#they both miss him they’re both remembering him fondly in this moment

[usalock]

This sort of case would have interested our old friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Yes, indeed.

[plaguedwithlove]

Based on a asmr roleplay i suddenly remembered a while ago, and i can't find it :((

Yan!Werewolf x Fem!reader

summary:  Why you?...All you wanted was to help your sick father, and it costed you your freedom, innocence, and livelihood

Warnings: my first dark romance story and smut so apologies if this is shit, 18+, stalking, non-con, rough first time, virginity loss, non-con touching, kidnapping, breeding kink, monster-fucking?? but y'all fuck when he's in human form, mentions of and inevitable forced pregnancy

—--

Violent coughs erupted from your father’s room, he had barely made any progress to recovery for about 2 weeks. Rushing up to his room, you give him a small smile and re-wet the cloth on his forehead 

“My loving daughter, I’m ashamed of myself that you devote your time to taking care of your pathetic father, you should be enjoying your young adulthood!..” 

You giggle and shake your head “Oh hush father, you’ve taken care of me since girlhood and now it’s my turn to take care of you, I will stay by your side for as long as I need to.” 

With a teary smile, your father grabs your hand and firmly grasps it “Your mother’s spirit lives in you, she too had such loyalty and love.” 

Returning his smile, you nod “I miss her, papa..”

Although your mother died when you were rather young, merely being 9 when she passed. You still remembered the mundane activities you’ve done with her and you all remember them fondly 

One of your favorite memories with your mother was when you both went for a walk in the forest and she reminisced of how she met your father 

“He slipped on his bottom and I came to his aid, I could see hearts in his eyes..” your mother giggles. She then looks at you and strokes your hair, “One day you’ll meet that someone who gives you the butterflies and you’ll know they’re the one you’ll spend the rest of your life with.” 

Going back to reality, your father speaks “As do I, she would be proud of the beautiful young lady you’ve become.” More coughs escaped from his mouth, your eyebrows furrow in worry 

“Here, papa.” helping your father drink the warm tea, his coughing calms down. “You aren’t getting any much better, I’ll head into town tomorrow and get more medicine. But please rest for now, papa,” 

With a weak nod, your father lies back down but before closing his eyes he gives you one more smile 

“Thank you my sweet (Name)..” 

“Of course, good night..”

Making your way out of his room, you look back at your father one last time before shutting the door

Grabbing your bag, you make your way outside, even if you couldn’t go into town at this hour, you still wanted to at least pick more herbs nearby

While the sun was still out, you hastily make your way to the field of rosemary's 

—--

A lone man strides through the forest, he was starved 

Both for meat and affection

He hadn’t had a successful satisfying kill in days, and quite frankly he was on the edge now, and the fact he was sexually frustrated would worsen his state of mind

Frustration and hunger was his drive, and whatever poor decently-sized creature was within a mile radius would meet an unfortunate end 

His ear and nose twitches

He knew this smell all too well, a potential prey 

Hastily, he makes his way toward the source of this delicious smell

The closer he got, the more his hunger enhanced 

Until, the smell of his prey mixed with the scent of rosemary 

He obscures himself behind a tree, waiting for the perfect moment

As soon as his prey got in better range of his sight, he could make out a figure, it was no deer, it was a human, a female human  

Peeking his head out more, his head tilts upon seeing the human

The werewolf has seen humans before, but never this close, nor this beautiful 

He stares at the woman's body, from her docile looking face, her breasts, and plump arse

Now that he thought about it, he was at the ripe age of finding a mate, after all most of his friends have already tied the knot and even had some mini versions of them!

And she certainly looked to be at a child-bearing age

He had to have her...

Upon noticing she was dusting herself off and ready to leave, he moved from his spot in a flash, steadily making way to his mate

HIs sudden movements startled as the woman gasps and looked around for the source of the sound

She was easily startled, cute....

Deciding to play with her for a little, he reveals himself to her, standing on his full height

—--

Your eyes widen at the tall figure in front of you, your breathing quickens and start to panic

"Well..what do we have here?" voice deep and menacing

Looking up, you're met with a rugged-looking man, he was tanned, with dark chestnut messy hair cascading down his shoulders. But what stuck out most to you was his amber eyes, bright under the moonlight, pupils piercing into you. He was far from human...those eyes no doubt belonged to those men who transform into monstrous beasts on the full moon

"Lost little lamb?"

"N-no, I was on my home just now...good night." before you could make a run for it, the tall man blocks your way, for a big guy, he was surprisingly agile, making your fear increase ten fold

"Not so fast, you've crossed into my territory, now you must pay the price."

Your heads suddenly turn toward him, since when did this field belong to anyone? You've been here many times, and there was never a claim on this field. "Sir, please! I have no possessions worth taking from me! I only have herbs for my sick father!"

"Ahh I see, so you're the one stealing from my field?"

"Please forgive me, I needed them to heal my father!"

"Save your pitiful pleas thief.." with a devilish smirk, the man lowers his upper body to inspect you

The man lowly chuckles at how adorably pathetic you looked, all under his mercy

"Hmm, quite plumply cheeks...meaty thighs..." he then pushes his face on the crook of your neck, inhaling your smell "Delectable...you would make a fine meal..." feeling you tense up and shiver with fear made his senses go wild

"But...lucky you, I've been lonely these days... I need something pretty to warm my den.." Hearing what he was implying, you look at the man with fear and confusion

"I'll take you as my mate...and you will bear my offspring." he licks his lips, revealing sharp canines

Your eyes widened in horror. You were in the prime of young adulthood and still had a life ahead of you! Marriage and children were still far away from your plans! "No, no, no! I have a father to look after, I can't and I won't!" pushing away from him, he grasps your wrist in an iron grip

"Oh well that's just too bad for that old fool, you trespassed and now you must pay up by giving yourself away to me, if you keep resisting I'll just have to eat you up and kill that meek father of yours."

Seeing all the spirit and will drain from you, made him swell with pride and triumph "Now what will be your choice, my mate?" he whispers and grabs a lock of your hair, kissing it

Fat glumps of tears build up in your waterline, this was it, your life was over all because of this hormonal and dangerous man beast

"Please...leave my father out of this..."

"Then you know what you must choose, pet.."

Closing your eyes, tears shed down your cheek and you nod "Just leave my father alone..."

The man grins, and grabs your chin, making make eye contact with him "Good choice...but don't you worry, I'll be your family now, along with all the children we will have." He slams his lips on yours, devouring them

You choke and gasp as he assaults your throat, his tongue forcing its way inside all over your mouth

Pulling away briefly, he lets out a raspy chortle. "That's it. Keep crying for me." he turns you around, throwing your bag out in the field to be forgetten. He pulls apart your dress, the tearing of the fabric was the only noise heard in the forest, your cries only worsens

"Erix." He suddenly says

You look at him with confusion

"Erix is my name, be sure to scream it."

With one final pull, your dress is in tethers, leaving you bare only in your underclothes

Erix's large palms pulls on the straps of your brassiere, leaving it to fall on the ground

Immediately, you cover yourself by wrapping your arms around your breasts

Behind you, you hear Erix taking off his trousers

"Tch, your weak struggling is only turning me on more..." With ease, Erix grabs your arms, pulling them away from your chest

As he slowly pushes you down on the grass, your crying starts to silence, quietly accepting your fate

"C'mon, sing for me, pretty.." one of Erix's textured-hands made their way on your breast fondling it, but you turn cold upon feeling something hot and hard rubbing on your ass

You let out a small gasp

"That's right, you'll start making noises again." He then grabs your underwear, pulling them down to your ankles, throwing them away. Erix's large hands grab the fat of your thighs, holding them up to spread your legs, and then grabs his long, hardened flesh, aligning it to your sweet entrance. With ease, he forces himself inside you

You were not prepared for the penetration. You've never experienced intercourse all your life, making the pain all but less painful. It didn't help that Erix's manhood was most likely much larger than an average human male. Your poor body bleeds and suffers from his harsh movements

The cries you suppressed earlier leak out again to a painful wailing

Helplessly, you lie on your side, continuously being pounded from behind

You hear Erix groaning louder and louder along with feeling his pace quickening, he then shifts up from his side to get on his knees and get more leverage and friction, both his hands grabbing the cheeks of your ass, slapping them making you cry uncontrollably

Your face is shoved on the grass. The push and pull was almost hurting your neck and hips. Then you felt it, a sudden feeling of warm fluid coursing inside you, slapping of skin to skin was the only sound heard along with carnal growls in the grassy field

As Erix's pace slows down, the moment you feared commenced, warm thick fluid enters your body, his seed. He keeps the lower half of you up in the air and doesn't pull out instead pushing his hips back and forth on yours to make sure you took it

He then turns you around. "Gotta make sure the job gets done right." This time, he rubs the remaining of his bodily fluids on your vagina, acting as a temporary lube, for your body still refuses to take in his length. Erix continues his violation on you, but this time, the pain lessened this round, and instead, you feel pleasure, turning your cries into moans. Finally, your pussy releases lube

While you watch with lidded eyes on the man fucking you, you get a good look at his naked body, hairy and toned. Damn you for finding him attractive, your eyes trail down to his cock disappearing and reappearing inside you, it was a miracle that you were taking him before you got wet

"Ahh...Erix..." you spoke his name for the first time and wrap your legs around his waist to feel every motion of his dick

"Hah.. you're coming around now, my flower, your body is taking mine in..." Erix firmly grips your hips and throws his head back, groaning each time his hips meet yours. You weren't even trying to match this pace anymore as he did all the work by using your body to his pleasure

He looks back down at you, face covered in dirt with such a erotic expression. He then looks at your bouncing tits, the beautiful mounds of flesh that would feed his children one day

The thought only turns him on more, and he speeds up, your eyes widen, and your moans get louder. Even though you still felt pleasure, Erix's brutal pace sent shocks of pains in your abdomen. The pain was enough for tears to form again. Your cries grab Erix's attention, and then you feel a wet and warm muscle on your cheek, Erix was licking your tears away

You once again feel the warmth from earlier inside you, but you are a fool to think he would stop here or the third time

Afterall, the night was still young. The forest and the stars above would bear witness to the savage violation of your body, the consummation of this twisted union

Hours upon hours passed of Erix's assault on your body, it had been long since you lost the will to fight back as it was useless against this beast who's blood was pulsing with sexual hormones and with the intention of impregnating you no matter what

Round after round, he never stopped, his stamina was endless. Until you finally feel him slowing his thrusting to a complete stop, you were dreading the moment he would start another harsh thrust inside you, but it never came

His slow and heavy breaths match yours, sweat was glistening off his body. Erix leans closer you, slightly pressing his weight on you. He then leaves gentle licks on your neck along with kisses while one of his hands grope one of your breasts gently fondling them

"Mine."

—--

It had been four months since Erix forced you to become his wife

As he planned, you fell pregnant with his child, he really had overdone himself that night, you still remembered the long cruel hours of him using your body as long as he pleased

Getting up from the bed, you've been craving raw meat these days, and Erix had just came back with a fresh kill

"Eat this, then our child will grow strong. It's in our tradition for expecting mothers to eat a deer's heart." Erix hands you a deer's heart, it grossed you out, yet the child inside you begged for it

Despite your child being a product of forced love, you couldn't bring yourself to hate the parasite growing inside you, the poor child had no control over who their parents were or how they were conceived. And so, you endured eating the heart for the sake of your baby

After finishing the heart with great difficulty, you clean yourself up and Erix places his hands on your now large waist

"Such a good mother you are, I knew you'd be the best woman to have my children."

Closing your eyes, you hold yourself from pushing Erix away and run away, you place your hands on your belly too but away from where Erix's hands were

While rubbing your belly, you think of your poor father, had he died? Had he recovered? But considering he was barely in good health while you were around, deep down it was most likely he had succumbed to his illness. The thought sent a tightness to your chest. 'I hope it's bright up there with mother...'

With a kiss on your temple, Erix pats your belly one last time before whispering in your ear "I'll be back, both of you take care." He then pulls away from you and makes his way out of the cottage

Emotionlessly, you waddle your way back to the bed

For being barely past your first trimester, your belly had grown so much already that you suspect your baby will be born earlier than human children. After all, the baby is half werewolf. They will most likely grow faster than the average human child as well.

Drowning in the furs on the bed, your hand mindlessly draws circles on your round belly, and you feel the baby kicking gently as if loving the attention they were receiving from their mother.

"You like that, don't you, little one? Your father did unspeakable things to me that led to your creation, but I will love you nonetheless." You smile fondly as your baby kicks again

Looking out the window of the cottage, the place had been a bit run-down when you first moved in, Erix made an effort to tidy up the place

"If you're a boy, I'm thinking of naming you after your grandpa. But if you're a girl, maybe your grandma? That's only if your father will let me have the naming rights." You chuckle to yourself, you will pull on Erix's ear if he doesn't let you name the child, especially since he's forcing you to have his children, he'd better let you name every child he puts in you

Sitting back up, you lean your back against the headboard, looking at your belly and wrapping your arms around it, the precious life you carry was your only source of joy in life now

While gazing out the window, the field of your front yard reminds of the same field you and mother would leisure in, perhaps you would spend time with your children there too. Then you remembered your mother's words, “One day you’ll meet that someone who gives you the butterflies and you’ll know they’re the one you’ll spend the rest of your life with.”, you close your eyes and take deep breaths

"Mother, he's the one."

He's the one who forced himself into your life

_____

Writing smut is fun wtf

Might make a pt 2 where Erix puts more babies in y/n and mayb fuck her in werewolf form 👀

I made the ending a bit fluffy and whether or not you wanna interpret Y/n having Stockholm syndrome it's up to you, but its good to note that she still resents Erix, but I rarely find fics where the reader genuinely cares for the baby, it's fair why they would resent the child but at the same time I feel bad for the kid 🫠🫠🫠

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt behind the cut for Derpsheep; obligatory sugar baby Kon. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

Kon laughs sheepishly, shakes his head, and then leans down and presses a kiss against the corner of his mouth. Tim boils alive. Like. Just a little. Then Kon straightens back up and gives him another grin before looking back down to the bag and digging into it. He comes up with the chocolates first, since they’re what Tim put on top, and grins wider again at the sight of them. 

“Dude, how much are you paying in shipping?” he asks with a laugh, shaking his head again. 

“Not that much,” Tim lies. It wouldn’t have been that bad if he hadn’t sprung for expedited, so he figures that counts as true. Like, arguably. From a certain point of view or whatever. 

Look, he’s spent more on less important things. 

Kon laughs again, then puts the chocolates in his coat pocket and pulls out the jewelry box, inspecting it curiously before flipping it open. 

“Oh, sick,” he says, looking delighted, which makes Tim feel as good as nailing a landing on the edge of a skyscraper, and then frowns again. “But how much was–” 

“You can’t tell me not to buy you things anymore,” Tim interrupts him as politely as he can. Kon pauses, then flushes again and ducks his head a little, smiling helplessly. 

“Okay,” he says, then bites his lip and stares down at the bag. “Um . . .” 

“Yes?” Tim asks. 

“I can kinda, uh . . .” Kon trails off, then looks embarrassed. “I mean, it feels like . . .” 

Right, Tim thinks. TTK probably does take away some of the element of surprise from unwrapping presents. 

“It’s fine if you don’t like it,” he says. “I just found, well . . . an option that wouldn’t wilt over dinner.” 

Kon looks very embarrassed. 

“You really didn’t have to,” he says, a little stilted. “I mean–you already . . .” 

Tim tilts his head. Patiently puts on what he’s decided to make his “you can’t tell me not to buy you things anymore” face. 

Kon turns red again, then pockets the jewelry box with the chocolates before pulling out the last gift to look at too. He opens the box gingerly, and stares into it for a long moment before taking the actual gift out. 

Tim really hopes he likes it. 

“You really didn’t have to,” Kon repeats as he turns it by the stem, his face still all flushed and his eyes and voice both just barely soft. 

It’s a slender little branch of blue orchids, all shiny and pretty. The company that makes them lacquers real flowers and then accents them in gold. So it’s still obviously an actual flower with the petals all visible under the lacquer, but the stems are gold-plated and the petals are edged in more gold, and the flowers themselves are preserved by the lacquer, so . . . yeah. 

He could’ve waited for the cul-de-sac and just started giving Kon fresh flowers like he’d originally planned, Tim guesses, but he’d stumbled across the site while looking for gift ideas and kinda just . . . gone from there, pretty much. He’d actually seen roses first, but the orchids had felt a little more . . . creative, maybe? And likelier to be to Kon’s tastes, given how obviously fondly he remembers Hawaii–and misses it, maybe, though that might be assuming a little much on Tim’s part. 

Even if it, unfortunately, doesn't miss him. 

It’s just . . . a hypothesis, really, that Kon misses Hawaii. Just going by certain things Kon’s been willing to say and show in front of Tim Drake, and hasn’t been willing to say or show in front of Robin or the team. 

So when Tim had seen the orchids, well . . . 

Blue orchids are a rarer color, apparently, and he’d just thought–well, Kon’s eyes are blue, and so is a significant percentage of his suit. And so is, obviously, the sky he flies in, and the water he might miss. And blue orchids are supposed to be symbols of rarity and uniqueness, so, uh–maybe it’s a bit much, but he’d just thought . . . 

Kon clearly wants to be seen as someone unique and individual, and clearly deserves to be, so . . . yeah. Well. 

It’d just fit, he’d thought. 

They’re supposed to represent sincerity, too, but that’s a whole other thing.

[kaisaerinlover]

rin itoshi + sae itoshi

all characters aged up to 18+

tw: incest, abuse (can be perceived as literal or metaphorical for hurt feelings), kinda infantilisation but tried to not make it prevalent because it wasn’t really my intention

rin is all you have, or had, because now he’s gone too. he’s the same as sae. both of your big brothers are lost to soccer. and now here you are, the youngest itoshi sibling left to cry. mom and dad have never paid much mind to you, why would they when both of their older sons are much better in everything, only achievements matter, nothing else. rin and sae always made it a point to take care of you and look out for you in the way their parents could not. you look back fondly on your memories of ice creams by the beach as kids.

the eldest itoshis were always into soccer, it’s a shame you weren’t, maybe things would have turned out differently if you could be half of what your big brothers are. maybe if you didn’t sit to the side with your hands on your knees watching them play all the time things would be different.

all of you guys are together again, but it’s not the same. no one cares about you like before, soccer is everything and you are nothing. rin left for blue lock and sae left for spain and for the longest time all you had wished for is your beloved big brothers returning home to be with you again. everything was so lonely without them there, the apartment a bit colder and the silences of the night more deafening. now they’re back, but you aren’t happy. why aren’t you happy?

rin promised he would always protect you

sae promised you would always be his precious imouto

so why are they so… so mean? what did you do to deserve this? what happened to the sweet kisses both of them used to give you in the mornings. what happened to rin holding your hand on your walks out, moving you away from the side closest to the road on the pavement? what happened to sae’s affectionate pats, all the times he would nibble on your ear? you miss it so bad, your heart aches so much. why are they so mean to you? why do they snap at you whenever you talk? why can’t you even look at them without feeling they have some sort of disdain for you?

you’re sitting. it’s 5 am and you’re in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal. why are you awake? no idea. maybe the weight crushing your heart that amplifies whenever you remember how cold your brothers are to you now halted your sleep. it’s not like you have to work or anything, your brothers handle all of the finances. that must mean they still love you, right? it’s as empty as ever in the kitchen. don’t you miss how rin used to hold your wrist in his hands in the morning? you do, and now you’re crying, you’re crying into your bowl of cereal.

your brothers aren’t ignorant to this, particularly rin at the moment. he’s awake. your cries are really a reminder of how young you are. not in the sense you’re a child of course, but at the same time you are. you’re still his imouto, your cries bring him back to when you were kids, how you cried when you scraped your soft knee on the hard stone floor of the playground. how him and sae patched you up. it reminds him of when sae left for spain, and all you did is cry that you wanted nii chan to come home again. it reminds him of how you cried when he also left you, how you sniffled so sweetly and begged him not to leave you too. it reminds him of the time him and sae both looked at each other knowingly after hearing your delicate sniffles and heavy breathing from your bedroom, after him and sae were so mean to you. the bruise on your arm was pretty big after all, darkened too, no wonder you cried so much. broken doll. faint hearted imouto.

rin’s cold hand is on your shoulder, and you look at him with those big sad eyes that he hates (and secretly loves.) “shh, i’m sorry” isn’t it funny how life works? you were eating tear diluted cereal 20 minutes ago, and now your big brother, the one you yearned for all this time is in bed with you. you’re in his room again after what seems like a century, in your brother’s bed, kissing so sweetly. nothing like the bruise on your arm, he kisses you you all over, except for there. he ignores that part of you. you wonder if sae knows about this, would he be mad? mad that nii nii is all over you, kissing you, loving you, whilst sae is hating you? does he hate you? you thought rin hated you, but here you are now, the same as before, so maybe there’s hope. rin looks down at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, like you’re some artifact worth millions in a museum. but the truth is you’re so much more than that to him. he licks around your eyes, tasting the remnants of your tears from before. “i love you ‘mouto” he mumbles to you. you look up at his eyes, he looks different, what did they even do to him at that blue lock place anyway? this isn’t your nii nii. but it is your nii nii. maybe he just grew up, maybe that’s what you need to do too. maybe that’s what he doesn’t want you to do, maybe he wants to keep you innocent and pure as ever. who knows, and who cares either, what’s the point of thinking about anything, either of you, when this is what you waited for for so long. don’t let overthinking ruin your moment.

it’s so nice laying next to rin again, so nice sleeping like this again, so nice feeling like before. who would want to change or grow up anyway when your mind would never allow anything that goes on between you and your brothers if you matured that extra mile, you’re so smart, but so dumb at the same time. you’re choosing to be unaware aren’t you? because living like this and feeling good is better than acknowledging how sick all 3 of you are. maybe just the two of you, because you feel like sae hates you. “nii nii, i love you, i missed you, don’t leave again please” you cry into his chest. he pats your back lovingly and pecks your head. yeah, you two are sick.

you three are sick. you are sick. sae has you pinned to the wall squirming under him. he missed it too, seeing what he can do to his sweet imouto. it’s funny really, how many times have him and rin done such things to you? probably in the thousands by now, or more, you’re doing this since you were kids after all, but the years of distance from you are blurred. he doesn’t even remember the exact timespan of it all. but it’s okay, he doesn’t want to concern himself with that right now, because it’s still funny, funny how they did this countless times, funny how they took your innocence so many times, yet you’re still as angel like as ever. an angel is what he would associate you with. because you’re so sweet and precious. you act the same as you did back then, it’s like nothing has changed. he’s pinning you to the wall, his hand pushing down on that turned a little too dark. and it hurts, maybe this is his way of ignoring it too, he covers it. the same thing he does with all his problems. covers them up. and rin avoids them. very typical of your nii chans. but don’t think about it too much little angel. don’t ruin the time you have with your brothers again. rin is the softer of the two. they love you, of course they do, you’re their baby sister. sweet and cute and pliant as ever. what’s not to love? sae is just rough on the edges, and blunt. way too blunt at times.

“why are you writhing under me like a whore, hm? is it enjoyable, ‘mouto” he chastises you for the way you squirm, the way you clench your legs together. it’s enjoyable, you like your time with sae and sae likes his time with you. he doesn’t mean anything too bad with his words, why would he? he loves you. he pulls back a bit and tucks your hair behind your ear. sae doesn’t do smiles, nor does rin of the time, you’re sunshine in a bottle though. you’re looking up at sae with those big eyes, the ones he loves so much, so cute, reminds him of when you were kids. his face doesn’t change, but his eyes are gentle. how do you even explain this? you just know he loves you from the way he looks at you, his eyes alone are enough. he kisses you again, sharing saliva with you, it’s intimate, he likes it. you like it. kissing your brother. he bites your lips until they bleed and sucks them so sweetly. you taste like sugar, a testimony to your sweetness. little cupcake. if you were a food you would be a cupcake, wouldn’t you? he thinks it suits you, cute, sweet and colourful. he licks up the blood from your lips whilst pushing down still on your arms against the wall. that’s gonna leave some handmarks. maybe they’ll cover the bruise, that nasty bruise. you’d like that, all your worries covered by sae nii’s hands. your eyes are closed whilst sae sucks at your pouty lips for that sweet blood of yours. he pulls back and wipes his mouth. you’re so cute like this. and he’s so hot like this too. but is it even good to do this? is this okay? it’s not normal, is it? why would any brother do this with his sister? but don’t think about it too much, don’t grow up too much imouto. because then you won’t have your brothers anymore. then everything will be ruined.

you’re sitting on the kitchen side the next day, your brothers tending to that nasty bruise. sae nii and rin nii fixing you up. but why don’t you feel happy? it’s like in the old days, how they’d always take care of you, sick princess. so why don’t you feel happy. maybe because you realised it’s wrong. but you don’t feel sad either. maybe you were grown up the whole time. maybe your brothers weren’t even pushing you away. none of this is coherent. why isn’t it making you happy? maybe it is, happiness is a subjective feeling anyway, maybe you aren’t recognising it. but it’s not a bad feeling, ah, that’s it, it’s so enjoyable isn’t it? when people realise their mistakes towards you, when people start amending all of the wrongdoing they did. when everyone pities you. when you get to lay in the arms of pity and regret of others who have wronged you. you jump down off of the side, cute bandage attached to your arm. you’re sick, all 3 of you, maybe you’re the most sick. but don’t dwell on it. you peck both of their cheeks for the help “love you sae nii, love you rin nii” and they ruffle your hair affectionately. this is what love is all about. you guys are disgusting, aren’t you?

[alchemistc]

chisme 1/1

read on ao3

“I still don’t know the guy under the engine, Hank.” “But...you could find out.” “Didn’t you date one of the paramedics on the B shift over there? You were always yapping about how your schedules never lined up.” Thomas’ face goes a little pale. “Yeah, uh... that didn’t work out.” “Yeah, don’t shit where you eat, Henry.” ___ The LAFD likes to gossip. They all take advantage of the fact that Tommy knows their favorite subject to gossip about.

“You see that kid on the news?”

Jones shoots him a raised brow, and Tommy shrugs. “Captain Nash will sort him out.”

“Or he’ll wash out in a month,” Jones singsongs, and Tommy bites back on the defensiveness he feels bubbling up.

They’d been growing towards something, when he left. Even he knows that whatever Bobby Nash was doing was rare. He... misses it, some days.

He’s still getting used to this new crew. They’re... there’s nothing wrong with them, it’s just that Tommy’d been at the 118 for years, and even though he doesn’t look back fondly on most of it, or the person he’d been, that had been home for a long fucking time. He’d made a decision, the moment Bobby slid the LAFD pilot certification paperwork across the desk to him, his last review, that he wasn’t gonna hide himself anymore.

It’s fucking work, being genuine. Honest. Open.

“You got any plans for the night?”

Tommy takes a deep breath through his nose, stretches his shoulders back. Tilts his head a little, tips his chin down so he doesn’t look so fucking tense. “Does trawling the horrific depths of LA Grindr until I fall asleep count?”

Jones goes still. There’s a terrible, horrible moment where every shitty thing Gerrard, his father, his CO’s, his high school buddies ever said washes over him. And then Jones’ face does something strange. Pursed lips, raised brows, scrunched nose, like the surprise is washing over him uncontrollably, and then — “Well shit, Kinard, that’s just depressing. Let me and my man take you out tonight.”

Tommy blows the breath back out, feels the corner of his mouth tilting uncontrollably up, has to roll his tongue over his teeth to keep it from going too wide. That — he hadn’t known that. Everyone here uses ‘partner’ to describe their significant others, he figured it was just some initiative they’d all taken to be inclusive. “As long as you’re not looking for a third. No offense, Jones, you’re not my type.”

Jones smirks. “Who says you’re mine?”

Tommy slaps a hand over his heart, really plays up the hurt expression. “I’m everyone’s type.”

Jones’ eyeroll is a thing of beauty. “You’re too pretty for me, Kinard. And I’m too mean for you. You need a nice boy with a heart of gold to keep you humble.”

Tommy thinks, fleetingly, of the lost little look in that kids blue, blue eyes, camera shoved in his face and the flashing lights of a tilt-a-whirl behind him.

“I’d eat him alive,” Tommy says, and Jones’ laugh follows them both out of the lockers.

---

“What a fucking day,” Gatlin says, laid out across the length of the bench, one arm over his face,

It’s been a series of days, actually, but Tommy doesn’t feel like being pedantic about it.

Tommy just hums, and does his best not to be annoyed about having to juggle his duffle in one hand while he shifts the sad, unused basketball out of his locker to stuff it in the open neck of his bag. They’ve all been through the ringer, Tommy’s gonna give the new guy a moment to regroup.

“Hey, did the 136 ever find their captain? In all the chaos I don’t remember anyone radioing it in.”

Tommy nods an affirmative. He’s so fucking tired from calling out locations of trapped survivors that he’s sure his voice sounds like sandpaper. “Swept up in it like all the rest. Someone on patrol found him pinned under debris. An officer had to saw off his arm, poor bastard.”

Gatlin sits up like he’s rising from the dead. “You’re making shit up. This is a hazing ritual.”

Tommy slides him the most serious face he can manage around the yawn threatening to escape. His phone is blowing up — texts from dozens of people who’d been working the same shit as him, and it’s the first time in a while he’s regretted deleting Facebook. The marked safe function would have saved him about sixty texts so far.

“Heard from Waters that one of the 118’s kids was on the pier when the wave hit,” Gatlin tells him, finally groaning and rising to gather his own shit.

Tommy’s gut drops even as he’s opening up Hen’s contact in his phone, gratefully dumping the duffle onto the bench, now that Gatlin’s legs aren’t taking up the entire thing.

“Kid has CB or something, some lady found him and carried him around for like half a fuckin’ day until she found the old VA popup.”

“Mr. Rogers would have been proud,” Tommy says, and stares at the unsent text he’d typed out with shaky hands. Is Denny okay?

“Huh?”

Jesus, he’s young. “Look for the helpers?” Gatlin blinks at him. “Never mind. Change your clothes. Drink some water. Go the fuck home and get some shut eye, Gatlin.”

“You too, Kinard.”

He deletes the text the moment he’s in his truck, but scrolls back to her contact about twenty times, lying in bed that night, trying to get some sleep.

When he wakes up there’s a text from Hen.

Tommy scrolls up to find a keyboard smash he’d somehow managed to send at 2 in the morning.

Hen 3:27 AM: ???

Hen 3:28 AM: You good?

Hen 3:31 AM: We’re fine. If you were wondering. I assume you fell asleep talking yourself in circles about whether or not to reach out.

Hen 3:42 AM: One of our guys was at the pier with the probies kid. They’re both fine. Tell your crew to stop gossiping so much.

Hen 5:53 AM: Call me if you need anything

Tommy ignores the ache behind his ribcage.

Tommy 7:33 AM: Glad you’re okay. Tell Karen I said hi.

Hen 8:24 AM: Karen and Denny send their love.

---

Tommy’s elbow deep in wiring when Thomas sidles up to the cockpit. He’s got a look on his face that Tommy would normally like to entertain, but there’d been something fiddly with the altimeter his last flight out and he wants to check this before they get called out again — better to ground her until someone can take a real look, if he finds anything, than wave it off ‘til the end of the day.

Thomas shifts closer, tips his head in so he can duck under the open door.

“So, you still know a couple of the guys over at the 118, right?”

Tommy grimaces.

The fact of the matter is, Tommy knows a few guys from all over the city. He’s been around a while, has made many an appearance at the bars first responders like to flock to, has seen enough people come and go from stations to know a guy here and there everywhere. He’s thinking of setting up a pick-up game for whichever LAFD members want to show, maybe seeing if he can wrangle enough people for at least a bi-weekly trivia night.

The breakup with Jason sucked and he’s definitely trying to avoid going home to his empty apartment. Maybe he should get a dog.

“I still don’t know the guy under the engine, Hank.”

“But...you could find out.”

“Didn’t you date one of the paramedics on the B shift over there? You were always yapping about how your schedules never lined up.”

Thomas’ face goes a little pale. “Yeah, uh... that didn’t work out.”

“Yeah, don’t shit where you eat, Henry.”

And now he’s thinking about Jason, again. Christ. Don’t date anyone you meet on calls, Sal had told him, five years in, when everyone still thought his flirting with every hot chick they ran into meant anything other than him desperately trying to cover for the way his eyes were always drawing to the wide stretch of shirts across broad shoulders and the tight fit of a pair of classic 501s.

How he’d managed to convince himself Jason would be the exception is beyond him.

And the guy pinned under the engine had only made things worse, so he’s not particularly in the mood to gossip about him when Jason had used the whole ordeal as an excuse to start a massive fucking fight about the risks of the job for the fifth time in as many months.

“Yeah, I get it, oh wise one. Are you wise enough to figure out why the fuck the guy is suing the department?’

Tommy’s interest is piqued.

God damnit.

It hasn’t even been that long since Chim called him last, Tommy rationalizes as he tips the flashlight in his mouth with his bottom teeth.

“Give me ten minutes to figure out if there’s a short and I’ll make a call.”

---

Tommy’s got one eye on the television and another on the pool table. Brody’s got a pool cue tipped under her chin, and he can already see the chalk shifting onto her skin.

“So, we all agree they’re fucking cursed, right?”

Tommy takes a sip of his beer while a few of the guys make noises of agreement.

“Like, I’m thinking of starting a pool to decide what disaster they’re gonna have a starring role in next. But I don’t want repeats, and at this point I’m not sure how to list them all.”

“Rebar through the brainpan,” Trent says, shaking his head. Tommy feels a flash of guilt for never calling Chim after the initial text he’d sent.

“Plane crash,” lists Jones, eyes still on the reporter being drenched in the downpour as she recites the same tired story about the boy down the well.

“Bath salt werewolves.”

“Earthquake high rise rescue,” Tommy tosses out. He’s still a little annoyed he’d missed that one.

“Unwitting bank heist,” Brody says, phone out and typing furiously. “Oh, do we count ‘targets of teenage Unabomber’ and ‘pinned under a fire engine’ as two separate events?”

“This is getting a little morbid,” Trent says. Still no updates about the guy who’s been buried alive with the kid down the well.

“Armed chicken,” Tommy contributes, hoping to lighten the mood, and grins when they all turn to him with incredulous looks. “Maurice. Knives for feet. He introduced Nash and Grant, technically.”

Brody rolls her eyes. He never should have let her in on his secret love of love stories, she’s such a cynic, she hates when they all gossip about each others love lives.

“This is life or death situations, not dangerous fowl turned rom-com moments. C’mon, what else have we got? I’m including tsunami. Wasn’t your buddy’s girlfriend at dispatch when it got taken hostage? I’m counting it.”

Christ, he really needs to do a better job of keeping in touch.

Tommy’s eyes flit back to the screen. He can see the NASH dashed across the back of one set of turnouts, the end of a name, just ‘LEY” on the set next to his. He’s suddenly not feeling great.

“I’m gonna grab a drink,” he tells them, and Jones raises a brow at his half-full beer.

Tommy chugs it and tries to ignore Brody continuing to list things off.

---

Tommy’s getting a little tired of the argument about his job. There’s always a fucking argument, and he’s always somehow the bad guy for being the one saving lives day in and day out.

At least Peter hadn’t lasted long enough for Tommy to really get all that invested.

The house is too quiet, though.

And the dating scene is hell. He’d never —

The whole landscape of dating had been a shit show from the moment he’d decided he was done fucking around with hookups and lies, and it’s only gotten worse. He feels old, and he hates that he’d never let himself try when everything wasn’t app based and fraught with weird expectations.

He shoots off a message to Chim before he heads in to work. He needs a break, maybe. He’s got half an empty drawer and one less toothbrush in his bathroom and there’s an ache, in his bones, for the easy way he’d always been able to let loose with Chim and Hen.

(He’s not sure they even know he came out, and the superficial relationships in his life just keep smacking him right in the face.)

The pileup on the freeway provides a nice distraction, for most of the day, and he tries not to feel too disappointed when the message he sent to Chim goes unanswered.

It’s three days later before he gets a slightly blurry picture back. It’s — it’s a baby, and Tommy is unprepared for the wave of longing that threatens to crush him.

Howie 4:35 AM: I’m a dad!

Howie 4:35 AM: I made that!

Howie 4:36 AM: Sorry, man, I’ll be tied to this pooping, crying creature for the foreseeable future. But we should grab a beer sometime

Tommy 4:45 AM: Congratulations. She’s beautiful. You get out in, what, 18-20?

Brody pokes her head over his shoulder when he pulls up the picture again. “Cute baby.”

“Chim’s,” he tells her, and her expression shifts.

“Wasn’t his brother in the pileup last week?”

Tommy keeps his eye on the picture, wets his tongue against the top of his mouth before he speaks. “He didn’t say.”

---

They’ve all been on edge for days, now. Technically most of them aren’t in much danger, eyes in the skies that they are, but there’s not a single one of them who doesn’t have a friend or two outside of Harbor that wears the uniform.

They’re already two men down. And they’re all going a bit crazy.

So of course, when Tommy lands the bird and steps into the hangar, it’s to find everyone huddled around the TV set up in their little rec area, murmuring to themselves. Tommy runs a hand through his hair and makes his way across to them.

“Is he —?”

The guy’s insane. He’s got a vest and a helmet and no cover at all beyond the metal bars encasing the ladders of the crane tower. He’s surrounded on three sides by high rises, with wide windows and balconies just ripe for someone to set up an easy fucking shot.

The news crew pans to the witnesses on the ground, and there’s 118’s engine.

“Didn’t his partner just get shot? What is the 118 even doing out there?”

Someone hums. There’s a line of tension in every single set of shoulders huddled around the TV, watching, waiting. If Tommy was a praying man, he’d send something up to the big guy. Too bad they don’t believe in each other.

He’s still climbing. Three points of contact always, Tommy thinks, watching, holding his fucking breath the higher he climbs.

The camera cuts away once he’s out on the arm.

“Did anyone see who it was?” Remy asks, and they all shake their heads, but Tommy’s got a mental list from his sparse contact with Chim. Diaz is in the hospital. Bobby’s on the ground. This is Buckley, the kid he’d missed meeting by the skin of his teeth, when Bobby fast tracked his transfer.

In another life, under a different set of circumstances, the idiot making himself a target for a psycho would have been Tommy.

Tommy watches with bated breath until they switch back to the desk, both anchors looking a little wide-eyed as they report that the guy on the crane has been successfully freed from the cable that had had his arm pinned, and both him and the firefighter are fine. On the ground. Out of danger.

For now.

---

“Pay up, dickheads. Prison riot officially made it on the list.”

Tommy shakes his head, amused more than anything else. He pulls a five from his wallet, and Brody stares at it.

“It was twenty. A piece.”

“This is a gesture of goodwill, Youngs. You never paid me for the mudslide.”

“We worked the mudslide, it doesn’t count.”

“Oh now you’re creating arbitrary rules after the fact? Give me my five back.”

---

Brent smiles with his whole body, and kisses Tommy like he’s proving a point, and he doesn’t care that Tommy’s job is dangerous. The problem is that Tommy would like him a little more if he wasn’t so obsessed with the job.

“He worked out of your old house, didn’t he?” Brent asks, legs up on Tommy’s coffee table and a gleam in his eyes as Taylor Kelly reports on some Angel of Death wannabe who’s been shuffled from station to station, city to city, state to state for years with no real oversight, and Tommy — Tommy is tired of talking about work.

He hums, and takes a drink. Brent’s a Heineken man, and for some reason takes real offense to Tommy’s inability to drink them without making faces. Tommy stopped drinking them a month ago.

He’s not sure what he’s doing, anymore.

“Isn’t Taylor Kelly dating one of the guys from the 118?”

Tommy hums again.

“Feels like a quick turnaround on that news story. You think she’s getting an inside scoop?”

“I think we should break up,” Tommy says, and Brent blinks once, twice.

“Yeah. Probably for the best.”

Brent sees himself out. Tommy throws out the lone bottle of Heineken left in his fridge.

---

Donato is a breath of fresh air. She’s brash, and kind of an asshole, and dead set on proving herself a better pool player than he is.

She’s also a newer source of information for the gossip mongers of Harbor station.

“No, that’s the same guy,” she’s saying, biting her lip as she tries to beat Jones’ high score in Asteroids. She’s got a choking grip on the joystick and Tommy can already tell she’s gonna miss it by a mile.

“I — sorry, the guy who got pinned is the same guy who climbed the tower before the sniper was in custody?”

“Same guy. Also the same guy who hopped into that Speed style runaway truck with me. He’s kind of a badass. I mean, they sort of treat him like the station dalmation, over there, but that’s because if you rub behind his ears he wags his tail.”

“He’s not the same one Bosko accidentally got into Fight Club, is he?”

Lucy laughs. “Uh, no, Buck is absolutely a lover, not a fighter.”

“So which one —?”

“Probably the one I was filling in for.”

“The one who got shot, you mean.”

Lucy hums.

None of them have brought up Greenway, which Lucy seems to be marginally grateful for, but Tommy knows she’d worked with him. He hasn’t worked out why she’d worked with him — he’s pretty sure she’d been on the same rotation as Chim and Hen.

Tommy doesn’t feel like touching that with a ten foot pole, if he’s being honest. “So how are Chim and Hen?”

Lucy looks a little cagey. She curses up a storm when she collides with a pixelated flying saucer. “They’re — chugging along.”

“Oh, there’s a story there,” says Lemming, and Lucy shoots Tommy a look between her lashes, something fierce and vulnerable that tells him she’d throw down to protect the open wounds of the 118, same as him. He tips his chin, raises his bottle.

“Boring story,” Lucy says, eyes gleaming. “I bet you’ve got plenty of more interesting stories, Lemming. Weren’t you the one who had to rescue the UFO guy?”

Lemming is easily distracted, and happy to toot his own horn.

Tommy thinks of text sitting unsent on the blank conversation history with Chim.

---

“That wasn’t on the list,” Tommy says, trying for levity and failing miserably. His throat feels tight, and there’s an ache somewhere in his torso that feels like it’s spreading.

“Man, any time you think things are gonna stop happening to that house, they gotta go do something to prove you wrong.”

Tommy’s phone buzzes against his hip. It’s Lucy.

Donato 6:30 AM: Hen says he was down for three minutes.

Tommy 6:31 AM: He good?

Donato 6:33 AM: Inconclusive. He’s got a pulse, but he’s not breathing on his own.

Tommy 6:37 AM: You good?

Donato 6:55 AM: I worked with them for five minutes, Kinard

Donato 6:57 AM: Buck’s a good guy, though. I know you’re not a praying man, but maybe we could all send some good vibes the 118’s way

Tommy 7:01 AM: Jones’ is doing his mindfulness shit in a few. We’ll all be thinking of them.

Tommy hasn’t prayed since he was seventeen, but when Young ducks his head a few minutes later, eyes closed like he does every time they get news of one of their own going down, Tommy lets his own mind drift to his old house, and the people there who’d made him brave enough to live an actual life. Jones’ little meditation practice turns the hanger quiet, and Tommy listens to them all breathe, and breathe, and breathe.

He tries not to think too hard on it when they get the news, days later, that Buckley’s expected to make a full recovery.

---

Tommy’s been eyeing the guy at the bar through his lashes for the past fifteen minutes, and he knows Donato has clocked it. But there’s something — there’s something that keeps drawing his attention.

He’s — objectively attractive. Tall, broad shouldered, jeans that fit nice. Full pink lips and a flirty smile aimed at the woman he’s with.

Tommy’s always refused to bring dates to a ladder bar, even when his crew gives him shit for it. Mostly it’s because the conversation always eventually turns to all the crazy shit they’ve all pulled, all the risky maneuvers, all the scars. It’s always a pissing contest, and Tommy’s been burned a few too many times by guys who like the look of him, and not the reality of his career.

Tommy loses sight of Lucy for half a second only to find her approaching the couple as they move from the foosball table to the bartop.

He shakes his head. She’s spent weeks trying to squirrel information out of him about his love life, which is distinctly lacking at the moment. He doesn’t expect that to change any time soon.

Maybe he’ll hit up Brian once he’s had a few more beers. See if he’s seeing anyone. See if he’s still as flexible as Tommy remembers.

She doesn’t linger when Thomas calls her back for her turn, but by the smirk on her face she’s managed to put her foot in it exactly how she meant to. The couple are closing out, the guys head tilted to stare at his tab, color high on his cheeks. Tommy takes a deep pull off his drink and rolls his jaw when Lucy sinks three in a row, and then the eight ball too.

He gets a full thirty second reprieve before she’s sidling in to the seat beside him, a knowing look on her face.

“Look, I get it,” she starts, and Tommy takes another drink as Young starts a to rerack. “When the bar light hits just right on those broad ass shoulders, you really can’t help but wanna see if his lips taste as sweet as they look.”

Tommy knows his expression is long suffering.

“They are, just in case you were wondering.”

“Donato,” he warns, and she grins, playing with the pool cue with her free hand.

“Got it, Kinard. Backing off. But you know, I’ve got a cousin...”

“Not interested,” he tells her, already swinging out of his seat to break for his round.

He barely even notices he couple leaving. He breaks clean, a few stripes finding their way into pockets, and doesn’t pay a lick of attention to the way the guys flustered laugh sounds as he guides his date out the door.

---

Donato still looks a little shell-shocked.

“They — uh — they’re all good?”

“They’re all pretty banged up. But yeah, from what I heard, they all made it out.”

“Cap — Captain Nash. They found him?”

“Pinned at the bottom of the rubble, but he got lucky. No serious injuries.”

Lucy slumps. She looks exhausted, minutes out from crashing. Tommy’s flown away from enough disasters moments before they get worse to know exactly how she’s feeling.

“Go change, Donato. I’ll drive you home.”

“I’m fine,” she argues, and Tommy’s gaze catches hers. Holds.

“Yeah, okay, fine. I’m gonna cry all over your nice leather seats, though.”

He doesn’t point out that they’ve seen his tears plenty, but from the look in her eyes he figures she kind of knows, anyway.

She’s quiet, for most of the drive. It’s a longer one than he’s used to, and the detour caused by the bridge collapse makes it longer.

“I don’t know what it is about them that makes me feel like I’m losing a limb every time one of those stupid assholes gets hurt. They’re a magnet for disaster, you think I’d be used to it. I didn’t even work with them that long.”

They’re still ten minutes out. Tommy had thought she’d passed out with her face plastered to the passenger window.

“You miss it?”

“Do you?” she asks, defensiveness creeping in to her voice.

Tommy flips his indicator as the light goes red in the turn lane. “I missed the bulk of the Bobby Nash Experience. Mostly I’m just bitterly resentful that I never got to experience the turnaround of my old house.”

He can feel her eyes sliding to him, the curious stare. “Is this what it takes for Tommy Kinard Honesty Hour? I witness something traumatic and you finally open up a little?”

Tommy shrugs, thumb tapping along to the sound of his blinker. “I’m old school, Donato. Usually you gotta save my life for a glimpse up here.” He taps to fingers to his temple.

She takes that in in silence. There’s always been a kinship there, between them, some part of Tommy that sees a lot of himself in the way Lucy conducts herself, the brash way she pushes past the rough days, the spark in her eyes when she’s seconds away from doing something ill-advised.

“Chim’s getting married,” she says into the silence, and Tommy hums. “I’m pretending not to be upset I didn’t get an invite.”

She’s the only one who gets being jealous of that tight-knit little group of psychos.

“So yours got lost in the mail too, huh?”

“Been a long time since I’ve been close to anyone there. I didn’t expect one.”

Lucy tips her head back against the headrest. Sighs. “Yeah. I guess eventually I’ll get there too.”

---

Jones levels him with an incredulous look.

“They should fire your ass.”

Tommy raises both hands in supplication, but he can’t quite keep the grin off his face as Diaz and Buckley both round the side of the chopper, both of them looking like they’ve been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. It’d been an uphill battle, trying to figure out the logistics of who was going where, after the fact. Chim and Hen had gotten stuck in the back of buses to the hospital.

Diaz and Buckley had ro-sham-bo’ed for shotgun to get back to Diaz’ truck, and Tommy had spent the short flight back from the rescue ship trying not to notice the pouty tilt of Evan’s lip from the back, or pay attention to the back and forth over the headset as Diaz reminded him he’d already had his chance.

There’s a thrum, under Tommy’s skin — the thrill of being reckless is fading, a little, but beneath that there’s a possibility opening wide — Eddie Diaz in the seat beside him pumping him for information on his army days, Evan Buckley shifting restlessly at his side as he comes to stand beside him, arms crossed and staring at Jones like he’s about to go guard dog mode.

All this time he’s been getting second-hand gossip about these people, listening to the wild and sometimes exaggerated rumors that follow them around the LAFD. This time he got to play a part, and neither one of these virtual strangers seems keen to let the moment pass.

Evan’s shoulder glances off of Tommy’s, and he fights the urge to dart his gaze to the side, to check out his profile, to see how ridiculous he looks when those puppy-dog eyes get defensive.

Eddie claps a hand to his shoulder on the other side. “They should give you medal,” he says, pointedly aiming the comment in Jones’ direction, and Jones huffs, eyes rolling.

“Get the hell out of my hangar before I find a reason to be anything other than jealous.”

Tommy laughs, cheeks aching as he waves his passengers out through the open bay door to guide them back to the spot he’d had them hide their truck.

---

Tommy rolls up to the court and watches as some ten-odd firefighters clam up completely.

Well, shit.

This is the first time he’s ever been on the other side of this.

Price is the first one to break. “You’re not bringing anyone from the 118 this time, are you? Seriously, Kinard, one was already pushing it, you’re tempting fate. I don’t want to catch the curse.”

Tommy rolls his eyes good naturedly, doesn’t mention that if the curse were contagious he’d be neck deep in it by now.

“Tommy’s the one we need to be worried about, Price. He’s lucky he wasn’t collateral damage in that lovers quarrel, last time.”

It’s been two weeks.

Tommy has to remind himself. It’s been two weeks. Since he’d gone to make it clear he had no intention of stepping into whatever shit was between Eddie and Evan, to make it clear that he planned to keep spending time with Eddie but he’d never meant to get between them. Two weeks since he’d taken a leap, hedged his bets, kissed a beautiful boy in the orange light of his kitchen.

Less than a week since he’d taken a sip of a terrible coffee concoction and leapt right back into the chaos.

“Are we playing, or do you all want to crack open a bottle of red back at my place and play at being Dan Humphrey?”

Tommy dribbles the ball, raises an eyebrow, watches them all shift guilty looks between themselves as they grumble and move to stand.

---

Lucy spins the metal chair across from him, settles with a leg over each side, arms crossed over the back of it, shit eating grin on her face.

“So. I heard a rumor.”

Tommy’s not sure what his face does. He’s hoping for disinterested, but more likely than not his lips are twitching bashfully.

“The nurses at PIH are incredibly easy to pump for intel,” she continues, and Tommy can feel his ears burning. Donato’s grin goes wide. “I can’t believe you didn’t get me a last minuet invite, too.”

Tommy recovers in time to avoid the full-body blush. “Well, the next time you No Homo me in front of a mutual friend and make up for it with a grand gesture, I’ll think about it.”

Lucy tilts her head. Her grin goes soft, eyes taking him in. “Shit, Kinard, you like him. Damn it. I can’t tease you about that.”

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.”

The expression goes mischievous again. “He really didn’t even wipe the soot off his face before he hard launched you?”

Tommy ducks his head, failing miserably at hiding the grin on his face.

[giddyfatherchris]

I'm in love with you!!

pairing. felix x gn!reader

type. best friends to lovers

warnings. none except pure undiluted fluff

a/n. fricking loved writing this, it made me miss summer so muuuch, but i had the greatest time while listening to these songs on replay😋 highly suggest to have them playing in the background while reading! or just give them a listen cuz they’re amazing hehe hope you enjoy!! xx

song recommendations. calm - cody simpson, im in love with you - the 1975, island in the sun - weezer, heavenly state of mind - lewis capaldi, the view - skz

"I like the view right now!" you chanted as the salty wind ruffled your hair and caressed your skin.

Your eight friends started hooting in agreement, all understanding the reference to one of your favorite songs of theirs.

As a celebration of their highly successful last tour, you had all decided to book a trip to a private island off the coast of Australia. It took a boat ride to reach the secluded piece of land filled with villas and populated with a few staff members. It was a paradisiac hideaway for you all, so accustomed to being surrounded all the time.

You turned back with a gigantic smile. Felix, who was standing behind you, mirrored the expression on your face, a certain twinkle illuminating his gaze.

You jumped in his arms, startling him as he caught you rapidly. "And I love going to the beach!"

He spun you around, feet digging in the sand while you both screamed. The rest of the group looked at you with amused expressions. By now, they had become quite accustomed to your antics. You ended your frivolous spinning by plopping down on the sand, slightly out of breath. You stretched your arms as far as you could, relishing in the stunning warmth of the Australian sun, and turned to cuddle against Felix, his nose already nuzzling in your hair. "I'm so happy to be back home, Lix." "So am I," he answered with a soft smile, his eyes half-closed.

After a day well spent outside, swimming and exploring, you had collectively decided to set up a cozy little camp on the beach to enjoy the warm night under a sky full of stars.

"Are you done, you two? We need help setting up!" shouted Changbin.

"I'm coming, you whiny child!"

You faked irritation with rolled eyes, but ever since you walked off the plane, you couldn't stop your lips from tilting upwards. Your soul seemed to be shouting and dancing to the rhythm of your home. Nothing could you get you down from your little cloud of happiness, even a whiny Changbin. You got up to lend him a hand before he started throwing a tantrum, not noticing Felix's hand still subtly reaching for you.

The young Australian looked at the stunning view. You were right. Being home felt amazing. It was wonderful to have some vacations after being on tour, especially here with you.

You had been friends for as long as he could remember.

From meeting in kindergarten to facing high school's adventures to growing into two young adults. You never had any big fights, your friendship having prevailed over any argument and hardship. Even the distance hadn't been enough to pull you apart.

Felix remembers too well the fear he felt before telling you he wanted to become an idol all those years ago. He was so scared you would disapprove and hate him for wanting to go so far away. But your anger only came from the fact that he had never said a thing about it. He remembers fondly how you jumped on him, hugging him tight with tears lining your eyes. From that moment on, you had been his fiercest supporter. You cried buckets when he left for Korea but made him promise to keep in touch every day. So you video chatted whenever he could. You stayed up with him for entire nights, braving the time difference to give him pointers on choreo stuff or to cheer him up when he had a rough day.

Until you no longer had to do any of that.

Looking at you now, getting along so well with his brothers, made his heart tighten with emotion. At 23 years old, he had everything he ever wanted. Well, almost everything

Felix knew since he was 14 years old that he loved you. Part of him had hoped that once he was in Korea, his heart would finally stop beating only for you, but it never happened. He had dated a little, but no one had compared to you. With time, he became accustomed to the idea of never falling in love with anyone else.

It was a thought he accepted without so much difficulty. He couldn't help how his heart started speeding up whenever you were close to him. The reassuring feeling of having you by his side. The way your smile made him see stars. The way you cuddled into his side or held his hand, how your gaze lit up whenever you saw the sea, and how he was the one you reached for when you were sad, angry, or just disgustingly happy. He wanted to experience everything with you, every high and every low. He couldn't and didn't want to imagine himself doing life with anyone else. It would be this or nothing else, and he was comfortable with that.

After all these years, he had never found the courage to tell you. The fear of losing you paralyzed him. But as he looked at the joyful sea, breathed the fresh Australian air, and looked at you laughing and fighting fiercely against an uncooperative beach chair, he thought maybe this vacation was the time. The time to face his fears, as he did almost seven years ago to chase his dream, and see where it would lead him.

"Felix!" called Changbin, interrupting his train of thought. "Come and walk with us! We want to see how far the beach goes in that direction."

He lifted his head with a smile, looking at his friends waiting for him, bare feet in the sand.

"Hurry!" you waved. "We don't want to miss the sunset!"

It had been months since he had seen you so excited, so eager. He knew you loved coming with them on tour. But he also knew Australia would always own your heart.

"Alright, alright. I'm coming!"

He swatted the sand away from his shorts before walking to your little group.

You started walking on the beach, Felix close to you. Seungmin, I.N, Hyunjin, and Changbin ahead, busy taking pictures in front of the rose-colored sunset. Bang Chan and Lee Know were trying to start your little fire while Han prepared the perfect playlist. Suddenly, you recognized the familiar air of their song, 'The View'. You looked back to Han with a huge smile. He simply winked and gave you a thumbs-up before focusing on his phone once more.

The notes of the music danced around you, making the ambiance even more special. There was something in the air, a prickling, exciting feeling.

You swayed gently to the music as Felix snapped a few pictures. The two oldest near the fire, Han next to the speaker, the boys walking ahead, the sunset. He seemed to be on a mission to commit everything to memory.

You felt his focus shift and noticed he subtly tried taking pictures of you. You walked up to him with a soft smile.

"Are you taking pictures of me, sir?" "I might be," he smiled back, his dimples on display. "Well, I'm afraid you need permission for that…" you continued, taking a step closer.

Without giving him a second to interpret your movement, you stole his phone with a squeal of victory.

"Come back here!" He protested, but you ran as fast as you could to Changbin, giving him the phone. As you expected, he sprinted in the opposite direction while laughing like a dolphin.

"You think you're funny or something?" asked a slightly out of breath Felix as he reached you.

"In fact, I do."

You splashed him and ran off while giggling like a maniac. As hoped, your antics started a generalized water war. Felix kept running after you, deciding he needed to get vengeance while the other boys splashed each other. You laughed wildly and ran in the shallow waters, not daring to look back and give him a chance to reach you.

You had water up to your knees by the time you heard him whine, "Wait! Y/n! You're gonna get all wet."

You turned around with a taunting look in your eyes. "Felix Lee, has the idol lifestyle gotten to you?" You gave him a pitying look. "Have you forgotten all about your Australian roots? Are you scared of a little water?"

A little taunting was usually all it took for you to rile up your best friend, and tonight would be no different. His eyes scrunched with determination, "Oh, you just wait till I get my hands on you." He tried threatening you, but you didn't give him a chance as you dove into the clear water.

Without a second thought, he jumped in after you, fully clothed. He barely broke the surface when you jumped on him from behind and tried to push him back underwater. He managed to take ahold of your wrists, careful not to clamp too hard. You took a deep breath, ready to be ducked under, but he softly made you twirl in the water. You gave him a surprised look as he winked and let you go benevolently.

Complete elation seized you as the beautiful young man looked at you with that smile of his, hair slicked back from the water, a light illuminating his soft eyes.

"I love Australia! I love the beach! I love being in the water! I love this night!!!" you screamed as you threw your arms in the air.

The other boys looked in your direction with giant smiles, drenched in water. The ever-present professional idol aura in their demeanor was nowhere in sight. They shone with pure happiness. For once, they could be only themselves, away from cameras and personas. Your heart sang with happiness for them.

"I love being home!" screamed Chan. "I love Australian BBQ!" added Changbin. "I love vacations!" said I.N "I love to splash Grandpa Chan!" joked Seungmin. "I love sunsets!" screamed Hyunjin. "I love water wars!" laughed Han. "I love cats!" finished Lee Know.

All eyes turned to Felix, the only one who hadn't said anything yet. His soft gaze set on you, the intensity taking the breath away from your lungs. He rallied his breath and screamed. "I LOVE YOU!"

The boys all went silent. You stared at him in disbelief.

"I love you. I love you so much. I always have, and I always will. Since we were kids, no one has ever meant the same to me. I love being here with you. I love being anywhere around the world with you. I love seeing you smile. I love the way you're so passionate. I- I don't want anyone else." It occurred to Felix that this was maybe not the right way to do this, as he noticed the silence surrounding him, but he kept going. "I know this is probably so out of pocket for you. You probably don't believe this is real, but I assure you it is. Since I was 14, I've been thinking of the right way to say this to you. I never thought it would happen like this but it feels right. So right, to finally tell you while you're at the place you love most and where I can see you shine brighter than ever."

You stared at him before a smile tugged at your lips, and you suddenly screamed. "I LOVE YOU!" He stood there with his arms limp at his side. Your words shocked him, and his mouth opened before he asked, "You love me?"

The light of disbelief shining in his eyes made your heart tighten. "Of course, I love you Lix. Honestly, I'm not sure how you didn't notice it," you added with a sheepish smile.

He took a step towards you, "You love me?" "Yes." Another. "You're sure?" you nodded with a bright smile. He was right in front of you, his arms a millimeter from wrapping around your body. "You love, love me?"

"OF COURSE I LOVE LOVE YOU. ALWAYS HAVE AND ALWAYS WILL." You leaped in his arms, water splashing around.

"SHE LOVES HIM!" Screamed the seven other boys in unison.

You smiled as you put your lips on his, barely registering the ruckus of your friends running for the two of you, throwing water around to celebrate the long-awaited moment you two idiots would realize you had been pinning for each other for years.

[blutopaz15]

ready

read below or on ao3

She shouldn’t really be worried—not with Callum following close behind, wing spell at the ready—and yet…

Rayla peers over the ledge they’ve sat at, breath shaking despite herself.

“Alright, Mr. Mage,” she starts, steeling herself, sucking in a gulp of air, and swiveling around to him, hands held out in fists. “Work your magic.”

Callum snickers—as expected—as he strokes the back of the hand he takes—not as expected—and her breath catches again, seeing his face all lit up like that, feeling his warm fingertips on her skin...

Face hot, she watches his thumb trace her knuckles, watches her fist open at his bidding, watches him slip one loose band onto her wrist, watches him cinch the knot tight, watches him weave his fingers around hers…and then pause there a moment.

He’s serious, pensive and frowning, when she tears herself away from their entangled hands…and then, like he’s thought better of it, he loosens the wing-bracelet a little, slipping a couple of fingers between her sleeve and the smooth, enchanted fabric. “How’s that?”

“Tighter is better, I think.” She pulls at the knot again herself, then rolls her wrist around in circles, testing the motion. His head is obviously already where hers is—her wrist binding had been Sky magic too, after all—so she smiles at him, unbothered by that part of all this. “Sure these things aren’t just decorative?”

Callum smiles back, and she knows he remembers that fib of hers too.

“You have nothing to worry about,” he assures her, answering what she hadn’t quite said. He takes her other hand, then—the one she’d told that fib about—and lifts it to his lips first: one kiss to her knuckles, a second across the back of her hand, a third lingering against her sleeve. She makes sure it’s silent when she sighs, but she bites her lip, mesmerized all over again. “I’ll do the spell, and then—poof! Wings!”

“Poof?” Rayla questions, adjusting this second band to be tight as the other, raising an eyebrow at the dramatic, dorky little finger-wiggles Callum had dropped her hands for. “I don’t know if I trust poof.”

“Oh, but ting is good enough for you, Miss Moonshadow Powers?” he teases, leaning in with a grin, and she scoffs back, looking skeptically again at the clouds beneath them.

“I think going invisible’s a little different than jumping off cliffs, hoping to sprout wings and fly, but—”

It’s a gentle touch, his fingertips on her face just firm enough to insist that she turn to him, to make her eyes meet his.

“You trust me, though,” he says, steady, thumb settled at her chin, voice warm and low.

“I love you,” she half gasps, nodding and near speechless, watching his lips part and his eyes shut and—

Callum cradles her close while he kisses her, his hand cupping her cheek…and she can’t keep this sigh silent. It’s just…so sweet having this back after so long. She lets him pulls her close, lets herself collapse into it, lets herself breathe him in…lets him comfort her.

“—and trust you, yeah,” she finishes with the last puff of air he leaves her with.

They both let out a choked giggle, both red-faced and beaming.

“I love you too,” Callum says, staring at her so tenderly, so fondly that she can hear her heartbeat in her ears. “Ready?”

Her hand still on his elbow, she tugs him in again, kissing him hard and feverishly sure…and he’s the one humming against her lips this time, though they’re both breathless and starry-eyed once they part.

“Ready.”

[ladykailitha]

Just a little angst that I thought of while at work today.

Eddie realizes too late what that look on Steve’s face meant in the forest and later after Vecna is defeated. That look. You know the one. The one that is warm and fond and adoring all at once. Or as Eddie realizes as Steve gives the same look to his new girlfriend, Becca, utterly in love. A look that used to be all Eddie’s. He was the only one that Steve looked at that way. But not anymore.

She’s sweet and lovely and as much as Eddie wants to hate her he can’t, because she likes him, too. She’s everything Steve deserves and more. He can’t even be mad about it.

So Eddie starts to pull away. What else can he do? He can’t watch Steve be with her, it hurts too much.

One night at a party, probably a birthday of one of the kids, one they both have to attend, Eddie is watching Steve and Robin comes up to him to ask him if he’s okay.

He’s not. How could he ever be? He could have had Steve and lost the chance. Robin understands. She offers to cover for him if he wants to go home. And that’s when the room starts spinning. Maybe the feelings aren’t just emotional, maybe he’s coming down with something, too.

Robin offers to take him home and have Wayne drop her off at home on his way to work. She goes to make excuses with everyone and Steve tells her that Eddie needs anything to let him know.

Steve wants to be the one to take him, the protector that he is. But he knows. He has no right. No claim on Eddie. So he lets Robin take Eddie home.

Two days later, Eddie is still sick. Doctors say it’s the flu. He’s miserable and alone and he can’t tell what hurts more, his head or his heart. Wayne has gone to work and Eddie can’t even move at this point. And then he feels a cool hand on his head. It’s safe and it’s comforting. He opens his eyes and sees Steve knelling there, brushing his hair back in soothing motions.

“Where’s...” Eddie frowns. “Fuck, I can barely remember my own name at the moment...girlfriend person...”

Steve chuckles. “Visiting her grandmother in Florida.”

Eddie frowns. “But you’ve only been dating a couple months...why big trip?”

Steve is still smoothing Eddie’s hair. “Goes every year at this time. It’s not a big deal.”

“Could have gone with her?” Eddie asks. His head is starting to feel better with every stroke of Steve’s hand.

“Too early for that, I think,” Steve mutters. “What do you need, sunshine? Let me take care of you.”

Eddie knows he shouldn’t, but he’s sick and he’s tired and needs comfort, so he let’s him. Let’s it slip how he feels about Steve, too. But he doesn’t remember that. 

“Missed you,” he mutters before Steve leaves for the night.

“Missed you too, Eds.”

A week later and Eddie’s feeling better. He wakes up to a knock on the trailer door. When he answers it, there is Steve. Beautiful, wonderful, amazing Steve.

Steve tells him that Becca broke up with him. And Eddie is shocked. He’s even more shocked when Steve is surprisingly chill about it.

“What happened?” Eddie asks once they’re seated on the sofa.

“Apparently her best friend that she grew up with in Florida told her that he loved her and that he always had.”

“So you got dumped because she was in love with this best friend person?” Eddie asks incredulously.

Steve laughs. “It’s okay because I told her I was in love with my best friend, too.”

“Uh...” Eddie says, “Robin’s gay, dude.”

Steve laughs harder. “No! She’s my Platonic soulmate. You’re my best friend, Eds.”

Eddie blinks. “Oh.”

“Oh,” he says again as the realization dawns. And then breaths a sigh of relief when Steve finally kisses him.

 “You absolute menace,” Steve says fondly.

Eddie blushes. “Yeah, but I’m your menace.”

“Yes, you are,” Steve says. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[another-lost-mc]

candy prompts: barbatos + sweet

before the angels take you on a little vacation to the celestial realm, barbatos has a gift for you.

pairing: barbatos x gn!reader

content: sfw. fluff. domestic bliss, mutual pining, a teensy bit of angst (he just loves you so much and he's gonna miss you~). oh, and kissing.

word count: 1.4k these are supposed to be short wtffff

The castle kitchen is bustling with activity when you push the door open and step inside. Luke and Barbatos both turn their heads and welcome you as they finish their little pet project. The young angel is especially excited to see you and he gestures towards the counter where all his hard work is displayed. "Look at how much we made! The other angels are going to be thrilled, don't you think?"

Luke has told you countless stories about Michael and the other angels he admires in the Celestial Realm, and most of them love sweets. However, you're not sure that explains why there's nearly a dozen pastry boxes stacked high on the countertop in front of you. You have no doubt they’re all filled to the brim with cookies and cupcakes and other sugary treats Luke wants to bring on this trip to visit his home realm.

It's possible Luke went overboard just a little bit, but you share an amused look with Barbatos over the angel's shoulder. Luke’s excitement is contagious and you can't help but return his giddy smile with one of your own.

"You know what? I'm sure all of your friends are going to be very excited when they see what you've made for them." You ruffle his hair and bite your lip to stifle a laugh when a poof of flour floats in the air around him and settles like a dusting of white snow on his shoulders.

Thinking practically, there's no way Luke can safely carry all these packages on his own; the tower of boxes is taller than he is! This many boxes would be a struggle even if you helped him, but it seems Barbatos has already solved the dilemma for you. He glances at something—someone—behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you recognize Number Two who pops up out of nowhere. He hovers over your shoulder and nuzzles your cheek in greeting.

(The Little Ds know by now that if they visit the kitchen when their boss and the young angel are baking together, they'll probably get to help taste-test their creations once they're finished. Barbatos warns Luke not to indulge them too much, but the angel can't resist slipping them cookies or bits of cake when the butler's back is turned.)

Barbatos watches fondly for a moment before he clears his throat to get the lesser demon's attention. "Please help Luke take these to the foyer, and do remember to be careful with them. The contents are quite delicate.”

Number Two gives his boss cheeky salute and a wide, toothy smile. With a surprising burst of speed, he rushes forward and takes the first few boxes from the top of the stack. The other lesser demons that were helping with the kitchen clean-up take the opportunity to abandon their chores and help carry the other boxes instead. They all cackle delightfully as the packages teeter precariously in their claw-like grips. Luke yelps nervously and bids you a hasty see you soon! before he rushes after them in a cloud of powdered sugar.

The kitchen is quiet once the others are gone, and something dark on the now-bare counter catches your attention. "Oh, it looks like they forgot one." The box is smaller than the others and decorated differently too. While the others were standard white boxes tied with gold ribbon, this one is black and tied with a bow of emerald-green.

Barbatos brushes your side when he steps up the counter and he looks pleased that he managed to surprise you. "Actually, this is a gift for you, dearest. I hope you'll enjoy it while you're gone." He tips his head towards the box and encourages you to open it. It looks too pretty to open, but you do as he asks and tug carefully on the ends of the bow before lifting the lid and peering inside.

It takes a moment for you to realize what you're looking at. There's a large tin of loose leaf tea, his personal custom blend. There's a row of individually-wrapped scones that smell faintly of cinnamon and vanilla bean. Nestled inside a layer of tissue paper is a small jar of midnight-berry jam; you already know it's made from fruit he picked himself in the castle gardens.

His presents for you have always been thoughtful, his sense of practicality perfectly blended with his own selfish desire to impress you somehow. You already cherish this gift as much as any other, despite its apparent simplicity.

To anyone else, this would be nothing more than a small selection of Devildom breakfast fare for your week-long excursion to the Celestial Realm.

To you, it's Barbatos's way of providing you with something comforting to drink if you feel homesick while you're gone. It's his regret that he can't be there with you and his hope that you'll eat well despite his absence. It's also a promise: like all mornings you've woken up in his bed to find warm tea and scones prepared on a tray nearby, it's because he's thinking of you, the other master he serves willingly with bated breath on bended knee.

For some reason your eyes are watery all of a sudden. The laugh that warbles from you fails to hide the way you sniffle and try to wipe your eyes without him noticing.

"Come here, love." Familiar hands settle lightly on your waist and draw you closer to him, and suddenly you regret agreeing to go on this stupid trip.

"Barbatos, I—" But whatever you're about to say seizes in your throat when someone knocks softly on the kitchen door.

"Sorry to interrupt," Simeon apologizes when he steps inside. He looks between you two guiltily. Barbatos's eyes snap up at the intrusion, and Simeon makes a wise choice to step back at the menacing growl reverberating in the demon's chest. "I wanted to let you know we're ready to leave when you are." He mouths sorry one more time before making a quick retreat. Even though he closes the door behind him, it's pointless—you're out of time for farewells.

A warm puff of air tickles your ear when Barbatos sighs quietly. Goodbyes aren't any easier for him, or at least they aren't when it comes to you.

"It's not often you travel somewhere I cannot follow." As he murmurs his vulnerable confession, his hands dip under the hem of your shirt, seeking the warm comfort of your bare skin. "I'll miss you more than you can imagine," he whispers, and he pauses with indecision.

To hell with it.

He steals a few more moments with you while he can. His warm breath fans lightly across your face when he leans towards you, followed by a soft brush of his lips against the corner of your mouth. The forked tips of his tail tickle your leg when he closes the distance and kisses you properly. It's unhurried and sweet at first, but then his tongue teases the seam of your lips and he answers your muffled sound with needy groans of his own.

Like his gift to you, kissing him feels like a promise that no one in the three realms could love you as fiercely as he does.

When he finally steps back so very reluctantly, your lips are glossy and plump. It soothes the instinctive urge to claim you somehow, and he takes a moment to admire how lovely you are. When he's satisfied, he laces his fingers with yours and leads you from the kitchen.

Simeon and Luke are waiting for you in the foyer when you arrive. The angels are eager to leave, but they don't dare complain about the delay. Even Barbatos knows he needs to see you off safely before he does something reckless.

(It's far too tempting to tuck you away in his room and keep you to himself. None of the others, except perhaps his Young Master, would dare barge into his space to find you.)

He offers insincere apologies to the others for delaying your departure while you pack his gift carefully with the rest of your belongings. You hum as you swipe your tongue across your lips, savoring the taste of him that lingers there. You don't notice that he mirrors the action himself, or that he stares at you with molten, greedy eyes as you step through the portal he conjures for you.

He carries on with his tasks as best he can after you're gone, and it's a surprisingly easy feat. Time passes so quickly when he gets lost in thought imagining all the ways he plans to cherish you when you return.

read more: halloween 2023 masterlist || obey me masterlist

[outerbankies]

new light: head over heels — rafe cameron

new light masterlist

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

warnings: alcohol and swearing might be it?

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

“Are we really doing this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rafe, I’m not your enemy.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You come visit,” Topper counters. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything but that last one,” you wince.

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

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

“Noted.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did not!” you gasp, offended.

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

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

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

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

“Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Spring Break, 6 years ago

“Can I sit here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nervous?” you ask. “Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If not Topper, then who?” 

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

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

“Sidney,” you say.

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

“There you are.” 

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

“You ready, Chlo?”

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

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

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

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

“Oh yeah? Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Maybe,” you shrug. 

“Oh, c’mon,” Rafe goads. 

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

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

—

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

“What are you gonna get?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t really know how,” you shrug.

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

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

“Is it everything you ever dreamed?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Here.”

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

“Thanks,” you repeat. 

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure he did.”

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

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

“It gets patchy after that.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Have fun with Topper?” she asks.

“Chloe,” Rafe says pointedly.

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

“I’m sorry. About this morning.” 

“Oh, it was no big deal,” you shrug.

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

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

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

“Yeah, but—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Present day

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

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

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

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

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

“Neither of them fit.” 

“Even better,” he goads. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What gives, Y/l/n?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You look beautiful.” 

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

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

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

“You perv. It was standard issue.”

“You rolled it up. I know you did.”

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

“I wasn’t looking at everyone.”

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

“You make me sick. Lovesick.” 

“Rafe.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

I’m so cold

my mom should’ve put extra blankets out?

She did. Still

suck it up buttercup

Pretty sure Cap misses you too. Whining at the door

noooooo my baby :(

What about me?

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

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

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

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

“Alright. Let’s go.”

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

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

“Rafe, how nice of you to drop in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This better be good.”

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

“I know.”

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

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

“Okay, but—”

“Five minutes,” Will says, with finality. 

“Yes, sir,” Rafe says. 

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

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

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

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

“Hi. Thought I heard the back door.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rafe, a word?” Will calls. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mm,” Will hums noncommittally. 

“Why would you need to corner me?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Right, I knew that.”

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

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

“I get it, Rafe.” 

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

“To buy?” Will asks.

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

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

“Good money?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sure I will.”

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“You ready?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rafe, I never—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We’ll talk at home,” he concedes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s ridiculous—” 

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

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

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

“But your sisters…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

“What’s with all the pies?” 

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

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

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

“Too sweet.”

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

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

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

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

“Well did you? Fuck up?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And?” you push gently.

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

“Dyl,” you say. “I told you.”

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

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

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

“Why not?” you pout. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, grow up,” Dylan says. 

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

“What is it?” your brother asks. 

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Can I get you anything?” 

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

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

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

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

“Why’s that?”

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

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

“It’s Kelce.”

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

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

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

“Therese isn’t coming.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Babe,” Topper groans. 

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

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

“And what about you?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rafe sighs, feeling his shoulder drop a few inches. 

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

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

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

“Yeesh,” Blythe cringes.

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

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

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

“Oh, sorry, next week,” he amends. 

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

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

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

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

“Chloe Merrick? From high school?”

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

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

“With what?” Rafe asks.

“With Chloe.”

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

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

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

“Dude, she hates Chloe.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, don’t even fucking—”

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

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

“No, we don’t have to.”

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He looks at you, unamused.

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

Kelce scoffs. “Okay.”

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

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

“Not always,” you murmur. 

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

“His what?”

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

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

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

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

“How so?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Kelce,” you chastise.

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

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

“You’re sure?” you say. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gretch—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

“Oh, thank god.”

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

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

“But you left your window open for me?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I see that now.”

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

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

“He did not,” you defend.

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

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

“He knew.” 

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

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

You nod in consideration, your eyebrows still furrowed as you prop your head up on one of your hands.

“But, baby…” Rafe says, stroking a hand over the top of your head, his fingers digging into the hair at the nape of your neck. “You can’t still be worried about it. Not after all this time?”

“It isn’t like that anymore, Rafe. I mean, you’re a catch and I’m never gonna take that for granted,” you pause to crack a small smile when Rafe won’t let that one go so easy, tugging at the end of your ponytail, “but I’d like to think you’d never hurt me or leave me.”

“Never ever.”

“She was making comments about our lives and whatever, like she still knows you. Like she knows you better than I do,” you explain, picking at your nails. “And it pissed me off.”

“Okay,” Rafe nods, unsure if he wants to ask what she said specifically, and ultimately deciding against it. “But that wasn’t all?” 

“What do you mean?”

Rafes eyes scan your face. “These aren’t angry tears. And I know you can handle stupid island gossip.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands again. “It’s so dumb.”

“It’s not,” Rafe insists, batting them away. “Not dumber than anything I’ve been mad about today.”

“Rafe.”

“What were you talking about in the car this morning? Seriously, baby. Let me in,” he says.

“Are you making me?”

“Yep.”

You sigh one last time, sitting back in your chair with your arms crossed. “We weren’t dating. But you were still like one of my best friends, right?”

 “Correct.”

“So it just… I don’t know. It sucked that you dated her, because she was perfectly fine going behind my back before she knew we were nothing.”

“We weren’t nothing, baby.”

Frustrated, you push at his knee. “Don’t be cute, you know what I mean.”

“I’m serious. I think a lot of people thought we were something, Y/n/n. In hindsight, I was pretty obvious at least,” Rafe says sheepishly. 

“I know, I know,” you groan. “Which is so embarrassing by the way. That that many people knew.”

“It is, but it worked out. Just a little bit,” Rafe reminds you. You bump your knee into his leg in acknowledgement. “So what gives?”

“I don’t judge you for it anymore. I got it over it so long ago,” you recall. “In probably the worst possible way.”

Rafe hums in disapproval. “So we’re even?”

“There’s no getting even, Rafe. I don’t hold anything against you from when we were like, infants.” 

“Clearly you do.”

“I don’t. I was young and emotional and just really, really confused about you,” you promise. “I don’t hold it against you, but I haven’t seen her in forever and she just got under my skin about it.” 

The image of a younger you, in anyway hurt by Rafe when he was arrogant and young and stupid and above all else still totally in love with you somewhere deep in his heart before he even knew what love was is always too much for him to bare. Even when he keeps a home with you, shares a dog with you, shares a life and all of his future plans and hopes and aspirations—and shares his heart with you. Even after all of that, it hurts. “I was such a stupid kid.”

“You weren’t,” you tell him, your hand taking a place on his knee again, maroon-painted nails digging into the skin under his shorts. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about it, because it’s just stupid teenage insecurities that I still let get the best of me sometimes. She started talking about how I’m your cookie cutter Figure 8 dream, and your dad, and then when you flipped about my dad—”

Rafe finally digs deep into his pocket, at a loss for his own words but one-thousand-percent sure he can’t sit here and listen to you doubt him or yourself anymore, setting the velvet box down on your vanity with authority.

Your words die in your throat, and you take one glance at the box before closing your eyes. “I know you’re not doing this while we’re talking about Chloe Merrick.” 

“I’m not doing that,” he says, hoping you don’t actually ever think he’d propose marriage while standing taller than you, while standing at all. “Jesus, baby.”

“Then what—” you reach your hand out, then retract it, doe eyes staring up at him timidly. “Can I?”

“Open it.”

You gently pry it open, setting it back on the desk once you can see inside, recognition crossing your features. “You found your ring?”

“I found your ring,” he says as he plucks the gold band out of the box, grabbing your hand. “Actually never lost it.” 

“What are you… wait, why does it fit me?” you wonder, once Rafe can stronghold your fidgeting enough to get it down your ring finger. On the right hand, he’s not psychotic. “Rafe, why does it fit me?” 

“You know Wren’s friend Stephen?” 

“Yeah,” you answer, flexing your hand, marveling at the ring’s new size. 

“Well, he’s a blacksmith, right? And your birthday was coming up…” he shrugs, bashful now, after all of his brevity. “We melted it down. I thought I knew your size, but I swiped that little silver twisty one you always wear when you were sleeping—just to be sure.”  

“Rafe.”

“And then it really wasn’t that hard—but it was so cool, baby, he like let me hold it and everything while he worked the metal, and I have pictures, if you want—”

“You melted your gold band.”

“Yes.”

“So I could wear it.” 

“Correct.” 

“The one you’ve been wearing since we were teenagers.”

“The very one.”

You twist the ring around on your finger, sliding it right up to your knuckle and seeing how it doesn’t give easily, how it was made to fit your finger. You work it off anyway, sliding it to the ring finger on your other hand. Your left hand. “Rafe.”

“You like it?”

“You know you can’t take this back, right? Like you can’t just—”

“I know, sweet girl, kinda the point—there’s even a seam if you really look. But it’s yours now.” 

Rafe can forgive himself for the way your eyes well up, because he surmises that this time they’re happy tears—even though he’ll always hate making you cry. “I swear I was gonna save it for your birthday. Or Valentine’s.”

You sniffle. “I love it. I’m glad you didn’t save it. You’ve just been carrying it around?”

He shrugs. “Wanted it close. I felt so bad when you were as upset as you were it was missing.”

“I should’ve known you didn’t lose it in the ocean,” you grumble.

“And now you won’t either,” he quips. “I love you. Don’t worry about the bullshit. Seriously, baby.”

You stand up then, and you two fit perfectly when your arms wrap around his waist, and his fall around your shoulders. “What about my dad?”

Rafe sighs, stroking a hand up and down your back, fingers catching on your tank top. “Let’s head to bed.”

You narrow your eyes, pulling out of his hold. 

“Okay,” you agree, reaching for a tub of lotion on your bedside table, before leaning in for a quick kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“I scaled the wall,” Rafe explains, watching you rub lotion into your arms lackadaisically, barely paying him mind anymore. “And it's one a.m.” 

“Hm, better be careful on your way back down,” you say, moving onto your legs, tantalizing him. “You always said that one rung at the bottom is getting faulty.”

Worse and worse every time he uses it, and he won’t make it any worse tonight. “You don’t want me to stay?”

“This bed is for people who express their feelings,” you say, burrowing yourself under the covers. Rafe sighs, finally kicking off his shoes, moving them to the corner so you won’t claim a tripping hazard. 

“Shove over,” he grunts, slipping in behind you once he unplugs your lights and makes sure your window is shut.

When you remain stubborn, Rafe uses an arm around your waist to move you over himself, grinning when you squeal in delight. “Rafe.”

“I told you to shove over. You’re gonna wake up your brother,” he chastises.

“He’s probably up late. Talking to Ev,” you say, sounding swoony. “I think he’s two hours behind, maybe three? Young love.” 

Rafe presses a kiss into the back of your head, using his free hand to trace the shell of your ear, tucking a few wayward strands behind it. “We used to be like that.”

“You were so cute, pretending you weren’t falling asleep on FaceTime,” you say wistfully. “Miss that.”

“I don’t,” Rafe says. 

“No? The window entrance was a little nostalgic tonight.”

“You really didn’t think I was coming?” 

Your shrug moves your body against his, and Rafe laces his free hand through yours. “I mean, I put the dogs with Dylan so they wouldn’t bark, but I dunno. This is one of those things that just makes you shut down.” 

He hides his head between your shoulder blades. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know,” you say, struggling to turn around in his grip, getting a hand under his chin once you do. “But I hate when you push me away.” 

“I don’t mean to,” he repeats.

“I know.” 

“I think your dad was right.”

The understanding immediately leaves your face, and you pause your petting. “What?” 

He kisses your forehead slowly, buying himself time before looking back down at you. “He was. Kinda. I need to get my shit together.”

“Rafe, no…” you shake your head. “No. You don’t have to listen to him.”

To Rafe, it’s as simple as the fact that he does have to. But you wouldn’t stand to hear any of that. “It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not. You had your entire life mapped out until a few months ago,” you say. “You don’t need to have everything figured out right now.”

“Sooner the better,” he mumbles, mind reeling as he thinks back to Topper’s sentiments from earlier, about how he pictured a different ring on your finger at this point. It makes him feel better that you’re currently tracing it with your thumb anyway, knowing you normally take your jewelry off before bed but you didn’t tonight. “He’s never gonna let me get serious with you until I do.”

“Did you discuss my dowry with him, too?”

“Y/n/n,” he sighs.

“I’m gonna wear this to dinner tomorrow,” you decide, turning to face away from him again. “Give him a fucking heart attack.”

“Just let me know so I can go to my dad’s first.”

It’s quiet between you two after that, until you clear your throat. “How was that today?”

“You found me at the Lodge.”

He can practically hear you pouting as you pull his arm tighter around you. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Rafe reminds you. “He just… you know how he is. I shouldn’t have gone at all, ‘cause I know he’s probably thinking a million different things about us right now.”

“Who cares what he thinks? Or what my dad thinks?”

Rafe does, and he knows you do, too. Maybe not as much, so he just lets the question hang there, suspended in the air.

“I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have a home here babes,” you say quietly. “You do. My dad just… I think he really cares about you. He’s probably had the same conversation with Dylan.”

Rafe squirms. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?” 

“For the love of god, no,” Rafe says, smiling a little when your laugh shakes your whole body against his. Rafe left a company for you, but he doesn’t ever want you to be in a situation like his. Because some fathers didn’t love their kids, but yours loved you. “I will.”

“Good enough for me,” you murmur, angling your chin just so to ask for a kiss. Rafe meets you halfway, but lets his head hit the pillow beneath him when you posture your own body over him, your leg slotting between his. 

“Mm, baby,” Rafe murmurs in surprise, accepting a trail of neck kisses while he guides your leg over his lap completely, your knees bracketing his hips. “Baby.”

“Hm,” you hum, pushing yourself up on your hands, gazing upon him in a way that makes his heart seize. 

“We’re in your parents’ house,” Rafe practically whispers.

You shrug, making to move off. But that’s not what Rafe wanted, not at all, so his hands flex on your hips to keep you firmly in place. “You gonna let me off?”

“Well I didn’t say that.”

—

“I could get my CPA.”

You cut your eyes to Rafe where he’s walking beside you, both of your breath visible in the early morning chill. “Do you want your CPA?”

“Good money.”

“Insane hours,” you point out. 

“Used to that,” he grunts.

“True. Well, if you want to…”

He shrugs, gripping Captain’s leash a bit harder when he almost gets tangled with Wilbur for the umpteenth time that morning. “Or I could get my MBA, too. I originally wanted to go right into it after undergrad.”

“Really?” you ask, coming to a stop when Wilbur wants to wander off and sniff for a while, Captain following behind him. “Since when?”

“Freshman year. Decided against it senior year.”

“Really?” you reaffirm, continuing when he nods. “Why? Not because of us.” 

It isn’t a question, because Rafe knows you’d never let him do something so rash.

“I didn’t wanna be away from you anymore,” Rafe says, to your surprise. “It would’ve factored into where I went, for sure. Just like it would now.”

“Rafe,” you say, confused. “Why have you never… you could’ve gone anywhere you wanted. You should, still. But why… oh.”

“You’re right though,” Rafe says, ignoring the Ward of it all completely. It’s a dead horse to him, the way Ward controlled his life for so long. Forcing him back home after graduation is child’s play. “I should still. I could.”

“Do you wanna?” you ask, shifting Wilbur’s leash behind your back when he walks further off, and eventually following after him to the bush he’s intent on investigating, still glancing back at Rafe when he speaks.

“Not right now,” he says. “I knew what I wanted to do back then. I knew why I wanted to be in school.” 

“Right, no, yeah,” you assure him. “But if we ever needed to move… way ahead of myself?” 

“Miles. Lightyears,” Rafe smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head, eyes still bleary from a night of not enough sleep for either of you, followed by a prompt exit the minute you heard movement in the house. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“College Rafe was such a vibe,” you sigh wistfully, reminiscing. “Bring him back.”

“Chill,” he laughs. “I could work finance anywhere. Get a job in tech on some 55th floor in the city. 401k match, stock options.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the second time he brings up money. “Do you want a job in tech?”

Another shrug. “Your dad does pretty well.” 

“Rafe…”

“I don’t have the same safety net I used to, baby. I walked away from all of this,” he says softly, almost under his breath, the old build homes you’re surrounded by suddenly feeling bigger and taller, the lawns more manicured and the cars shinier, the eyes in the windows more prying. “And I’m so happy I did. But I wanna give you everything you deserve. I wanna give it to our kids.” 

“Rafe,” you tut, stuffing Wilbur’s leash into his hand so you can wrap him in your arms, your cheek smushed into his jacket. “You’re going to. I’m gonna be here while you figure it out.” 

“I hate not having everything figured out,” he whispers. “I felt like I always did.”

“Even before you had me?” you venture, tilting your head back to look up at him. 

He smirks, looking down at you, ignoring the tug on his arm coming from the leashes. “Maybe not everything.” 

“S’what I thought,” you murmur, calves stretching with the strain to reach up and kiss him. He meets you halfway. 

“A year ago, I was telling you to quit your job,” Rafe says. “Remember that? That’s how sure everything was.”

You fake wretch, and Rafe hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you into him so he can press kisses wherever possible. 

“You’ve come so far,” you tease, batting him away half-heartedly.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket between you and Rafe groans, knowing you have to pull away in case it’s family. You do so reluctantly, reaching to tug it out of your pocket.

“How much time do we have?” Rafe sighs, assuming it’s Dylan or your parents wondering when you’ll be back. But it isn’t.

“No, it’s—Gretchen sent me our picture. From last night,” you say, eyes trailing over your faces. Rafe’s arm sits around your shoulders, where he’d half-heartedly pulled you into his body at her command. His head rests against yours, but the smiles on both of your faces don’t reach your eyes.

Rafe cranes his neck to look at it, humming a short noise before looking away. “We look…”

“A little bit miserable,” you finish, laughing lightly.

“Very,” he agrees.

You groan, your head falling to his chest as you feel the dog leashes start to tangle around you, effectively cementing you to your boyfriend. “M’so glad we moved.” 

“I kind of suck here,” Rafe admits, laughing when look up at him incredulously. “I do!”

“You better figure out how to not suck here, Rafe Leopold.”

“It’s a miracle we ever found the time to fall in love on this island,” he marvels. “We’re doing Friendsgiving in California next year, by the way."

“I know you want our kids to have OBX summers one day,” you accuse.

“They will. And we’ll pick ‘em back up from the airport in September,” he jokes. 

You push at his chest and almost send yourself falling back into the grass as you do so, forgetting your current predicament. He clutches you to him, a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Careful, baby, Jesus,” Rafe laughs, holding your hand for balance while you attempt to untangle you both from the leashes. “You got it?”

“Think so,” you huff, sighing in relief when you’re finally freestanding, one of two separate leashes clutched in your free hand.

“Still wearing it?” Rafe says.

“Hm?” 

He tugs on your ring finger, fingers catching on the gold band you have no plan to take off soon. 

“I told you, no take-backs,” you joke, falling into step with him again while he clutches your left hand. “By the way, you know you only get one more ring, right?” 

His neck flushes pink, from the parts left uncovered by his jacket. “I think I know which one you’re talking about.”

“You do,” you tell him, bumping into him sideways. “And if the next time you pull out a velvet box, it’s not that one—”

“Oh, come on,” he says. “You didn’t actually think—in your childhood bedroom with Dylan next door—I was wearing basketball shorts.” 

You giggle. “No, no. I didn’t for more than a second.”

“Really?”

Now you get to feel embarrassed, ducking away from his mischievous eyes when you feel heat creep up your own neck. “No. I don’t know, Rafe. It’s a little velvet box. We’ve been dating for years.” 

“Sweetheart,” he coos, throwing an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss into the side of your head. 

“Shut up,” you mumble.

“I wasn’t even kneeling.”

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(11)

Go to sleep, Miss Y/n

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Robert learns the truth of the plot to infiltrate his dreams...well...Cobb's version of the truth.

word count - 1.6k

warnings - betrayal, shitty fathers

a/n - I've realised the chapters are getting shorter and I think it's because when I'm writing I'm finding natural stopping points and I find I get more productive if I'm writing small chapters frequently than stressing about getting a large chapter finished.

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We arrived on the fifth floor, exiting out of the elevator, Robert first with a gesture from Cobb in faux attentiveness. I lagged behind, the tremendous terror I felt in combination from my last encounter and whatever was about to befall us buzzed within me. Even as the two men entered before me, my stride was shyer than theirs. Every so often Robert would chance a peak behind him at my frame. So I was ready at a moment to right myself once again.

With only his back to look at, I still managed to discern the shudders that racked Robert’s body. As I saw one sliver down his spine, the same feeling was repeated on my own. As if our hearts were actually the same, being passed back and forth between the two.

Silhouettes appeared out from the end of the hallway and Robert stumbled at another presence, the memory of our previous encounter merely one picture away.

“They’re with me.” My dad assured with a hand on Robert’s back. Offering a comfort I had yet to know. “Go on.” With this confirmation Robert’s eyes darted around the room numbers in search of any sense of familiarity. His body moved faster than his mind could comprehend. His eyes ended up bearing the brunt, shooting back and forth to catch what his mind had missed the first time.  

Feeling dismissed in my current position I found my feet shuffling towards Arthur. I clasped his arm in mine, leaning into his body to inhale his scent. The embrace I’d shared with Robert had cured my aching heart but to truly be healed I needed the feel of something I’d known before. In Arthur’s arms I could feel safe, whilst being undoubtedly assured no harm could come. He raised his arms so he could meet my hand with his. He clasped them together and brought them back down, my two fitting in his one. He looked at me, and I willed myself to meet his eyes. I gave a gentle nod. No more words were required before he met my hairline and christened it in his kiss. Unfortunately, I was unable to convey the platonic nature of this interaction before I saw Robert’s head fall low upon witnessing the two of us. I so badly wanted to jump back out into his arms but my sense of duty to the team and to my own promise held me still. Upon pondering this I also failed to catch the steel glare that landed on my father and the fist clenched close to where my own were being comforted.

The door labelled 528 stood before us. Robert’s panic grew as the familiar numbers jumped out to him. His head flicked back and forth from the door to my father in a silent agreement of what they both knew. Cobb gestured for Robert to stand with Ariadne and I as him and Arthur brandished their guns. They kicked the door down in perfect choreography for the scene they were trying to convince. They were led in by their weapons and they scoured the room in search for imagined intruders. Arthur paced towards the bathroom in perfect timing to ‘discover’ the briefcase.

“Mr Charles,” He announced. I did wonder if Arthur was going to do a different voice, remembering fondly when he would try different accents to make the jobs more fun.

“Do you know what that is Mr Fischer?” Dad asked.

“Yeah I—I think so, yeah.” Robert stuttered out and I sensed how close he was as he had gravitated towards my frame. My pinkie extended in search of something to hold. It was rewarded as I felt his own curl around it.

“They were trying to put you under.” Dad hurriedly uttered out.

“But I’m already under.” Roberts confusion spread through his adrenaline, linking the two.

“Under again.”

“What do you mean, a dream within a dream?”

An intruding sound alerted the room and we became aware of the fact we were no longer alone. For Robert he feared the oncoming consequences. The rest prepared for the next arrival.

“Shh.”

Cobb was aimed at the door as Arthur approached from the side. The door was unlocked, and Browning entered with his own key card. Arthur swiftly grabbed his arm in order to subdue him into compliance.

“Uncle Peter?” Robert appeared desperate to go to his godfathers aid, but I held him back with a slight tug on his sleeve. He responded to my action and remained still.

“You said you were kidnapped together?” My father asked.

“Well not – exactly – they –they already had him.” Roberts stutter was starting to become more prominent in the high-pressure environment and I had to wonder whether this was something he had been prone to before. Returning when he is placed in an environment which strains his heart. “They were tor—torturing him.”

“You saw this happen?” He breathed heavily when the question of sincerity was placed on the table. His eyes flitted to his godfather and seemed to truly focus for the first time. His conclusions became fully formed in the slight slouch of his godfather.

“The kidnappers are working for you?” Robert managed to push out in a whisper of disbelief.

“Oh Robert.” Browning sighed out as if in shame of the boy before him. The situation may have been an allusion but in Robert’s fallen expression I sensed that a scene like the one before was not unusual in his memories.

“You’re trying to get the safe open?” Robert’s voice shook. “To get the alternate will?”

“Fischer Morrow has been my whole life.” Browning said. “I can’t let you destroy it.” I had never had more of an urge to punch a projection in my whole life. And Robert knew it through the hand he gently placed over my newly clenched fist.

“I’m not gonna throw away my inheritance!” Robert shouted. “Why would I?”

“I couldn’t let you rise to your father’s last taunt.”

“What taunt?”

“The will Robert. That will? That’s his last insult. A challenge for you to build something for yourself. By telling you you’re not worthy of his accomplishments.” Browning hit the final nail.

Robert faced away and brought his hands up as if he could wipe away all the unpleasant feelings which were being forced upon him. I followed where his body paced, hoping any semblance of my presence would make him hurt a little less. He returned incredulously asking Browning to continue.

“What, but that – that he was, um, disappointed?” His words were intertwined with self-effacing laughs.

“I’m sorry.” Browning had the decency to refuse to meet Robert’s eyes in light of what he was revealing. “But he’s wrong. You can build a better company than he ever did.”

“Mr Fischer? He’s lying.” My dad approached to whisper to Robert.

“How do you know?”

“Trust me, it’s what I do, he’s hiding something, and we need to find out what that is.” Eames stalked into the room with Saito tailing behind. His weak frame confirmed my worry that the temporary heal of the deeper dream was starting to peel off to awaken a new countdown to the end. “I need you to do the same thing to him, that he was going to do to you.”

Eames and Arthur both held Browning down to "prepare him" for the next level. Ariadne and I did the same thing but in preparation for the others.

“We’re going to go into his subconscious and find out what he doesn’t want you to know.” My father continued to explain.

“All right.” Robert agreed determinedly. He approached where Arthur had his IV prepared but he faltered and angled himself towards where I stood. I was busy arranging for Ariadne and failed to notice him until he tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and was taken aback at his choice to converse with me. “Will you do it? For me?” He softly spoke and offered me the IV he had taken off Arthur. His eyes pierced down to capture just the two of us and they spoke to me to convey that I was the only one he could trust. I felt the burning glare of my father at the deviation from the scene. It had startled me as well but I was nothing if not an improviser.

“Of course.” I soothed, and gently clasped his bare arm in my hand to lightly insert the needle. I guided him to sit down on the bed. As the sedative seeped through my hand glided towards his neck. His weight fell onto it and I laid him down offering as much care as I could to ease him into this change. Once his head met the soft mattress, my fingers dragged back to the front. They lingered on his soft cheek and danced their way to his full pink lips. I was overcome seeing true peace line his features. But I was shot back to the situation at hand once Eames clapped my back in a warning.

“He’s out.” I announced.

“Wait whose subconscious are we going into exactly?” Ariadne questioned.

“We’re going into Fischer’s.” Cobb answered. “But I told him it was Brownings so he’d come be part of our team.”

“He’s gonna help us break into his own subconscious?” Arthur looked towards my father with doubt in his brow.

“That’s right.”

I laid down on the floor as Arthur kneeled over me, helping to prepare the IV.

“Security’s gonna run you hard.” I warned understanding the danger of leaving the dreamer at the whim of the projections and feeling genuine fear for Arthur up here on his own.

“Then I will lead them on a merry chase.” He teased as he smirked down at me knowing to reassure me in this moment, so my head would be clear of frivolous worries for his safety.

I giggled at his choice of words. “Just be back before the kick.” I relaxed my head back in wait of my slumber.

He lowered his voice to a soothing whisper. “Go to sleep, y/n.” he hushed.

LAYER THREE: THE SNOW

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Because y/n will have experienced stuff like the previous chapter before, it makes sense she would want to go to Arthur for comfort as it's her tried and tested way

Also like I said at the start, I know its a short chapter but I felt like it was a natural stopping point and it means I'm not trying to cram loads of plot at once.

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog

[xxladyballadxx]

My Love, My World, My Treasure

Richter Belmont x f! reader

❀ Dividers by @saradika-graphics ❀

ꕤ I recommend listening to Two Slow Dancers by Mitski while reading this ꕤ

Summary: A week had passed ever since you finally killed the patriarch that used you as a weapon to rage against wars. The nightmare was over, you were finally free. Then…you became more aloof, distancing yourself from everyone. Richter and the others knew what was up. Tera and Maria decided to help Richter out to do something special for you, to bring out a smile on your face once again…

“Richter, where are you taking me?” You asked in curiosity while having a blindfold over your eyes. “Hold on, we’re almost there.” Richter reassured you, holding your hands steadily that way you don’t trip or bump into anything. Still wondering what Richter was up to. Your eyes remained close behind the blindfold. “Okay, my sweet dove, we’re here.” Richter released your hands, hearing the steps of him walking behind you to untie the knot of the blindfold. 

With the blindfold no longer shielding the surprise, you lit your eyes open and felt the warm breeze crawling up on you, your hair dancing mid-air as it flowed over some parts of your face. 

You gasped, reeling in joy and happiness. Your eyes wandered around the place, you were taken to a field full of gorgeous flowers by your amazing boyfriend Richter Belmont. So this is what he wanted to show you. 

Roses, daisies, tulips and many other flowers were blooming beautifully on the green shining grass. “They’re beautiful!” You beamed out, bending down to touch the petals with your fingertips. “I know you haven’t been feeling like yourself recently.” Richter spoke calmly while he went over to you, a worried smile appearing, “I wanted to do something special for you, to bring a smile to your face once again. To cheer you up…” 

You stood up, walking over to Richter with a sweet loving smile popping up, “Richter…” he held your hands and motioned his eyes to gaze at yours, “I hope this isn’t too much, you’ve been through a lot and I realized we were never able to spend more time together since we were so focused on things that were dragging us down to the fucking dirt. You mean a lot to me, (Name).” He squeezes your hands lovingly, his blue oceanic orbs falling up on you, “I can’t bear to see you suffering like this…” 

Richter was hurting deeply inside, for you and he figured out that you haven’t been your usual happy-self for the past few days. This is why he did all this for you… 

“Oh Richter…” You held up your hand, caressing the side of his face while he looked at you worryingly, “This…all this means everything to me. I love what you did with the flowers…” you pulled away to look down to the blossoms. “Somehow they remind me of a beautiful garden back home in London, do you remember?” 

Richter chuckled, recalling the moments you spent more time with him when you were both children, “I always plucked out the rose from the bush and removed its bloody thorns before putting on your hair. Sometimes I get yelled at by one of your butlers since I wasn’t supposed to take the flower from a bush.” He picked out a Chrysanthemum and placed it behind your ear, admiring how stunning you look with it. “You love to make those flower crowns and put them on my head, wanting me to match with you.” 

You smiled fondly, “Oh yes. I even made a flower ring for you too. “ Those were the greatest days for you and Richter. You were much happier back then, running around in the garden with Richter while he chased you wildly. “I..missed this…I missed the moments we had together when we were kids.” 

Richter held your hands together in his palms, gazing his blue sea orbs upon you, “I do too, (Name). Nine years and here I thought…I would never see you again. The person whom I held so close to my heart.” 

You recalled the time where Richter rescued you from that cult, he couldn’t recognise you at first. You never prayed for someone you knew to come and rescue you. Richter Belmont, the close friend you ever had, rescued you. He came back to you. During the invasion in London, with the vampires slaughtering the citizens, Richter thought you were killed along with your family. 

He regained some parts of his happiness when he found you, so did you.

Richter sat beside you as you began to make garlands, creating a crown out of various flowers. He watches you making one, his gaze unmoving. “Where do you see us when this is all over?” Richter had been wanting to ask you for a while, he never got the chance to for some reason. Perhaps he was too focused on taking down the Messiah and her army. 

You put down the unfinished crown on your lap and face Richter in his direction, “I truly wish I have an answer for that. I never thought about it that deeply. Maybe…somewhere nice…perhaps in a cottage. Living there peacefully I suppose..” 

Richter shone a warm smile, holding your hand into his, “That would actually be quite nice…for you and me.” You gave him a kiss on the cheek in return before finishing off making the garlands. Richter knew you would need this, wanting to get away from all the terrible things that were dragging you down. 

You set your eyes towards the warm blue sky, the yellow-red burning sun shining brightly on your face, “It’s quite lovely out here, isn’t it?” you stood up with that finished flower crown in your hands you finished making. 

Richter got up on his feet, standing next to you. His eyes wandered around the area, a little speck of gleam going through his pupils, “It really is. Not as beautiful as you though.” 

Your face flushed at his compliment, you turned towards his direction wanting to look him in the eye with that flourishing reddened face of yours. Richter found it quite adorable seeing you like that, it brings him much joy just by spending his time with his lover. Seeing a girl he truly loves smiling once again. 

He took the flower crown off your hands, slowly planting it on your head. A sparkle of happiness painted over Richter’s face, “You look beautiful as ever, (Name).” The wind dancing through your hair, parts of them flowing over your face as a radiant smile shone across your lips. 

Richter gripped your hands, inching you closer to him. He held your head leaning in for a kiss. You closed your eyes when his lips touched yours sweetily. A slow, passionate kiss melting onto your soft lips. Richter moved his head away from your face to say, “I love you, (Name), so damn much.” 

Your eyes pricked with tears, “I know. I love you too.” You wrapped your arms around him lovingly, your head burying into his chest, “My love, my world, my treasure.” you looked up to his face, smiling as you shed more tears of sparkled joy, “You are the one I need. You, Richter Belmont, are my precious treasure.” 

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

a/n - Hello everyone! I hope you all like what I've written on here! I wanted to tear up so much while writing the ending for this (╥﹏╥)

Anyways, keep yourselves warm in this very cold season and make sure you take care of your health! ( • ᴗ - ) ✧

UNTIL NEXT TIME 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

[otomiyaa]

[Drabble Reupload] - To the anon who asked for this one before, I'm so sorry for telling you I didn't write it, it seems that I did! This only reconfirms how much my memory sucks hehehe. Many thanks to @wertzunge for saving even the drabbles I didn't remember writing.

The scent was absolutely amazing. Cyno sniffed and sighed in approval. So lovely.

“Been a while since you came for dinner,” Tighnari told him with a fond smile. Cyno didn’t reply but only stared quietly at him. It had indeed been a while. Even though they were in a relationship, it was hard to sometimes adjust their schedules.

Not that they didn’t see each other. They met here and there plenty. But yes, when did he last visit Tighnari’s home and sit here to be treated with his lovely homemade dinner? It had been too long. Luckily, he could enjoy it now!

“Almost ready,” Tighnari said, taking off his oven mitts after he put the food on the table.

Cyno stared at the oven mitts and then at Tighnari’s cute little hands.

“Tighnari! Your hands are freezing!” he chirped. Tighnari looked at him.

“Eh?” Cyno felt brilliant for having found such a joke.

“Your hands,” he said, and he pointed at Tighnari.

“They’re free-zing.” Tighnari stared at him.

“You took those off, and now they are free. They were… trapped in there,” Cyno said shyly when he noticed Tighnari’s bored expression.

“No?” Cyno asked.

“No,” Tighnari sighed. Ah bummer. Cyno had been trying over and over to find a joke that would make Tighnari laugh.

During their entire friendship and even since they started dating, he hadn’t been able to do it.

“Sorry Cyno, that wasn’t really funny. But that’s alright, I won’t judge you for it because you’re my boyfriend,” Tighnari said gently as he put the side dishes on the table.

“If you want to make me laugh, you know there’s only one way to do it,” he added.

…Cyno looked at him in surprise. Tighnari still casually prepared the last bits of their dinner feast, and Cyno cocked his head. Was that an invitation to tickle him? If not, then what was it? Tighnari shot him a playful glance, and Cyno blushed. What…

He slowly rose from his seat.

“You can do it later of course, after dinner,” Tighnari said with a cute blush on his face, confirming that it was indeed that what he was talking about.

“Right now, dinner’s re-Ehehh!” Tighnari jumped and dropped the cutlery he was about to put on the table as soon as Cyno grabbed both his sides.

“You mean I can do this?” Cyno asked.

“Yehehes but not nohohow!” Tighnari giggled adorably. Cyno felt amazed. He often tickled Tighnari but never got such blunt invitation to do it before. Perhaps even Tighnari missed this a little?

“How can I hold back now when you ask so nicely?” Cyno asked, slowly dragging Tighnari back to where he was sitting before. He sat down and pulled him on his lap while he tickled his sides and ribs playfully.

“Ahahahah! Cynaha-Cyno! D-Dinner’s ahahah!” “We can have a little starter dish. To get started with. Hmm?”

“Thihis is no stahaharter dish-gahaha! Wait-Wahahaait nohoho!” Tighnari laughed when Cyno’s fingers grazed against his underarms. He threw his head back and laughed beautifully. Cyno was wonderstruck and continued to stare at him while taking in his laughter.

“It is the best starter dish,” he whispered. For a moment Tighnari managed to climb off his lap, but Cyno held his arm and pulled him back again, causing him to tumble. Moving off his chair, Cyno pinned his squealing boyfriend down on the floor and attacked his cute tummy with rapid fingers.

“Ahahahah! Ahahalright enough! I lahahaughed! I l-laughed ahalready hehehhe!” Tighnari squeaked. Cyno smiled and finally stopped. He leaned in and grinned at his tired and hungry lover.

“Was that funny?” he asked teasingly. Tighnari rolled his eyes fondly and kissed him.

“Very funny,” he said. They finally got up and went to eat dinner. It was absolutely amazing, but after tickling Tighnari like that, Cyno knew that the rest of the night was going to be amazing. And perhaps, he could tickle Tighnari some more!

[n1ght0wl-0]

Klaus Hargreeves x Dave Katz

Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves x Dave Katz

Notes: It's bittersweet. I apologize for nothing

Summary: Klaus and Dave talk about a future where they might get accepted for who they are.

The ground is muddy and wet, but Klaus doesn't care as he sits down in front of a tree. It's the middle of the night—one of the few times he has to himself.

In the heart of the forest, away from the relentless noise of the 21st century, there's a strange sense of peace. That is, when he manages to block out the war raging all around him.

Maybe he should have left a long time ago. But when he thinks of Dave, he can't. When he remembers his smile, his eyes—his big hands cupping his face or gripping his hips in the secrecy of the night...

No matter how much he misses Ben, Dave occupies his every thought, his whole heart. The idea of living without him seems like the hardest thing he could ever face.

And he won't. He will never live without him again, not if he has a choice. Even though this time isn't kind to him. A place that isn't kind to anyone—yet the ghosts surrounding him scream that he has it worse.

Probably a selfish thought. Still, he always has that nightmare of Dave becoming one of them—screaming at him, tearing at his clothes. It makes him want to cry.

"What are you doing here, all alone?" A voice murmurs quietly, a whisper in the dark night. A whisper he'd recognize anywhere. The deep, low tone, the gentle tilt when it's directed at him.

"Mhm, just enjoying nature," Klaus replies just as softly, turning his head to look at Dave. The man smiles at him, his hair sleep-tousled, his eyes tired. He's just as handsome as ever.

"You? Enjoying nature?" Dave asks incredulously, moving to sit down beside him. He winces at the cold mud, and Klaus grins. "You could be lying in the tent. Instead, you sit in the cold mud we have to crawl through tomorrow anyway?"

Klaus shrugs, looking up at the sky. Leaning back against the tree, he closes his eyes for a moment. They ache, and his stomach knots at the thought of tomorrow. They’re lucky—they’re still alive.

So many others didn't make it out alive. But being lucky now doesn't guarantee luck for the rest of the war. If that nightmare ever becomes reality...

He can't go back to a life without Dave.

"What if I told you I know a way out of this?" Klaus croaks suddenly, turning to look at Dave. His lips tremble, and he forces them still. "A way into a time where we could be... us."

Dave looks at him, his eyes so soft that Klaus never wants him to look away again. Their hands meet in the middle, and they grasp each other tightly, making Dave chuckle quietly.

"That... Klaus, that's impossible," he murmurs. "If there were a place like that, I would go. But no one accepts people like... like us."

Klaus wants to tell him. He desperately wants to tell him about the future, a place where they can be together and live openly.

But he keeps his mouth shut. He can't risk losing Dave over this. He can't bear the thought of Dave thinking he's crazy.

"They will, someday," Klaus says instead, and Dave gently squeezes his hand. "They will accept us."

Dave doesn't look convinced, but he leans over to press a kiss to Klaus's head. Klaus smiles and leans into his embrace.

"It's a nice thought," Dave mumbles. "You always say things like that, as if you're sure about the future."

Klaus laughs weakly, shrugging. He leans into Dave's side, and an arm wraps around him. It's warm and safe. Dave smells like sweat, mud, and maybe even a hint of blood. Klaus buries his nose in the man's neck.

"Maybe I just know."

Dave rolls his eyes fondly, looking down at his partner.

"Can you see the future?" he teases gently and Klaus grins weakly. They're both quiet for a moment.

Klaus just enjoys Dave's arms, imagining to be somewhere else. Somewhere safe and warm.

"Promise you'll always stay with me?" Klaus whispers, looking up at Dave with pleading eyes. His heart clenches, and he grabs Dave's big hand even tighter.

"I promise," Dave whispers back. "I'll always be by your side."

[bookerwrites]

Hope Has a Place (In a Lover's Heart)

Cross posted on AO3 here!

Pairing: Solas/Lavellan

Summery: Lavellan let's Solas in on a little game she used to play.

Word Count: 1,302

Content: Fluff, light angst, some good old hurt/comfort, discussion of spirits. Spoilers for Dragon Age: The Veilguard!

“I was right about you.” Lavellan sighs as she turns the page of her book, squeezing Solas’ hand softly. They’re sat beside each other on the sofa in the reflection room, thighs pressed together as they read quietly.

“Oh? How so, vehnan?” Solas asks, his attention not quite wrested from his reading. Lavellan shifts next to him, untucking one leg from under herself as she dog ears her page and turns to face him, a mischievous smile slipping onto her face that he doesn’t quite catch.

“I always knew you’d be a spirit of wisdom.”

Solas is startled, momentarily, by her words, his book tumbling into his lap as he looks up at her in shock. “You-You knew?” He asks, his voice almost imperceptibly higher as he swallows nervously before clocking the teasing look on Lavellan’s face.

“Oh.” He murmurs, his brows creasing as he picks up his book and tries to find his place. As she presses closer to him she catches the wry little smile that he’s trying to stop from tugging at the corner of his lips.

“It was a game I liked to play on long journeys.” She says softly as she leans down and wraps her arms around his waist, making herself comfortable between his legs, chin resting on his chest as she looks up at him. “I’d try to match you all up with which spirit I thought represented you best.”

“Ah, an…interesting thought experiment.” Solas replies, trying his best to feign disinterest.

Lavellan shrugs half-heartedly, smile curling further across her face. “It staved off the boredom, and the cold.” She says as she digs her fingers into his sides to get at his attention.

Solas lets out what anyone else might describe as an entirely undignified yelp, snapping his book shut as he looks down at the woman currently using him as a glorified pillow. Instinct dictates he berate her – all be it gently – for such conduct in a place where anyone could see them, a remnant of their Inquisition days that he realises all to quickly no longer applies.

He catches the tail end of her laughter, soft and rich as she sits up again, legs splayed either side of his own, hands resting against his chest. He finds he misses her warmth almost as soon as it’s gone.

“Alright.” He smiles, and this time it reaches his eyes as he concedes. “Colour me intrigued.”

“Well, as I said- you were an easy read, vehnan.” She says as she leans down to press a kiss to the divot in his chin. Solas would deny it if asked, but he feels the way his cheeks heat up at how casually she preforms the gesture. “So was Cole, obviously.”

“Obviously.” Solas replies, recalling the young man fondly. “Who else?”

Lavellan takes a moment, tracing an idle pattern across the neckline of his shirt as she tries to remember. “Well okay, so- Vivienne always seemed like she’d be Command to me.”

“Makes sense.” Solas can’t help the way he huffs derisively at the mention of the mage, earning himself a playful smack on the shoulder that spirals them both into laughter again.

As Lavellan regains her poise above him she continues, “Josie…always seemed like a shoe in for Love.”

“Really now?” Solas asks, book relegated to the floor as he moves his hands to rest on her hips. “Not Cassandra?”

“No, Cassandra was always Duty.” She replies easily, as if the answer were obvious. Solas supposes with the amount of travelling they had done in the past she may well have considered the topic thoroughly.

“I see.” He nods softly in agreement, already invested in her line of thinking; in this little game she’s let him in on. “And what of our brave commander and cunning spymaster?”

“Oh, Honour and Faith, respectively.” She shrugs softly, shifting above him to ease the press of her knees into the plush of the cushions. Solas hums in thought as she does so, contemplating her words as his thumbs stroke softly across her hips.

“Blackwall…” Lavellan trails off for a moment, her brow quirking in the way it does when she’s deep in contemplation; in the way he loves so much. “Blackwall was Valour. But Thom Rainier is Justice.”

“Who else vehnan?” He asks, curious to see what she’ll say next. This time, he catches the mischievous glint in her eyes as she opens her mouth.

“Sera would be Courage!” The look on his face must have been clear as day, not that he cared to school his expression under these circumstances. “No-don’t look at me like that!” Lavellan laughs as she taps his nose with her finger. “You know I’m right!”

Solas makes a point of trying to nip at her finger with his teeth, feeling the frown on his face crack as she shrieks and giggles above him. He lets a long suffering sigh escape him. “I suppose-”

“Aha!” She shouts, and he feels himself pout. The look on his face only seems to spur her on, her giggling devolving into laughter again. He can’t help the smile that works its way onto his face now, despite his best efforts.

“Alright!” He laughs, grasping her wrists as she tries to dig her fingers into his sides again. “Alright, vehnan! Who else?”

“Bull- he’s Purpose.”

“And what of Dorian?”

He catches himself too late, the association between the two men spurring on his line of questioning before his brain can catch up with his mouth. Unusual for him, he thinks. Solas watches as her face falls a little, laughter dying on her tongue, her smile wistful now; no longer meeting her eyes as she stares just over his shoulder.

“Learning.” She affirms quietly, nodding to herself in conformation. Solas feels a pang of guilt settling in his chest, washing over him like cold water. She’d not gotten to say goodbye to her dear friend when she’d followed him into the Fade, something he knows she still isn’t at ease with. The feeling intensifies when he realises that there’s only one member of the Inquisition’s inner circle unaccounted for.

As he peers up at her, he sees the uncertainty work its way across her face. He moves to hold her arms, steadying her as their eyes meet again. They don’t need to say Varric’s name to know that’s both who they’re thinking of. Solas watches as she swallows around the lump forming in her throat, a tear pricking at the corner of her eye before he reaches up to wipe it away.

“Oh-vehnan, ir abelas.” He speaks quietly, like she’ some suddenly some skittish halla he’s afraid of spooking. She takes a steadying breath; deep into her lungs before she releases it all in one go.

“Perseverance.” She says, the waver in her voice lilting gently as she says it. “He’d be Perseverance.” She looks back to him in that moment, and he is sure that even if it takes him another thousand lifetimes he will never be done trying to make up for all he has put her through.

As she settles herself back down into him, he wraps her in his arms and thanks whoever will listen that she still finds him a source of comfort after all this time; even when the cause of her pain was inflicted by his own hand.

They lie together for a while, his breathing falling into tandem with the now steady rise and fall of her own. The silence between them is soft, lulling, and he almost doesn’t want to break it when a thought crosses his mind that he simply must voice.

“Hope.” He says softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head.

“Hm?” She's drifting now, barely registering his words.

“You’d be Hope.” He murmurs. “Ma vehnan. My hope.”

[promptthebear]

Hi sorry, I don’t rlly know how to request but I hope this makes a bit sense > _ < 👍

🧺Arthur Fleck Joker - Something about Easter, what they would do and would they do hide and seek? Idk surprise us! :3 🙌

Happy Easter too! ✨ 🪺

💐Celebrating Easter with Arthur Fleck 💐

CW: Child abuse, parental neglect, food insecurity.

First off, I can’t imagine that Arthur really celebrated a lot of holidays growing up.

He probably had the typical crafts and class parties at school, which he enjoyed very much, but what would happen at home was kind of a toss up.

If Penny was lucid, and they had the money, I can see her being the type to go all out. Most food bank programs offer special meals or food related to those meals around the holidays. Penny would absolutely take full advantage of that, and do either a turkey or ham dinner with all the fixings.

Arthur remembers these moments fondly, sitting on the couch with a full belly and maybe watching a church service or something on TV while he and his Mom decorate eggs. Having food for days after between the dinner leftovers and the eggs, which for Arthur meant eating like a king at least for awhile.

However, if Penny was having an episode or worse if they were staying with one of her so called “boyfriends?”

Well, in those cases Arthur was lucky if the day passed without ceremony like any other.

Depending on the conditions of their place, Easter could mean he got one less beating on account of the holiday and the closest thing he’d get to dinner was dry crackers and a juice box that he managed to scrounge up from the cupboards, if that.

Arthur doesn’t like thinking about those times too much. It’s just another reminder of all the happiness he missed out on and is desperately trying to bring back into his life.

After meeting and having a relationship with you, he’d probably mention all of this at one point or another when the holidays start coming around.

Even if he’s still living with Penny, or if you have your own place, you’d probably go all out to compensate for his childhood.

You’d probably go as far as to plan an itinerary and a menu, which both confuses and delights Arthur.

Him??? You’re really doing all this for him??? But it’s too much trouble, too much work, at least let him help with the-

Shush baby boy, just relax and let your partner spoil you.

First on the agenda? Special Easter breakfast.

Whether you stay over from Saturday or come early Sunday morning, Arthur is woken up by the smell of pancakes and bacon.

As far as I’m concerned, Easter breakfast is almost as important as Christmas. Especially if you come from a Catholic family and were fasting for lent like mine did sometimes.

Arthur isn’t even off of his sofa bed before you’re putting a heaping plate in his lap.

For a moment, he’d be too stunned to speak. You’d really outdone yourself.

First off, there’s a whole pile of bacon, still steaming hot and cooked to a crisp just how he likes.

“You eat every bite of that, or else.”

It’s not a real threat because you give him a gentle poke in the ribs when you say it. Arthur knows you’re doing it because you care and want him to have a decent meal for once.

Next are the pancakes. Oh my god, the pancakes.

These aren’t your garden variety, maple syrup and butter kind of pancakes.

Like yes, you’ve included those things, but also you’ve gone the extra mile and added in fresh fruit and chocolate chips and even tried to make some into fun shapes.

There’s an “A” shaped one, as well as a bunny with a blueberry eyes and a strawberry nose, and best of all, a clown with banana slice and chocolate chip eyes, a raspberry nose, jam mouth and whipped cream hair.

They’re so pretty Arthur almost doesn’t want to eat them, but does in the end because he doesn’t want you to feel like he doesn’t appreciate it.

Of course, know you’re getting a kiss between each and every bite.

It’s while he’s eating that Arthur also notices the colourful eggs that are stashed around the apartment. He’d look over at you, eyes sparkling with delight and give you a big grin.

“Are we gonna do an egg hunt???”

He can’t remember the last time he’s done an egg hunt, if ever. Even on the good Easters, usually all they did was dye some eggs to eat later since Penny was usually too sick or didn’t have the extra money to commit to an egg hunt.

You’d smile back, and lean down to give Arthur a kiss on the forehead. “Mmm-hmmm, though don’t get too excited. There’s no chocolate in these ones but they’ll lead you to your next surprise”

It’s all Arthur can to do wolf down the last off his food before he’s off like a shot, tearing around the apartment like he’s setting an Olympic record for egg finding.

You love seeing him like this and the way the childlike wonder takes years off his expression and posture. This is Arthur at his most authentic and you want to cherish every second.

You tried to be as creative as possible when hiding the eggs, even in such a small place. There’s six of them in total and Arthur finds them all in about twenty minutes.

Like you said, the eggs don’t contain chocolate but instead are plastic shells that pop open with something inside.

Arthur would spread the contents out on the coffee table and discover that it’s basically a picture puzzle with the pieces cut into horizontal strips.

Immediately, he’s all business. He’d hunch over the coffee table and light a cigarette, his expression one of intense focus.

When you try to help or give him hints, he waves you off, determined to solve this by himself and make the most of your hard work.

So of course, you oblige him. If you’re in the apartment he shares with Penny you’d probably check in on her and make sure she has something to eat, explaining that you and Arthur will be going out for the day.

If it’s a place you and Arthur share by yourselves, then you’d start cleaning up the dishes and the kitchen while he works at the puzzle.

For once the two of you have the chance to bask in peaceful, domestic silence. While you’re excited to do all the activities you planned with Arthur, you know this is what the holidays are really about. Having these quiet moments together where you can just take it slow and not worry about what’s coming next or where you need to be.

You’d just be putting the last of the dishes away when there’s an excited cry from the living room.

You’d poke your head in through the kitchen door to find Arthur, grinning triumphantly around his cigarette with the completed puzzle on the coffee table.

The picture it makes is of Gotham Central Park, specifically the front entrance.

You’d come over to Arthur and lean down to give him another kiss on the forehead.

“Good job babe, you did that so fast! How’d I get lucky enough to get someone who’s handsome and smart?”

Arthur would sit on the couch for a moment, eyes closed and basking in the praise like a cat in a sunbeam.

When he opens his eyes a few seconds later, he’d stub out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray and ask “Are we going right now?”

The way he says it is like a kid asking about Disney world, a little breathless and like he can’t quite bring himself to believe it.

That breaks your heart a little, in spite of the glow in the pit of your stomach.

It’s just a trip to the park. You’ve done it a million times or more with your family over the years, but once again this gives you a glimpse of the kind of life Arthur has had until you came along. Things haven’t been easy for him, and so he takes nothing good for granted, no matter how small.

You’d smile at Arthur and reach down to caress the side of his face with your hand

“Yeah, if you get ready in the next fifteen minutes we could probably make the 9:30 train”

Arthur would all but leap off the couch, grinning wide and with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Before you can react, he’s scooped you up into a massive bear hug that lifts your feet clean off the floor.

He’s squeezing you so tight it hurts a little, but you don’t mind. You squeeze back just as hard.

“Thank you so much for doing this” he’d murmur in your ear “I love you so much”

He’d punctuate that statement with a long, deep kiss where he almost leans you into a dip. He’d taste like smoke with a hint of maple syrup, which makes the warmth in your gut blossom and spread in a pleasant tingle across your body.

When the kiss breaks off you’re flushed, panting and unable to say anything more than a half mumbled “you’re welcome”