, but he sits up, real concern on his face.

“... did that really hurt your feelings?”

when you nod, even a little, ness pulls you into the biggest hug possible.

“you’re my favorite person in the entire universe,” he mumbles into your shoulder. “don’t ever think otherwise.”

when you admit that sometimes it’s just hard to believe someone could like you, he grips your hands.

“you’re funny, and warm, and thoughtful, and you give the best hugs. i’d be lost without you, okay?”

you get a whole night of comfort snacks, kisses, and cuddles while he reassures you in five different languages (he googled them).

mikage reo

says “ugh, i hate you” after you tease him about being rich or wearing expensive moisturizer.

when you don’t react, he blinks. pauses. “wait. baby?”

he gets serious fast. drops the playful persona.

when you confess you thought he might mean it, his expression falters.

“you know how many people love me for my money or my name?” he says, tone serious. “but you love me for me. that means everything.”

he’s the type to go all-out in comforting you. he immediately plans a spa day or a surprise picnic to cheer you up.

but at night, it’s just the two of you and he quietly whispers, “i wish you could see yourself the way i do.”

bachira meguru

jokes “i hate you” when you prank him or make fun of his monster drawings.

you laugh, but your face tightens just enough for him to notice.

“... wait. wait. do you think i meant that?”

when you shrug, he gets really quiet.

“hey.” he hugs you so tight, it’s like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. “i don’t hate you. i love you. i love you so much it freaks me out sometimes.”

he pulls you into his lap and holds your face. “you’re not hard to love. you’re the easiest thing i’ve ever loved.”

he’ll paint you a picture the next day. it says “i love you, silly” with a monster giving you a flower.

shidou ryusei

says it way too casually, like “ugh i hate you” when you block his goal or steal his protein bar.

but when you go still, quiet, he feels weird.

“... wait. you know i was messing around, right?”

you say, “it’s okay, i get it,” and he freezes.

“the hell do you mean, ‘you get it’? no, you don’t get to get it.”

shidou’s comfort is blunt, but honest. he sits you down, grabs your hand, and makes you look at him.

“you think i’d be dating you if i didn’t think you were the shit?”

“babe, i don’t do things i don’t want to. and i want you. period.”

then he wrestles you into a hug and bites your cheek gently like a weirdo. “mine. forever. you hear me?”

nagi seishiro

he says “i hate you” lazily when you drag him out of bed or interrupt his game.

it’s not even mean – just groggy, like, “ugh, i hate you for making me move.”

usually you laugh, but today? your face falls just slightly.

you try to play it off. he narrows his eyes.

“... wait. are you mad?” he asks, tilting his head.

when you finally admit it’s not the first time you’ve believed someone could hate you… nagi just stares.

and then says, “that’s dumb.”

not in a mean way — in a “how could anyone think that?” kind of way.

“you’re the only person i like being awake for,” he mumbles, flopping onto you like a weighted blanket.

“if you were easy to hate, i’d still be single and gaming in peace. but i’m not. i’m with you. because you make me feel happy in a way no game ever could.”

he clings tighter, like you’re a giant body pillow. and every few minutes he mumbles, “don’t ever think like that again.”

you end up staying in bed all day, not because he’s lazy, but because he won’t stop hugging you.

isagi yoichi

says “i hate you” jokingly when you beat him at a shooting game or call him a nerd for memorizing world cup stats.

it’s lighthearted… until your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

“wait. hey. that was a joke,” he blurts, the second you shift away.

you tell him it’s fine, that you’re just used to not being liked, so it’s whatever.

“what?” he sounds like you just punched him. “no. no. you don’t get to say that about yourself.”

he sits you down, hands on your shoulders, looking frantic.

“you’re– okay, listen. i love you. i love you so much, and i don’t care if it sounds dramatic. how could you ever think you’re hard to love?”

his voice gets quieter, a little trembly. “i’ve never felt this way about anyone. you’re sweet and smart and you make me feel like i can breathe even when everything else is stressful.”

he hugs you for a long time. arms locked tight.

and for the next week, he texts you things like “i love you more than my right foot” or “if i had to pick between you and soccer… i’d pick you, no hesitation.”

okay, maybe a little hesitation. but he swears you win.

225 notes · View notes

dantes-jacket · 3 days ago

Text

Moving on in

Dante x fem reader

Author notes: request #9!! You just moved right next to Devil May Cry. You and Dante are quick to get close but neither of you make a move. So Lady and Trish take it upon themselves to make something happen. Fluff, a smidge of angst (if you can really call it that) THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE HEHEEH

Your move into a new city wasn’t bad. The small house was nice and it wasn’t too hard lugging all your belongings inside. You were able to set everything up just how you wanted.

You finish packing up a box of cookies to give to your neighbors while you introduce yourself. The place next to you is interesting. It’s a relatively big place with a bright LED sign saying “Devil May Cry”. What that means you have no idea. Again you just moved here and have no idea your way around yet.

You head on over to your neighbors and knock on the door. You hear a heavy set of footsteps coming to the door then the door is opened.

“How can I help you?” The man asks. You get a good look at him and you can’t help but widen your eyes. He is so beautiful. He’s got long white hair and piercing blue eyes. You ogle him some more and can tell he’s strong. He’s absolutely ripped. His shirt is clinging to him in all the right ways. It emphasizes his big biceps, his strong pecs and you can even see the outline of his abs. His pants don’t leave much for imagination either. They cling to his thick thighs and you can see he’s packing down there too.

The sound of a throat clearing catches your attention. You realized you’ve been staring. You look back up to meet that piercing blue gaze and are met with a smirk. “Like the view sweetheart?”

You blush furiously, “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

“I don’t mind.” Dante has to admit to himself he wasn’t much better than you. While you were staring him down he was doing the exact same thing. But he can hide it a bit better than you can. You have beautiful soft looking hair that fits you perfectly. You’re wearing a simple and comfy outfit but he can still make out the delicious curves of your body.

You clear your throat now, “Um so I just moved in next door and wanted to introduce myself.” You tell him your name, “Here I also made these,” and hand him the box cookies.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one that has to give house warming gifts not the other way around,” he laughs out. “But thank you. I’m Dante.” He sticks out his hand. You grab his and shake it. His hand basically swallows yours. It is warm and rough, his palm is worn and covered with callouses. Normally the scratchy feeling would irritate you but with him it doesn’t.

Another voice is heard from the shop, “Dante what’s the hold up?” Then a tall blonde girl comes and places an arm on Dante’s shoulder leaning on him. Oh of course, the beautiful man has a girlfriend. You pull your hand from Dante’s and force a smile on your face at the new girl.

Dante can you shrink in on yourself. He quickly shrugs off Trish and gives her a look, “Don’t scare her away.” Trish looks at confused at Dante’s sudden action but then gets the hidden message. She smiles and turns her attention back to you.

“Hi I’m Trish. Dante and I work here together, it’s nice to meet you. So what’s the problem?” She sticks her hand out and you shake hers as well.

Your brows furrow, “Problem?” You look at Dante.

“Yeah. Got a demon he has to take care of?”

Your eyes bulge, “Demon!?”

Dante shoots Trish a nasty glare, “Why would you do that?”

“What do you mean? That’s what this shop is for.”

“Yeah but she was just introducing herself because she moved in next door.” Dante holds up the cookies, “See? She even made cookies to give me.”

Trish flushes with embarrassment, “Oh now this is embarrassing.” She turns to you, “I am so sorry.”

You shake your head, “No it’s okay! But Dante, you’re a demon hunter?”

The trademark smirk makes its way back onto his face. “Yep, the best one around.” He finishes with a wink.

Trish smacks him, “Can you not brag for one second?”

Dante goes to respond but stops due to your laughter. You’re laughing at the scene in front of you. It’s loud but not too obnoxious. It’s soft and he notices after a couple breaths a laughter the pitch goes up for one breath then evens back out. He can tell it’s a true and genuine laugh. He already loves it and knows he wants to make you laugh more.

You finish laughing and see Dante just staring at you. You instantly flush and start apologizing again, “I’m sorry. It was rude to-“

“No you have a pretty laugh. Don’t apologize.” Dante is quick to stop your apology.

“Thank you.” You murmur.

You hear a phone ring back in his shop and Trish turns to him, “Duty call.” She waves a hand to you and walks away to answer the phone.

Dante sighs. You take a couple steps back from him, “I’ll take my leave. See you around Dante.” You give him a little wave and head back to your house.

Dante just whispers while he watches you get home safe. “Yeah see you around.”

•

You’re in the middle of doing dishes when you get a knock at your door. You dry your hands off on a towel and go answer the door. Dante is standing there with a couple boxes of pizza in hand.

“Oh great you’re home! Wanna come have pizza with me and the girls?”

“Sure!” You grab your keys and lock the door and follow Dante. The walk is short but you think about how the two of you have gotten closer these past couple months you’ve lived here.

You were walking home one time from work and ran into Dante who just finished a mission. “Hey what are you doing out here?” He asked.

“I just got out of work so I’m walking home.”

He whistles, “Damn that’s a far walk all by yourself.”

“I’ve gotten use to it,” you shrug it off.

Dante quickly steps in line with you, “I’ll walk you home from now on. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

You wave your hands out in front of you, “You don’t have to! I don’t want to ruin plans or get in your way.”

Dante is quick to grab one of your hands and continues walking, “You’re not ruining anything. I want to do this.”

Since then you and Dante have seen each other everyday for your walk home. You two have grown significantly closer and have learned much about each other. You’ve learned all about his job, past and even how he’s part demon. In return he’s learned all about you. It’s not as crazy and hectic as his but he still listens intently and asks questions.

You and Dante walk into Devil May Cry with a bang or well the door slamming into the wall. You wince at the impact and having the complete opposite reaction to it compared to Dante. Who made it seem like his goal was to slam it as hard as he could to bug Trish and Lady. Lady you met a couple weeks after moving here.

Ironically you met by watching her scold Dante in front of the shop one day when you came back from grocery shopping. You could tell Dante was disinterested in what she was saying. Once he saw you though he smiled and gave you a wave.

You tried to wave but had a hard time because of the heavy groceries in your hands so you opt to just smile. Dante continues to ignore Lady and walks over to you. He slides his hands against yours and grabs the bags from your hands. “Here let me.”

“Thank you!” You then see a hand raise behind his head and smack him hard.

“Hey ouch! What was that for?”

“You don’t just walk up to a random person and take their bags!” Lady scolds.

“She’s my neighbor… you know the one I told you about? The one Trish and I met.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah…” Dante snips back and rubs the back of his head.

Lady turns to you, “Sorry you had to see that. I’m Lady.” She waves at you. You wave back and introduce yourself.

Your new friends sure are interesting but you wouldn’t trade them for the world. “Look who I brought!” Dante steps aside to show you standing behind him.

“Wow we would have never guessed…” Lady says while rolling her eyes.

You laugh at her joke and go to sit on the couch. Trish and Lady are sitting on two old chairs Dante has that are pushed towards the couch. Dante followed behind you and places the pizzas on the table in front of the couch then joins you.

You two are sitting so close that your thighs are touching. Neither of you say anything or move away. You love the warmth radiating off of him, you wish you could be even closer to him and lean in just a bit more.

The four of you dig into the pizza and chat about how the weeks has been for all of you. The talk is basically about demon hunting until they asked you how work was and if there’s any corporate gossip going around your office.

You talk about the latest rumors circling around your office about how the ceo is possibly sleeping with his secretary even though he’s happily married with a child on the way. Or how there is a food snatcher in the office and no one can figure out who it is but some people have guesses and ideas about who it could be.

Even though you are not in the same line of work they always are so interested in what is going on in your life. They never want to make you feel excluded. Even when they tell their own stories if there is something you don’t get or won’t understand they are quick to explain or talk about it to help you. It makes you happy.

You three are listening to Lady right now talking about new weapons she has been trying when you shiver. You’re a bit cold and wish you brought a jacket with you.

Dante leans over then asks, “You cold?”

You rub your hands up and down your arms, “A little but I’m fine.”

Dante doesn’t have it so he wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into him. You are now leaning more into him and feel the warmth seeping off of him. You can’t help yourself but lean in more and get more of his warmth.

He leans back down and whispers deeply into your ear, “Better?”

You nod, “Much. Thank you.”

Dante doesn’t say anything but goes back to focus on the conversation going on. But little did you two know, Trish and Lady watched the whole interaction. When you two were adjusting yourselves they looked at each other and gave one another a knowing look. They have to start putting their plan into action.

After the conversation flows a bit more they put their plan into action. Trish stands up and stretches. She then calls out your name, “Do you mind helping me with the dishes?”

Dante leans forwards and answers for you, “No she’s a guest.”

You place a hand on his chest and push him back down, “It’s alright, I’d like to help especially since you guys treated me tonight.” You stand up and start to gather the plates and Trish gathers the other dishes. The two of you head into the kitchen and do the dishes.

You didn’t see Dante pout when you got out of his hold. He’s mad at Trish for taking you away. What was the point of asking you? Just ask Lady and let him have some alone time with you. He finally got to cuddle with you after months of pining now he finally had you. Just for you to be ripped out of his arms.

“Hey Dante.”

He turns to Lady who just called out to him. “There’s this new diner opening up in two days and you should go.”

“Not interested.”

“Sucks to suck because I already told your date you’d be there.”

“WHAT!?” He yells. “What date? I don’t have a date.”

“Well not yet. One of the ladies you saved last week asked me if you were single once I told her yes she asked if I can set you two up.”

“I’m not going.” He says firmly. Dante looks off in the direction of the kitchen to hope he gets a glance of you. If he was going to go on a date he wants it to be with you, not some random girl.

“Too bad you have to.” Lady shrugs, “Told her you would and you can’t back out. It’d hurt your reputation.”

Dante rubs a hand down his face and groans. This is not how he expected his night to go. Finally getting you in his arms then told he has to go on a date with someone else? Yeah this is pure torture.

“Fine just send me the details.” He finally relents. He leans his head back again the couch and looks up at the ceiling. He’s upset but what can he do? Lady smirks to herself and hopes Trish’s side is working well.

You’re washing some plates when Trish bumps her hip into yours. After getting your attention she asks, “You’re single right?”

“Mhm. Why do you ask?”

“A friend of mine wants to go on a date with someone. He’s ready to get back into the dating game after some time off from dating. So I thought I could set you two up.”

You bite your lip, “I’m not sure…”. You look back in the direction of the living room where Dante is. Where you had to leave his warmth and help her. If you’re being honest if you’re going to go on a date you want it to be with Dante. Not some random guy you’ve never met.

“Come on! You’ve been here for months and only know us. Branch out more, get your feet wet.”

You know if you say no she’s just going to keep pressuring you until you say yes. You give up the fight. “I guess. Just send me the details.”

You go back to washing the dishes. You hurry because you just want to go home. You don’t like that you had to agree to that. You want Dante and have since you two have met. But you guess it’s not going to happen. Once you’re finished you head backing into the living room and say you’re going to head home.

Dante is quick onto his feet, “Let me walk you back.”

Not having the heart to decline you just smile lightly and walk out of the shop. Dante could see your smile didn’t reach your eyes. Why are you upset? Did Trish say something to you?

He quickly glares at Trish and holds her hands up in mock surrender. Whatever he’ll deal with this later. He quick catches up to you and walks silently along side you. He hates the silence and that sad look on your face.

Before you can unlock your door he grabs your hand, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing just really tired. It was a long day at work.”

He just nods not believing what you told him. “You know you can talk me right?”

You squeeze his hand, “I know and I’m grateful for that.” Oh how you wished to tell him about the blind date, but your heart won’t be able to handle it. So you just have to push it down.

You release his hand and go to unlock your door again. You smile and wish him a goodnight before sliding into your house. Dante stands there and clenches his fists. He’s mad. He doesn’t like how this night changed so much so fast. He has to figure out how to get you. But first he has to go on this stupid date.

While you two were gone Lady and Trish gave each other a thumbs up. The plan is now in motion. You two will finally get together even if it was a push to get it to happen.

•

You and Dante didn’t talk for the next two days. You were moping around all day Saturday and didn’t get out of bed. You had to force yourself out of bed on Sunday to get ready for the date. You decide to keep it simple with a black skirt and a blouse. You slip on a pair of boots then look at yourself in the mirror. You really hate this. You don’t want to go. But you know Trish will have your head if you don’t go. You sigh and grab your purse and head out.

Dante isn’t fairing much better than you. He’s wanted to go over and check on you but he knows that if he sees you he’s going to slip up and tell you about the date. That is absolutely the last thing he wants to tell you. He saw upset you got the first night when you thought him and Trish were together. Knowing he has to go on a date with someone else would certainly break you. He got looks at the clock and sees it’s time to go.

He goes to get up and head out. Lady slides something in his pocket, “Don’t look at this until you get to the diner!”

“Whatever okay.” He’s over this and doesn’t even want to look at it. He’s not even interested in the piece of paper that was put into his pocket. He’s just wants this over with.

You were told to wait outside for your date. So here you are watching and looking around for a guy to approach you. You know you gotten here early but it feels like this guy is running late. Just great, now you’re going to look weird.

Dante took his time to diner, not really want to spend more time on this date then he has to. He strolls up and sees you standing in front of the restaurant. This makes him light up and he puts a pep in his step now.

While you’re waiting you shift and look in the opposite direction hoping to see your date in the distance. Your back is now facing Dante, so once you feel a tap on your shoulder you think it’s your date. You turn around to see the man you’ve wanted to see for the past two days.

“Dante?”

“Hey.”

You brush some hair out of your face, “Hey. What are you doing here?”

“Oh um,” he scratches the back of his neck, “Lady set me up on a date.”

“Oh…”

“What about you?” He’s quickly counters.

“Trish set me up on a date.”

Dante is confused, why would they both set you up at the same place. Wait unless… he rips the paper out of his pocket and reads it.

Enjoy the date you two! We had to give you two an extra push.

Lady and Trish

“You got to be shitting me.”

“What?” He hands you the paper and you read it. You let out that laugh he’s grown to love so much. He can’t help but laugh along with you.

“Well this makes my day better. Let’s go!” You grab his hand and lead him inside.

You two sit down and order all the different things you want to try. You get one of everything basically so you two can split it and try it. There isn’t much talking besides saying what you two like and don’t like.

You two finish the main meal when a worker comes by and places a piece of strawberry cake on the table, “On the house.” He places two forks on the table and walks off.

“Well it might not be a sundae but a strawberry cake is almost as good.” He digs in with a big bite.

You laugh and take a smaller bite. You smile at the taste. It’s fantastic. “This is so good!”

Dante smiles at you. He then leans over and wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He sits back down and licks his thumb, “You had a bit of icing on your mouth.”

You flush at his actions and let out a meek, “Thank you.”

You two finish the cake quickly and then go to pay. You two walk out of the diner but Dante doesn’t let you get far. He intertwines your hands and leads you back home. The walk is quiet but a good quiet. Neither of you feel like you have to fill the silence. But both parties can tell the other is really happy.

You two reach your house and the both of you turn to face each other. You stare deeply at one another. Not knowing what to say yet you throw yourself into his arms. Dante is quick to wrap his arms around you and pull you close. He shifts you two from foot to foot.

“I had a lot of fun Dante.”

“I did too even if we got set up.”

You giggle, “I guess we should thank those two.”

“Ughhh do we have too? I’ll never hear the end of it.” He whines.

“It’s okay because I’ll be by your side so you won’t have to endure it alone.”

His eyes widens at your comment. He likes the sound of it though. You being at his side. Yeah that sounds really nice. He tilts your head up to have you look at him. You can see desire behind those blue eyes you love. “Can I kiss you?”

Instead of answering you stand on your tip toes and press a quick kiss to his lips. You pull back but Dante stops you and pulls you back up into another kiss. The kiss is full of deep affection and care. You two have wasted enough time and this kiss is putting an end to that. This time you guys aren’t waiting for a push, it’s going to be you and him making the moves.

You two separate needing air. Dante lightens his hold on you so you can lay flat on your feet again. “I’ve wanted to do that since I saw you stare me down when we met.”

You flush once again and hide yourself in his chest. He lets out a deep laugh and runs his hand through your hair. After he finishes laughing his voice becomes more determined, “But I promise you from now on I’m making the moves.”

“I can’t wait to see what you do Dante.”

@the-writer-from-the-void I FINALLY GOT TO YOUR REQUEST MY FRIEND!!! I’m so happy I was your first request ever and I’ve loved this idea since it came into my inbox. Also thank you for being one of the nicest people ever and welcoming me so kindly into the fandom!! I hope you enjoyed this🩵🩵🩵🩵

#dante x reader #dante sparda x reader

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