#this is gonna be the longest wait of my life

[ambagel]

YEAAAAAHHHHH

[lostinplanetmars]

halsey stan first

human being second 🫡

[rox-of-iu]

ayoo guess who finally sat down and caught up with cultivate B)

is me. so you know what that means.

spoiler warning for cultivate ch 30-37

there was actually.... more things i wanted to draw but I already did so many I had to physically restrain myself hfsjkkdh anyway yes can you tell i love this fic very much

yet once again. cultivate by the wonderful @neonghostcat

[flying-cat]

GIVE IT TO ME I'VE BEEN WAITING ALL YEAR

[tassodelmiele]

Noisy little mess

Hi sweetie⁓

This week i've doubled the usual post, just 'cause i feel the urge to catch up with the chapters on AO3.

I've liked writing this part, jumping between feelings, digging a little into this kink i find interesting. I would like to explore it just a little futher, but i need to...contextualize it (at least from Ghost's point of view. I don't think he's a "kink" kinda guy. I'll convince him somehow).

I can see how my english writing style is still a bit rough compared to how i write in italian (wow, i'm goddamn Captain Obvious). I would like to improve, to let it be more fluent, more descriptive, more...melodious? Does it make sense?

So I'll keep on.

Like, forever. I hope.

It's a curse. I'm cursing all of you to read my work for the eternity.

Sowwy

DISCLAIMER (Does someone read them?): how Dom/Sub relationship work (not an expert, but a fan); unrealistic military life (i don't know what i'm doing, but i'm doing it); bad jokes; yelling (again); leather collar (fastest apparition ever); unsubordination, but make it somehow tolerable; Soap and Gaz doing a great job being normal in this chaos; now you've got a roommate; Ghost tries to be nice (we've got you gorgeous, we know you're doing your best).

................................

Fifth part here:

................................

The morning after, Soap runs at you with breakfast already made (he learned how to make your chocolate oatmeal) and an official communication with your name on it.

«…what in the actual-?»

«No comment» the Sergeant swallows chocolate and coffee together, thrilled and suspicious at the same time while you're going to faint in front of what seems to be a threat of imminent death.

You turn and fold the communication letter in every angle, almost expecting to find a tiny "that was a joke, lol" written somewhere. But you don't.

«Waitwaitwait»

Gaz spawns behind you, sipping his morning tea; he looks at the sheet with a critical sight. «You must have fucked up so bad this time, little one»

«I've done nothing wrong!» you burst, watering the table with the hair you thought you would have time to dry.

«But here we are:» Soap points at the sheet as if he's Sherlock Holmes in front of evidence «You've been  officially included in the special operation team's selection…will take place under the supervision… blah blah blah… of Task Force 141 . It's written right here» he signs at the exact line. 

«No»

You waste no time denying the obviousness. The communication is sent away from you on the table.

«No» you repeat, convincing yourself. «I can't. I'm just…i can't»

«'S not a matter of will. Ye've been called, laddie» 

«Cooper and Allan will be there too…» Gaz reads on the list: five names are written, five promising soldiers who are gonna be tested on the field, and maybe will end up being a new special task force. Five reliable people.

You don't understand why the hell someone put you in there.

You fit a big spoonful of oatmeal in your mouth, chewing hopelessly. 

«Why? I don't want to, I'm good being a rookie, I'm too green for this…»

«Maybe» Soap gives you his most sarcastic smile «'S 'cause  someone threw herself in that risky mission in the middle of weapons traffic…if ye know what i mean»

You sigh. Your wet hair dances on the table as you almost slam your forehead next to the oatmeal mug, hoping to accidentally give your stupid brain some damage.

«Is like someone's trying badly to keep an eye on you»

Gaz's speech awakens you. 

«…whaddya mean?»

«Special training's normal shit that happens from time to time. But this wasn't expected, we'd been told 'bout it this morning, just like you. I bet he rushed up everything, and put your name on it»

« He who??» your hand grip the table. «Gaz don't be an ass, just spit the name out!»

«You know who I'm talking 'bout». And he smiles: he smiles like a dick since he knows well you're not gonna like the news, but he just enjoys your red face so much that he tastes every second before spelling with heart-shaped lips:

«Ghost»

You're screaming internally till the morning.

And he,  he , is standing there, in front of you,  he  who's just managed to turn your quiet soldier's life into a little training nightmare.

You want to slap your own face so badly for having thought about doing the heroine for one goddamn mission.  One . You didn't even think it was so hard as a mission, you've done it by guts, and now you're stuck in that training, and you know it's because of  him .

'Cause Gaz told you, after half an hour of interrogation, that  he  is, in fact, one of whom decides which recruit submits for the training.

You're dying, sitting next to a guy you've barely talked to since you're at the base, and who's looking at you…oddly.

Like he's studying you. Like he's waiting for you to…confess something.

With just a slap of his hands, Ghost manages to have everyone's full attention, and the meeting starts.

It goes on for a whole hour and a half: one hour and a half of specific technical terms, workout powerpoints, tactical expectations and probable missions to be done (if the recruit's team will show itself reliable). 

Your brain's 68% melted, 30% asleep and 2% trying to concentrate an hate-beam on the Lt. thick ass.

«Hey, uhm…»

You're about to run away from the meeting room as soon as possible when your brand new desk-mate approaches you with a grin you don't really appreciate. He seems almost amused for whatever reasons, but you don't have time to waste and just glare at him with the most annoyed: «Aha?» a human has ever said.

«He made you a big surprise, didn't he?»

You frown. 

«Who?»

«Lt. I heard a fight in his office recently…it was you, right? You two don't really get along well, are you?»

And that's the exact moment you become suspicious. Your eyes sharpen under the pressure of the distinct feeling he's going to get at a point you don't want to go with him to. 

«Eavesdrop is not polite» you mutter, containing your will to punch him in that stupid grin he's stretching his mouth with.

«I was passing by…ya know-»

«No. I don't»

You move beyond him, focusing on the door. It's already been a terrible day, and all you want is your bed. Not even the dinner, not even Bernadette's joke about her sister's future husband. A  bed .

And it leaves you quite nervous seeing your roommate standing in front of your door as you approach the way to your personal, hoped-for night heaven.

Bernie and her glorious gel-greased red ponytail are waiting for you, tapping her toes on the ground. Female's base section is tiny, and you're glad some God has found you a room with a normal human being with a goddamn deep sleep schedule.

«Oi» you wave at her. She doesn't seem amused. «Don't tell me there's something wrong with the bed sheets again, please»

«Bed sheets are good enough» she murmurs, patting you on the head (she's a tall girl). «Is something…different»

«Whaddya mean?»

She escorts you into the room, closing the door behind you as she's about to tell you some incredible secret about how the aliens are among us.

But she doesn't. She shows you something else.

And your blood freezes.

Next meeting is the morning after, just right before the first training session under Task Force 141 supervision.

There are twenty minutes left before the start, and you're already rushing through the base with your pocket stuffed with something metaphorically heavy. 

You slam the door open with enough force to dismantle the hinges, and your eyes search for one of the three men around the desk crowded with documents.

Johnny's about to wave at you, but his hands stop in the middle as he sees you walking like a rampage toward Ghost.

You aim at him with eyes so cold he could hibernate. 

«I want you to stop » you speak crystal clear under the rage and the exasperation « now, whatever game you're playin' with me»

Soap and Gaz are freezed at the other side of the table, considering themselves lucky to have a solid desk between them and your rusty, piercing voice. Ghost, though…

He falls of a tree.

He can't even manage to keep a stern voice as he says: «…what?» looking at you rummaging in your pocket just to throw something in his hands.

And he finds himself holding a goddamn leather collar, complete with metal chain.

In any other scenario of your life you'd rather jump from a window to check if it was possible to glide on the grass instead of putting together that show. But, oh well, you're neither a flying squirrel, nor a fortune-teller.

And there you are, stone solid against Ghost, who's lost the speaking skills and seems to be in the middle of a math problem resolution with his inner demon.

His eyelids glitch at you a couple of times, but you don't give him time to reply, not this time. 

«Do me a big favor -would ya?- and  go to hell . Thank you so much»

You don't even care if tomorrow someone will send you to fuck yourself away from the base, since you've yelled to a goddamn Lieutenant as if he is your cat-lady neighbor who complain about noises at four pm. 

This is the end of your patience, the end of you being nice, calm and collected; the end of you trying to not be so direct about what it's happening between the two of you.

'Cause it sounds so clear in your head that it was  him who left that stupid joke of a collar in front of your room, that you didn't even think about other possible suspects.

And so, the meeting starts with him being completely silent, sat and still as a statue, while Soap and Gaz don't even know what they're speaking about since they should have done just the training part of the day.

Ghost's looking at the recruits, so intensively, so vividly you can feel his eyes scanning all of you, and you don't give a damn about it.

He can just go where you've sent him, and rest in peace.

The walk toward your room is a forced march on disassembled legs. Task force did its best to organize a training to destroy every inch of flesh and bones, but it was so  good  to unload the stress with physical pain that you can't even complain.

You're about to go for the door knob, ready to disappear in bed, when a known voice reaches you with an embarrassed: 

«Hey»

You turn: and the goddamn eavesdropper from the training is behind you, and you're already preparing to yell the hell out of him but…he's evidently uncomfortable. He doesn't even look at you as he almost bows his head saying:

«…I-i came just to…apologize. I'm sorry for having bothered you. It was just a joke, i didn't mean…» He kinda starts to justify something, making a step forward that immediately dies. «Sorry, i…i-i just wanted to have some fun, it was a joke. Sorry» he ends up muttering, mumbling with eyes buried in the ground.

Your jaw drops. You're about to grab him by the neck and give his skim a peeling session on the wall, but you spit an hard and sharp:

«The collar. It was… you ?»

And he left you like this, with no more words, nearly running away from your sight, so embarrassed he could have dug by himself a hole to hide in the pavement.

Next day, he isn't even at the meeting with the Task force.

You can't deny you were about to skipp the daily training too. 

You feel slightly, almost imperceptibly, just a tiny bit  bad . But it's the "tiny bit" that makes you pretend to be part of the seat in the meeting room, just an innocent piece of plastic, so well hidden in the chair.

The specific, vivid memory of you rushing to your superior, slapping that damn collar in his hands as if the joke was his responsibility, is kinda cursing your mind in a black, noisy cloud of embarrassment. Oh, and that smart little brain of yours is also reminding you how proud you were to send him to hell.

You decide to become a turtle, digging the neck into the shirt collar.

FUCK , it's the only, big, huge sign you're throwing at yourself, so focused on melting on the chair that you don't even feel his presence next to you.

«'Ve told ya we've got a dignity in here»

You jump, raise your eyes and suddenly bury them again on the floor. Ghost is standing on your left, not even looking at you, and you silently thank him for his sensitivity (if that's even a matter of sensitivity). 

You're collecting some sensible excuses, trying to look like an adult, a responsible one, but he surprises you with a sudden:

«I'm sorry»

He's the second one in half a day who gives you an apology, but if the first one was unexpected, this is almost incomprehensible; and without getting aware, you're looking at him in surprise.

«Taking into consideration a shithead like that for a new task force project… I wasn't that forward-looking. Should have identified a scumbag from the start»   

He speaks so sternly but so…easily, as if he's telling you about how many peanuts he'd eaten at breakfast. Then he sighs, about to go away; and you don't know  how , but you find the boldness to shout out a rushed:

«I'm…I apologize. I  need to… I'm sorry» you murmur, feeling like a stupid child excusing a broken vase. 

«'S ok»

You can hear your heart skipping a couple beats. Your eyes widen as you sense the slightest amount of what you classify as  warmness in his words. 

It doesn't last that long, as he adds: «But we're not done with this»

«…no, I-I can understand sir-»

«We need to talk». The "need" part is silently underlined, but the "we" is just a replacement for a more impellent "I", since it is  him who's burning his neurons, crashing them together to let them cooperate like in the good old days, when he succeeded in avoiding unnecessary emotions from the sunrise to the dawn. And he really thought he would be able to spend his whole life with the "I care for you" part of his brain on strike, as he really used to.

You're ruining his plans. And he can't allow himself to grow softer.

That is what boils in his guts for the whole morning, making him so absent-minded he almost shot Gaz on the training field.

"War's not a place for sentimentalism. There's no place for enjoying love here, we can't get compromised"

He repeats it as a mantra, waiting for you in Price's spare office (since his has got the door to be repaired. It may be that he made a hole in it out of anger).

He doesn't even know  why they give him an office. He's not a bloody secretary.

«Sir?»

He jerks at the door, relaxing a bit when he sees it's just you: you, who're avoiding his direct sight; you who're still sweaty and panting from the training; you, with the t-shirt that exposes the bandage on your arm, reminding that stupid infiltration mission you shouldn't even get involved in the first place.

You, who call him  sir just when feeling uneasy. 

«Come in. Sit»

His voice does his best to modulate a softer tone, failing miserably, with the result of making him more nervous. He goes searching in a drawer, and when he hands you that damn collar, you sigh. 

«I-I don't think i want it back, sir»

«Cut out that "sir" thing. It doesn't suit you»

Your cheeks are on fire. You grab the leather things, holding it tight in your fists.

And you feel upset, really upset , as a crescendo of excitement grabs your nerves, making you feel oddly, suspiciously  good . 

He makes you come back to reality: «Seems like we have to speak more quietly»

You sigh. And he keeps on: «Eavesdropping's a dick move, especially if ya do it outside a superior's office. He's gonna clean the shit out of our toilets for the rest of his stay»

Said so, one topic of the day is considered closed. 

He takes a long breath before starting the more important matter:

«Are ya used to this?»

Apparently, half measures are for the weak. He points his sight at the collar you're holding with both hands, almost like you're waiting for someone to take it and put it on you. 

You can't help it: it's an old habit.

«I…was» you murmur. 

«What 'bout now?»

«Does it matter?»

«Yes»

«Why?»

«It matters to  me »

Fists clench around the leather.

«Is an old story, i've drop it»

«Doesn't seem so»

Then, silence. 

Dense silence, pudding-consistency silence, and if Ghost had got a spoon he could have eaten the room's atmosphere to get to you. He realizes his self-confidence has been thrown out of the window as he catches his fingers scratching the nose tip through the mask. Digits are immediately moved away and stuck in pockets. 

«'M not asking to make fun of you. Neither out of personal curiosity» and almost every synapsis screams " liar " at him. 

«You're a…reliable soldier, little one». It costs him a little bit of pride to say it. «We don't wanna waste good soldiers for stupid reasons. I don't want this» his sight spot the collar «to compromise you»

«You can stop worrying about it»

You're a knot curled on yourself on the chair, feeling as if there's a martial court in front of you who's laying you bare, exposing your guts, releasing the skeletons collection hidden in your closet.

That's when he takes the collar from your hand, so gently, pulling it away from you as if he's releasing you from a burning stone that was consuming your hands. 

You're impressed. And your sight rises again, and he's ready to catch it.

«Were you forced to do it?»

You're about to ask "what", but as always, you already know what he's referring to. You shake your head.

«No. I've…enjoyed it. I was lucky at first»

«Why?»

«I…» remembering it brings you a little smile «…I found someone I could trust with this…game»

«A friend?»

«No. No, he wasn't a friend. He…»

Voice remains hanging for a moment, as he makes a step back to give you space. He's waiting; he could wait the whole day if it's necessary, and you're so not used to him treating you softly.

Maybe it's just a trick to make you speak. 

And it works so perfectly.

«Sub-Dom relationships are not easy. Well, you could build one in no time if you force it, but a  real one is based on trust. And it is the most difficult thing to achieve. Is not just a matter of obedience and…and sex play» you blush at the statement. «I trusted my Dom with all my whole heart. That's why I enjoyed the experience»

He mutters a low monosyllabic sound, as a confirmation that he's following your speech. When you get silent again, he makes a step forward:

«Then why did that collar affect you so much?»

And he hits a spot. Of fucking course he does. 

«'Cause most of the time, someone who calls himself a "Dom" just wants a body to humiliate»

Your cheeks are burning again, your tongue is trapped between the hold of your teeth. You finish with a whispered: «That's why I went out of that business»

«But you react at the memory of it» 

Your head disappears into the collar shirt as you nod, almost imperceptibly.

«Do you feel the urge to be under someone's orders?»

A «No» is rushed out so quickly it surprises him. «I've told you: it's a matter of trust». 

And you suddenly fall from your tree, feeling like the "soft-spoken" part of the meeting is totally gone. You freeze on the chair, almost replying as sharply as you can: «I've not chosen to be a soldier 'cause I like being ordered, if that's what you're implying»

«I'm not implying anything.»

«Then why ask?»

«Just wanna make sure your not gonna fall for the first big man who waves a riding crop at you»    

He steps on horse shit, and he realizes as fast as the word "riding crop" slips through his own mouth. He can swear to god he was trying his best not to be rude, but somehow that part of him (that he was trying so desperately not to bury under a cozy warm blanket of emotions) had decided to show itself just at the wrong moment.

How lucky he is.

He suddenly jerks the sight at you with the haste of someone worried about having run over an innocent cat on the street, and he really hopes you've not heard his last sentence.

But you have. 

And your eyes are tilted toward him, cheeks are red and fists are clenched so hard that knuckles are going to come out. 

«Can I ask you» you rush out, in the most professional way, forgetting again you're speaking with a Lieutenant «Why do you always end up being a dick?»

................................

[heartshattering]

5 AM

Just me and my overactive mind facing the nighttime again 🙃

[writtenbygracewilliams]

Obligated poll

Babes, do you want the story of franchaela’s pregnancies and babies to be in paragraph/one shot form like the wedding, or as smau parts?

[aturnoftheearth]

no one tell my sister but i’m going to her house tomorrow i think so i can steal her fast wifi for my destiel amvs

[welcometogrouchland]

I will feel so tired that it's like my atoms are coming undone and I'm being made unreal...and then I will have a little chocolate treat and for 15 minutes I am whole and present again. Then the horrors

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

the best part about super mario rpg on the switch is that i can play it in bed or on long car trips

geno and i will never be apart again

[strangeangel22]

i love being transgender i love doing my silly little t shot every week i am so proud of who i am and what ive done to get to where i am now I LOVE BEING TRANS!!!1!!!1!😸😸😸

[parakeetpark]

The agonising wait when your loved one is in surgery is truly something. Then the emotional jetlag after, when they're in intensive care, and they're still not out of danger but it's less... is another something.

Holy shit as I was typing this we got called and they're awake and we got to talk for a few minutes

[starkeysbunny]

something about you.

pairing - rafe cameron x kook!reader

summary - rafe and reader have been in a friends with benefits relationship for months now. it’s been slowly killing both of them, but they’re both too afraid to say anything. it gets to a point and rafe can’t take it anymore. he can’t stop thinking about you.

warnings - fluffy as hell literally throwing up it’s too sweet

my eyes were closed, my lips slightly parted as i let out a huff against my pillow. it was friday. rafe would usually text me on fridays. he’d ask me to come over, stressed out from work, a long week—whatever it was. i didn’t care.

he needed me.

it was friday, at eleven pm, radio silence. not a word from him. i felt a gnawing at my insides. this man had a grip on every fold of my brain. and we weren’t even together. it was pathetic. but i couldn’t stop.

if i couldn’t have more of him, i’d take this. being his for a couple hours a week. all his attention on me, like it was real. for a couple hours, i get to pretend it’s real.

i turn and stare at my ceiling, hoping i’ll hear my phone ping. i was getting tired. but if he texted, i’d go.

it’s pretty sad. i know. my friends have told me to get up, so many times. shake his hold. but i can’t. i’ll take any parts of him he’ll give me.

ping.

i practically fall over as i reach for my phone, frantically checking the notification.

rafe

hey.

hey? i huff, my head plopping against my pillow. another ping.

can you come over?

i stare at the message, taking a deep breath. it was nearly midnight. i should get up. i should say no. say i’m sick of the casual bullshit.

but soon, i find myself slipping my hoodie over my head, sliding into my uggs.

yeah.

is all i say. i didn’t need to say more. there was nothing more i could say. another ping.

i’ll pick you up. it’s late. don’t want you driving.

my eyebrows furrow. he’s gonna pick me up? he’s never done that.. it’s always the same routine. he texts me, i go over. and sometimes he makes me spend the night, whether i want to or not, because he doesn’t want me driving so late.

but he’s never picked me up.

i don’t say anything, heading to my living room and sitting on the couch in my empty apartment. i recently moved out of my parents, and i’d like to say it’s just a coincidence i moved into the complex only seven minutes from tannyhill.

it wasn’t.

my nails nervously pick at the hem of my hoodie as i wait. it was the longest seven minutes of my life. my mind kept racing. something about tonight felt different. he’s picking me up. and it’s so late. it’s usually never this late.

ping.

i’m here.

i swallow roughly and rub my eyes, standing up. i slide my phone into the pocket of my sleep shorts. the only sound in my quiet apartment is the shuffling of my slippers against the hardwood as i walk toward the door. i grab my keys and slide them into my other pocket, heading for the door. i lock it behind me and walk down the stairs, spotting the blaring headlights from rafe’s truck.

i walk towards it, shivering slightly from the cold air hitting my skin. i look up and see him get out, rounding the truck to the passenger side. he opens my door as i approach.

“hey.” i say softly.

he was in a hoodie and sweats, more relaxed from his usual appearance. which contained a white button up, usually unbuttoned by the time i see him, paired with some kind of dress pants.

“hey.” he whispers. his eyes drift down my appearance. “why’re you wearing shorts? it’s freezing, are you crazy?” he sighs, running a hand over his buzzed hair. his hand comes to the small of my back, not even allowing me to respond before he ushers me in his truck. he shuts the passenger door and rounds the vehicle again to his side.

he gets in, the engine humming as he starts it. he glances over at me and sighs, reaching his arm back to the backseat. he grabs a blanket, gently laying it out over my lap.

“nearly thirty fuckin’ degrees, and you’re sleepin’ in shorts.” he sighs, muttered under his breath.

i swallow roughly, looking down as his hands gently linger over the tops of my thighs as he lays down the blanket. “thanks.” i whisper.

“mhm.” he hums, his hands moving to grip the steering wheel as he peels out of the driveway.

the drive to his house was short, and quiet. the heater gently enveloped me, quickly changing my shivering form from earlier to warmth. my eyes stay looking out the window as i feel the occasional glances from rafe to my side. his eyes were like blades, puncturing into my skin at every glance with a sting.

i feel the truck come to a stop as we pull into the driveway. rafe had taken over tannyhill after his dad died, and sarah moved in with the pogues. so, it was always quiet here. sometimes i wonder if he brings anyone else over ever. or just me.

i watch as he gets out of the drivers seat, rounding the truck to my side. he sticks his hand out for me to grab as i step out of the truck. my hand fits in his warm palm, his hand cradling the small of my back as i step out.

i stand by his side as we walk up to the house. i look up at him, my eyes soft. “r-rafe..?”

“hm?” he hums as we approach the door, he fishes through his pockets for the keys.

“um.. are we…” i trail off.

he pauses as he finds the keys, his eyes flicking to me. his gaze runs over my face as he lets out a breath. “no.” he whispers.

so this was something else. i swallow roughly as i feel my stomach drop. was he ending things? i don’t say anything more and he opens the door, allowing me to walk in first

whenever i was in tannyhill, i felt out of place. it was a huge, beautiful mansion. but it carried a darkness to it. i could hardly imagine how rafe lived here alone. it would eat me up. just as i stand in the foyer, i feel small and inferior in the big space.

“hey.” he whispers. his voice snaps me out of my thoughts, his hand coming to the small of my back. i follow him as he guides me toward the living room. my eyes sift over the space and he guides us to a window seat, outfacing the backyard.

he sits and gestures his hand out for me to sit. i nervously pull my legs into my chest as i slip off my slippers.

“rafe.. why-why’d you text me?” i ask softly.

he leans back against the window with a soft sigh, his hand coming up to run over the stubble against his jaw. he chuckles softly, throwing his hands up. “been asking myself the same shit.” he sighs, looking over at me. he presses his lips together, his eyes wandering over me as he thinks. “i’ve been-“ he sighs. “i’ve been thinking.”

i furrow my eyebrows. “okay.. about..?” i ask softly.

he runs a hand over his face. “everything.” he whispers. “i-i’ve been really stressed.” he huffs. “cameron development, all that bullshit. i just have so much pressure on me, y’know?”

i nod gently. “yeah.” i whisper. “i-i get that. but rafe, you’re so much more than that.” sigh.

he chuckles, his tongue sticking to the inside of his cheek as he raises his eyebrows. he turns his gaze to look at me. “i appreciate that. you’re faith in me, i mean..” he trails off. “it’s nice. nobody else has it.”

my eyes narrow at him slightly. “well, i mean it, rafe.” i whisper softly, my hand gently coming to rest on his knee.

he looks down at my hand, letting out a sigh and leaning his head back against the window. he looks back at me, his gaze holding mine. but there’s something different about it this time. an intensity in his eyes i’d never seen before.

his hand comes to rest over my wrist, his thumb gently tracing in my skin. “y/n.. i-“ he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

my eyes blink up at him, my eyebrows knitted together softly. “yeah..?” i whisper.

he’s hesitant. like whatever he wants to say is stuck in a knot in his throat. he takes a deep breath, searching for the words. he swallows roughly. “look, i-i know i’m no good for you.” he whispers. “but there’s.. there’s somethin’ about you, just can’t fuckin’ get you outta my head.” he sighs and pauses before speaking his next words.

“i-i want us to be.. more. than just this. i-i can’t stop thinking about you, y/n.”

my stomach drops. my eyes widen slightly and my lips part. “i- what..?” i whisper, stunned.

he presses his lips together and i see the nerves bubble in his eyes. “i-i know we agreed to be friends with benefits and nothin’ more but-“ he runs his hand over his buzzed head, a satire chuckle escaping his lips. “i can’t fuckin’ do this shit, okay? i-i can’t keep texting you just to fuck and pretending you don’t mean fuckin’ everything to me. i can’t stand the thought of you being with other people i-“ he huffs, leaning back.

“‘m fucking obsessed with you, alright?” he whispers.

my eyes blink slowly, my lips parting. i couldn’t believe it. he felt the same way i did? every time he’d hold me after we’d hook up, a part of me hurt inside. knowing it was temporary. knowing, that i’d never really have him.

and that whole time—he was thinking the same thing.

“rafe, i-i want that too.” i whisper.

his eyes snap over to me, they scan over my features. almost trying to see if i was telling the truth. “really?” he whispers.

“yeah.” i say breathlessly. “i-i’ve wanted so much more. i was just scared that you didn’t. and that if i said anything, i’d lose you completely. so i was just.. settling for what i could get.”

he swallows roughly, his lips parting. his hand comes up to my cheek, his thumb gently stroking the skin. “i wanna give you everything.” he whispers. “i-i don’t deserve you. i’m fucked up, and i get angry and i’m selfish. wanting you is probably the most selfish thing i’ve ever done. but i-i can’t get you out of my head.” he sighs softly, his hand gently cradling my face.

“i may be all of those things.” he whispers. “but i’m gonna work so damn hard to deserve you. i’m gonna be better, i wanna be better every time i’m near you, baby.”

i shake my head gently. “you don’t need to be better.”

he smiles softly. “this is what i’m talkin’ about. too sweet for your own good, baby.”

“so.. you wanna be.. real?” i ask softly, my voice cautious. “like.. official and exclusive?”

he grins, nodding softly. “mhm.” he hums. “want you to be my girl. just mine.”

i smile softly, my stomach swarming at his words. “yeah?”

he chuckles lowly. “yeah, sweetheart.”

i can’t help the grin that creeps up on my lips. i scoot closer, burying my face in his neck. “okay.” i whisper, my arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.

his beefy arms immediately encapsulate me, holding my close. “yeah? you my girl, sweetheart?”

i grin, my cheeks heating up this words. “yeah, ‘m your girl.”

he grins, chuckling lowly as he presses a gentle kiss to my jaw. “‘m sorry i didn’t say anything sooner. made you think i was stringing you along.”

“no..” i shake my head softly. “‘m just glad i have you now.” i whisper. “in every way.”

he smiles, tugging me impossibly closer. “in every way.” he promises.

-

sickeningly sweet 🙂‍↕️ i’m a sucker for fluff srryyyy

[tgcg]

happy day of egbert

CG: DON'T YOU JUST HAVE THE MANUAL SOMEWHERE?

TG: dude its the most overwhelmingly basic thing on the planet trust me i literally did all the other settings for you

TG: all you gotta do is point the thing at egbert

TG: half press to focus subject

TG: press down fully and bam done the shit is shot

CG: BUT --

TG: i know youre desperate for this to be rocket science but its genuinely like first grade biz i promise whatever pic you take is gonna be fine

===

EB: yeah, come on karkat!

EB: i am only going to be the birthday bad ass for like, 24 hours total you know.

EB: longest birthday of my LIIIIIIIIFE. haha.

EB: oh hey, from one birthday-dooms day guy to another…

EB: i am pretty sure you understand the magnitude of what i just said!

===

CG: OH HEY. FUCK YOU.

CG: I'M JUST ACCOUNTING FOR THE LITERAL FUCKING INEVITABILITY THAT WHEN I TAKE THIS PHOTO, SOME INSIDIOUS LITTLE KARMA GNOME WILL FROLIC ONTO THE SCENE IN AN UNBELIEVABLE STROKE OF LOATHSOME SERENDIPITY TO BURY ME IN 12 CUBIC METERS OF FOOL-GRADE FUCKING IDIOT POWDER.

CG: AT WHICH POINT ANOTHER HEFTY BOULDER WILL BE ADDED TO THE BULGING MACRO-BINDLE OF SHAME YOU PEOPLE HAVE FORCED ME INTO CARRYING MY WHOLE LIFE.

CG: SHIT, SOMEONE HAS GOTTA LOOK OUT FOR MY ASS.

TG: alright give us a sec

TG: huddle formation

EB: psssshhh, alright.

===

TG: youre not gonna fuck this up

TG: your ass is completely secure dude

TG: i got the double foam padded booster seat and you know that shit is strapped on this 5mph drive through quaint ol piss-easyville

EB: you know if it really is so bad you can just re-take it, right?

EB: it is really not worth aggravationing your sponge over.

TG: 'xactly

TG: knights honor that shit isnt hooked up to my ishades and will not instantly forward me a copy in crisp HD of whatever blunder youre cooking in your beautiful nugbone

===

CG: IT'S NOT JUST THAT.

CG: HAVEN'T I SHADOWED YOUR PHOTOGRAPHY SHENANIGANS LONG ENOUGH FOR YOU TO TOSS ME A GODDAM BONE?

CG: I MEAN. I FEEL LIKE I'M READY FOR THIS. I'VE BEEN PRIMED FOR THIS BULLSHIT FOR EQUINOXES AT THIS POINT, WATCHING YOU PRANCE AROUND WITH THIS FUCKING THING.

TG: woah wait youre legit into it?

CG: YES, I AM LEGIT FUCKING INTO IT.

CG: AND I KNOW IT HAS SETTINGS YOU'RE HIDING FROM ME. WHAT IF I WANT TO TAKE A BLACK AND WHITE SHOT, HUH? WHAT IF I WANT TO ADJUST THE "APERTURE" OR THE "EXPOSURE" OR SOMETHING.

TG: alright i dig the enthusiasm but maybe we can unwrap that shit when we dont have someone waiting for us

TG: i didnt know you were scoping photography man you shoulda said something!

CG: I WAS PLANNING TO! I DIDN'T ENVISION IT COMING UP SO FRIGGIN SUDDENLY MAN.

TG: i promise ill open the pandoras fuckin box of snap addicts anonymous afterwards alright

===

CG: OK, FINE. BUT I AM HOLDING YOU TO THA --

===

CG: HA HA EGBERT. VERY FUCKING FUNNY.

CG: FOR YOUR SAKE I SERIOUSLY HOPE THIS IS JUST AN EMBARRASSING NOSTALGIA-DRIVEN LAPSE IN HUMOR AND NOT A GENUINE ATTEMPT TO "PRANK" ME. I REALLY DO!

EB: huh? who is this "egbert" you speak of? i have never heard of such a character.

CG: OH, JUST THIS BULGECRUD-HUFFING IMBECILE THAT FALLS BACK ON SHITTY PRACTICAL JOKES SO PLAYED-OUT THAT THEY PHYSICALLY HURT TO BEAR WITNESS TO.

CG: MY LOWER JAW IS THREATENING TO REVERSE-DROP WITH ENOUGH VELOCITY TO BURROW DIRECTLY INTO MY THOUGHT SPONGE, KILLING ME INSTANTLY.

CG: SO EITHER GET SOME NEW MATERIAL OR GET ME TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM, YOUR PICK.

EB: damn, ok. that does sound like some pretty serious bullshit, but…

===

EB: whoever that weirdo next to you is kind of seems like he needs medical resistance more than you do!

CG: WHAT

[krirebr]

Still Life 1

Pairing: Alpha Curtis Everett x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Summary: Curtis has been volunteering as a foster alpha for three years now. He's never seen a case this bad...

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), past abuse (not Curtis), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, physical scarring, extreme sexism, adult themes, explicit language, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me this time!

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Well, this is for all of you who thought you'd seen the worst angst I could possibly do. Sorry for how much this one's gonna hurt!

Big thanks to @paperweight91 and @bigtreefest who both read so much of this and helped with structuring and world-building. And huge thanks to everyone who showed so much enthusiasm for this idea. I'm so excited to share this story with you!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz

Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz

It took a moment for Curtis to pull himself out of sleep enough to realize the incessant noise was his phone vibrating loudly on his nightstand. It took another moment for him to pull himself together enough to answer it. “Hello?” he croaked.

“Morning, Curtis,” a harried voice came through from the other end. “This is Yona from the Omega Welfare Center. I'm so sorry to call so early, but we've had kind of a crazy night here and we're in need of several emergency placements.”

That had him waking up. “What happened?” he asked, seriously, sitting up in bed.

She sighed, all of her exhaustion coming through. “A traditionalist compound a couple hours away got raided by the feds and ATF. They prepared for some omegas, but… There were a lot more. Kids too. It’s been all hands on deck at all five omega centers in the state. We’re over capacity, so we’re just trying to place anyone we can immediately.”

“Shit,” Curtis mumbled to himself. Traditionalist communities popped up on the news every once in a while, populated mostly by alphas on a power trip. But this one sounded bigger than most. He looked at his clock. It was just past five. “I’ve got room for one,” he said. “And I can be there in an hour.”

“Thank you, Curtis. I’ll see you soon.”

Fifty-five minutes later, Curtis was checking in at the center, his second coffee clutched in one hand. He’d been volunteering there as a foster Alpha for about three years. Mostly short-term placements. His longest one was just over a month. He provided safe touch, grounding, and a sense of security to omegas who needed to get back on their feet. He’d help them through heats when necessary, never knotting them, but whatever else they might need. Often, it was just his scent. It made him feel good, to be able to help these omegas, offer a positive alpha experience to omegas who hadn’t had many.

He’d worked with a few different case workers during his time. Yona had been the main one for the past year. He’d never heard her sound like she had that morning.

Even just at the front desk, he could sense how much more chaotic it was here than usual. He could hear babies screaming beyond the office door, endless anxious chatter. The entire building reeked of omegas in distress. It made his nose itch and his skin crawl.

After a few minutes of waiting, Yona came and got him. “How bad is it?” he asked the omega as she hurriedly led him down the hall. 

She showed him into a small meeting room as she answered, “Really, really bad. I’ve never seen anything like it. None of them are talking, but from what we can gather, most of them have spent their entire lives in the compound. No IDs, no papers. Figuring out who they are has been nearly impossible.  And as terrible as it may have been, their whole world was ripped apart in the last twenty-four hours. No one feels like cooperating. We hope you might have better luck as an alpha.”

“You think they'll talk to me?” 

She shakes her head. “Just the Omega we're placing with you. They've all been taught never to trust outsiders, but they've also been raised to see Alphas as the ultimate authority. So, it's worth a shot.”

He nodded, slowly. “What do you need?”

“Just basic identifying information for now. So we can see if she even exists in any sort of governmental system. Then we can go from there.”

“If you don’t have any information, what makes you think I’ll be a good fit for her?”

“Honestly,” Yona said, with a helpless shrug, “you only have room for one and she doesn’t have any pups. That’s it. Listen, I know this isn’t how we normally do things and I’m so sorry I’m just throwing you into it without any preparation, but we’re really desperate here. They’re all high needs, high risk. There’s no existing support network for them, and there are more of them than we have room for. So we called all of our most experienced, most dependable alphas first thing this morning so we can focus on the ones we have room to house here. I know it isn’t fair to you but–”

“Hey,” Curtis interrupted. “It’s ok, I understand. I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she breathed out, a small fraction of the tension she’d been holding bleeding out of her shoulders. “Ok, I’m gonna go bring her in.” 

She slipped through the door and Curtis leaned against the table in the center of the room as he waited. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on putting together a to-do list. He had two sets of nesting supplies always ready, one with his scent and one without. In the next few days, he’d try to figure out if there was anything else this omega wanted for the nest. He’d gone grocery shopping the day before, so his pantry was stocked, but he’d see if there were any favorite comfort foods he could grab in his next shop. He needed to rearrange his work schedule, push back some deadlines so he’d have time to get the omega settled. He had no idea what they’d be bringing with them, so a shopping trip for toiletries and clothes would probably be necessary. Depending on the omega's state, maybe he'd be able to get the shopping done on the way back to his house. He glanced at the time on his phone. Shit. Depending on what was open.

At movement right outside the door, he stood at attention. Yona came back in with you right behind her. He took a good look at you. You wore a rumpled long-sleeved floral dress that went down to your ankles. It was faded like it’d been washed too many times. Your eyes were fixed on the tennis shoes you wore, which had probably been white at one point, but now were discolored and looked like they didn’t fit quite right. 

There was a little hand-written number ten pinned to your dress. He wanted to raise a judgemental brow at Yona, but if none of you would say your names, he supposed Yona and her team had to come up with some way to keep track of you all.

He had to stifle a gasp when his eyes landed on your neck. There was a large bite scar over your mating gland. Unlike the neat and pretty, well-healed ones he was used to seeing, yours was deep and jagged, red and white, scar tissue bubbling up where your flesh had clearly been torn. This didn’t look like a mating bite. It was the sort of bite meant to inflict pain. What sort of alpha had you had??

Your eyes stayed on the floor, your expression blank but your scent said so much – panic, sadness, terror, relief all jumbled together. He wanted to reach out and touch you, his alpha instincts were going haywire, but he kept his hands to himself. 

“This is Curtis,” Yona said to you. “He's the alpha who's going to look after you until we can get all this sorted.”

You didn’t react at all, just stood there, stiff as a board with your eyes on your shoes.

He stayed where he was, conscious of giving you space. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he said, as gently as he could. Then, with a glance to Yona, “Can you tell me your name?”

Your face scrunched up and the fear in your scent spiked but you didn’t say anything. He sighed. Shit. He really didn’t want to have to use an alpha command with you right now. That could be disastrous for any dynamic he tried to build with you. But they needed this information. He really, really hoped you wouldn’t make him force you.

“Omega, what’s your name?” he asked as firmly as he could, hopefully without scaring you. “I need to know.”

You closed your eyes tightly and he thought he saw the smallest little head shake. There was another moment of silence and he looked at Yona nervously. But then, you said it. So quietly he almost didn’t catch it. But you said it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yona frantically scribbling it down, but his focus was completely on you.

He tried to keep his sigh of relief to himself. “That was so good. Thank you. You’re doing so well,” he said, keeping the praise soft, hoping you could scent how pleased he was with you. “When were you born?”

You gave up your birthday a little more easily, but you left off the year. 

“That’s great. Thank you. Do you know how old you are?” he asked, maintaining his gentle tone, knowing it was possible that you didn’t.

For whatever reason, it was that that finally got a reaction out of you. You looked up at him, so he could finally see your eyes, and snarled, “I’m not stupid!”

There was a beat when no one did anything. Curtis and Yona just stared at you in shock. The snarl was frozen on your face until it suddenly disappeared and your eyes got wide. Before he was able to process any of what was happening, you’d dropped down onto your knees. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Alpha, I’m sorry.” You just keep repeating that in a constant stream, your head tucked to your chest.

Repeatedly mixed into that jumble was a number. It took Curtis a few moments to realize it was your age. You were answering his question. He quietly repeated it to Yona, then dropped down to his knees as well so he could be closer to your level. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re right. You aren’t stupid. I can already tell how smart you are. It’s okay. I’m not mad.” He wanted to reach out and touch you, wrap you in his arms, even, comfort you however he could. But he was too afraid that that’d make you panic even more. That was a boundary he couldn’t cross. Not yet. He stayed down there, whispering reassurances to you for as long as it took for you to stop apologizing, and a few extra minutes for your breathing to calm down. Once you seemed like you were back in the present moment, he moved to a crouch. “Think you can stand up for me, honey?”

You nodded, but you were back to keeping your eyes downcast. “Yes, Alpha.”

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to call him ‘Alpha,’ that ‘Curtis’ was just fine. But that could wait until you were a little more comfortable. Once he had you home, maybe. He could already tell that picking his battles was going to be important.

“Thank you,” he said as he stood up to his full height, and you did as well. “You answered my questions so well. You gave me exactly what I needed.” He looked to Yona to see if there was anything else.

“Do you have any questions for me or Curtis?” she asked you.

You shook your head, emphatically, hunching your shoulders. The room filled with the scent of fear again.

“Okay… that’s fine,” Yona said, and he could tell how much she hated this. “Well,” she turned to Curtis, “I’ll go get the paperwork and then you two can get home. I’ll be right back,” she said to you, then left the room. 

This was happening too fast. In normal circumstances, you would have already been at the center for a few weeks, at least, with access to mental health professionals, life skill classes, and support groups. He’d be the last step before going back to the real world. You’d be ready to spend time with an alpha. Ready to work through processing positive physical attachments. Ready to learn how to share space with someone who wasn’t a threat to you. You’d be ready to slowly take steps into the world, with him there to support you.

You had backed yourself into the corner now. He could see the way every single muscle in your body was trying not to cower. You weren’t ready. You were nowhere near ready. But with all the resources for at-risk omegas pushed to their limit by this raid, what would happen to you if he didn’t take you? As insufficient as it might be, his help could be all you’d be able to get. This wasn’t how it should be, but he’d do everything he could for you.

Yona came back in and he watched her take you in, sighing at your state. He knew she was thinking the same things he was. “Ok,” she said, handing him the packet of forms to sign. “No changes since last time. You know the drill.”

He nodded as he grabbed them and sat down at the table, getting to work signing where he was supposed to. As he did, he felt your eyes on him as the scent of your apprehension filled the room.

Yona called your name. “Let’s go outside for a minute while Curtis finishes up.”

You both left quietly. This, too, was part of normal procedure. She was asking if you were sure you were comfortable leaving with him, telling you you had the option to say no, getting your verbal and written consent, and giving you cards with all the emergency numbers on them. He was afraid this situation might stretch the legal definition of informed consent. Based on everything he’d seen so far, he couldn’t picture a scenario where you’d say no. 

Nothing about this felt good, but everyone’s hands were tied. And he knew that he’d do everything he could to keep you as safe as possible.

A few minutes after he’d finished signing the last page, you and Yona came back in. A worn knapsack hung from your fingers. It was small, confirming Curtis’s suspicions that you didn’t have much in the way of clothes. Alright, that was priority number one.

Yona had a thin folder in her hand that she immediately passed to Curtis. “The regular information, along with her schedule of appointments for the next few weeks, both doctor and therapist. And the card for the agent in charge of the investigation into the compound, in case anything pertinent comes up.” Then she turned to you with a small box. “I’ve got a couple packets of suppressants for you. Do you want them or do you want Curtis to keep track of them for you?”

Your eyes cut to him suspiciously then flitted back to the floor. “Alpha,” you muttered.

“Okay,” Yona said, handing the box to Curtis as well. Then she clapped her hands together, her face set in grim determination. “I won’t keep you any longer then. I’ll see you both next week.”

On the way out of the center, Curtis was all too aware of the way you walked exactly three steps behind him, one step to the left. That wasn’t just old-fashioned, it was archaic. He’d never seen an omega do it in real life.

At his truck, you looked at the truckbed in a way that made him worried you might try to ride back there, so he opened the passenger door for you and waited for you to get in. He resisted the part of his alpha instincts that wanted to buckle you in. And after a gentle request, you did it yourself.

As the two of you hit the road, he reached over to turn the radio on. He tried to move slowly, but you still flinched. “Want some music?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t respond, so he found an oldies station and left the volume low. His plan for the day had shifted a bit. You definitely weren’t ready to go shopping. That was fine. There was nothing that couldn’t be delivered.

About five minutes into the drive, the strong scent of your tears filled the cab. He looked over at you. You were huddled against the door, as far away from him as you could get. Your face was pressed against the window, so all he could see was the back of your head. But he could hear your sniffles and he could smell your distress.

It took everything in him to not pull over right now and reach over to comfort you. Pull you into his arms. Rub soothing circles on your back. But he knew that would do more harm than good. His touch wouldn’t be welcome. Yet. You weren’t ready.

And god, he wasn’t either. He wasn’t ready for any of this. But damn it, he was going to try.

Tag List is open!

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[rafeskai]

Soft Spot — Rafe Cameron

Requested by @a-j-stuffs

Summary: One wild summer night, a bonfire turns intense, shaking up the dynamic between you and your lifelong friend, Rafe Cameron. When things get out of hand, emotions spill over, and the bond you’ve always shared starts to feel… different. As you deal with the fallout, layers you didn’t know existed start peeling back, showing a side of Rafe you hadn’t fully seen before. It’s a mix of fear, loyalty, and something deeper brewing under the surface. What happens next makes you question everything about where the two of you really stand.

Pairings: Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader

Warnings: profanities, violence, implied smut

The rivalry between the Kooks and Pogues was just part of life on the Outer Banks, but you had always thought it was ridiculous. Growing up as part of the Figure Eight elite came with its own perks and pressures, but you never saw yourself as better than anyone else. That mindset earned you side-eyes from both Kooks and Pogues, though you didn’t care much—especially now that Sarah Cameron’s relationship with John B had brought you closer to the so-called enemy.

Still, your longest friendships were with the boys you grew up with—Rafe Cameron, Topper Thornton, and Kelce. The trio had been a constant in your life since childhood. Even with their egos and bad decisions, you knew they had your back. Rafe especially had always been different with you. Your families were close, and that bond extended to the two of you. Beneath his rough edges and impulsive nature, Rafe was someone you trusted—a boy who seemed to turn into a better version of himself when you were around.

Tonight’s bonfire was supposed to be a distraction. The kind of wild, chaotic gathering where the lines between Kooks and Pogues blurred just enough for everyone to coexist. Sarah had convinced you to come, promising she’d stick by your side.

“Just an hour,” she’d said, grinning as she grabbed your hand and led you toward the glowing fire.

But Sarah had a habit of getting caught up in her own world, and the moment John B arrived, she was gone. You didn’t mind at first. The air was warm, the music loud, and the fire crackled against the night sky. It was the kind of summer night that should have felt perfect.

Until he showed up.

The man wasn’t someone you recognized—tall, with a rough edge to his features and a sloppiness to his movements that screamed drunk. His clothes were Kook-preppy, but his demeanor was far from charming.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he slurred, his grin too wide as he stepped into your space. “Why’re you standing here all alone?”

You took a small step back, clutching your red Solo cup tighter. “I’m not alone,” you said evenly. “Just waiting for someone.”

“Oh, yeah? Who?” he asked, swaying slightly but still managing to block your path.

You glanced around the crowd, hoping to spot someone—anyone—familiar. “My friends,” you lied.

His grin twisted, and he leaned closer, the smell of alcohol heavy on his breath. “C’mon, don’t play hard to get. You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not interested,” you said firmly, trying to step around him, but he grabbed your arm before you could.

His grip was rough, and it made your stomach drop. “Don’t be like that,” he said, his voice darkening. “You’re too pretty to be so cold.”

Your chest tightened. “Let go of me.”

The man didn’t listen. Instead, he tightened his grip and pulled you closer, his other hand brushing against your shoulder. “Relax, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The lie shattered the moment he yanked you hard, his fingers digging into your arm. You stumbled, the pain sharp enough to make you cry out.

“Stop!” you said, your voice cracking, but he ignored you.

The panic surged like a tidal wave, your breaths coming in short, shallow gasps. You tried to twist out of his grip, but he was too strong. His hand moved to your waist, and fear turned your legs to jelly.

“HEY!”

The shout came from behind you, and the man froze. You turned your head just enough to see Topper running toward you, his face a mix of shock and fury.

“Get your hands off her!” Topper bellowed, closing the distance in seconds.

The man released you abruptly, his grip leaving your arm throbbing. You stumbled backward, nearly falling before Topper caught you.

“Stay here,” Topper said, his voice tight with anger as he turned and bolted back toward the fire.

Moments later, Rafe appeared, his eyes scanning the scene. When they landed on you, his expression changed. The anger in his face turned cold, deadly.

“Who?” he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

You didn’t have to say anything. Rafe’s gaze shifted to the man, who was already trying to slink back into the crowd. Without another word, Rafe stormed toward him, his entire body radiating fury.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Rafe growled, shoving the man hard.

The stranger stumbled, muttering something incoherent before straightening up. “It’s not a big deal, man,” he slurred. “She’s just being a prude.”

The words barely left his mouth before Rafe swung. His fist connected with the man’s jaw, the force sending him to the ground.

“Rafe, stop!” you screamed, your voice breaking, but he didn’t hear you.

Rafe was on top of him, fists flying in a blur of rage. Each punch landed with a sickening crack, blood splattering against the sand.

“She said no!” Rafe roared, his voice shaking with fury.

It took both Topper and Kelce to pull him off. Even then, Rafe fought against their grip, his chest heaving and his knuckles coated in blood.

The man groaned, clutching his face as he lay motionless in the sand.

“Let’s get out of here,” Topper muttered, pulling Rafe back as Kelce threw an arm around your shoulders protectively.

The four of you left the bonfire behind, the chaos fading as you walked toward the quieter part of the beach.

Rafe finally turned to you, his expression softening as he saw the tears in your eyes. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

You nodded, but the truth was written all over your face. Your hands were still shaking, your arm throbbing where the man had grabbed you. “You didn’t have to do that,” you whispered.

Rafe’s jaw tightened. “Yes, I did. He hurt you. He scared you.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue. Instead, you reached for his hand, wincing at the sight of his split knuckles. “You’re hurt,” you murmured, your voice trembling.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered, but he didn’t pull away as you dabbed at the blood with a tissue.

“Let’s go.” He intertwines his hand with yours and leads you to your car.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The walk back to your car was silent, tension weaving itself between you and Rafe. Topper and Kelce had disappeared somewhere along the way, leaving just the two of you under the soft glow of the moon. The waves crashed gently in the background, but the sound did little to calm your nerves.

Rafe had barely spoken since leaving the bonfire, his knuckles still bloodied from the fight. Every few steps, you stole a glance at him, the hard line of his jaw and the storm brewing behind his blue eyes making your stomach twist.

You reached your car and hesitated, fumbling with your keys. “Rafe, let me drive you home,” you offered softly.

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean, ‘not yet’?” you asked, glancing up at him.

“I’m not leaving you alone tonight,” he said firmly, his voice low but resolute.

You didn’t have the energy to argue. Nodding, you unlocked the car, and the two of you climbed in. The silence followed you the whole drive to your house, broken only by the occasional deep breath Rafe took to calm himself.

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

The drive to your house was quiet, the tension between you and Rafe thick enough to cut with a knife. His hands, bloodied and bruised, rested on his lap as he stared out the window, his jaw clenched tight. You wanted to say something, but the words caught in your throat every time you opened your mouth.

When you finally reached your place, you parked the car and turned to him. “Come inside,” you said softly.

Rafe hesitated, his gaze flicking to you before nodding. “Okay.”

The house was dark and still, the only sound the faint creak of the floorboards as you led him to the living room. You flicked on a small lamp, casting a warm glow over the room, and gestured for him to sit on the couch.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, but you gave him a look that stopped him in his tracks.

“Sit,” you repeated, your tone leaving no room for argument.

With a reluctant sigh, Rafe sat down, leaning back against the cushions as you disappeared into the bathroom. When you returned with the first aid kit, his eyes softened just a little, the hard edges of his expression giving way to something gentler.

You knelt in front of him, taking his hand carefully in yours. His knuckles were split and raw, and blood smeared across his skin like war paint. “This is going to sting,” you warned, dabbing a cotton pad soaked in antiseptic against the wounds.

Rafe flinched slightly but said nothing, his eyes fixed on you as you worked. The silence between you was heavy, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“Why do you always do this?” you asked quietly, breaking the stillness.

“Do what?”

“Fight. Lose your temper. Get yourself hurt.” Your voice trembled slightly, betraying the emotions you were trying to keep in check.

Rafe exhaled slowly, his shoulders slumping. “Because I have to,” he said finally, his voice low.

“You don’t have to,” you argued, meeting his gaze. “You choose to. But why?”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then he sighed, his eyes softening as they locked with yours.

“Because it’s you,” he said simply. “You’re the only one who makes me feel like I’m not completely fucked up.”

Your breath hitched at his words, your chest tightening as you tried to process them. “Rafe…”

“You’re the only good thing in my life,” he continued, his voice raw. “And I can’t stand the thought of anyone hurting you. Not ever.”

The vulnerability in his voice broke something in you. For years, you’d seen glimpses of the real Rafe—the one who hid behind bravado and anger—but hearing him lay it all out like this was overwhelming.

“I don’t know what to say,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he murmured, his hand reaching up to cup your face. “Just let me…”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but you didn’t need him to. His lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, as if he was giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you leaned into him, your hands finding their way to his chest as the kiss deepened.

The air between you crackled with a tension that had been building for years, a mix of desire, anger, and unspoken emotions. Rafe’s hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice husky as he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the nerves buzzing under your skin.

Rafe’s lips curved into a small, almost shy smile before he kissed you again, his hands tightening around you as he guided you onto the couch. The world outside faded away, leaving just the two of you tangled together in the soft glow of the lamplight, the unspoken promise of something more lingering in the air.

© 2024 rafeskai | All rights reserved. This fanfiction is a work of fiction inspired by characters from Outer Banks, and no part of it may be reproduced or distributed without permission.