#to me. because the queue is always months behind

[purpleleafsyt]

My entry for the transfem Leo tournament ( @ultimatebabygirlsupremebattle ) <33

You asked what name(if any) I call her and I do have a special name for her!!

Lenore :]

[somecunttookmyurl]

As a person with chronic adhd paralysis and time blindness, the idea of being late/missing stuff *haunts* me, because I do think it’s rude. I’m late to shit all the goddamn time, and at this point I’ve started calling myself “consistently inconsistent” because it’s such a problem. One of my worst memories is from a time I was trying to rekindle a friendship with someone and made plans with her, and then woke up the day of 2 HOURS after I was supposed to meet her to a voicemail from her asking where I was. Never saw her again. It’d be really nice if I figured out how to transform all my anxiety about being late into *not* being late

ow ooff

a few weeks ago i was late to a hospital appointment because i somehow had it in my head that my appointment was at 4:45 when it was at 4:25 (probably because 4:25 is a stupid time) and only noticed my mistake when i left to get a bus at 3:55

i IMMEDIATELY called them to try and let them know but it took me half an hour to get them on the phone (nobody seemed to be able to transfer me to the right floor and i went in phone circles for ages) like by the time i got anyone helpful i was 1 min away from being late

i felt so bad about it (and also a bit silly) like. i misread the time please don't make me reschedule if the person after me is there just let them go ahead of me i'll be like 20 minutes late.

when i got there they were like "honestly at least you called. there are people who live literally on the same street as the hospital who turn up an hour late and don't even bother saying anything" like. were you raised in a barn.

[hermitadaymay]

WELCOME TO HERMIT-A-DAY MAY 2024!

I'm thrilled to bring this challenge to you all for the second year in a row! Hermit-a-Day May is a challenge inspired by Hermitober, but with a twist: instead of theme prompts, we focus on a specific Hermit every day!

THE RULES: 1. Any type of fanwork is welcome so long as it features, or is otherwise inspired by, the Hermit of the day. 2. Tag #hermitaday to have your fanwork reblogged, or submit it directly to the blog (Please note that while I recognize the value of fanworks involving more mature themes, and they can certainly count toward challenge completion if you're keeping track for yourself, content on this blog will be kept "PG-13" so that all may enjoy.). 3. Fanworks for one Hermit posted after the day rolls over to another Hermit's day (per the US Central time zone) will be reblogged in a big queue in June. 4. I am not interested in seeing captions or tags in which you disparage your art/skills. We're all improving all the time. Be kind to yourselves.

WHY SHOULD I PARTICIPATE? To show love to every Hermit, from the most to least subscribed, from those who have been on the server from day one to those who only joined this season! And because challenges are fun! And because, this year, there's an extra dimension to the event: a fundraiser for Gamers Outreach, featuring art incentives by @rendiggitydog and @belmarzi.

GRAND TOTAL INCENTIVE: For every $150 we raise for Gamers Outreach, belmarzi will make 10 seconds' worth of animatic, featuring as many Hermits as she can fit into the time frame.

INDIVIDUAL DONATION INCENTIVE: For every $50 (formerly $65 - changed 5/3) you personally donate to the fundraiser during the month of May, Rae rendiggitydog will draw you a shaded flats commission of a Hermit of your choice.

WHO’S RUNNING THIS? Hi! My name is Luna! You can use she/her, he/him, ze/hir, or ro/ros/roseself pronouns for me. My main blog is @as-if-unreal. Yep, before you ask, it really is just me, but to be fair I've had a lot of help.

BONUS SUNDAY PROMPTS EXPLAINED UNDER THE CUT

TFC - May 5th While he may no longer be with us physically, TFC left behind him a legacy of quiet care and good humor, and Hermitcraft would not have been the same without him.

FRIENDS OF HERMITCRAFT - May 12th There are plenty of shows, podcasts, competitions, other servers, and more woven into the internet ecosystem around Hermitcraft, and plenty more people involved in them: just as a small number of examples, Season 9's Rift opened up to a whole server of Emperor friends, and there are always allies to be made in MCC and enemies to be made in the Life Series. Today is for celebrating all of those who, while they may not be Hermits themselves, exist and entertain in proximity to them.

FAVORITE "ALT" HERMIT - May 19th HoTGuY and Poultry-Man. Helsknight and Evil Xisuma. Renbob and - look, you get the idea. This server is full of theater kids ready to toss on an alternate skin and play into a brand new character at the drop of a hat. Who's your favorite?

GROUPS AND COLLABS - May 26th This month is all about one Hermit a day... but what we really love is when they interact with each other. What does your favorite duo or group of Hermits get up to together?

[back2bluesidex]

In Motion - JJK (18+)

Pairing: Tattoo artist!Jungkook X Client!Fem!Reader

Theme: PWP, SMUT, Friends to FWB au

Wordcount: 1.4k+

Summary: You are finally letting Jungkook set everything in motion. And he is more than happy to show you what he has to offer.

Warnings: Rough sex, Jungkook is wearing a leather fit, he cums on her tits, he is kinky, he is a menace, unprotected sex (it's a no no), squirting twice, he callers her whore for once (because I had to put it!!) NSFW!!

Minors are not allowed in this blog!!

A/N: Here is another unhinged smut.

If you are standing right beside the door waiting for Jungkook to arrive, then you don’t wanna ponder upon it. Never in a million years will you ever admit that you are horny as fuck and you are desperate for you hot, handsome and absolutely stunning tattoo artist. 

Honestly, he has been dropping hints. He has been trying to let you know that both of you are on the same page but you, being you, have been playing hard to get. You are inflating your ego by reminding yourself that Jungkook is down bad for you even when he has a quite long queue of guys and girls trying to get fucked by him. 

But not anymore. 

You decided it’s about time you give in and take the chance. 

Your doorbell rings once, pulling you out of the thoughts. 

Taking a deep breath and a few moments (not to make it obvious that you were waiting just right beside the door), you open the door revealing Jungkook. 

Your eyes wander down his body. Just as always, he is in his tight black leather fits. An arm full of tattoos starts just where the short sleeve of his top ends. 

But before you could drink him in anymore, he is pushing you inside, making his way inside your condo without a single greeting. 

This guy doesn’t even bother asking for permission. 

He grabs you by your arms, interchanging your positions and pushing you into the door. 

“Finally. You came to your senses.” Jungkook mouthed briefly before aiming right at your neck.

You let out a breathy moan because, again, Jungkook doesn’t prep you with kisses. He straight on bites down on your skin. 

“I was always on my senses.” You interject. 

His hands travel down and reach to the knot of your robe, pulling the loose end hurriedly. 

“Uh-huh” he smirks, “Your little act of trying to play hard to get almost had me ending up on someone’s bed last night.” 

He removes the robe within a blink. You stand there naked for his eyes wearing only your underwear. 

“Oh? So, did you fuck them?” you place your question, tugging him closer, biting on his earlobe, eliciting a low chuckle from him. 

“I said almost, darling. They weren’t enticing enough. I jerked off thinking about you and the things I could do to you.” his throat vibrates on your lips as you continue to litter open-mouthed kisses all over his neck.

Jungkook’s hands find your tits. He grabs both of them with both of his hands, squeezing the swells and twisting the nipples as hard as he can. His thumb then brushes over the tattoo right under your left tit, his own creation and also the reason behind the pumping sexual tension started between you two. 

You are unbelievably wet right now and you don’t want to wait any more than you already have. And when Jungkook’s erection presses on your stomach, you lose it a little. 

“Take me to the bedroom.” you whine as Jungkook rolls his hip into yours enjoying the distressed look on your face. His hands don’t stop playing with your tits. 

“Look at you whoring right now. Who was denying my advances for the past few months, huh?” Jungkook smirks again, pinching on your nipple so hard that it makes you hiss. 

“Stop teasing, JK. fuck me or get lost.” you object. Your voice is somewhere between a moan and a whine. 

“I choose the first option.” he hoists you up, placing his hands right underneath your ass. You wrap your legs around him. Your core presses right onto his upper stomach. You are glad he chose to wear this extravagant leather top, otherwise he would have felt your wetness on his skin, which is kind of embarrassing. 

When Jungkook drops you on your mattress, you see his eyes drifting towards the evident wet spot on your red lacy underwear. He stands at the end of your bed right between your legs, which dangle off the edge. 

“Umm.. wanna taste that.” he mutters as he slowly pulls up his top above his head, leaving himself shirtless for your eyes. You raise one of your hands to touch that taut stomach and chest of his. But he slaps your hands away, grabs your wrists with one of his hands and pins them on your stomach. 

“Not so soon.” he purrs. 

His free hand pulls down your underwear in a swift motion. Goosebumps spread all across your skin as soon as your slicked cunt comes out of its cover. 

Jungkook wets his lips with his tongue once and then dives down between your legs, sitting on his knees. His fingers work their way to part your folds and give his tongue a free access to your clit. He licks a stripe off. 

“Oh Jungkook-” you whine, contained with pleasure. 

His lips wrap around your clit and he starts suckling on the bud. Your eyes roll back with the session. You moan out some incoherent words every time jungkook sucks a little hard. His fingers plunge their way into your hole with no hesitation. 

“O- Oh my g-god, Jungkook.” you shout at some point as you feel heat building in your stomach. 

“I waited so long for this.” Jungkook goes on speaking into your cunt, “Only I know how much I wanna see you like this.” he twists his fingers in a way and touches a spot that has you seeing stars. And before you know it.. You are squirting on his face. 

“Fuck, Y/N. You are raining.” Jungkook groans, detaching his face from your cunt. He lets your hands free while standing up and climbing on top of your body to attach his lips to yours. 

“Fuck, did I just-” 

“Yes. you just squirted all over me. Now taste yourself.” Jungkook crashes his lips on yours, poking his tongue into your mouth. You wrap your legs around his torso while your hands move to the south, touching his bulge through the leather of his pants. You squeeze it hard and Jungkook groans into your mouth. 

“Don’t get me started, Y/N. You know I get hot hearted.” he mumbles, nipping your lower lip. You moan. 

“As much as I would like to fuck that pretty little mouth of yours, that can wait. Right now, I need to fuck your cunt for all the time you kept me waiting.” he stated, standing up and unbuckling his belt. 

His cock springs up free as soon as it is out of its stuffy confinement. Your mouth waters at the sight. If you do this another time, you will certainly suck his soul out of him. 

“Like what you see?” he asks and you nod. 

“You could have gotten this cock inside of you ages ago. But no. Your ego is fatter than your ass.” He teases you. 

“Stop being a jerk.” you fight back, already being far too gone.

Jungkook positions his cock’s head right into your clit. He thrusts once through your folds, rubbing your clit deliciously with his tip. 

“Oh lord- Jung-jungkook where the fuck did you learn that?” You voice out loud, feeling your insides twitch again and he hasn’t even penetrated you yet. 

“You know, this is how I like it.” he breathes as he finally pushes his shaft inside you. 

His cock glides inside you so smoothly as if your cunt is made to accommodate it. 

And then he starts moving. Your bed starts squeaking as soon as he picks up a rhythmic pace. One of his hands reaches down to pluck your hands from the sheets and place them above your head. His mouth drops down to your nipple, sucking and biting on the same. The thumb of his free hand starts drawing tight circles on your clit. And that’s it. 

You squirt unannounced, again. 

“Fucking hell. Two times in a row.” You heard Jungkook chuckling darkly but you are so gone with the overpowering orgasm that you don’t catch his contorted face that signifies the fact that he is nearing too.

You only feel it when he pulls himself out of you, pumping himself once and then spilling his cum all over your already ruined body. 

It flies before you face like ropes of Champagne confetti. 

“How was it?” Jungkook breathes hard, still standing at the end of your bed leading down to face you. 

“The best I have ever had.” your answer makes him smirk. 

You are still trying to process everything, including the white stickiness all over your tits, and stomach, but soon you hear him speaking again, “So.. if you are ready and if you let me.. I can set us in motion.” 

And you know you are into this shit with Jeon Jungkook for a long time because there is no way you are denying him anymore, not when he can fuck you like this.

Taglist:

@phenomenalgirl9 @variety-is-the-joy-of-life @sukunabitch @chimchimmarie @coffeedepressionsoup @meowstake @vonvi-blog @nochuel @chimmisbae

[greenglowsgold]

The List.

Based on the Cass Apocalyptic Series.

The first part of this has been rumbling around in my brain ever since that Super Sad Scene a month ago, but yesterday’s update gave me the other side of the coin, so to speak, and finally pulled it all together.

@somerandomdudelmao thanks for the fuel, friend

                              -----

                              Donatello’s days have become a series of checklists, as of late.

No, that’s not exactly true. His days have always been about lists: what he’s done, what he can delegate to someone else, what still needs doing. But these days he’s been doing less and listing more, piling tasks from the first category onto the second as fast as he can manage, hoping he has enough time to empty the queue.

The full catalog is written out in a series of files, reorganized for accessibility to the layperson and meticulously up-to-date as of yesterday. He meant to run through it again this morning, ensure all the relevant instruction manuals were attached to each item and double check his protocols, but he wasn’t… he couldn’t…

He’s going to die tonight.

It irritates him, his own miscalculation of the timing more than the stark presence of his oncoming demise. The latter has been inevitable for quite some time, long enough that he’s gotten used to the idea. But he thought he had another week or two, and he doesn’t like being proven wrong. He wonders if his brothers know.

Probably not. They know it’s bad now, obviously, because they’ve piled him with pillows and blankets and surrounded him on all sides, and Leo has finally gone quiet. But they trust him, they’ve always trusted him, even when they shouldn’t, so if he swears he’ll last a few more days, they’ll believe him. He thinks. He’s pretty sure. If they knew it was tonight, he doubts they would choose to sleep through it. Donnie thinks about waking them up, but only for a moment. He’d like to say it’s a noble act, to leave them in peace a little bit longer, but the truth is he’s just too fucking tired to move.

There’s something settled bone-deep in his chest, a heaviness that sits on him like a stone, a peine forte et dure pressing him down and down, stopping his voice and his breath and his heart. He wonders if this is what dying usually feels like, or if it’s unique to the Kraang. Raph would know.

He cranes his neck to the right, to catch Raph’s face out of the corner of his eye. Raph’s working eye is half-open, staring down at the floor. Donnie could ask him. (He won’t. Let him fall asleep.) The movement of his head is so slight it doesn’t even catch Raph’s attention. He’s too tired for anything more. He’s so goddamn tired.

His lists are out of reach at the moment, with his physical interfaces back in the lab and his ninpo locked behind a wall of oh-god-it-sounds-too-exhausting-to-even-try, but he memorized them all long ago.

Raphael: Maintenance (delegated to Casey, who has it well in hand). Plans (tucked away in a dedicated folder, long term, but someday they’ll have the materials, and Raph will have a proper body again, someday). Honey (yes, he passed that along last week).

Raph has access to the tracking programs, so he can keep an eye on everyone himself, even when Donnie can’t pull up locations or vitals for him anymore. He has his own space in the base once more, somewhere to close a door when he needs to (he insists he doesn’t, but Donnie isn’t a fool). He has more excuses to spend time with Casey, who’s taking over his upkeep. Donnie hopes it fills in some gaps for both of them.

He runs through the list, double checks each item. It’s his last chance to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important.

He looks down, finds Mikey.

There’s a stockpile of the anti-aging serum in his safe, the formula in his database, plans for the permanent solution clearly labeled. As long as they have his lab, his systems, Mikey will be as young as his years. He’s walked him through the greenhouse, even if most of it is controlled by the computer system. Mikey misses the world being green; it’ll do him good to spend more time around the plants. He has his tea, his candles. He has Draxum, who by now should have received a — mildly — threatening message warning him not to pull any disappearing acts anytime soon. He has their ancestors, just a short call away.

Donnie’s sure Mikey will call on him soon. He doesn’t plan to stray far.

Up a bit. To the left. Leo.

The arm — Leo knows how to take care of it, as does Casey.

The passwords — reset, something even Leo will be able to remember without resorting to blackmail.

The schedule — reshuffled for the next few days, he’ll have a hard enough time sleeping as it is.

The photos — everything they have, even the embarrassing ones. He even managed a couple of prints, and one precious shot from their pre-apocalypse days, something for Leo to tuck into a pouch and carry with him, when they’re not around.

Raph, Mikey, Leo. He doesn’t think he’s missed anything. Donnie lets his head fall back, too exhausted to hold it up any longer.

Is it enough?

His mind stretches further out. He’s unraveling.

What about April? Her prescription is up to date, they just checked a month ago. She has the latest in his combat tech, which has kept her safe in the field this long, so he has no reason to think it will falter now. He’s leaving her a few extra pieces, since he won’t be able to use them anymore. Leo will find the time for a movie night once in a while, he’s certain, even if his taste in Jupiter Jim movies is horrendous. They still have coffee; he’d die before he let that particular supply run out. He will, actually.

Casey. Fuck, Donnie’s gonna miss his birthday. But he did plan for this, his protocols will kick in. The mask is finished, everything is in place. He’s reconfigured his workstations, fit them for a tiny human instead of a seven-foot turtle. Casey has a better head for mechanics than any of his brothers ever did. Kid likes to be useful, so Donnie’s left him as much use as he can. He’s taught him everything Casey can learn and left instructions for more, when he’s a little older and wiser. His family will take care of him, they’ll make sure he gets there.

The base. It has to hold, to give them somewhere safe. The infrastructure is sound, and they have people to manage repair work. Supplies are decent, the most critical items in stock, everything that can be made renewable is. Their allies — Leo handles interpersonal issues and leadership, but Donnie’s checked the list with a pragmatist’s eye, left notes and rankings for priority. Security is the largest concern, but he’s spent nearly half his time with his assistants since his self-diagnosis (he could have spent it with his family), running them through the programs and adjustments, trying to bring them up to somewhere in the realm of his own expertise (a fool’s errand, but still). They’ve been rigorously instructed, they understand that the little things like sleep are secondary concerns. It has to hold.

Is it enough? For them to be okay?

He’s done everything he can. He can’t do any more. So it has to be enough.

Donnie blinks, and for a moment isn’t certain his eyes will open again at the end of it. But they do. At least one more time, they obey him.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home. He rolls back through the list. It’s his last chance. He can’t miss anything.

Mikey’s hand tightens unconsciously around his wrist, fingers meeting easily on either side. Donnie feels only the echo of the pressure.

Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Home.

Something bright sparks at the edges of his vision before it fades. The last gasps of a dying brain, he supposes. Synapses firing one last time before they’re snuffed out.

Raph.

Mikey.

Leo.

                                                            April.

                                                                                                                        Casey.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   Home.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Light.

                                                                                                                         There’s light.

                                                            It hurts.

                                                            He thought dying would stop the pain, but it’s risen to a fever pitch instead. His brother’s arms are gone, but the disease wraps around him in their place, consumes him. It rages like a wildfire, burning through his center until pieces start to flake away like ash.

Oh, this is what it does, what it was built for. The Kraang could have killed him in a lot of different ways. He’d wondered why they chose this one.

He hasn’t planned for it. This is something he didn’t even know to fear.

It’s bright and it hurts but it’s quiet as he crumbles, folds in on himself like a black hole in the utter silence of outer space. It’s quiet enough that the voice that breaks through does so clear as a bell.

His head turns to follow the sound, instinct. He’s lost half his field of vision, but what’s left is enough. He looks, and finds Casey.

Casey looks at him, at him, not the body. Donnie opens his mouth to ask a question — What are you doing here? How? Why? — but something else sloughs out instead. Not blood. He doesn’t have that anymore.

Casey calls his name once more and starts running.

Donnie’s questions fold back into his mind. His mouth clicks shut, he swallows back the putrid rot and pushes himself up. His arms are shattered but they’ll have to hold him. They have to. Because Casey is here and he needs something, which means Donnie missed something, which means he isn’t done.

His spirit disagrees with him, doesn’t see the logic. His arms don’t hold.

Casey reaches to catch him as he falls, and the touch ruptures him instead. He scatters. Into the air and the ground and Casey. For a moment, he’s just pieces, fumbling around and latching onto anything that welcomes them, and Casey does that. They flow into him. They’re him. They’re…

He’s…

Casey, he’s…

Donatello pulls himself back together. Most of himself, anyway. The infection hasn’t followed him but the damage persists. He’s run through with cracks and crevices, shaking bits away into infinity with every movement. But there’s more of him here than not.

Unexpectedly, Donnie is not gone. He’s still dead, but that’s fine, he planned for that one.

                                                                                                                         Casey has him now. He wraps himself around Donnie in layers, helps hold him together with a kind of sheer will that makes up for any lack of mystic knowledge in spades. Casey asks him to stay, and Donnie takes up the task like Sisyphus sizing up the hill. This time, this time I’ll do it right.

Even better, Casey has taken him to another time, one where all of Donnie’s long-term plans are now completely-fucking-reasonable plans. Casey’s going to fix it, so Donnie can fix everything else. Whatever else needs it. He hasn’t really asked. And he knows he’s missed something, but he doesn’t think too hard about what, not yet.

First thing’s first: he needs a body.

It’s so simple to accomplish that it seems like the universe is mocking him. Just a quick 1-2-3, ticking off the list. It feels almost stupid, like running back through the early levels of a video game after unlocking all the ultimate weapons and burning through enemies and obstacles, laughing, shit, did I used to think this was hard?

In no time at all, his own face has formed in front of him.

In no time at all, he’s gasping.

It’s only been a few hours since he last breathed air, but he’s missed it.

Another thing he’s missed? Functional musculature. Casey slams into him and Donnie is startled to find that it doesn’t knock him over. His arms and legs look like actual limbs again, not fragile little sticks disguising themselves as such. He stands, dragging Casey along without a second thought. The weight barely registers. It’s amazing.

The power trip is heady, but it only lasts a few minutes before reality kicks it in the ass and pulls him back down to earth.

We lost, Casey says.

They’re dead, Casey says.

It wasn’t enough, Casey does not say, but Donnie hears it just as clearly.

All those plans, the preparations, the precautions and protocols, they only borrowed a year or two before they fell apart. He sees the timeline spiral out before him, tighter and tighter until it collapses in on itself, rendered all the more insignificant from his own point of perception. He was alive yesterday. His family is dead today.

Everything he did, it wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t. He was stupid to think otherwise.

(Raph. Mikey. Leo. April. Casey. Casey’s still here. It was enough for him, at least.)

It cuts at him a little, to have been so wrong. But he’s strong again, now. He can take the wound. More importantly, he has another chance to get it right.

Donnie breathes. His chest expands smoothly, easily. The air doesn’t rattle in his lungs. He’s alive, he’s a genius, he can fix anything.

He pulls up a list.

[luvhughes43]

sweetener | jack hughes

au masterlist⭐️ (apart of the journalist! au)

the previous part is linked here !

word count: 5.8k

⋆ ★

Three hurried knocks sound out from my front door and I rush out into the entry way as if whoever is behind that door will dissipate at a moment's notice. Of course I know that wouldn't happen, because Jack Hughes is standing on the other side of my door and all week he’s been updating me on his schedule and when he’d be able to meet our daughter. 

He’s been saying that a lot, our daughter. Which, he’s right. Leighton is our daughter but the word our feels so completely foreign to me that my mind reels and my heart races every time I hear him say it. Which is another thing, because Jack is a serial texter and yet, every night this past week without fail he’s called me to talk. He’s completely committed to being a father, and now that the paternity test came back telling us what we already know, Jack is coming to meet Leighton. Our daughter. 

Jack knocks again, and I quickly comb through my hair with my fingers before slowly opening the door. 

“Hey,” Jack waves awkwardly, unsure of what to do when you’re about to meet your secret baby for the first time. We both shuffle around my entryway awkwardly, before I gesture for Jack to sit on my couch. 

“Do you want water or anything to drink?” I ask lamely, twisting a lone baby blanket that was sprawled across the back of the couch in my hands. Jack shakes his head and then rubs his sweaty palms on his jeans. 

What were you supposed to say to someone who was meeting their baby for the first time? Somebody that you had so much history with? Somebody who, despite everything that happened, still has a prominent place in your heart? You wouldn’t know. 

Jack opens his mouth, before quickly shutting it again. 

“I’ll go get Leighton,” I nod dumbly, as if that wasn’t the whole reason that we were both here. I’m not normally this awkward around Jack but… under the circumstances any sort of social queues I know have gone right out of the window. I don't let Jack reply before I shuffle out of the room. 

Leighton is dressed in a pink one piece onesie which was a gift from Jack’s mother, Ellen. Who for the last week has been texting me and sending things over to the apartment. 

As soon as Jack hears my footsteps, he's rushing to his feet and facing us. “Oh wow…” he murmurs as soon as he lays eyes on our daughter. “This is so much better than the pictures and videos…” he trails off again, referring to the numerous videos I've sent him of our daughter this past week. 

“Do you want to hold her?” I ask, to which Jack immediately nods. I gesture for him to sit back down on the couch and he happily obliges. 

“She’s gorgeous,” Jack awes as I shift Leighton to rest into his arms. I’m not surprised that I don’t have to tell Jack how to hold a baby properly, he’s always been so well versed with children. Even when we were dating babies and kids just seemed to gravitate towards him, making it easy for him to handle kids.

Tears rush to Jack’s waterline as he holds his daughter for the first time. He doesn’t bother to wipe them away as they freely run down his cheeks. “I have a baby,” he whispers, gaze soft as he stares at our little girl. “Hi Leighton,” he says again, voice slightly louder as he tries to get the young girl's attention. She smiles up at him gummily, before reaching a chubby hand out and latching onto one of her dad’s fingers. 

I silently pull my phone out of my pocket and capture the sweet moment between the two. I had imagined this moment for months, but no dream would ever compare to what was sitting before me. Jack softly cooing at our daughter, completely in awe of her would be something that I would never forget. 

⋆ ★

When Jack looks back on the past year, he can’t help but wince. If he was more mature maybe he wouldn’t have let you walk away so easily - maybe he would have seen through Vivienne's deceptions and would have realized that he wasn’t truly happy with her. After meeting his daughter and getting to spend time with you in person today he made a promise to himself that he would do better for himself and for his family. 

His family. Whom he had just fully met a few hours ago and yet his happiness still hadn’t slowed or ebbed away yet. It was all so incredibly surreal.

“Like I'm telling you, that was the most.. Like the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Jack spoke hurriedly on the phone to his older brother Quinn. “I have a daughter, and she’s real, and I held her today,”

“That’s really great,” 

“She grabbed a hold of my finger! She has a really good grip, probably going to be better than all of us at hockey,” Quinn only laughed in response. 

“When can I meet her?” he asked. 

“I don’t know, I'll have to talk to y/n about everything. We’re taking it slow right now you know? Just trying to get me comfortable with the baby and all that,” Jack answers, excitement still laced in his voice. “Mom sent Leighton some things though which… Leighton… What a pretty name? Like I have a daughter”

“I’m really happy everything's starting to work out for you,” Quinn responded. After all the dramatics of the past few weeks, the future was finally starting to brighten.

“Thank you,” Jack replied honestly, mind still reeling from the day's events. “I have a family.” 

⋆ ★

ynuser

liked by jackhughes, claudia, and others

ynuser my whole world🤍

jackhughes added to their story !

⋆ ★

“Are you okay? Why are you smiling so hard?” my best friend said to me as I finished doing my makeup. 

“What? I’m fine!”

“No seriously, what’s going on?” Claudia continues, easily seeing past my poorly constructed lies. 

“Jack’s coming over to see Leighton tonight,” I can’t help the smile on my face as it grows. Jack’s coming over. How long have I waited to say that? Now that this whole mess is behind us, we’ve really started to carve out a routine for ourselves. Jack would make the trip to NYC as much as he could within his schedule, and he’d come over and spend time with Leighton and I. Everything is finally starting to fall into place, and so sue me for getting a little excited that he had the whole evening free to spend time with Leighton and I. 

Claudia rolled her eyes, “You’re moving fast,”

At her words, my forehead scrunches. I don’t like the way she said it, moving fast, it sounds like she disapproves of Jack and I starting to co-parent.

“Well, we already have a kid together so I think it’s a little too late for ‘moving fast’” I remark, busying myself in my makeup bag so she doesn’t see the clear displeasure coating my features. 

Claudia studies me for a minute and I wish she wouldn't. I understand that Jack’s and I’s situation is completely out of the ordinary and that we were childish and immature before. But honestly, how else are we supposed to go about this situation if not barrel straight ahead? We waited for him to meet Leighton until the paternity was settled, we created a clear schedule for his visits and we’ve spent hours discussing how we would go about co-parenting. 

“Nothing I guess,” she shrugs simply. I reach for my powdered blush and messily reapply.

It’s tense for the next five minutes it takes for me to finish my makeup.

 “Well, how “fast” should we be going? Because, I know I'm trying the best that I can here. We have a history, and we have a baby, so i’m sorry if you think things seem to be going “too fast” for you,” 

“You're right, I'm sorry” Claudia immediately apologizes, probably not realizing how her words had offended me earlier.

Ever since Jack started making a reappearance in my life Claudia’s had an attitude about it… always wanting to sprinkle little comments here and there. I get that she’s overprotective, but she takes it too far with Jack. It wasn’t his fault that he wasn’t here for my pregnancy and the first few months of Leighton’s life. 

“I’m sorry,” I sigh. “Things have been… nice recently and I just need this to work out.” 

Claudia nods in understanding, and it makes me want to take my apology back.

When Jack comes over two hours later, any sense of annoyance or stress I was feeling immediately dissipates. We do our usual, watch over Leighton and play with her. She’s only a few months old and so there’s not much that she can do yet besides smile and play peek-a-boo, which I'm learning Jack excels at. 

“And… peek-a-boo!” the hockey player enthuses for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening to an excited baby. Leighton face scrunches up as she lets out another round of loud laughs, which immediately causes Jack and I to giggle.

“We have the cutest kid!”

“We really do,” Jack replies, eyes trained on our daughter who's smiling up at him. I leave the two to play as I make my way into my kitchen. It’s already getting quite late and since Jack’s keeping Leighton entertained… I might as well make dinner before he has to leave and I have to watch over her again. She always gets fussy closer to her bedtime, making it essentially impossible to cook dinner before she’s asleep. 

I pull out all of my necessary ingredients before pausing. “Jack?”

“What?” he calls out. 

“Are you staying for dinner? I’m making pasta” I respond, walking back into the living room so we don't have to yell. 

“Ohh can I? I’ve missed your cooking so much,” 

He missed my cooking… it was such a simple task and yet my heart melted… There was so much we seemed to be missing of each other these days.

Dinner coincidentally ends up being ready just as soon as Jack finishes putting Leighton to bed.

“It’s crazy to think that we’re parents,” Jack voices his thoughts aloud in between bites of his dinner. “Like, really. Were mother and father… like that's insane,”

“Are you having doubts?” I joke, knowing that he’s fully committed to being a father. His amazon cart alone proves that with all the toys and outfits he has ordered for our daughter. 

“No never! Are you kidding me? Being with you two… it feels right,” 

I giggle and end up having to cover my mouth with my hands. 

“What?”  

“I’m sorry that was just really cute,” I explain myself, lowering my hands so that Jack could see my wide smile which he immediately reciprocates with his usual gorgeous smile. 

Jack leans his head on the palm of his hand, and things finally feel like they used to. If I wanted to I could reach my hand out and hold his, but just knowing that he was here was enough. For so many months I wished that what I was seeing now would become true and now everything had finally turned out. 

“I’m really happy y/n”

“I’m really happy too,” my face tingles, but unlike my smile I make no move to cover the redness that was no doubt coating my cheeks. 

⋆ ★

Now that I am back from maternity leave, it seems like my boss is trying to punish me. I’m constantly getting all of the shitty news stories, and I've been getting less opportunities to get out on the field. Therefore, I've been stuck in the office all day writing fluff pieces about influencers and brands that “you need in your life!”. 

So, when I got the call that there was an important story that I could work on but it would mean I had to come into the office on my day off… well… I was going into the office. 

Now usually I had somebody to watch Leighton on the days that I work, but there was just no way that I would be able to find somebody to watch her on such a short notice. So, I did the only thing that I could think of and asked Jack if he was willing to watch Leighton by himself… for the first time. 

The day started out simply enough. Jack had come over to y/n's apartment early with breakfast and some coffee for the both of them. He listened dutifully to y/n explaining Leightons morning routine, and he prepared the baby a fresh bottle with no stress. Even after y/n had left for work, Jack had been running the place smoothly and without any hiccups. Which is why around mid-afternoon when Leighton refused her bottle that Jack had panicked.

“Okay, please just eat. I know you're hungry,” he cooed to the small girl who was cradled tightly against his chest. She squirmed, tears running down her face at a rapid speed. 

He had rocked Leighton, burped her, walked around the apartment with her bundled in his arms all in hopes of her quieting down. When nothing worked he had checked her diaper, changed it although it was clean, and warmed up her bottle again in case that may have been the issue. She continued on wailing.

“Please Leighton, eat for daddy please. Settle down, it's okay!” He tried his hardest but nothing was working. He debated on calling his parents but ultimately thought it was pathetic that he didn’t know how to take care of his own child. He had missed out on so many months with his girl, what if he fucked today up and was never allowed to take care of her again? Jack started to spiral. 

Another painstakingly long hour went by, and Jack felt as if he had truly lost his mind. Nothing was helping Leighton settle down, and now Jack was so far behind y/ns schedule that he was feeling beyond hopeless. 

“Just- okay just eat!” Jack tried again, but every time Leighton got close to the bottle she would shift her head away and cry. “I don't know how to help you!” he rocked his daughter in his arms. “Please, help me help you,” 

It was to no surprise that Leighton kept crying. So Jack did the only thing that he could think of doing next, he walked swiftly to Leightons crib and left her there. Once she was confined in her crib, he simply walked out of her room and back into the living room where he fished his headphones out of his bag. 

Jack's shoulders sagged in relief when the first few chords of some country song played. 

I’m not a good dad

I don’t know what to do

How am I supposed to be a father?

After two more songs played in their entirety, Jack called his mom. 

“Are you okay…?” I ask as soon as I catch sight of Jack whose shoulders were sagging. 

“Listen, everyone has already asked me that tonight so I don't need to hear it again. you don’t need to lecture me”

“Excuse me? I don’t even know what’s wrong?” “It was my first time watching my daughter, and I fucked up, I know”

“Jack… I'm not mad at you?” 

“Right, whatever” he says, gathering all his belongings that were scattered throughout my apartment and stuffing them in his bag. 

I stare at him in confusion, “Can we talk about this?”

Jack continues stuffing shit in his bag, and I walk towards him and place a firm hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it off, twisting towards me. “I don't want to talk about it,” 

I scoff, patience truly wiening thin. “Well, I’m Leighton’s mother and I would like to talk about what happened”

“I can’t do this with you tonight” Jack sighs, running a hand through his messy hair. 

“Do what? Communicate?”

“Look, i’ve had a rough week at work and i’ve been a shit dad tonight so I really don’t need to hear you bitch at me right now”

“What the fuck is wrong with you? Don’t talk to me like that.” 

“Like what!” Jack says defensively. 

“Saying I'm going to bitch at you! I want us to talk through things. You getting upset over a few minor mistakes isn’t going to get us anywhere. Leighton is fine, you’re fine, so tell me what’s really going on so that we can get past this”

Jack scoffs, “there's nothing going on”

“Well, you’re being all rude and defensive so there must be something” I snark, truly fed up with Jack’s behaviour. I understand that today was a lot for him, and maybe it wasn’t the best idea for him to watch Leighton for a full day when he’s only used to a few hours but he can at least try and speak nicely to me. 

“You know what? I don’t need this right now” Jack says, breaking his stance and making quick steps towards the door. 

I’m hot on his heels and he yanks the door open. “Jack?”

He slams the door, and i’m left reeling with whatever the fuck just happened. 

⋆ ★

3 weeks later...

DEUXMOI

liked by vivienne, and others

deuxmoi Jack Hughes seems to be a topic of demand recently…. But don’t worry! Viviennes new podcast episode will cover everything you need to know and more! Stay tuned

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user19 vivienne sending her own “tip” into deuxmoi just so she can get views on her new podcast episode… deuxmoi hits a new low every day

user20 this is actually so embarrassing omg

user21 nhl players on deuxmoi is my worst nightmare tbh

user22 theyve been on here for awhile lol its nothing new

user23 ohhhh i’ll be tuned in!

user23 he definitely cheated on her omgggg😭😭

⋆ ★

Pretty Girls Podcast EP 22: Mr. NHL Man

[audio] timestamp: 24:33 - 1:13:03

Co-host: Okay maybe we should address the elephant in the room!

Vivienne: The elephant in the room? I’m crying… [laughs], but yes everybody is here to know about my ex-boyfriend situation so let's just get into it

Co-host: Right so… 

Vivienne: Okay so Jack Hughes!

[both laugh]

Co-host: Oh we're just coming right out and saying it!

Vivienne: I mean everybody knows

Co-host: Right, so let's get into it. What's the story? Because you’ve only told me parts of the story but I don't-

Vivienne: I haven't really gone into detail with anybody yet so this is like, an exclusive

Vivienne: But anyway… as we all know… Jack and I were seeing each other for a while and we were pretty official by the time I did the podcast with Alix Earle. So there was this whole bit of Alix calling her boyfriend “mr. nfl man” and so I teased Jack by calling him Mr. NHL man.

Co-host: Right as one does! And I just want to add, Vivienne and Jack were - you guys were kind of serious at this point. Like your relationship wasn’t just a fling like there’s a reason you're talking about it on the pod. 

Vivienne: Yeah we were fully dating by that point. Like he was staying over at my apartment and things like that. 

Co-host: How did you guys get together? You should tell the whole story, like I'm already sensing the hate comments you’ll get if you don’t tell this right.

Vivienne: Okay. So, I met Jack through a mutual friend of ours and that's how we started talking. We went on a few dates to bars and things, and we really got along well, or at least I thought we did. 

Co-host: Were there any warning signs?

Vivienne: Honestly… 

Vivienne: Things were really good between us and we had a “normal” relationship for the first few months. Like we got together around the beginning of the hockey season, and we broke up like, right before he went on personal leave if you guys keep up with the NHL side of things.

Vivienne: But basically we were doing completely fine and it wasn’t until people started catching on that Jack and I were dating that things became rocky. 

Co-host: I've also seen a lot of things about an ex that he had? Like I'm just going to come out and say it, did he cheat on you?

Vivienne: Honestly, till this day I don't really know. 

Co-host: What? What do you mean?

Vivienne: He didn't tell me why we broke up. Like, I'm being so serious. One day he came over to my apartment and just broke up with me and then unfollowed me on everything. 

Co-host: Oh my god??

Vivienne: Honestly, I think it's because of his ex. Like, the amount of times I caught him searching through his photo albums of her is insane.

Co-host: What an asshole oh my god?? Do you know if they got back together or if they were talking while you two were still together?

Vivienne: No they weren’t talking

Co-host: How do you know?

Vivienne: I uh… 

Co-host: Did you go through his texts or something?

Vivienne: Well… [short pause].. No I didn’t- well- I know he wasn’t

Co-host: Okay…

Vivienne: But it was clear there was something going on there [weak laugh]

Co-host: Damn…

Vivienne: But anyway, he broke up with me unexpectedly and I just don't know why

Co-host: To be honest it sounds like he cheated on you and just didn't want to own up to it.

Vivienne: Yeah… I mean possibly. The ex thing was..

Co-host: He was just using you as a distraction and that really sucks for you.

Vivienne: It's just an awful situation. Like it was clear that he was still hung up on his ex and now I look like an idiot in front of everyone for making our relationship public.

Co-host: I don't think you look like an idiot. You thought the relationship was going to work out and now people are flooding your comment section begging to know what happened. Plus, it's Jack's fault anyway. Like he's no stranger to cheating allegations so what are you supposed to do?

Vivienne: Yeah… my dms are full of his fans basically blaming me for the breakup when they don't even know what happened. 

Vivienne: So, I just want it to be clear that I did nothing. Like I didn't want us to break up. 

Co-host: Even though you knew about the ex?

Vivienne: Yeah… I just felt so… like our relationship was really good I think I would have put up with anything. But now that it’s over i'm stuck looking back and… well it’s clear he maybe wasn’t always faithful or he had commitments with his ex. 

Co-host: Gosh…

Vivienne: But that's honestly it. After this episode is over I'm not talking about this. It's honestly really hurtful…

[end of snippet]

⋆ ★

“y/n i’m so sorry,” Jack's words are fast as he paces the floor of my entryway. He had a game in a few hours which he would no doubt be late for, seeing as he’s all the way in New York City instead of Newark.

“What are you doing here? You have a game?” I wonder aloud, Leighton softly cooing from her spot on my chest. 

Jack pauses at the sound of his daughter and his eyes visibly soften. “I’m really sorry,”

“I wasn’t mad at you,”

“I’m just afraid to mess things up again,”

“Jack…”

“And I'm sorry for snapping at you. It wasn’t your fault that I got upset,” 

I walk towards Jack and place a comforting hand on his arm, mindful of our daughter that was strapped to my front.

“I should have stayed,” he says into my hair, his arm coming around to hold onto me. 

I turn my body to hold him properly, and Leighton babbles away as she’s wedged between her parents. “You were overwhelmed. You're not used to watching her all the time and that’s okay,”

“I should be okay watching her while you’re at work I just-”

“You have to be kind to yourself,” I start, slowly pulling yourself away from Jack to lead the two of us into the living room. “It took me a long time to learn Leightons needs and how to read her. With more time you’ll learn and become more comfortable,”

Jack nods reluctantly, ultimately realizing that what I was saying was the truth. We sit in silence for a while, both wanting nothing more than to move on from this situation. 

“Come to my game tonight?” Jack breaks the silence. “You and Leighton? Please?” 

“You want us to come… tonight?” I question. Was this a good idea? 

Jack nods and takes Leighton out of my hands. “I think she should come to her first game,” 

“Okay….” I’m slow to agree. When Jack and I were dating, I barely went to his games. He never really invited me, and I had always felt weird about asking. With our relationship so private, we usually just appreciated each other’s careers from afar. 

Jack looks away from our daughter and back up at me, “I've talked to management about our… situation and they’re okay with you sitting in the box with Nico since he’s out” Jack explains. “It’ll be completely safe, and if you're worried about the drive to the stadium I’ve got my car and I can drive you” 

“What about afterwards?” 

“I can drive you back here after the game or you can stay at my place… I've… i've bought a bassinet for Leighton and some things if you guys want to stay the night,” 

“Okay,” I agree easily now. “Let me pack some of our stuff and we’ll stay with you tonight,”Jack looks beyond relieved at my words.

njdevils

Liked by jackhughes, _quinnhughes, trevorzegras, and others

njdevils Jack is back and meeting some fans 🔥

tagged: jackhughes

view all comments

jackhughes ❤️

_quinnhughes Love to see it

user24 jack and quinns comments… okay….

user25 jack is such a girl dad ugh! so cute!

user26 jack would be such a good dad im crying

user27 hold on is that his ex gf?? she looks like the same girl from the fan pics

user28 omfg wait???

⋆ ★

nhl.drama

liked by hughesl0ver43, and 351 others

nhl.drama jack hughes ex gf, vivienne aiden, reveals in her podcast that jack seemingly broke up with her for no reason. she also claims that he would constantly look at pictures of his ex gf while they were together, and he may have possibly cheated. what are your thoughts?💭

-

#jackhughes #nhl #vivienneaiden #confession #nhldrama

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user29 this is honestly just ridiculous like she clearly made this all up

user30 ? what how do u know

user29 she kept rambling on, couldn't confirm if Jack cheated or not, and just started bringing up his ex gf? And also, if she really didn’t know why he broke up with her/would still go back to him.. why would she make a whole podcast about it? it fr doesn't make sense

user31 They said Jack has a history of cheating? How would they even know that i’m so confused

user32 viv was his ex lmao im sure somebody warned her about him.

user33 i think it’s so weird that some of u guys are sticking up for jack… like vivienne sounded so sad / upset during the podcast… like he obviously did something wrong regardless of if shes telling the truth or not.

user34 she did not sound upset at all… she was legit laughing throughout the whole podcast and she could not make up her mind on which “story” she was gonna tell. she clearly lied and i hope jack sues her ass🤷‍♀️

user35 the timeline of this whole thing is so interesting tbh. like what ex are they talking about? also, i wish viv confirmed why jack took a personal leave lol. she left out all the interesting bits

user36 “ex gf” …. do yall think it was the girl from last year ? istg they refollowed each other after vivienne and jack broke up

user37 this whole drama is so lame IMO. just another girl looking for her 5 seconds of fame… nobody should care if jack cheated or not because his job is to play HOCKEY. honestly who gaf about his personal life

user38 his personal life is bleeding into his game lol. 

user39 LEAVE HIM ALONE MY GOD!!!!! U KNOW NOTHING. 

⋆ ★

Vivienne's podcast episode about her breakup with Jack had gone viral overnight. Everybody online was speculating about their relationship, as well as trying to prove each side right. Some of Jack's fans were trying hard to prove that Vivienne was lying and well, gossipers around the world were sticking up for Vivienne and trying to confirm that Jack is a serial cheater. 

Thankfully for Vivienne, she just had to sit back and enjoy the show. She knew that there was absolutely no way that Jack would come out and deny the cheating rumours, plus she knew y/n was private on everything and wouldn't come forward either. The drama would run its course for a few days until something better came along, and then Vivienne would be completely off the hook for everything. 

Alix E: just watched the pod! i hope you’re doing well❤️

Tana M: HE CHEATED ON YOU?? that's actually crazy. youre so fucking pretty. ugh, men are awful. If you ever wanna come on the cancelled podcast you're always welcome!

Alex C: Men are the worsttttt. Youre absolutely winning life though so make him regret it!💋

Everything seemed to be falling right into the palm of Viviennes hands. While Jack finding out about the whole y/n thing was a colossal nightmare, the support from her peers almost made up for it. She now had deals lining up the block, and she knew her career would only sky rocket from here on out. 

While being with Jack had pulled in massive numbers, the breakup was just insane for her social blade. She had gained soo many more followers across all platforms after posting Jack on her story, plus naming him in her podcast was just… it was honestly too good. A pr dream… It was going to be Viviennes year. 

⋆ ★

As soon as the small family made it back to Jack’s apartment after the game, they were all exhausted. Leighton had fallen asleep well into the second period, and had surprisingly stayed asleep despite how loud the arena was.

Jack quietly guided his girls into his bedroom. He set Leighton in her bassinet, and then helped me organize some of the things I brought over.  

“I haven’t been here in so long,” I mumbled as I pulled my toiletries out of her bag. 

“Well you're always welcome,” Jack whispered back as he silently watched me fumble around in the darkness.

“Shit, I forgot pyjama pants and all I have are jeans…” 

Jack immediately stands from his position in bed, mindful of the fact that Leighton is peacefully sleeping in the recently purchased bassinet. “You can have a pair of my sweats if you want?” he whispers as he walks over to his dresser and pulls out options. 

“It’s okay,”

“I’m not letting you sleep in jeans that's foul,” Jack says quietly as he gives me a pair of his sweats.

“Thank you,” my face heats up. If I wasn’t thinking about our history before, now I am. Everything was becoming a little too much… if I closed her eyes I could still picture the way things used to be. How we’d stay in his apartment and well… yeah.

Jack turned away just then, settling himself in his bed so that I could finish getting ready. He hadn’t thought too far ahead in their sleeping arrangements, and just as he started to worry that y/n might’ve found her way to the couch he felt a dip in his mattress. 

“Do you mind if…?”

“No I uh- No I don’t” Jack stuttered, completely caught off guard by their newfound closeness. 

“Thanks for tonight,” I whispered, snuggling into all of Jack’s blankets and excess pillows, all of which were bought when we were still together. 

“No worries,”

“I mean it though. Thanks for talking to me in person earlier and for driving us to the game” I continued sleepily. “And for letting us stay here tonight,” 

“Of course. Anything for my girls,” 

When there was no answer, Jack looked over to y/n's side of the bed only to find that she was already fast asleep. He checked the bassinet afterwards to find his daughter sleeping peacefully as well. Jack sighed in contentment before drifting off to sleep himself. 

My girls,

My girls, 

My girls..

Life was sweet.

next part

-

-

-

[byunpum]

They caught us

Pairing: Neteyam x human reader

Tags: fluff, cuddling, teasing, crushes, playful biting, lots of kisses

Warning: light teasing, some smut 18+, the characters have 20's

AVATAR MASTERLIST | Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 | Part 4

It was a peaceful day at the camp in the mountains. You had been doing your daily task all day, helping Norm with various tests he had to do for his new investigations. You were also helping Jake with the new tracking maps that Norm had given him. Technology was not his thing, that's why he was always looking for his "favorite daughter-in-law", jake joked with that line. According to him, neteyam and you spent all their time together. Neytiri always tapped him on the arm or gave him a blank stare. You didn't have a bad relationship with Neytiri, she always trusted you. She never said anything when you and neteyam would go for a walk, spend time together, even if there were shows of affection between the two of you. It never bothered her, but when someone hinted that you and neteyam might be a couple, you could see her disapproving face.

You didn't get to see any of the boys during the day, you only knew that loak, spider and neteyam were out for a ride, because tuk told you about it. And since you had already finished all your homework, you decided to go to the lab, to see what you could do there, until it was time for dinner. You went in and noticed that there was no one there, norm and max had gone out to do god knows where. As there was no one there, you decided to go to your room. You could go to it, through a door that connected to the lab. It was a hallway, with doors and one of them was your room. You go in…and literally take off your clothes, leaving you with only an oversized shirt and a pair of panties. You lay face down on your bed, watching an old movie on the tablet that Norm had given you for your birthday.

An hour passed, you were so into the movie, until the door to your room opened. Neteyam's head popped in the door, he didn't want to make any noise. He saw that you were in bed and decided to come in. He had keys to your room, actually he was the only one who had them. And it was for good reasons, the first was that if something happened he could come to look for you, the second was because it was easier to meet you at night. He came in quietly, listening as you were singing softly, the song you heard in the movie. He moved in behind you and let himself fall down.

You screamed in fear and tried to turn around. But you calmed down when you heard his laughter. "What are you doing? Let go of me!!!" you complained as you tried to turn around. But it was almost impossible, neteyam was heavier than you and not to mention that he was twice your size. You swear he was more muscular. "mmm I don't want to, I want to stay here. On top of you mmm" says neteyam as he hugs you more and relaxes his body on top of yours. "come on, let me get comfortable…and I'll let you hug me all you want." You moan. He lifts up a little on his elbows, leaving a little space between you and him. You settle down so that you are on your back, he settles back on top of you. Instinctively you wrap your legs around his sides, just above his waist. "Mmm you smell good" says neteyam with his head buried in your neck. "I've been outside all day, I must not smell good" you speak, stroking her hair, and tracing your fingers through his queue. Making him purr. "oh no, honey…your smell is wonderful" you can feel, as he gives several wet kisses. As he gets closer, his hands were embracing you completely. You could feel him exploring your whole body.

Neteyam had become a little more needy in the last few months, and you knew it. He was touching you more than usual. If you were next to him, he would brush his hands over your hips. Or he would move closer to your neck so he could smell your scent. He would stare at you longer, and you could sense that his gaze was not at all innocent. "Nete… what's wrong with you?" you ask him with a little smile, placing your hands on the sides of his face, making him look up at you. Neteyam looks at you, to get close to your face and kiss you. "I love you" says Neteyam, between kisses. Some on your lips and others on your eyes. "I love you too" you laugh, his lips tickle you. Neteyam sits on the bed, and grabs the back of your thigh, to get more comfortable. "I want you…" Neteyam already had his hands down your shirt. " but… you said you didn't want to hurt me" your voice was cut off, as neteyam's fingers rubbed the sides of your stomach, while he kissed your neck. He was pressing himself harder against you. You reached back to kiss him again.

You started to lift your hips to try to find some friction, neteyam noticed this movement and started to imitate your movements. You moaned a little, it felt so good. Your shirt was already halfway down your body, and he was still placing sloppy kisses here and there. He lifted himself up on top of you, to get more comfortable. "Did you close the door?" you ask him, as you run your hands over his stomach. "Yes, yes" he spoke a bit excited, you glanced down at his loincloth and you could already see his growing erection. Neteyam looked at you, and gave you a cheeky grin. As he settled on top of you again. "Do I get another kiss?" asks Neteyam as he starts kissing you. You laugh into the kiss.

"Y/N has to be in his room" says norm, as he is escorted by jake and neytiri down the hallway on the way to your room. Jake had been having trouble with the maps and was looking for you to help him again. "this place is horrible," says neytiri walking next to jake. "there are worse places." norm laughs, as she guides him to your room.

The situation had already escalated, the only noise you could hear in the room was the moaning of both of them. Neteyam was already on his way to your panties, his hand stopped on the edge of them, playing a little. " you know… I hate this thing" he says as he continues kissing neck. " Well, if you want you can take it off" you flirt with him a little bit, pinking your nose against his. While neteyam trails under your panties, brushing his fingers on your little nub. You moan softly, stealing a kiss from him. "mmm don't tease me" you speak, not noticing your bedroom door opening.

You were so entertained between the two of you, you didn't notice the door open. Norm stood in front of Jake and Neytiri. The three of you were silent. No words came out of their mouths, they were in a state of shock. Neteyam was on top of you, your shirt was up, neteyam was kissing you, and they could see where neteyam's hand was. Jake's face changed and so did Norm's. "NETEYAM!!!" neytiri yelled. You two opened your eyes. And tried to get settled as fast as you could. "What's going on here?" neytiri shouted. "It's so obvious!!!" says Jake, making Neytiri look at him, and he changes his gaze. "Mom, I can explain," says Neteyam, sitting on your bed.

You didn't know what to say, you were adjusting your shirt. The situation in itself was embarrassing. "Why-why don't we just let them…. We'll be waiting for you in the lab," says Norm, pushing everyone out of your room. Neytiri was still screaming, while Jake dragged her with him. You two stood there, silent. Until neteyam started laughing.

"Your mother will murder me!!!" you say, and throw yourself backwards on your bed. Neteyam laughs, and lies down next to you. He moves, to bite your ear. "Hey …. are you calm because nothing is going to happen to you" you say. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you" says neteyam lying on top of you again. "Neteyam! They are waiting for us!!!" you moan, as you play along. "Then let them wait".

[earthtooz]

x : COUPLE HUNDRED MILES :*+ﾟ

in which: you're a few minutes away from boarding a flight when an unexpected mikage reo appears and spills his heart to you.

warnings: 1.4k words, swearing, gn!reader, reader sits on reo's lap towards the end, fluff, previous rejection turned romance, bad writing :P, reader and reo are uni students and 20-ish

a/n: this was me practicing to get back into writing bc i am approaching sem break soon and have a lot of things to get out on my plate... but this was also me... being absolutely in love with reo... so... enjoy!

in a few minutes, you’ll be boarding a flight that takes you abroad for six months.

six months of not seeing your friends or family physically, six months of immersing yourself in a new culture, and six months away from the country where you confessed your love to mikage reo, only to be embarrassingly shut down.

boarding passes and passport in hand, you cringe at the haunting memory once more, but the overhead voice of the airport speakers pulls you out of your misery to announce that the boarding for your flight was open.

remaining rooted to your seat in the terminal, you calmly watch as other flight-goers scramble to be the first ones in the line. being apart of the rush was never something you preferred, always lagging behind to find your seat over 

you never really liked being apart of the rush, preferring to lag behind and find your seat whilst everyone was sitting down rather than joining the uncomfortable push and pull of airplane aisles. 

the queue moves at a moderate pace and when there’s only 30 or so people left, you grab your luggage to secure a spot. 

but, a yell of your name reverberates through the airport and you, like many other shocked passengers, turn around to see where the commotion was coming from… only to see reo running right up towards you.

the other passengers didn’t gasp like you did, didn’t have their hearts plummet to the ground like yours did, and most certainly didn’t feel the bout of panic that rammed into you like a bullet train.

what did you do in a past life to deserve this?

you had confessed your pure-hearted, genuine affections for reo only to be met with the stinging palm of rejection slapping you across the face. when he told you that he liked someone else, and in the next breath asked if you could stay friends, the only response you had was to mutter a pathetic ‘sure’ before turning on your heel and walking away from the boy you’ve been longing after. you’ve been ignoring reo since, avoiding him where possible, pretending like you didn’t see him when your paths crossed, and perpetually ignoring all texts of his. 

now he manifests right in front of you, having followed you all this way to the airport. this six month cleanse was not starting off on the right foot. 

he’s red and sweaty and empty handed and you’re wondering when you’ll be able to stop seeing mikage reo as a gift from the heavens. it’s unfair for him to look good whilst puffed out, but you think that’s what makes him all the more unreachable.

“what the fuck are you doing here?” you hiss. 

for a second, you don’t think reo will reply, too entrenched in the idea that this person in front of you is nothing but a trick of your mind. karma for running (more like flying) away from your problems.

against the haziness of your mind, this reo responds. “i need to tell you something.” 

“could you not have texted?” you gesture to your phone for emphasis. “what could be so important to make you run all the way out to an airport? and how did you make your way into the terminal?”

“because i’m catching a flight.” 

you raise an eyebrow.

“-to your heart.” 

“don’t joke around with me like that,” you mutter, a stupid smile making its way to your face, causing you to hide your giggles behind your hands. you still have the capacity to take his jokes lightheartedly. reo thinks that is a good sign. “why are you actually here?”

“because i’ve realised something.” 

“what does that have to do with me?” 

reo inhales sharply before exhaling a quick “i like you too.”

your mouth drops. reo shifts his weight between his feet awkwardly. the person behind you in line with his wife and kids coughs awkwardly and you grab your luggage and reo and pull them both to the side, face hot. there’s only a few minutes before your flight leaves, but there is a disaster on your hands and a whole lot of questions you need answered.

“what do you mean you ‘like me too’?” you ask, any hostility previously in your tone disintegrating as you meet reo’s gaze. he looks at you like he’s never seen anything more beautiful. 

“it means that i like you, and i think we should go out.”

“but… why the change of heart?”

he rubs the back of his head awkwardly, “because you ignored me for three weeks and i didn’t like it. i didn’t like not being able to talk to you and not being around you.”

“what about the person that you liked before?”

he cringes at the mention of them. “let’s not think about that, i’ve moved on.” it sounds like there’s more to the story than reo’s letting on, but you don’t pry, not yet at least. “all that matters is that i like you- a lot, and i would like another chance if you’d allow me.”

“i… don’t know,” you murmur, watchful of the gate and how little people there were left in the queue, meaning that you should probably get a move on if you didn’t want to miss your flight. “you know what, we’ll talk about it when i land-”

“-i have two first class tickets.”

“what.”

he shows you the boarding passes proudly, splaying them out to reveal that there was, indeed, two first class tickets. 

“so… you… bought- hold on, you weren’t joking and the flight you need to catch is mine? how did you-”

“-i worked my magic,” the purple-haired winks at you, shooting an arrow straight through your heart. damn his boyish charms. 

“that’s not at all a good answer!” you hiss. “reo, please tell me you’re not getting on that flight.”

“i am.”

“university starts in a week!”

“and?”

“i’m- what do you mean, ‘and’?”

“and? i’ll be back in time for it to start. you matter more.”

you huff. “you’re not getting on that flight, reo.” 

he smiles at the roll of his name off your tongue. “but i am.”

“no you’re not.”

“well you can’t stop me.”

you deflate, dropping your shoulders. he’s right.

“besides, can you really say no to first class?” the purple-haired waves the tickets in front of your face and you have half a mind to push them out of the way. 

sparing a glance over to the gate, you realise just how little people are left in the line, leaving you no choice but to agree. stupid reo and his negotiations. you look back at him. “you didn’t have to do that, i would have been fine in economy.”

“yeah but i would not have, and first class would be a lot better with you in it.”

you push his shoulder lightly. “spoiled brat.” 

“maybe, but you like this spoiled brat, and we’re going to miss the flight if we don’t hurry so,” he gestures to the gate, “after you.”

“you’re ridiculous,” you murmur fondly and he grins charmingly. “we’re definitely talking about this later.”

“we’re going to do a lot more than just talk, c’mon.”

EXTRA SNIPPET:

“so you’re going to stay the week with me as i settle in for exchange? our semester starts next week, are you sure you’ll be back in time?” you ask, halfway into the flight. reo had decided to invade your pod and now made himself comfortable with you sitting on his lap. you can’t decide whether you like how comfortable he is with you (you like it; a lot).

reo has always been touchy with you, even when you were ‘just friends’. draping himself around you, holding your hand to ‘keep them warm’, and offering piggy-back rides were normal, but now that it was established that you two will be something more than just friends, his affection truly has no bounds.

“even if i’m not then what’s the harm? some of my classes are online and don’t mark attendance,” the purple-haired hums, taking a sip of the cup of coffee he ordered.

you sigh. “you’re horrible.”

“maybe, but we’re young and we deserve to live a little.”

“true.” 

“and what if you meet someone there? i can’t have that happening. i need to establish myself as an oligopolist- market dominance in the sea of potential competitors.”

the purple-haired stares at you expectantly, and you’re not exactly sure how to respond to his sudden spiel apart from a helpless: “i can’t believe i like a finance bro.” 

for whatever reason, he giggles. “i can’t believe you like me.”

© EARTHTOOZ 2023, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[lowpolyanimals]

How are you doing?

hey! I am doing much better these days, PMDD is kicking my butt every month still but I am doing pretty well considering. I had to reduce my hours in work to help reclaim some of my life that PMDD takes but it helps a lot so I am very grateful I am able to do that. I got married last year and now am living with my spouse so that has been a dream come true and is such a big help too! I still have way too many hobbies and counting (thanks neopets) for my time available but I am slowly rotating them all and making the most out of my time finally!

I am really sorry that I was away for so long. At the time that I left, I was just so overwhelmed due to my PMDD getting worse and becoming unbearable, working whilst ill, trying to catch up on work / life missed due to ill health etc. and it all got a bit too much for me. Even the thought of coming back to the blog after a couple weeks was too overwhelming (because of how I was running the blog at the time). Later on I had also deleted Tumblr from my phone in an attempt to reduce screen time but it meant that I stopped using it completely and I regret that it largely contributed to me staying away for so long.

I want to give this blog a big old reboot and get it up and running again but I realised that I need to change the way that I run the blog. Previously I had this HUGE backlog of submissions that caused me to have to spend hours and hours one day of my weekend to get through so many submissions. I wanted to just power through until eventually I’d get to the point where I’d just be able to handle submissions as soon as they come in then and there but there was just too many and it took too much of a toll and I hit breaking point. :(

So I’ve decided to just run the blog now how I've always wanted to - by dealing with submissions as and when they come in and opening/closing submissions to keep it to a manageable level (I'm sure this is how other blogs do it, I think I am just dumb lol). I will also post them immediately as and when they come in and only use the queue if I’m going to be posting several posts in a row to avoid spamming. It just means posting will be a bit more sporadic sometimes that’s all. However, in order for me to do this, I am going to have to omit the backlog (for now). I can always go back to the backlog and shave some off if I can handle it (or please feel free to resubmit anything I've not already posted).

I’ll make a new pinned post in a couple of days explicitly explaining the new changes to how the blog will be run behind the scenes, although honestly it’s not going to affect much on you guys side of things, you will still see the same content and submit the same way. I just want to add a rule to say please do not submit more than one post a day and that I’ll open/close submissions to keep things manageable. Submissions will stay off until that post comes out so just bear with me (🐻) a little longer!

Just want to say before I end this really long post (they always get so out of hand lol) that I MISSED YOU GUYS TOO and I LOVE YOU ALL and your kind messages made me so very motivated to get this going again, thank you! 🥺❤️ I can’t wait to bring you more of these little critters we love so much once again :)

[dandylovesturtles]

Leo and Donnie, Treat (also love your works.. i got a prompt at 2am my time IMBI updated, and i woke up in a rush to read it)

Thank you!! A little Leo and Donnie treat for you ^^

Can you tell I didn’t know how to end this one?

No warnings this time

———

Mikey is out with Draxum and Splinter and Raph are out having father-son bonding time and Donnie is in the kitchen getting more coffee which means the sneeze he just heard from the living room has to be Leo.

The initial sneeze is followed by another, then a third and a fourth and a fifth because even with sneezing Leo has to be dramatic.

Donnie stares at his coffee and tries to rationalize. Maybe Leo just breathed some dust - Pizza Supreme knows they haven’t dusted in at least six months. Or maybe he got a tickle from some of Dad’s fur. Or he stared too hard at a light bulb.

Leo coughs, deep and hacking from his chest, followed up with a sniffle, and Donnie sighs and fills his coffee mug.

“Noooo, you can’t be sick,” he says as he walks out. “I’m the only one here to take care of you.”

Leo is sprawled in Splinter’s chair, wearing the hoodie he only wears in the lair in the dead of winter (or when he’s sick) and the fuzzy socks reserved for very cold days (or when he’s sick). He looks Donnie right in the face and says, “Well lucky for you I’m not sick.”

Like a liar.

“Yes you are,” says Donnie, exasperated.

“Prove it.”

“You have a temp of 100.4,” he says, goggles down now.

“I always run hot.”

“No you always run cold, dum-dum.” Donnie flicks the goggles back up, debating getting a mask before he goes any closer. “At least tell me if what you have is contagious.”

Leo sulks down further into the chair, but at least he’s not denying it anymore. “I did a test. It’s just a sinus infection, so, you’re safe.”

Well that’s good for Donnie, but it does not change the fact that Leo is sick. And Donnie is the only one here.

“I’ll make you some tea,” he says, and turns to go back in the kitchen.

“You still don’t have to take care of me,” Leo calls after him, but Donnie ignores him. He’s already going over what he needs.

He sets the tea kettle going, then heads for the train car they’re using as a medbay. They don’t have any antibiotics, so he has his computer search up the ones they need and then hack an order to a local pharmacy, paid for by an insurance company his family definitely doesn’t use. Then he sends a text to Raph asking him to pick it up on the way home.

(Raph texts back a few minutes later asking if they need to come back early, to which Donnie responds with a negative.)

In the meantime he grabs a decongestant and and fever reducer. Then some cough drops, and a box of tissues, because if left to his own devices Leo will be disgusting.

Then he’s off to Leo’s room for his blanket and pillow. When Leo’s sick, he sleeps better in front of the TV.

Finally he goes to their film collection and grabs a few of Leo’s favorite JJs to queue up. Then it’s back to the kitchen for the tea.

When he returns, arms and battleshell appendages laden, Leo is just finishing another coughing fit. He looks up through watery eyes that go wide on seeing Donnie.

“Thought you said you were getting tea,” he says.

“And a few other things.” He hands over the tea and the medicine. “Here.”

Leo takes it without complaint, at least. Donnie hands off his pillow next, then starts up the first movie. The opening refrain of Jupiter Jim Last Trip to the Moon 7 fills the otherwise quiet room.

There is one more thing that makes Leo feel better when he’s sick. If Mikey or Raph were here, Donnie would pass the job off to them, but they aren’t, so it falls to Donnie.

“Scoot over,” he says, matter-of-fact.

Leo looks bemused. And sleepy. Mostly sleepy. “Huh?”

“Scoot. You’re hogging the chair.”

It takes Leo another second, but he catches on. A small smile growing on his face, he shifts over so Donnie can fit next to him, rearranging the pillow so it’s behind both of them and the blanket so it’s draped over all four legs.

Then he reclines the chair a bit and opens his arms without comment.

Immediately Leo has snuggled in against him, head buried under Donnie’s chin. He lets out a long, content (but still very congested) sigh, wiggling a bit to get comfy.

“As soon as my legs fall asleep you’re getting dumped in the floor,” Donnie tells him with no bite.

“Sure, D,” Leo answers, already sounding drowsy.

Donnie does not dump Leo in the floor. Not even when Raph gets home, grinning as he takes a picture.

He can get his revenge for that later.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

because I’m a greedy ho, may I also request:

the hands. on the waist. oh my god.

with Neyo 👀🫣 do not perceive me pls

A/N: My friend. When I tell you that this awoke me out of a dead sleep in the middle of the night last night. I instantly bumped it to the top of the queue. Who has deadlines? NOT THIS SIMP! Please enjoy, and thank you for the ask!

Pairing: Commander Neyo x Reader (GN)

Rating: T but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 1,556

Warnings and tags: fluff; minor injury; mention of blood; kissing; Neyo identifies as a warning

Summary: Marshal Commander Neyo takes his favorite medic for a ride. It’s not as sexy as it sounds… or is it?

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

“Commander, we’ve lost contact with CT-2639 on the eastern perimeter.”

Marshal Commander Neyo swiveled his head, pulling away from your hands as you cleaned the cut on his forehead. Head wounds always bled like a mudscuffer, and this one had made an unbelievable mess, but it wasn’t severe enough to be life-threatening. You silently followed his movement, continuing to work as Neyo replied to the trooper.

“Send a BARC trooper to reinforce his position,” Neyo snapped, clearly irritated that the situation had not already been handled several rungs down the command ladder.

“They’re all out on scouting missions, sir,” the trooper said nervously.

Neyo nodded shortly, then turned back to you. “You, medic. Grab a medkit. You’re coming with me.”

It galled you slightly that he hadn’t bothered to learn your name, even though he had refused to allow any of the other medics in the 91st treat him since the first time you’d patched him up months ago, but given that he was one of the highest-ranking clones in the GAR, you weren’t about to call him out.

“Yes, sir,” you replied, quickly sealing the laceration with a spray bandage. Luckily, you were nearly finished treating him before the trooper had interrupted; otherwise, you had no doubt the commander would have simply shoved his bucket back onto his bloody head and jumped on a BARC speeder.

You shrugged the heavy medpack onto your back and followed Neyo to a BARC speeder with an auxiliary stretcher, watching him nervously, dread swirling in your gut.

“Well?” he asked, his tone clipped and impatient.

“I’m not speeder trained, sir. Sorry, sir,” you admitted, hoping that he wouldn’t reassign you to a different unit as he tended to do when his subordinates weren’t up to his frankly unrealistic standards.

His sigh was audible through his helmet’s speaker. “Climb on the back.”

“Sir?” you asked, startled. It was going to be one hell of a tight fit on a speeder designed for one.

“Secure the medpack to the bike and get the kriff on,” he growled. “We don’t have all day.”

“Yes, sir,” you said, snapping rigidly to attention.

You squeezed in behind him, trying very hard not to think about the way his hips pressed your thighs open, or the way his strong back felt against your chest as you wrapped your arms around him and hung on for dear life. The BARC speeder was unbelievably fast, and the landscape whizzed by in a dizzying blur as Neyo expertly navigated to CT-2639’s last known position. The bike turned abruptly, and you unconsciously tightened your arms harder around his torso. He dropped his hand briefly from the controls and settled it over yours, adjusting your position so you gripped his belt instead of the slick plastoid of his chestplate, then raised it back to the handlebar.

The bike slowed as you approached your destination, sweeping the terrain for any sign of the missing sentry. A flash of white and red plastoid at the bottom of a ravine drew Neyo’s eye.

“There.”

The speeder came to a halt, and you jumped off, grabbing the medpack and running to the downed trooper. He was unconscious, but his vitals were strong enough—for the moment—and Neyo helped you stabilize his spine as you carefully transferred and secured the patient to the stretcher on the side of the BARC.

“Bike isn’t powerful enough to carry three,” Neyo said as he mounted the speeder.

You nodded in understanding. “Yes, sir. I’ll make my way back on foot. He needs more care than I can give him here, and the base medics are equipped for it.”

“Negative. Hold position here. I’ll send someone to extract you.”

“Yes, sir.” You hesitated, and Neyo looked up at you, his helmet blocking his expression—not that you’d ever been particularly good at reading the commander’s cold, hard eyes. “What’s his name?”

Neyo was silent for a beat. “Boey.” His helmet tilted as he surveyed you from head to toe, as if suddenly realizing he was about to ditch you in an active war zone without armor or weapons. He handed you his DC-15 and climbed back onto the speeder. “Try not to get killed.”

Luckily, no battle droids appeared to ruin your day. You didn’t have to wait long before you heard the whine of a speeder approaching your position, but you were surprised to see not one, but two BARCs appear, and one of them was the commander himself. He drew to a halt, and you immediately surrendered the blaster to him. The other trooper looked back and forth between you and Neyo, but stayed silent.

“Boey?” you asked.

“He’ll make it,” Neyo replied, sliding forward to make space for you. “Get on.”

You obeyed, feeling very thankful that it was a short trip to the base as you once again straddled Neyo’s hips and tried to think unsexy thoughts. 

For kriff’s sake, he doesn’t even know my name. He’s kind of a dick. Why am I like this? Maybe when he reassigns me for not having achieved every single karking qualification in the GAR, I’ll end up in the 212th—if I’m going to have an unprofessional and inappropriate crush on a superior officer, Commander Cody seems like a nice, safe choice. Why do I always seem to go for the dicks? Some mysteries may never be solved.

Neyo started up the speeder and took off at top speed, leaving the other BARC trooper behind to secure the position. Unfortunately for your sanity, it seemed that Neyo had decided to inspect the entire perimeter, because there was no sign of the base anywhere, and the ride seemed interminable. As you gradually became accustomed to the speed of the bike, you tore your eyes away from the center of his back and began to look around at the landscape as you hurtled through the air.

It was actually a beautiful planet, when there wasn’t an active battle going on. Neyo drew the bike to a halt at the edge of a cliff with a stunning view out over the lush forest. He pulled off his helmet and set it on the bike, then dismounted, holding out his hand to assist you off the speeder.

When you met his eyes, they were as hard, cold, and unreadable as ever, and you couldn’t help wondering if he’d decided to just dropkick you off the cliff instead of bothering with the hassle of reassignment paperwork. Well, if this view was the last thing you ever saw, you couldn’t deny that it was breathtaking.

“What is this place?” you asked, unable to keep the awe out of your voice.

“Western perimeter. Cliff provides a natural defense.”

You looked down over the cliff and immediately regretted your decision, feeling dizzy and lightheaded at the distance to the bottom. You swayed dangerously, and Neyo grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back from the edge, your back colliding with his armored chest.

“Damn, that’s a… hell of a drop,” you managed to say. 

“Mm-hmm,” he agreed, his voice low and close to your ear.

You couldn’t resist asking, “Is this where you dispose of medics who don’t know how to ride speeders?” 

“What?” You felt his head turn as he observed you closely. “Why the kriff would I expect a medic to be BARC speeder certified? Do you know how much training BARC troopers have?”

You cleared your throat, trying not to dwell on how very, very close he was; or the deep, quiet rumble of his voice next to your ear; or the way his hands still rested on your waist. “So… you’re not going to reassign me?”

“I should,” he said quietly.

Your heart plummeted and your stomach twisted. You stared down at the ground in front of you, desperately trying to hide your embarrassment and disappointment.

One of his hands slid forward, flattening over your belly and pulling your body back against him. You felt the rough fabric of his glove move softly across your jaw as he tilted your face toward him with his other hand. His thumb brushed your lips, and then his hand drifted down to rest at the base of your throat, your pulse racing wildly beneath the gentle pressure.

“I shouldn’t—” His lips were so close to yours that you felt his breath ghost over your skin as he spoke. “—with a subordinate…”

You couldn’t tear your gaze away from his mouth. It was all you could see as you whispered, “You’re a marshal commander. Everyone is your subordinate.”

He drew a shallow breath, but made no move to close the tiny distance between you. The moment stretched out unbearably, until at last you could no longer resist the temptation. The tip of your tongue barely grazed the corner of his mouth before he snapped, crashing his lips into yours, clutching your body against his as though, if he only held you tightly enough, he could feel your warmth through the cold, unyielding plastoid of his armor. He kissed you with a passion that left you breathless and reeling, and when at last his lips parted from yours, he nuzzled your face gently as he whispered your name.

“Wait…” you breathed. “You know my name?”

For the first time since you’d met him, Neyo smiled. “I’ve always known.”

---

Want some spicy Neyo content? Check out my fics Everybody Hates Neyo Part 1 and Part 2!

[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.”

[thephooka]

Happy Webcomic Day! My webcomic White Noise is a labor of love--according to Procreate, this page took me 15.5 hours to complete.* Here's a look into that process!

Some other notes:

The thumbnails are done on graph paper and I script while I do them--there is no separate written script for White Noise. I usually spent a couple hours on weekends as needed thumbnailing, sometimes at a coffee shop or at home listening to records.

I then set up the file in Photoshop, so I can lay in the text and use the template I have with bleeds already set up. The text is rasterized and I shuttle the file over to my iPad via Airdrop.

The bulk of the actual work is done in Procreate, which records timelapses that I sometimes share to my Patreon. I usually spend a couple hours most nights after my day job or on the bus commuting doing this.

Once everything art-wise is done, I shuttle the file back over to my desktop to re-set in the text, add a stroke around the speech bubbles (Procreate doesn't have that took fsr) and do the resizing/exporting for web.

On Sunday mornings I get up, queue the page and write the page descriptions. I don't spend any time on the page descriptions outside of that.

Also, this process goes for the whole first arc of White Noise. I'm done with that arc (which means you can binge the whole thing I'm js!!) and am experimenting with some different methods these days, but my workflow is still generally the same.

*Some more talk about the labor (and burnout) involved below the cut:

This particular page (and most of the pages I did in 2023) took a lot longer than normal because I was heading into a burnout period that I'm still lowkey in/recovering from. It's obvious to me now in retrospect watching the timelapse here and seeing how much noodling I'm doing and how much I'm struggling with the process, but at the time I was just very frustrated generally. When I'm not burned tf out pages take maybe 10 hours max.

2023 was a pretty stressful year--lots of big life changes, uncertainty, pet death, health issues--so it's no wonder it propelled me into burnout, but it just goes to show that even the slowest and steadiest pace is not sustainable forever. I've been doing one page a week following this general process for over a decade! And I stuck to that pace because I knew it was one I could maintain. But even so, by the end of this arc I found myself working more and more slowly, not really looking forward to the work, feeling anxious about being behind, unhappy with the finished work, and extremely annoyed with myself for not being able to give it my all right there at the finish line.

I did stop for a while after the epilogue and took a more or less complete break from drawing for about a month--the longest I have EVER gone without drawing, much less working on White Noise--which did help, but these days my ability to work is...inconsistent. I should probably take another total break, but I'm reluctant. What if my passion never comes back? What if people forget about WN? It's already pretty obscure, and with the general social media collapse, it's harder than ever to get people to read my work. Now that I've left Hiveworks, WN doesn't even get the benefit of being linked to other comics (although objectively very, very few readers actually got referred to my comic that way.) And frankly, I'm also just too proud to go too long without comic updates. I've always told myself, I might not be the best artist or the fastest worker or make a popular comic, but I'm consistent. Difficult to let that go.

This is all to say that webcomics are hard. We do them because we love them, we have stories to tell, we are seized with the human compulsion to create. We spend hours of our time, almost always on top of the paying work that allows us to eat, to make something that we then give away for free. It has consequences on us that the reader doesn't often see, no matter how careful we are about it. If you ask me, webcomics deserve to be valued more.

Happy Webcomic Day! Read webcomics!

[raccoonfallsharder]

i need your help!

hey hello, shiny gemstones and spring sunrises thw doodle queue is currently CLOSED

which is to say, ahem if you’re interested in being added to the doodle queue, REBLOG THIS POST with

a picture or detailed description of your OC

their name/pronouns, their story and any cool powers they have or what makes them rad as hell (i might message you to ask more questions!)

i welcome different body types, skin colors, and hair textures, etc. and so does rocket

you can also send me a message but tbh reblogs are easier to keep track of if i fall behind. see below the samples for more info.

in general i prefer to draw vaguely humanoid femmes with a thing for raccoons (you know which fandom im in), so those characters will likely get in the queue first. this ain’t a “first-come, first-served” thing, it’s a “which character does my brain want to gnaw on, with or without my consent” thing.

i got too swamped last time because i just accepted/took on too many requests at once which resulted in some glorious individuals waiting MONTHS for their doodles to be done and while that could still happen, i am hoping to avoid it by keeping the queue shorter and just closing/reopening more frequently

worth noting i’ve only ever drawn three anthro characters (see one of ‘em below) so if you so request that, just know i’m a novice

i may also end up adding a few to the queue as well (i really want to revisit ember, dori, petra, maybe fleuret and rose, always juno — would love a chance to draw jupe of one of @frostedwitch’s other OCs too!). ive also been playing with a new-to-me, semi-lineless style i might use your characters to practice on.

above are just a few of the OCs from the masterlist. you can find them there to learn more about them and their cool-as-hell creators. from top left to right descending: moon, dori, petra quill (dyed version), brita, ken, magril opossum, rose, cherry, mori, and juno ♡♡♡ thanks for letting me doodle these cuties!

to see past works, check out the let me love your OCs masterlist

taglist ✩ @pa1kaa-toto @archangelofzion

[ecneremili]

Hello all!! This post is dedicated to my newly started fanfic that I have been preparing for the past several months. It can be found on Wattpad on my profile, but you can just click here .

Down below, I will add one random chapter of the fic, just so you can read a little bit of it. But, of course, I would appreciate it if you could go and support my full work :).

Pairing: Spencer x fem!oc

Warnings: mentions of crime, crime scenes, fluff, a little bit of swearing here and there. no use of y/n, the oc has her own name!

Content: The bau is called in for another case. Spencer and OC have feelings for each other but don't want to accept it, even if it's horrifically obvious. After the unsettling case, Spencer tries to calm OC and help her relax her mind.

Word Count: 3.6k

PLEASE KNOW THAT I NAMED THE OC SINCE HER NAME IS USED IN THE FANFIC. Harper White :)

"Holy shit, what did you do?" my mouth fell open at the sight of him. Not him. His hair. Or... well... the lack of it.

"What do you mean?" Spencer looked confused as he sat at his desk.

"Where are the curls? Where did they go?" Garcia came rushing in after my loud gasp.

"Did you join a boy band?" Hotch walked by, his eyes stuck to the obviousness in the room.

"No, what the hell is wrong with you, I got a haircut!" Now he just asked bluntly.

"You look like a twelve-year-old." I leaned onto my desk that was opposite of him, making direct eye contact with him.

"Is it that bad?" he brushed his hair with his fingers. His hands.

"No, Spence!" I felt bad now. "Jokes aside, I actually think you look... cute." I smiled slightly, trying to compliment him. "I think we were all just very used to your curls. I even sometimes imagined you with tied up hair, maybe a bun?" I looked over at Emily.

"Holy shit, do you know how many girls you could pull with that look?" she said excitedly.

"Not that pretty boy would want anyone aside our princess here." Derek came into the office holding his coffee and giving me the look I knew all too well.

"Fuck you." I spat at him with a grin, watching him as he passed by and sitting down at his desk.

"You know you love me." he teased as he sat down behind me.

"Hey, guys, we got a new one." JJ called and like on queue, we all got up and made our way to the conference room.

"Harp, did you really mean it?" Spencer stopped me.

He stopped me by taking my hand. I turned around to face him, and he had this genuine look on his face.

"Spence, we were just joking. You look really good. I like this new boyish look." I said and drove my hand through his now short hair, still the front pieces were. "Change can be good sometimes."

Now, I don't know what came over me, but, without hesitation, I lowered my hand down to the tip of his tie and pulled him by it to get him down to my height and just placed a small peck on his cheek. I think he was surprised as I was because we just looked at each other. I smiled and quickly turned on my heel and continued walking to the conference room, even though I could hardly feel my legs.

We entered, he came in after me and we sat down around the table, waiting for the briefing. I opened the case file that was presented in front of me and looked at the young woman. She couldn't have been much younger than me. In my few years that I've worked here, I often find female victims to be my age. The "mid to late 20s" is a phrase I get shivery from. Brunettes, pretty, young, successful...

"I saw that." Emily's quiet voice snapped me back inti the room.

"Sorry, what?" I looked up from the papers.

"That little stunt just now. I saw that." she smirked, and it hit me what she was talking about.

"Oh, God. Emily!" I tried to brush it off. "Don't make a big deal out of this."

"What's a big deal?" Rossi came in and passed the two of us, taking his seat next to Emily.

"I just witnessed the first ever White x Reid cheek kiss." she made that lovey dovey sound she always does. I rolled my eyes, but Rossi got into character as he looked at Emily, almost excited.

"You're kidding?" he waited before Emily shook her head 'no'. "About time. I was getting sick of those random weird hugs they exchanged."

"I get you, I had the urge to push them together the other day." Derek jumped in.

"I don't want to hear it from you, shit-face." I pointed my finger at him.

They all laughed, but Spencer just smiled to himself. His cheeks took up the bright pink color. For years now, everyone is telling us that it's obvious we like each other, but we just say that it's not true. But it's deadly obvious. We just don't want to admit it. Nor to each other but maybe not to our selves either. The friendship we have is great. Who would want to ruin something like that? Why risk losing someone like Spencer over a stupid crush.

It's just a crush.

"Okay, so we got a woman in her min 20s, in Boise, Idaho. Reported missing. It looks like it's a pattern between these two other missing victims with the same M.O." JJ clicked her remote and showed us the pictures of two other women. "All three kidnaps are almost exactly two months apart. As much as we gathered, the women were reported missing only three days after they were abducted."

"So wait, this guy keeps them for almost three days? What does he do with them?" I asked.

"That's what we are hoping to find out after going to the scenes." Hotch said.

"It looks like they had their lives pretty straight up. All of them in relationships, secure jobs..." Derek flipped through the files as he talked.

"Normal suburban streets, gives the UnSub privacy." Rossi added.

"The victims are quite different, their appearances are. Different hair color, different body shape..." Spencer continued.

"No signs of struggle or forced entry in either of these cases." I pointed out.

"Women like this don't just vanish." Rossi spoke up again.

"Exactly, which is why Garcia did her digging magic and found out about their lives." JJ said and pointed to our tech girl.

"There isn't much to say but that it was obvious how the UnSub was doing it. Their online lives are extremely open and public. Online-life-sharing shit, sorry for the expression, but they were everywhere. Facebook, Twitter, you name it." she said as she pulled up a post from the last victim with the date three days prior to the abduction. "This was the last post from our numero uno, and it matches very much with the other posts on our other victims' wall. Going on a vacation, going on a business trip, but looking at the time stamps, they were posted a day before they went missing."

"The UnSub posted them?" Hotch realized.

"This is like a guide of 'how to know where I'm at if you want to find me' for serial killers. Social networking sites are a goddamn goldmine for this kind of information." I said, almost looking sadly at their posts. It was like a call-up for these kind of people.

"I agree. Especially these women, they posted everything, from what they were having for dinner to where they were going on dates." Spencer confirmed my thought.

"If the UnSub hacked into their accounts to post these, he probably knows around computers. He could be really smart." Emily said.

"He's also patient. Two months between each of these, then again he gets three days to do what he wants with them." Rossi looked back at the files.

"Which means that these women could already be dead. We need to find out what he does in those three days and get this son of a bitch before he can continue his work." Hotch stopped to look at us. "Wheels up in thirty."

***

I tried to reach up to the small space for my bag above my seat in the jet but struggled to get the bag inside. It didn't help that I was short, but the bag was very overpacked, and it almost fell on my head. I closed my eyes, expecting a thud on my head, but instead, I felt the relief of its weight on my hands. I looked up to see two hands holding the bag and Spencer standing next to me.

"You need help?" he asked, looking down at me.

"No?" I tried to save the little pride I had left.

"You sure about that?" he smirked, still looking down at me.

Still holding my hands up, head down, him holding my bag, I couldn't say 'yes'. "No?" the words came out almost like a squeal.

He giggled, and finally pushed the bag up into the small space and closed it. "What did you put in there? I only have a small bag for these kind of things."

"That's because you are a man, Spence. I, on the other hand, am a young woman who needs many things for a undefined period of time away from home." I dusted off my jacked, not that it was dusty, but I needed to look down because I could feel my cheeks burning up.

I didn't realize till now how close he was.

He smelt like coffee.

"Uh, listen about the thing this morning I didn't-" I started hoping this conversation could end quickly. But I guess he had other plans.

"Why did you do that?" he asked and looked down at me again.

I didn't have a choice but look back up at him. His hazel eyes were almost wide open, but he had a scent of mystery in them. Why did he want to know? "What do you mean?"

His gaze was going up and down from my eyes, then from one to the other. What was he looking at?

"Why did you do it?" he almost repeated his question.

I couldn't stop looking at him. I wanted to. I could feel shivers going down my spine.

Was he getting closer?

"I-uh... I don't know..." I almost whispered.

He was getting closer.

"I think you do." he whispered back, his hands in his pockets, but he was slowly, almost insensibly inching his head downwards to me.

I tried to back up, because I couldn't handle him being so close. But when I tried to back up, my knees met with the chairs and I fell down on them, him following me. A small yelp escaped my lips before I crashed with the cushions beneath me. After a second , I realized his hands were on the sides of my head and he was inches away from me. I stared blankly into his face, but his eyes were traveling again up and down my face. I guess my eyes copied his pattern and I realized what he was looking.

He was looking at my lips.

"I'm sorry I-" he started, finally. The silence was choking me.

"No, I-" I stuttered. "It's okay..."

"Here, let me help you." he said and pushed himself up. Holding the table with one hand, he reached with the other to pull me up. I guess he underestimated how light I was when he pulled me, making me fly up and bumping into his chest.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I-" I quickly apologized.

"No, this is on me and-" he stopped.

I looked up at him only to see him staring at something on my face. "What?"

"You, uh-" he stuttered. "Your lipstick got smudged a little."

Crap. "Oh, here?" I brushed on the tip of my lips.

"No, it's still there, just here." he tried pointing at his face, mirroring where the smudge was.

I wiped again. "Better?"

He made a frowning face. "No, it's- " he sighed, "You know what, let me just-"

Cue 'Careless whisper'.

He raised up his hand only to cup my chin with his long fingers. They were warm. His touch was warm. He swiped on the bottom line of my lips. My lower lip moved with his swipe and all I could do was feel the sensation of his touch. He looked back up at me, but even after he got rid of the smudge on my lips, he didn't move his hand. I don't think I wanted him to..

"Hey, sorry we're late, I forgot where I put my deodorant." Emily's voice made us both abruptly step back. The, now, lack of his touch left a weird cold on my face.

"I already told you, it's no big deal." Derek added as he came in with his bag behind her.

"Maybe for you, but we ladies need that. It's a necessity." JJ came in next.

"I got those natural scents. No need for those chemical ones." Derek laughed and placed his bag next to mine in the compartment above our seats.

"Ew..." I muttered after letting him take the window seat. "I'm not sure I want to sit next to you anymore."

"I'll spray perfume on him, so he smells like flowers." JJ joked, and the three of us laughed while Derek frowned.

"Hey, how did you get you bag up there?" he turned to me and asked, pointing above his head.

"I helped her, she was struggling with it since it was pretty heavy." Spencer said as he sat next to Emily opposite from us.

"That's it, pretty boy. You gotta be a gentleman." he mouthed those last words while swinging in his seat.

"You can really be a lot sometimes." Emily gave him a deathly glare, to which he only laughed more.

I, too, laughed. Rossi and Hotch came in and gave us the files to look over again while we fly. The plane soon took off. Looking down at the now familiar pictures, I wondered about their families and what waited for us when we arrive. I looked at Spencer through my eyebrows, only to catch him looking back at me. He quickly looked back down at his file, a small smile curving on his lips. I smiled to myself.

"How can someone be interested in this?" Rossi asked, a look of confusion on his face.

"What do you mean?" Emily asked.

"Their social network walls. Who has the need to share these things with the world, just look at this. 'Having sushi for dinner. Yum.' 'My boss is making me stay in the office late again. Grr.'

We all laughed as he read those status updates. It was funny how people nowadays had the need to put their life out there.

"I think that's just it. The hope that someone out there cares about the things we do, that we do matter." Derek said after he stopped laughing.

"So our UnSub is finding these women on their online profiles. Can't we use that to find him?" Emily asked.

"The lead detective already tried going through their followers lists, they all check out." JJ answered her.

"Social networks can be extremely insecure. Recently, Facebook tried to update their privacy settings and in doing so made every profile viewable." Spencer said and pressed his lips together.

"Do you have a Facebook profile?" JJ asked me.

"God, no. I run away from social media." I replied. "But even if I did, my first status update would be 'Enjoying Rossi's special spaghetti dish. Yum.' " We all laughed again.

"This does tell us how he finds them, but not how he gets into their houses." Hotch said, bringing us back to the brutal reality of this situation.

"Maybe a key copy?" Rossi asked.

"Maybe, but look, the last victim had a home security installed. The code was entered at 1:56am, not only that, but he somehow went past her dog too." Spencer read from the files. "A German Shepard went missing the night that she did."

"This guy had to be in and out of the house before..." Derek said. "He builds up a rose so he gets in, gets familiar with the house and knows he can safely come back and kidnap them."

"What about unknown people you feel safe letting inside your home?" Rossi continued his thought. "Home repair guys, someone who volunteered to walk your dog?"

"The detective looked into that too, no one came close to being a killer." JJ added to our brainstorm.

"We need to go over everything ourselves. Morgan, Prentiss, start with the last abduction sight. The rest of you go over the women's lives, see if you can find anything. Start with family and friends on their social networking sites. If this is how the UnSub is finding them, maybe they are connected without even realizing it." Hotch gave the orders, we were only left to nod.

***

It was a twisted case. We lost another woman in the process. The bastard kept them in a freezer. A fucking freezer. Just because they had this specific face symmetry. Even after years working in this department, I still find myself questioning how can people be so wicked and evil. The worst part is the way we find them. We might not be like them but we sure as hell know to think like them. Does that make us that much different?

I stared at the endless sky outside my window. It was almost night-time, so watching the sun go down was majestic. The colorful clouds flew around, the sun slowly hid behind them. On the other hand, Derek was snoring on the small sofa in the back of the jet. Rossi and Hotch were reading something on the other part, JJ and Emily were sleeping in their chairs next to me. Spencer was sitting across from me reading one of his books, quickly shifting through the pages.

My mind was still foggy. I tried to clear my mind and think about anything else other than the twisted ways the human mind could work sometimes. I stood up, trying to reach for my bag up in the compartment above my seats. I tried to stretch up to it, but it was too high up.

I fucking hate being short.

"Do you need help?" Spencer asked quietly.

"If you don't mind. I just wanted to take out my headphones, I forgot to take them out earlier." I explained.

"No, it's no problem. Here-" he said and got up from his seat. He opened the small space and pulled out my bag. I took it from him and took my mp3 player and headphones before giving the bag back to him to put it back up. He closed the small space and sat back down in his seat. "You okay?" he asked while picking up his book.

"Yeah, why?" I looked at him, a bit weirded out by his question while I connected the headphones to the player and tried to find one of the songs that I use to calm down."

"It's just, most of the time that you listen to music on out flight back home is after a pretty traumatic case. Not just that but emotionally exhausting. Also, when the victims are similar to you, their age, their lives, they are almost identical to the life you have, and the worst part is that those groups of women are the most targeted. When you don't want to think, you play music. You try to zone out with it." he explained. "So, I guess that's why I'm asking if you're okay. I think you're not."

I looked at him, almost frozen. He said everything. What else was there to say? Sometimes, I hated that he could read me with such ease. I put the player and headphones beside me and lean on the table that separated us. "You're right. I'm not okay." I sigh and brush my face with my hands. They were cold. I support my head with my hands, fingers intertwined with each other. "What he said to Emily. It's still bugging me. You will never understand what I see when I look at them. But my followers do." I recited his words. "It was their faces, but why? What was so special about them?"

Spencer thought about my words. "Well, it could be multiple things. A reflection of himself, someone in his life, someone he wished to have or to be."

"But why? What if my face was similar to theirs? Would I be next?"

"Your face isn't like theirs."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I raised an eyebrow.

"No-no, I didn't mean it like that. I meant that your symmetry of your face isn't like the victims face. I didn't mean to say your face wasn't nice, I think your face is beautiful. Not beautiful, pretty, just- uh, good-looking is what I'm trying to say." he stuttered.

I smiled at his clumsy words. He's cheeks again started turning into a shade of pink. "I think your face is good-looking, too."

I took the player back into my hands to find a song that now I was determined to listen. It was in my head and I needed to listen to it. "What are you gonna listen to?" he asked.

"I have this song in my head, I think I'll start with it and then just go with shuffle. The playlist is good so I don't mind what comes after." I said, not looking up from the small screen.

"Really? What's the song?"

" '74-'75' "

"I don't think I heard it."

"Do you want to listen to it with me?" I asked, finally able to find the song and looking back up at him.

"You sure? I don't want to mess with your time listening to music that calms you."

"Of course, I'm sure. Come here." I patted the seat next to me.

He smiled and got up to sit next to me. I gave him one of the headphones. "Right." and I put in the left one. I started the song and looked up at him. The opening course was a guitar solo, which I always loved in songs. He smiled back at me, bobbing his head slightly in the rhythm. After that approvement, I relaxed my head on the cushion on the back of my seat, trying to relax. Maybe even sleep.

[pipikosen]

happy late birthday nagi!! also, first post on this acc lmao, hope you enjoy!

[masterlist]

—

wc: 1861

reader: fem (implied; wears a skirt)

cw: none! but a smidge of angst if you squint really hard.

ɢᴀᴍɪɴɢ ᴅᴜᴏ!ɴᴀɢɪ

gaming duo!Nagi who meets you in a fairly chill lobby.

It was one of the rare occasions Nagi decided to join team chat. Though reluctant, he finds himself clicking on the ever-detested icon, only for the lobby to be dead silent. He’s about to leave the voice chat when he finally hears a voice—yours—cut through above the game’s sfx.

“Ah, fuck, my bad.” Your voice is soft and not one he expected to find in this type of game and worst of all, you’re apologizing to him. 

“S’alright.” He doesn’t want to cause any more problems, it’s his off day from practice, after all. 

gaming duo!Nagi who sends you a friend request and a party invite right after the match because he thinks it’ll be a hassle if he has to deal with any more randoms than he has to. Plus you seemed nice enough.

Chok1: u don’t have to accept if you don’t want to

Chok1: but it was fun playing w u

You: nono i’ll join 

You: and it was fun playing w u too!!

Chok1: cool :x

You: hold on let me add you on disc

You: ____#1028

Unbeknownst to you, Nagi is smiling slightly at your message. He pulls his phone out, swiping down on a message from Reo asking what he’s up to before responding with his typical “:x” which only garners an ellipsis from the purple-haired male.

He’s quick to open Discord before leaving you hanging for too long, fumbling slightly with your username, but eventually, the friend request goes out. You’re quick to accept and it isn’t long till that familiar ugly emote of Wumpus begins waving at him, at which he sends one back before asking if he can start a call.

and thus begins your blooming friendship with gaming duo!Nagi.

gaming duo!Nagi who always queues up as your duo and isn’t afraid to dodge a match entirely if he isn’t in a role that directly correlates to yours. (spoiler alert: they all correlate, he just doesn’t like playing tanks) 

gaming duo!Nagi who isn’t afraid to hunt down and spawn camp the bastards that did the same to you only moments prior.

“Choki, I’m fine really.” Your pleading does little to placate the snow-haired male who’s pouting at you from behind the monitor. He just wants to defend your honor!!

So, he does it anyway. It makes you laugh, and he likes hearing you laugh.

gaming duo!Nagi who doesn’t share much about himself until months into your online friendship. Sure, he drops little tidbits about himself; like how he got his user from a cactus he had previously named or his favorite manga, but never anything truly personal. Until now, that is.

Once he thinks it's been long enough (and sat through enough of Reo’s internet safety lectures that he totally paid attention to) then he just starts dropping facts about himself out of the blue. It's kind of jarring, honestly.

“Seishiro.”

“What?”

“My name.” He only offers a noncommittal shrug, though he knows you can’t see it.

“Seishiro…Seishiro. I like it, it fits you Chokkun!” That adorable nickname paired with his actual name has his heart stammering slightly in his chest. Huh, that’s strange. That’s never happened before.

“Is it your first name or last?” 

He almost misses your question, clearing his throat, “Uh, first.”

“Oh.” You pray that the word didn’t come out as much of a squeak as you think it did. Your cheeks burn as you give him your own name. He says it in a way that has your throat tightening, imitating the way you had earlier; slowly, sensually.

You can’t help but think it sounds beautiful rolling off his tongue.

It almost feels intimate, doing this with him, even if it is just exchanging names. Though, you can’t help but crave more of these moments with Chokkun, or Seishiro, as he insists you call him now.

gaming duo!Nagi who doesn’t tell you he plays soccer because he finds it too much of a hassle to mix his athletics with his gaming, even if it does earn him a lot of earfuls from Reo.

gaming duo!Nagi who always drops guns with skins that he knows you like in Valorant or matches skins with you no matter what role you’re playing in League or Overwatch.

gaming duo!Nagi who isn’t above asking Reo for money when he wants to buy something for either you or him—whether it be a bundle, a battle pass, a skin, or a whole new game entirely.

When Reo asks, all he gets is a shrug in response. Even with the lack of a concrete answer, he sees the way Nagi stares longingly at his phone during breaks, more so than usual, that is.

“Finally manage to bag someone, Nagi? ‘Bout time, I was starting to think you were going to be lonely forever.” The white-haired striker doesn’t even flinch when his best friend’s hand comes down as a harsh, congratulatory slap to his back, a little too focused on the picture—the first picture that wasn’t a screenshot or a meme, really—that you sent him. He only offers a half-hearted hum in response.

gaming duo!Nagi who takes a bit to process that the picture you sent him was of the entrance of a convenience store. It looks familiar, but he doesn’t dwell on it. He blames it on the fact the picture is shaky.

gaming duo!Nagi who realizes late at night when he’s trying to sleep that the reason the convenience store looks familiar is because it's the one right around the corner.

gaming duo!Nagi who doesn’t want to ask and come off like a creep, so he brushes it off as a coincidence to placate his beating heart. What a hassle… 

gaming duo!Nagi whose first picture he sends you is one of his face.

Nagi isn’t quite sure what deity possessed him, but now he’s reveling in the consequences of his actions. He contemplates deleting the image but stops when he sees you typing. 

It wasn’t a bad picture, in all honesty. It was just a simple selfie, his face illuminated solely by the blue light of his monitor as his half-lidded gaze stares tiredly into the camera. His lips form a small pout after the back-to-back losses the two of you faced.

You: who’s that??? why are u randomly sending me pictures of hot men sei?

For a moment, he’s at a loss, staring blankly at your message. The gears in his head are slow to turn, but when they do, his face erupts into a brilliant scarlet as he groans into the palms of his hands.

How did you always manage to make him feel so fucking lame? This was such a pain in the ass, but he can’t find it in himself to just close your message and call it a day.

chosei: it’s me lmao

He waits with a bated breath while you type, all too aware of his fast-beating heart that threatens to jump out of his chest the longer you continue to type. You stop for a moment, your typing status disappearing for a moment before it returns.

You: oh

He feels his heart shatter slightly at your response, fisting at the arm of his office chair as he rubs at his tired eyes. He feels stupid, unsure on whether or not he wants to cry despite the fact you quite literally called him hot only moments prior. 

He turns to his phone, in hopes of venting to Reo, who despite all his future strict lectures and “I told you so”’s, cares deeply for his best friend's mental and physical well-being.

What Nagi wasn’t expecting was to find a picture of a random person dead-center of your messages. You.

You’re beautiful.

You: this is me!! pls don’t mind the mess i didn’t have time to clean (edited)

Nagi doesn’t need to know you had originally said “bc i wanted to hang out with you!!” at the end of your message. For the safety of your heart, you pray he didn’t see it.

gaming duo!Nagi who asks to have face cams on a lot more often, even if it obscures a necessary aspect of the game. What neither of you know is that you both take the chance to stare at the other’s face when you die.

gaming duo!Nagi who no longer denies the e-dater label that Reo slapped on him as a joke, merely humming as he skillfully balances the ball, counting down the minutes before practice is over. 

gaming duo!Nagi who dreads the fact the date to that stupid Blue Lock camp is drawing closer, knowing he can’t play with you as often, if not at all.

gaming duo!Nagi who asks to meet up out of the blue.

chosei: we should meet up

You: ??? where’d that come from lmao???

chosei: im being forced to go to camp >:x

You: for what? you aren’t a criminal are you?

chosei: no stupid

chosei: for soccer

You: you play a sport??????

You: ?????

chosei: ye? ig i never told you

chosei: mb

You: no no ur good

You: you just don’t seem like the type to play a sport

Ironically enough, he thought the exact same.

You: okay

You: say we hypothetically decide to meet up

You: how do you know we’re in the same prefecture

chosei: :shrug: 

You: ihy 

chosei: okay

chosei: what school do you go to then?

You: … touche

You: Hakuho

gaming duo!Nagi who sends you the address to the convenience store you first sent a picture of, followed quickly by the fact he goes to the same school so as to not seem creepy.

gaming duo!Nagi who’s a little too giddy to know how close you actually are to be able to hide his out-of-character grin from the all-seeing violet eyes of Reo.

gaming duo!Nagi who unintentionally searches for you, pouting because he doesn’t know what classes you have.

gaming duo!Nagi who’s surprisingly first to arrive at the convenience store you agreed to meet at, his hands fiddling with a shitty game he found on the App Store while his nose is tucked into the fleece of his hoodie.

“Sorry I’m late!” You round the corner at an alarming speed, nearly crashing into him as you trip over your own feet. Your hair is in a different style from what he’s used to seeing, and you bear accessories that he can’t recall seeing on your person prior.

And yet, Nagi can’t find it in himself to deem you anything less than stunning.

Fiddling with the skirt of your uniform beneath his observant gaze, you clear your throat before offering a meek smile, “Hi, Seishiro.”

He offers a small smile in return, “Hi.”

gaming duo!Nagi who asks you to be his that very same day, unable to look you in the eye.

gaming duo!Nagi who complains about how lame he feels after you accept.

gaming boyfriend!Nagi who holds you for the first time that day and never wants to let go.

hope you enjoyed it! feel free to send in requests if you did<3