theitgirlnetwork

[theitgirlnetwork]

Delirious

Lip Gallagher x reader fluff

Warning: A very soft and cuddly Lip Gallagher

(Thank you to @theitgirlnetwork for checking my work before I posted it 😅)

Enjoy!

You immediately shot up from the Gallagher’s couch when you heard the door click open and sighed with relief. They were finally home.

After a lot of annoying jabs from his siblings (some pleading from you), and the convenient dental insurance that his new job came with, Lip had finally decided to get his wisdom teeth out, and thank god too. He would never admit it, but it was starting to hurt like a bitch. It was just going to be a simple routine surgery, you knew he would be fine, but that still didn’t stop you from fidgeting and worrying all day. you had wanted to tag along but had been immediately turned down by Ian and Mickey who were picking him up from the dentist’s office, (Mickey would never miss an opportunity to see his brother-in-law hopped up on drugs and making an ass out of himself) they knew you would get upset and work yourself up. No matter how little of a dosage he would be on

Lip hadn’t wanted you to see him like that, so reluctantly, you stayed home.

“Alright, come on.” You walked over to help Ian who currently had Lip’s arm slung over his shoulder, struggling to get him inside. Mickey was following behind, phone in his hand recording with a smirk on his face.

“Hey, thanks for the help asshole” He glared at his boyfriend as he pulled his limp brother along.

“No problem.” Mickey smiled as he made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Is he okay?” you asked Ian as you gently pushed some of Lip’s curls back. He instantly melted into your touch as his eyes glazed over. He then reached over to grab your wrist and squeezed it affectionately. Well… that’s new. You thought as you squeezed back. It’s not that Lip wasn’t much for physical touch, in fact, once you started dating, he realized he preferred it, always choosing gentle kisses and soft touches (among other things) as his way of saying “I love you”, but public affection? Usually just a simple pull of your belt loop, or grazing of one anothers fingers would be the most on display.

Ian sighed as he wiped his forehead, “Yeah, he’s alright, just kinda’ out of it, the doctor said it should wear off in a bit, he should probably take his pills though.’’ You go to follow in pursuit, when a hand pulls you back down.

“Lip? You okay?” He responds by taking a piece of your hair and analyzing it with precision.

“I’ve seen you b’fore”

You giggle as you reach up to stroke his swollen cheeks, you decide, why not? Might as well take advantage of the situation before his stubborn pride comes back. “Yeah?”

“Yeah… you been around” he analyzes you once more, “You’re hot”

You can’t help but grin at his comment, although dumb, has you blushing like a schoolgirl. “Thank you, you’re not so bad yourself”. Ian entered the room with a glass of water and pills in his hand.

“Ian!” Lip whispers with no attempt at being quiet, “ook at er! She’s so hot! Isn’t she so hot?”

“Mhm, come on, you need to take this”

“She is so pretty!” Lip turns to you and boops your nose, “you’re ‘ust a pretty, pretty little lady-”

You lean in to cup his cheek and whisper. “Hey.. do you want to know something crazy?”

Lip, now absentmindedly playing with your fingers, whispers back to match your volume, “Yeah?”

“I’m your girlfriend”

“No!”

“Uh huh”

“I ont believe you”

“Would you like me to prove it to you?” Before you wait for an answer, you gently grab his chin, as he had done for you thousands of times, and place a long, sweet kiss on his lips. When you look back, he looks as though he could melt right there, in your hands. Usually you were the one that got flustered and awe-struck by Lip and his flirting, it was fun to be on the receiving end”

“You guys done?” Ian asked sardonically as he still stood in front of you, pills in hand.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ Phillip, you’re such a pussy-wipped little bitch”

“Shut up Mickey”

Well, this would be a fun couple of hours.

[theitgirlnetwork]

Okay the way that this is so sweet. Especially coming from you? Like your character development skills? Plssss <3333

What Are You Willing To Do?

Ch. 2: Date 1 Pt. 1

Note: Thank you so much for the love you all have been showing this story so far! Thank you for reading, and for the kinds messages I have received thus far! I love interacting and seeing your thoughts and comments so keep 'em coming. I want to take this time to remind you that these characters will be flawed. Rafe is....Rafe, but we love him anyway. And Milan is...someone who is compatible with Rafe. They won't always be the depiction of a healthy relationship, but this is fiction and fun. This chapter isn't too bad, but those who have read the snippet know how it's gonna get. Once again, I have songs for this ship so if anyone is interested in them let me know, and feel free to share some with me if you catch a vibe. Finally, let me know if you have any questions or comments. Other than that, I hope you enjoy. This one is a lot shorter than chapter 1, but it is a 2 parter, so don't hate me. Love ya! <3333

“Wait.”

Rafe pauses, loosening his grip on Milan’s hair and pulling back slightly, irritated that she’d stopped him just as their lips brushed and she breathed the smoke he’d just poured into her mouth between them. “What? What’s up?”

“I don’t,” She sighs, her cool breath on his face, eyes still shut as if she’s forcing herself to pause this moment between them. “I don’t just hook up with guys, you know? Maybe we could…I dunno.”

Oh. Oh. Rafe understands. He’d…he’d forgotten himself for a moment. This isn’t some touron stumbling onto the couch next to him, throwing herself at him. She wasn’t one of those gold digging bitches that tries to fuck  him with faulty condoms in the bottom of her purse. She’s the kind of girl who has her own shit. She doesn’t need him for a come up. Or at least she doesn’t think she does. 

He arrogantly thinks to himself that Milan hasn’t met a man like Rafe Cameron. He’s spent most of his life preparing, becoming the type of man that can run his family, keep them safe and comfortable. The type of son fathers are proud to have and the type of man women want to give a baby. That’s the man who he’s made himself be. 

Rafe had been so focused, only allotting himself time for a little bit of fun once in a while, he’d forgotten that one day he might stumble across a girl that had the potential to be a woman. His woman. 

He nods slowly, a small smile forming on his face as he pulls back more, releasing her head completely and smoothing his hand back onto her knee. “Nah, I get it. We should get to know each other a little better. How ‘bout you spend the day with me tomorrow?”

Milan perches herself up at that, back straightening even more as her face lights up. “Really? You wanna spend the day with me?”

Rafe rests his head back on the top of the couch, sweeping his thumb on her bottom lip before biting his own and nodding. “Yeah, I wanna show you a good time. Get you a little more comfortable with me so I can kiss those pretty lips of yours.”

Both sets.

“Okay, wait, I’m excited. You’re gonna be my first friend here.”

“Friend?” Rafe scoffs. “‘M’not gonna be your friend, Princess.”

“Well,” Milan shrugs, “Like, I don’t know what I could call you, you’re not my man-”

“Yet. Not your man yet.” He and the woman next to him share twin smiles and Rafe only becomes more invigorated by Milan’s eyeroll and shy grin. “Roll your eyes if you want to, I’m a determined guy.” 

“Determined?”

“Yeah, like I know what I like, I work for what I want, so-”

“So what?” Milan giggles, “You…you want me? I should get ready or something?”

“Yeah.” Rafe says flippantly, as if he wasn’t essentially making a threat of courtship to a girl he’d just met like 12 hours before. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d fully wanted from her yet. But the need to have her was nagging at him. Maybe it was lust. She was hot, forbidden fruit for him. He could hear the curses Ward would spit at him now if he fucked around and ruined things with this girl, made an enemy of her dad. Maybe it was how sweet she seems. He’s always liked shiny, new things. When he was a kid, he had to have stuff before his friends did. Toys. Shoes. Stocks. Maybe he’s graduated to feeling that way about women. 

Something about how he doesn’t want to look away. Something about the way she was smiling at him, how he’s talked to her the most, how in a room full of guys drooling over her, those big pretty eyes were locked on him. Rafe felt like he had to look into this weird feeling she’s been stirring in his chest since he’d seen her. 

It’s what’s best for Milan anyway. None of the rest of these limp dick motherfuckers should have her. They’re not real men. Not like Rafe.

Milan hums as she removes the golden under eye patches from under her eyes, massaging in the serum they leave atop of her skin. Grimacing at a gust of damp wind from outside she pads against the marble floor of her bathroom and pushes the double doors leading to the patio attached closed. “Stupid, island humidity.” She pouts as she combs through her bob again, praying for no puffiness today.

The sky fights to brighten in the early morning. It’s 5:00 a.m. and Rafe Cameron was going to be picking her up in 30 minutes. 

After the party last night Sarah had run over to her on the front lawn, hugging her tightly before declaring she was going home with John B. and offering for Milan to come with them. When she declines with a smile, the blonde fixes her brother with a glare, to which he’d returned with a middle finger, and stumbled off in her man’s arms. 

Rafe drove Milan back to her house and parked them out front, eyes carefully rotating between staring at Milan sitting pretty in his passenger seat, and watching for a sign of her father at the door. He let her toy with his fingers as she fluttered her lashes at him and he described what he does throughout the day, Or, rather, what they’d be doing today.

When he’d mentioned picking her up after the gym Milan had jumped at the opportunity to go with him. She loved going to the gym every morning before she’d moved and she was happy to keep it going. And it wouldn’t hurt to see Rafe work out. 

It was all she could think about. It’s not just his height. Even though he’s so…so tall. At least 6’2. Rafe is big. Muscle. Strength. Yesterday he’d basically hoisted her full weight into his truck with one arm. The preppy boy polo that he’d thrown on for their families hadn’t hidden anything and his tight crew neck that he wore to the party basically outlined everything for her. 

She quite literally wanted him to throw her around like a ragdoll. Or let her climb him like a tree. Whatever, Rafe is hot. 

He has an intense vibe, seemingly takes himself very seriously. But, Milan figures she could relax him. Loosen him up a little bit. 

They were gonna have so much fun. Smiling at her own reflection in the mirror, Milan spritzes vanilla Sol de Janeiro and all but fucking skips down the steps and to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Miss Milan, you’re awake early. I just started prepping for breakfast, but I could make you a coffee while you wait.” The private chef that her parents had hired a couple years ago had made the move with them. They’d paid for her to come with them to Outer Banks and offered to increase her salary because…well…it wasn’t their nice home in Quebec that she was used to. 

“No, thank you, Miss Ally.” Milan reaches over, stealing a newly washed strawberry and biting into it. “And my parents aren’t awake, right?”

“Of course not. You know your mother won’t roll out of bed until she smells the food cooking and your dad won’t come until I’ve had to warm it up twice. Why? Are you alright, honey?”

The younger woman nods, tossing the green stem into the trash and reaching for two travel cups. “Can you keep a secret? I have, like, a date today.” 

“Like a date?”

“Yeah, with a guy. He’s really cute, and sweet. So,” Milan begins sifting matcha, smiling down at the cup and resting her cheek on her shoulder. “‘M’gonna hang out with him today.”

“Less than 48 hours and there’s a boy, huh? Atta girl.” Miss Ally passes Milan the vanilla protein powder. “You’ve been worried about the move, thinking it was a bad idea, and here you are making friends.”

“Mhm, hot ones. With blue eyes and dimples.”

“And where,” Ally nudges Milan out of the way as she pours the hot water into the travel mug, “am I supposed to tell your parents you are when you’re out with Mr. Blue Eyes and Dimples?” 

“Touring the island.” She chirps. 

“With who?”

“Just like…generally. They should be cool with it honestly, I just know they’re gonna make it weird, but like, he’s the son of Dad’s first friend here so he shouldn’t be mad. How come he gets a boyfriend and I don’t?”

“Oh, just say that to your parents, I’m sure they’ll go for it then.” Ally snorts, whisking the eggs as Milan seals the travel mugs, laughing to herself as the girl slides both of the pink cups to the end of the counter next to her gym bag.

When Rafe pulls up outside of the Cabot house, he texts Milan before hopping out of his truck and jogging up the cobblestone. He agreed not to ring the doorbell because her parents were awake but he’d be damned if he didn’t pick her up at the door. 

As he stands on at the doorstep he adjusts the hat he has rested on his head and rocks on his feet impatiently. He isn’t waiting long. The door swings open and he’s immediately hit with the sweet smell of vanilla and soon after is met with the walking wet dream carrying the scent. 

“Good morning!” Milan grins, tossing her arms around his neck, bouncing up into his arms. Rafe isn’t fucking stupid, he’s quick to catch her around the waist and squeeze, relishing in the feeling of her pressed against him. 

“Morning, princess.” he murmurs into her hair, squeezing her again for good measure before placing her back on her feet.  “You, uh, you always go to the gym in shit like that?”

“Shit like what? Stop.” she laughs as he snaps the elastic of her leggings. 

“You just look good. That’s all I’m sayin’.” He chews the gum in his mouth and nudges her chin with his knuckle, mumbling, “Watch your mouth.”

“Yeah? Thank you.” she grins, looking away from him briefly. “I made…I made you something, like a gym drink or whatever.

“That’s cute sweetheart, what do you like me or somethin’?” Rafe snorts, choosing to ignore the fact that the travel mug she was pushing into his hands was bubble gum pink. He holds his hand out to her, not even looking back as he starts guiding her over to his truck. When he hears a little shuffle from her he looks back and glances down at her feet. “What the fuck, your shoes aren’t tied.”

“Okay, one of them untied when I was making you this delicious protein shake and I didn’t wanna make you wait-” 

“Christ.” Rafe grunts, unlocking his car and wrenching the door open, planting his hands on Milan’s waist and hoisting her into the seat easily. He tugs her foot onto his lap and begins tying the lace of her sneaker tightly. “Gonna break your fuckin’ neck.”

“I wasn’t gonna fall, Rafe-”

“You literally were letting me drag you down those steps.” When he’s done Rafe lifts her leg into the car, closing the door and walking around the driver’s side and climbing in. After he clicks his seatbelt on, he pauses and frowns when he sees Milan’s pout staring forward at the road. He puffs out a breath. “What? What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t said ‘thank you’. For your drink.” 

“Wh-are you serious?”

“Yes. You seriously haven’t said ‘thank you.’” 

“Uh…” Rafe’s brows furrow as he observes the girl. Arms crossed, dramatic frown on her pretty, glossed lips, knees pointed away from him. “Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” she immediately warms up, clicking her own seatbelt on and taking a sip of her drink, moving back to the middle of her seat. As Rafe tries to sort through what quick, guerilla warfare he’d just experienced, he starts driving the car. 

So that’s her game. She’s cute and pretty and pouts like a fuckin’ brat when she doesn’t feel like she’s getting what she wants. Or someone is saying something she doesn’t wanna hear. All she’s showing me is that I’m exactly what she needs.

“M’just sayin’ like your shirt’s a little slutty. Like it’s tight, I can see your nipples and everything.”

“Don’t say shit like that, what the fuck?” 

“It’s like tight and stuff, like it’s a little bit of a hoochie shirt.” 

“Hoo-hoochie shirt. Fuckin’ brat.” Rafe shakes his head. In the time it’s taken to drive to the gym and for Rafe to put his card down to get Milan a temporary membership, she’d clearly been trying to test him. She was pushing boundaries to see what he would and wouldn’t accept. And he would try to be patient. But the jokes weren’t gonna be as funny when he was using her mouth for what he really wanted to use it for. Not now. He had to wait. To humor her. She was cute. He’d give her that. Maybe he needed to be cute back. “Don’t work out in the damn shirt anyway,” 

Milan’s eyes widen as she stares up at Rafe from where she’s stretching on the floor. She bites her lip and shifts her gaze to herself in the mirror as he easily tugs the tight shirt off of his chiseled muscles, tossing it into his gym bag next to her. 

Jesus. She bites her lip, berating herself inwardly as she glances at the tanned skin he was now baring for the world to see, six pack on display as he starts doing some standing stretches. “Here, sweetheart.” Rafe crouches next to her, pushing one of his airpods into her ear. “You, uh, didn’t have headphones, so you can just listen to my shit.”

“Can we make a spotify jam?”

“What?”

“So, I can add songs too, can we make a jam? And we’d be listening to the same thing, at the same time, you know?”

“I mean, yeah, sure why the fuck not? You’re not gonna add any corny shit are you? M’trustin’ you with my workout. Like that’s pretty fuckin’ special.”

“Oh my God, Rafe, I’m…I’m sure we have basically the same taste in music.”

Rafe and Milan are at war for essentially their whole warm up. They agree to separate for cardio and then meet back up for them both to try some of each other’s usual workouts. With the shared music blasting in their ears, they both still felt like they were hanging out for the 40 minutes that they are apart. Rafe spent half of his run on the treadmill listening to Beyoncé and Sabrina Carpenter’s discographies while Milan genuinely flinched on the stairmaster with Travis Scott and 50 Cent pounding against her ear drums. Both of them looking at each other with sick satisfaction when it was their turn to pick a song, making a game out of picking something they thought would irritate the other more. 

Rafe had finally had enough and started skipping Milan’s picks when the High School Musical Soundtrack started playing, eventually coming to pluck her off of her machine to start doing weights as Troy began singing about wanting his own dream. 

By now they’d both finished their protein shakes and felt like they had a lot of energy. Well, at least they both did. Until Rafe started making Milan do his workouts.

She was both turned on and enraged as he demonstrates different forms of weightlifting, chuckling at her deeply as she struggles to do another set. “Mmkay, okay, that’s enough, I’m done with that.”

“Nah, you didn’t even finish that one, c’mon let’s go.”

“Rafe, no” she whines getting off of the bench. Milan immediately gasps as Rafe fists the fabric at the front of her leggings, lifting her off of her feet and physically placing her back onto the equipment. 

Slapping her thigh, he offers her a no-nonsense look that lets her know that she isn’t getting up until she completes this workout to his satisfaction. “Baby, let’s go, stop fuckin’ around.”

Shit. Yes sir. “I want…breakfast food after this. Like, waffles, and butter and stuff.”

“'Let me come to the gym with you, Rafe. I wanna where my cute little outfit and not workout.'”

“Asshole.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Wait…until we start doing my pilates workout. All those muscles will mean…nothing.”

“Yeah, you like ‘em?” He smirks, grabbing the weight to ease it down against her before helping her off. “That your excuse? Can’t focus?”

“Stop…being mean, worst date ever.” She whines, leaning her head against his chest. 

Rafe pats Milan’s ass twice before nudging her into the direction of the next machine. "Best fuckin' date of your life, brat."

“Are you gonna keep staring at my butt or are you gonna try again?” Milan calls over to Rafe. 

“My body is not built for that girly shit. You keep goin’ though.” He says. Milan rolls her eyes and continues on the machine, pausing when she sees the reflection of a camera flash in the mirror. “Damn, flash was on.”

“Rafe!”

“You look good, baby. I thought you’d like me to be all sentimental and shit, capture our first date.”

“Oh my God. You’re like, not even working out at this point.”

He shrugs, tilting his head to get a better view of her. “You’re the one who got an attitude when that girl asked me to spot her and made us change floors.

“She saw you with me.” Milan hisses through her teeth, pausing her movements. “She was trying to be funny.” 

“Think so?” Rafe scoffs, squirting water into his mouth from the bottle he’d kept in his bag. 

“Yeah, but if you liked the attention you could go back down.”

Rafe wets his bottom lip at that. Being at the gym with Milan has been fun. Turns out, he likes talking to her, which is more than what he could say for the majority of the population. She’s sexy, and doesn’t mind him being handsy. She seemed to all but expect him to pat her ass in encouragement after she finishes anything. She likes for him to teach her, guide her movements, place her on and off of machines. She likes to whine and have him sort her out. And she’s possessive. Jealous. Normally the concept of having someone police him sounds emasculating and unacceptable to Rafe. But watching her pretty little face turn into a scowl as she watched girls check him out or come up to him like they always did in the gym? It turned him on bad. 

She matched his crazy. It didn’t matter that it was their first date, the same way Rafe’s lip curled in disgust as he caught the fuckheads wandering the gym eyeing her before he stepped in their line of vision, Milan would physically place herself in front of his view, guiding his eyes to her and away from any girl delusional enough to think they were as bad as her.

But her mouth when she’s frustrated. That was something Rafe was gonna have to work on. Lucky for the both of them, a stern warning seemed to be enough for now. Rafe stalks over to where she’s sitting, stepping on the machine behind her and wrapping his hand loosely around her neck, pushing the back of her head to rest on the front of his stomach. Milan looks up at him through her lashes, as he pushes his thumb into her cheek, encouraging her to open her mouth and squirting a little water in from his water bottle. He fixes her with a disapproving look. “Chill out. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I followed you up here, right?”

“Yeah.” she says softly, leaning into his hand.

“Alright then. Let’s not worry about the wrong things.”

After 3 hours at the gym the two of them hit the showers, separately despite both of their hesitation to separate again. They walk out of the building in different clothes and Rafe’s arm strewn over Milan’s shoulder, holding her hand where it came up to meet his own. He has to hide his smirk when he catches her making eye contact with the girl who’d asked Rafe to spot her as they walked out, a bright smile on her face. 

He was starting to like this pretty little thing more and more. Rafe lifts her back into the car, this time buckling her seatbelt for her before getting into the driver’s side. He finds that Milan can talk…a lot. She has jumped from topic to topic in the 15 minute drive more than Rafe thinks he can in 2 hours. He’s surprised to find he doesn’t find her annoying. Rafe finds his cheeks dimpling as he listens to her yap about her favorite tv shows, a movie she wants him to watch, her plans for her next nails set and thinking about getting highlights in her hair.

All the while she rubs his bicep, leaning into him as he holds her thigh in his large hand. He offers her small mumbles of acknowledgement to let her know he’s still listening. ‘Hm.’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Sound’s good, baby.’ 

“You’re not listening to me.” she sighs, looking out the window as they pull into the restaurant. “M’talkin’ too much.”

“Nah, I like that shit. I’d let you know if I’d had enough.” Rafe places his hand on the back of her headrest as he backs into the spot. “But, uh, my head’s always movin’ right? I’m thinkin’ while I listen.”

Milan watches as he shifts gears and places his truck in the middle of two spots, declaring under his breath he doesn’t want anyone ‘fuckin’ up his truck’ to justify taking up two spots. “So…okay. What’re you, like, thinking about? While you’re listening to me.”

“Uh, honestly?” He asks. Intense blue eyes rest on soft brown ones. Milan just nods, turning more toward him. “How fuckin’ hot you are. Pretty fuckin’ distracting.”

“Oh.” She says.

“Yeah. Oh. Does that throw you off or something, like, oh is a weird response-”

“No, I was just saying oh, like-”

“Okay, because, I’m being pretty fuckin’ clear and you’re-”

Milan unclips her seatbelt quickly. Before Rafe can blink her soft lips are pressed against his and before he can kiss her back she’s back in her seat, pulling down the mirror and fumbling in her purse for her lipgloss. “I wasn’t supposed to kiss you until our first date was over. I can’t believe I did that. Oh my God.” Rafe chuckles lowly as she fumbles in her purse, dropping it and spilling its contents all over her lap and the floor of the car. “Oh my God.”

“Did you, uh,” He pauses, trying not to openly bark out a laugh at her, scratching his head. “Did you only bring lip gloss and perfume? Like, no wallet. At all.”

“Okay…” Milan starts slowly, “I understand that looks bad, and like, people believe in that 50-50 stuff now, and so I shouldn’t-”

“Baby, the fuck do I look like? I wouldn’t be taking you out if I couldn’t afford to, I’m not a fuckin’ pogue.”

“A what?”

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about that fuckin’ peck, that wasn’t a real kiss.” It shocks her how easy it is for Rafe to scoot his chair back and pull her into his lap. “This is the shit you should worry about.”

Rafe Cameron pulls Milan Cabot into the nastiest kiss that either of them had ever fantasized about, let alone experienced. He holds her jaw, working his own open as he pushes his tongue into her mouth, swallowing her whimpers and humming against her. He separates their mouths briefly to kiss down her neck only to drag back up to her lips, chuckling darkly when she sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, gripping her thigh with his free hand as he drools into her open mouth. 

When he pulls away for the final time he rests his head back on the headrest, pushing his thumb into her mouth and releasing a breath as he watches her obediently suck on it. 

By the time they step out of the car to head into the nice breakfast restaurant he’d brought her to, Rafe had willed his…friend to go down, and they had undone the damage he’d done to Milan’s makeup and hair. As he guided her in by the waist, tugging down the hem of her pretty little dress to cover the ass he’d just been gripping he felt a feeling of superiority. The woman next to him was relying on him and him alone to lead her around. All the loser fuckers they passed on the way to their table could stare all they wanted. They could take a mental picture and store it away in their sick little spank banks for later until they came to the realization they’d never get a girl like Milan and finally blew their fucking brains out. But she was here with Rafe. And that’s how he expected it to be from here on out.

He’d decided. She was gonna be his.

[theitgirlnetwork]

What Are You Willing To Do?

Ch. 2: Date 1 Pt. 1

Note: Thank you so much for the love you all have been showing this story so far! Thank you for reading, and for the kinds messages I have received thus far! I love interacting and seeing your thoughts and comments so keep 'em coming. I want to take this time to remind you that these characters will be flawed. Rafe is....Rafe, but we love him anyway. And Milan is...someone who is compatible with Rafe. They won't always be the depiction of a healthy relationship, but this is fiction and fun. This chapter isn't too bad, but those who have read the snippet know how it's gonna get. Once again, I have songs for this ship so if anyone is interested in them let me know, and feel free to share some with me if you catch a vibe. Finally, let me know if you have any questions or comments. Other than that, I hope you enjoy. This one is a lot shorter than chapter 1, but it is a 2 parter, so don't hate me. Love ya! <3333

“Wait.”

Rafe pauses, loosening his grip on Milan’s hair and pulling back slightly, irritated that she’d stopped him just as their lips brushed and she breathed the smoke he’d just poured into her mouth between them. “What? What’s up?”

“I don’t,” She sighs, her cool breath on his face, eyes still shut as if she’s forcing herself to pause this moment between them. “I don’t just hook up with guys, you know? Maybe we could…I dunno.”

Oh. Oh. Rafe understands. He’d…he’d forgotten himself for a moment. This isn’t some touron stumbling onto the couch next to him, throwing herself at him. She wasn’t one of those gold digging bitches that tries to fuck  him with faulty condoms in the bottom of her purse. She’s the kind of girl who has her own shit. She doesn’t need him for a come up. Or at least she doesn’t think she does. 

He arrogantly thinks to himself that Milan hasn’t met a man like Rafe Cameron. He’s spent most of his life preparing, becoming the type of man that can run his family, keep them safe and comfortable. The type of son fathers are proud to have and the type of man women want to give a baby. That’s the man who he’s made himself be. 

Rafe had been so focused, only allotting himself time for a little bit of fun once in a while, he’d forgotten that one day he might stumble across a girl that had the potential to be a woman. His woman. 

He nods slowly, a small smile forming on his face as he pulls back more, releasing her head completely and smoothing his hand back onto her knee. “Nah, I get it. We should get to know each other a little better. How ‘bout you spend the day with me tomorrow?”

Milan perches herself up at that, back straightening even more as her face lights up. “Really? You wanna spend the day with me?”

Rafe rests his head back on the top of the couch, sweeping his thumb on her bottom lip before biting his own and nodding. “Yeah, I wanna show you a good time. Get you a little more comfortable with me so I can kiss those pretty lips of yours.”

Both sets.

“Okay, wait, I’m excited. You’re gonna be my first friend here.”

“Friend?” Rafe scoffs. “‘M’not gonna be your friend, Princess.”

“Well,” Milan shrugs, “Like, I don’t know what I could call you, you’re not my man-”

“Yet. Not your man yet.” He and the woman next to him share twin smiles and Rafe only becomes more invigorated by Milan’s eyeroll and shy grin. “Roll your eyes if you want to, I’m a determined guy.” 

“Determined?”

“Yeah, like I know what I like, I work for what I want, so-”

“So what?” Milan giggles, “You…you want me? I should get ready or something?”

“Yeah.” Rafe says flippantly, as if he wasn’t essentially making a threat of courtship to a girl he’d just met like 12 hours before. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d fully wanted from her yet. But the need to have her was nagging at him. Maybe it was lust. She was hot, forbidden fruit for him. He could hear the curses Ward would spit at him now if he fucked around and ruined things with this girl, made an enemy of her dad. Maybe it was how sweet she seems. He’s always liked shiny, new things. When he was a kid, he had to have stuff before his friends did. Toys. Shoes. Stocks. Maybe he’s graduated to feeling that way about women. 

Something about how he doesn’t want to look away. Something about the way she was smiling at him, how he’s talked to her the most, how in a room full of guys drooling over her, those big pretty eyes were locked on him. Rafe felt like he had to look into this weird feeling she’s been stirring in his chest since he’d seen her. 

It’s what’s best for Milan anyway. None of the rest of these limp dick motherfuckers should have her. They’re not real men. Not like Rafe.

Milan hums as she removes the golden under eye patches from under her eyes, massaging in the serum they leave atop of her skin. Grimacing at a gust of damp wind from outside she pads against the marble floor of her bathroom and pushes the double doors leading to the patio attached closed. “Stupid, island humidity.” She pouts as she combs through her bob again, praying for no puffiness today.

The sky fights to brighten in the early morning. It’s 5:00 a.m. and Rafe Cameron was going to be picking her up in 30 minutes. 

After the party last night Sarah had run over to her on the front lawn, hugging her tightly before declaring she was going home with John B. and offering for Milan to come with them. When she declines with a smile, the blonde fixes her brother with a glare, to which he’d returned with a middle finger, and stumbled off in her man’s arms. 

Rafe drove Milan back to her house and parked them out front, eyes carefully rotating between staring at Milan sitting pretty in his passenger seat, and watching for a sign of her father at the door. He let her toy with his fingers as she fluttered her lashes at him and he described what he does throughout the day, Or, rather, what they’d be doing today.

When he’d mentioned picking her up after the gym Milan had jumped at the opportunity to go with him. She loved going to the gym every morning before she’d moved and she was happy to keep it going. And it wouldn’t hurt to see Rafe work out. 

It was all she could think about. It’s not just his height. Even though he’s so…so tall. At least 6’2. Rafe is big. Muscle. Strength. Yesterday he’d basically hoisted her full weight into his truck with one arm. The preppy boy polo that he’d thrown on for their families hadn’t hidden anything and his tight crew neck that he wore to the party basically outlined everything for her. 

She quite literally wanted him to throw her around like a ragdoll. Or let her climb him like a tree. Whatever, Rafe is hot. 

He has an intense vibe, seemingly takes himself very seriously. But, Milan figures she could relax him. Loosen him up a little bit. 

They were gonna have so much fun. Smiling at her own reflection in the mirror, Milan spritzes vanilla Sol de Janeiro and all but fucking skips down the steps and to the kitchen.

“Good morning, Miss Milan, you’re awake early. I just started prepping for breakfast, but I could make you a coffee while you wait.” The private chef that her parents had hired a couple years ago had made the move with them. They’d paid for her to come with them to Outer Banks and offered to increase her salary because…well…it wasn’t their nice home in Quebec that she was used to. 

“No, thank you, Miss Ally.” Milan reaches over, stealing a newly washed strawberry and biting into it. “And my parents aren’t awake, right?”

“Of course not. You know your mother won’t roll out of bed until she smells the food cooking and your dad won’t come until I’ve had to warm it up twice. Why? Are you alright, honey?”

The younger woman nods, tossing the green stem into the trash and reaching for two travel cups. “Can you keep a secret? I have, like, a date today.” 

“Like a date?”

“Yeah, with a guy. He’s really cute, and sweet. So,” Milan begins sifting matcha, smiling down at the cup and resting her cheek on her shoulder. “‘M’gonna hang out with him today.”

“Less than 48 hours and there’s a boy, huh? Atta girl.” Miss Ally passes Milan the vanilla protein powder. “You’ve been worried about the move, thinking it was a bad idea, and here you are making friends.”

“Mhm, hot ones. With blue eyes and dimples.”

“And where,” Ally nudges Milan out of the way as she pours the hot water into the travel mug, “am I supposed to tell your parents you are when you’re out with Mr. Blue Eyes and Dimples?” 

“Touring the island.” She chirps. 

“With who?”

“Just like…generally. They should be cool with it honestly, I just know they’re gonna make it weird, but like, he’s the son of Dad’s first friend here so he shouldn’t be mad. How come he gets a boyfriend and I don’t?”

“Oh, just say that to your parents, I’m sure they’ll go for it then.” Ally snorts, whisking the eggs as Milan seals the travel mugs, laughing to herself as the girl slides both of the pink cups to the end of the counter next to her gym bag.

When Rafe pulls up outside of the Cabot house, he texts Milan before hopping out of his truck and jogging up the cobblestone. He agreed not to ring the doorbell because her parents were awake but he’d be damned if he didn’t pick her up at the door. 

As he stands on at the doorstep he adjusts the hat he has rested on his head and rocks on his feet impatiently. He isn’t waiting long. The door swings open and he’s immediately hit with the sweet smell of vanilla and soon after is met with the walking wet dream carrying the scent. 

“Good morning!” Milan grins, tossing her arms around his neck, bouncing up into his arms. Rafe isn’t fucking stupid, he’s quick to catch her around the waist and squeeze, relishing in the feeling of her pressed against him. 

“Morning, princess.” he murmurs into her hair, squeezing her again for good measure before placing her back on her feet.  “You, uh, you always go to the gym in shit like that?”

“Shit like what? Stop.” she laughs as he snaps the elastic of her leggings. 

“You just look good. That’s all I’m sayin’.” He chews the gum in his mouth and nudges her chin with his knuckle, mumbling, “Watch your mouth.”

“Yeah? Thank you.” she grins, looking away from him briefly. “I made…I made you something, like a gym drink or whatever.

“That’s cute sweetheart, what do you like me or somethin’?” Rafe snorts, choosing to ignore the fact that the travel mug she was pushing into his hands was bubble gum pink. He holds his hand out to her, not even looking back as he starts guiding her over to his truck. When he hears a little shuffle from her he looks back and glances down at her feet. “What the fuck, your shoes aren’t tied.”

“Okay, one of them untied when I was making you this delicious protein shake and I didn’t wanna make you wait-” 

“Christ.” Rafe grunts, unlocking his car and wrenching the door open, planting his hands on Milan’s waist and hoisting her into the seat easily. He tugs her foot onto his lap and begins tying the lace of her sneaker tightly. “Gonna break your fuckin’ neck.”

“I wasn’t gonna fall, Rafe-”

“You literally were letting me drag you down those steps.” When he’s done Rafe lifts her leg into the car, closing the door and walking around the driver’s side and climbing in. After he clicks his seatbelt on, he pauses and frowns when he sees Milan’s pout staring forward at the road. He puffs out a breath. “What? What’s wrong?”

“You haven’t said ‘thank you’. For your drink.” 

“Wh-are you serious?”

“Yes. You seriously haven’t said ‘thank you.’” 

“Uh…” Rafe’s brows furrow as he observes the girl. Arms crossed, dramatic frown on her pretty, glossed lips, knees pointed away from him. “Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” she immediately warms up, clicking her own seatbelt on and taking a sip of her drink, moving back to the middle of her seat. As Rafe tries to sort through what quick, guerilla warfare he’d just experienced, he starts driving the car. 

So that’s her game. She’s cute and pretty and pouts like a fuckin’ brat when she doesn’t feel like she’s getting what she wants. Or someone is saying something she doesn’t wanna hear. All she’s showing me is that I’m exactly what she needs.

“M’just sayin’ like your shirt’s a little slutty. Like it’s tight, I can see your nipples and everything.”

“Don’t say shit like that, what the fuck?” 

“It’s like tight and stuff, like it’s a little bit of a hoochie shirt.” 

“Hoo-hoochie shirt. Fuckin’ brat.” Rafe shakes his head. In the time it’s taken to drive to the gym and for Rafe to put his card down to get Milan a temporary membership, she’d clearly been trying to test him. She was pushing boundaries to see what he would and wouldn’t accept. And he would try to be patient. But the jokes weren’t gonna be as funny when he was using her mouth for what he really wanted to use it for. Not now. He had to wait. To humor her. She was cute. He’d give her that. Maybe he needed to be cute back. “Don’t work out in the damn shirt anyway,” 

Milan’s eyes widen as she stares up at Rafe from where she’s stretching on the floor. She bites her lip and shifts her gaze to herself in the mirror as he easily tugs the tight shirt off of his chiseled muscles, tossing it into his gym bag next to her. 

Jesus. She bites her lip, berating herself inwardly as she glances at the tanned skin he was now baring for the world to see, six pack on display as he starts doing some standing stretches. “Here, sweetheart.” Rafe crouches next to her, pushing one of his airpods into her ear. “You, uh, didn’t have headphones, so you can just listen to my shit.”

“Can we make a spotify jam?”

“What?”

“So, I can add songs too, can we make a jam? And we’d be listening to the same thing, at the same time, you know?”

“I mean, yeah, sure why the fuck not? You’re not gonna add any corny shit are you? M’trustin’ you with my workout. Like that’s pretty fuckin’ special.”

“Oh my God, Rafe, I’m…I’m sure we have basically the same taste in music.”

Rafe and Milan are at war for essentially their whole warm up. They agree to separate for cardio and then meet back up for them both to try some of each other’s usual workouts. With the shared music blasting in their ears, they both still felt like they were hanging out for the 40 minutes that they are apart. Rafe spent half of his run on the treadmill listening to Beyoncé and Sabrina Carpenter’s discographies while Milan genuinely flinched on the stairmaster with Travis Scott and 50 Cent pounding against her ear drums. Both of them looking at each other with sick satisfaction when it was their turn to pick a song, making a game out of picking something they thought would irritate the other more. 

Rafe had finally had enough and started skipping Milan’s picks when the High School Musical Soundtrack started playing, eventually coming to pluck her off of her machine to start doing weights as Troy began singing about wanting his own dream. 

By now they’d both finished their protein shakes and felt like they had a lot of energy. Well, at least they both did. Until Rafe started making Milan do his workouts.

She was both turned on and enraged as he demonstrates different forms of weightlifting, chuckling at her deeply as she struggles to do another set. “Mmkay, okay, that’s enough, I’m done with that.”

“Nah, you didn’t even finish that one, c’mon let’s go.”

“Rafe, no” she whines getting off of the bench. Milan immediately gasps as Rafe fists the fabric at the front of her leggings, lifting her off of her feet and physically placing her back onto the equipment. 

Slapping her thigh, he offers her a no-nonsense look that lets her know that she isn’t getting up until she completes this workout to his satisfaction. “Baby, let’s go, stop fuckin’ around.”

Shit. Yes sir. “I want…breakfast food after this. Like, waffles, and butter and stuff.”

“'Let me come to the gym with you, Rafe. I wanna where my cute little outfit and not workout.'”

“Asshole.”

“Watch your mouth.”

“Wait…until we start doing my pilates workout. All those muscles will mean…nothing.”

“Yeah, you like ‘em?” He smirks, grabbing the weight to ease it down against her before helping her off. “That your excuse? Can’t focus?”

“Stop…being mean, worst date ever.” She whines, leaning her head against his chest. 

Rafe pats Milan’s ass twice before nudging her into the direction of the next machine. "Best fuckin' date of your life, brat."

“Are you gonna keep staring at my butt or are you gonna try again?” Milan calls over to Rafe. 

“My body is not built for that girly shit. You keep goin’ though.” He says. Milan rolls her eyes and continues on the machine, pausing when she sees the reflection of a camera flash in the mirror. “Damn, flash was on.”

“Rafe!”

“You look good, baby. I thought you’d like me to be all sentimental and shit, capture our first date.”

“Oh my God. You’re like, not even working out at this point.”

He shrugs, tilting his head to get a better view of her. “You’re the one who got an attitude when that girl asked me to spot her and made us change floors.

“She saw you with me.” Milan hisses through her teeth, pausing her movements. “She was trying to be funny.” 

“Think so?” Rafe scoffs, squirting water into his mouth from the bottle he’d kept in his bag. 

“Yeah, but if you liked the attention you could go back down.”

Rafe wets his bottom lip at that. Being at the gym with Milan has been fun. Turns out, he likes talking to her, which is more than what he could say for the majority of the population. She’s sexy, and doesn’t mind him being handsy. She seemed to all but expect him to pat her ass in encouragement after she finishes anything. She likes for him to teach her, guide her movements, place her on and off of machines. She likes to whine and have him sort her out. And she’s possessive. Jealous. Normally the concept of having someone police him sounds emasculating and unacceptable to Rafe. But watching her pretty little face turn into a scowl as she watched girls check him out or come up to him like they always did in the gym? It turned him on bad. 

She matched his crazy. It didn’t matter that it was their first date, the same way Rafe’s lip curled in disgust as he caught the fuckheads wandering the gym eyeing her before he stepped in their line of vision, Milan would physically place herself in front of his view, guiding his eyes to her and away from any girl delusional enough to think they were as bad as her.

But her mouth when she’s frustrated. That was something Rafe was gonna have to work on. Lucky for the both of them, a stern warning seemed to be enough for now. Rafe stalks over to where she’s sitting, stepping on the machine behind her and wrapping his hand loosely around her neck, pushing the back of her head to rest on the front of his stomach. Milan looks up at him through her lashes, as he pushes his thumb into her cheek, encouraging her to open her mouth and squirting a little water in from his water bottle. He fixes her with a disapproving look. “Chill out. I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Yeah.”

“I followed you up here, right?”

“Yeah.” she says softly, leaning into his hand.

“Alright then. Let’s not worry about the wrong things.”

After 3 hours at the gym the two of them hit the showers, separately despite both of their hesitation to separate again. They walk out of the building in different clothes and Rafe’s arm strewn over Milan’s shoulder, holding her hand where it came up to meet his own. He has to hide his smirk when he catches her making eye contact with the girl who’d asked Rafe to spot her as they walked out, a bright smile on her face. 

He was starting to like this pretty little thing more and more. Rafe lifts her back into the car, this time buckling her seatbelt for her before getting into the driver’s side. He finds that Milan can talk…a lot. She has jumped from topic to topic in the 15 minute drive more than Rafe thinks he can in 2 hours. He’s surprised to find he doesn’t find her annoying. Rafe finds his cheeks dimpling as he listens to her yap about her favorite tv shows, a movie she wants him to watch, her plans for her next nails set and thinking about getting highlights in her hair.

All the while she rubs his bicep, leaning into him as he holds her thigh in his large hand. He offers her small mumbles of acknowledgement to let her know he’s still listening. ‘Hm.’ ‘Yeah?’ ‘Sound’s good, baby.’ 

“You’re not listening to me.” she sighs, looking out the window as they pull into the restaurant. “M’talkin’ too much.”

“Nah, I like that shit. I’d let you know if I’d had enough.” Rafe places his hand on the back of her headrest as he backs into the spot. “But, uh, my head’s always movin’ right? I’m thinkin’ while I listen.”

Milan watches as he shifts gears and places his truck in the middle of two spots, declaring under his breath he doesn’t want anyone ‘fuckin’ up his truck’ to justify taking up two spots. “So…okay. What’re you, like, thinking about? While you’re listening to me.”

“Uh, honestly?” He asks. Intense blue eyes rest on soft brown ones. Milan just nods, turning more toward him. “How fuckin’ hot you are. Pretty fuckin’ distracting.”

“Oh.” She says.

“Yeah. Oh. Does that throw you off or something, like, oh is a weird response-”

“No, I was just saying oh, like-”

“Okay, because, I’m being pretty fuckin’ clear and you’re-”

Milan unclips her seatbelt quickly. Before Rafe can blink her soft lips are pressed against his and before he can kiss her back she’s back in her seat, pulling down the mirror and fumbling in her purse for her lipgloss. “I wasn’t supposed to kiss you until our first date was over. I can’t believe I did that. Oh my God.” Rafe chuckles lowly as she fumbles in her purse, dropping it and spilling its contents all over her lap and the floor of the car. “Oh my God.”

“Did you, uh,” He pauses, trying not to openly bark out a laugh at her, scratching his head. “Did you only bring lip gloss and perfume? Like, no wallet. At all.”

“Okay…” Milan starts slowly, “I understand that looks bad, and like, people believe in that 50-50 stuff now, and so I shouldn’t-”

“Baby, the fuck do I look like? I wouldn’t be taking you out if I couldn’t afford to, I’m not a fuckin’ pogue.”

“A what?”

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about that fuckin’ peck, that wasn’t a real kiss.” It shocks her how easy it is for Rafe to scoot his chair back and pull her into his lap. “This is the shit you should worry about.”

Rafe Cameron pulls Milan Cabot into the nastiest kiss that either of them had ever fantasized about, let alone experienced. He holds her jaw, working his own open as he pushes his tongue into her mouth, swallowing her whimpers and humming against her. He separates their mouths briefly to kiss down her neck only to drag back up to her lips, chuckling darkly when she sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, gripping her thigh with his free hand as he drools into her open mouth. 

When he pulls away for the final time he rests his head back on the headrest, pushing his thumb into her mouth and releasing a breath as he watches her obediently suck on it. 

By the time they step out of the car to head into the nice breakfast restaurant he’d brought her to, Rafe had willed his…friend to go down, and they had undone the damage he’d done to Milan’s makeup and hair. As he guided her in by the waist, tugging down the hem of her pretty little dress to cover the ass he’d just been gripping he felt a feeling of superiority. The woman next to him was relying on him and him alone to lead her around. All the loser fuckers they passed on the way to their table could stare all they wanted. They could take a mental picture and store it away in their sick little spank banks for later until they came to the realization they’d never get a girl like Milan and finally blew their fucking brains out. But she was here with Rafe. And that’s how he expected it to be from here on out.

He’d decided. She was gonna be his.

[theitgirlnetwork]

that rafe fic was toooooo good!!!!

Ahhh thank you baby <333 ch. 2 coming soon, he's got me in a chokehold rn.

[theitgirlnetwork]

An Important Message

If you voted for Trump or didn't vote at all unfollow me, don't consume my content, literally don't perceive me. This twitter is a safe space for me and the people who understand the importance of everyone having rights and autonomy. I don't respect the choice to support a bigot and as a black woman I want nothing to do with you, even in a parasocial way.

To those of us who have been heartbroken and humiliated by a nation, you heard her call to action. We have to hold fast, and hold strong. I know we're tired, but we will keep going because we have to. Stay safe, and be a safe space for each other. If anyone would like to talk my messages are open.

Love, The It Girl Network

[theitgirlnetwork]

An Important Message

If you voted for Trump or didn't vote at all unfollow me, don't consume my content, literally don't perceive me. This twitter is a safe space for me and the people who understand the importance of everyone having rights and autonomy. I don't respect the choice to support a bigot and as a black woman I want nothing to do with you, even in a parasocial way.

To those of us who have been heartbroken and humiliated by a nation, you heard her call to action. We have to hold fast, and hold strong. I know we're tired, but we will keep going because we have to. Stay safe, and be a safe space for each other. If anyone would like to talk my messages are open.

Love, The It Girl Network

[theitgirlnetwork]

What Are You Willing To Do?

Ch. 1 : Self-Restraint (Rafe has none)

Milan's Party Outfit

Note: Okay this took forever to come out and I'm sorry. Please let me know what you think. Also something to note, I have an OC who is the main love interest in my JJ story. She is present in this story, but the two stories don't intertwine. Just something for those of you who will read both. I hope you enjoy and I love interacting. I will accept (constructive) criticism. And feedback. Another note, Milan is a little more of a bimbo character than my other ones, she won't be fully lost and I refuse to make her childlike. She just likes to be in the wind and chose a man who handles stuff for her. Also she doesn't have a permanent face claim yet, so if you have any ideas for that, please message them to me! :) Thank you for giving my story a chance, and if you're reading any of my other stories, I hope to be posting more to have some reprieve from the state of the world. Thanks so much!

Warnings: Mentions of sexual conduct, strong language, drug use

“Let’s go, I don’t know why I have to wait for you, we’ve got things to handle today, you’re makin’ me late-”

“Yeah, Dad-” Rafe huffs, jogging his way down the steps, grabbing his jacket off of the coat rack in the foyer. “Well, Sara has been in my shit again so, maybe you could talk to her about that-”

“I don’t touch your shit, no one wants your shit, Rafe.”

“I can tell, you probably brought your bum ass pogue boyfriend in here too, he shouldn’t be in the damn house-”

“Rafe!” Ward’s voice booms, making Rafe’s eyes snap to his father’s obediently, mouth snapping shut. “Do you really think that it's productive for you to waste time arguing with your little sister when I just told you we need to get a move on?”

“Uh,” the younger man breathes heavily through his nose, clenching and unclenching his fists at his sides as he glares at his sister over his father’s shoulder. “No, sir.” 

“Alright then.” Ward rolls his eyes, nodding his head for his son to grab the bag on the ground and grab the car keys before turning to address his eldest daughter. “Need you to be home for dinner tonight. There’s a new family moving in a couple blocks over and we wanna make a good impression. That means no fighting,” the older man raises his eyebrows at his children, placing his bluetooth in his ear, “no boyfriends, Sarah,” Ward finishes with a rough pat on his son’s back, “no drugs. Get it? This could be big, Gregory Cabot is big in the oil industry and they might want to…settle here. If they do, we should be their first friends, understand?”

Rafe nods quietly, attentively hanging onto his father’s every word. Taking them in with an intensity that would satisfy any other dad. But not Ward Cameron. “Sarah, they’ve got twins about your age. Make sure you and Wheezie are cleaned up nicely. Rafe,” the 21 year old is met with his father’s rough hand smacking his cheek once, twice, under the guise of an affectionate pat. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“It’s like he uh, doesn’t get it, right? Like I do fuckin’ everything he asks, and I’m uh…I’m the fuck up.” Rafe stammers irritably before sending a powerful swing into the golf ball in front of him, watching it sail off into the distance. 

Topper and Kelce exchange looks as their friend grinds his teeth, grabbing a beer from their cart and taking a deep swig. He’d been ranting about this morning since they’d started on the course an hour ago. Apparently, his father’s comment had carried in Rafe’s mind all of the way through the brief errand down at the docks he’d accompanied him on, followed him to the country club and was going to last the entirety of their hang out. 

“Yeah man, I mean,” Topper begins, “I get it right? My mom’s always on some shit too. Like I screw up everything I do.”

“You do, Top.” Kelce chuckles, lining up for his swing.

Rafe nods along, taking another swig. “For real, like realistically, I do everything I’m supposed to, like I really step up and it’s fuckin’ bullshit that I’m still supposed to act like I’m his little bitch boy. I’m fully a man. I’m focused and shit. Because for real, Top, I feel like if Sarah asked you to come over right now you’d go runnin’ right?”

“Fuck you man.”

“Motherfucker knows I’m right.”

“Kelce?”

“I mean, Top, let’s be real.”

Topper rolls his tongue in his cheek irritably, turning red at his friend’s taunting, “Well, y’all are the ones who lost a girl to Maybank. Angel is glued to his broke ass.”

Rafe scoffs, picking his club back up and practicing his swing. “Yeah, fuck that, that was Kelce’s thing. Angel’s bad, but she’s more like the sister I wish Sarah’s annoying ass was.” 

“Sarah’s just like, young minded, she doesn’t know what she wants.”

Kelce laughs again as Rafe rolls his eyes, the two men switching spots as Rafe goes up for his turn again. “She knows, it’s just not you, man. Maybe that pogue just has better dick than you, Top…or did she ever let you fuck her?” Kelce laughs, turning his head to look up the hill at the juice bar at the edge of the course, squinting at something in the distance.

“Fuckin’ disgustin’.” Rafe huffs, swinging again, smirking as the ball goes directly into the hole, resting the club on his broad shoulder. “If you bitches weren’t so worried about chasing ass, maybe your game would be better.” The dirty blond brags, turning to see both of his friends now staring off into the distance. His jaw ticks in annoyance as he realizes that his friends had missed his impressive swing and ignored his bragging to stare at… “what the hell are you idiots looking at?”

When they don’t answer, Rafe decides to look for himself. The sight he sees is simultaneously exactly what he’s expecting and something he couldn’t have seen coming. 

Standing at the juice bar was possibly the sexiest little thing he’s seen in his 21 years of living. Sure, he’d expected to see a pretty girl. That’s just about the only thing that can get both Topper and Kelce to shut the fuck up for more than two seconds. Their eyes wide and mouths slightly agape, the two men didn’t hide their attraction at all. 

But Rafe, he was experiencing something else entirely. He’d thought she was fucking hot like they did, obviously. But this was a different kind of fine. She had to be new. There was no way that she would have evaded him by now. His cheek dimples slightly as he absently bites his lip a bit, watching the girl lean over the counter, her feet lifting slightly off of the ground, her tiny white skirt giving him a shot of the smooth skin that he couldn’t wait to get his hands on. Rafe’s eyes follow her every movement, like a predator stalking its prey. Intense blue drinking in the dark, shiny, barely shoulder length hair falls out from her hat as she lifts it from her head, smoothing her hand over it before placing her hat back on.

Come on, baby, turn around for me. Lemme see the rest of that body. Lemme see that face.

It’s as if she could hear him. Like she decided to move, position herself, just for his enjoyment, because she turns. She turns and pulls herself up onto one of the barstools with a hop, pulling her shades from her face and tucking them onto the front of her shirt. She’s far, but even with the distance, Rafe finds himself puffing out a breath of disbelief, drinking in her gorgeous features. Full, glossy lips, tinged red, big eyes and a sweet, absent expression.

Next thing Rafe knows he’s making his way up the grassy hill, ignoring the calls of his friends for him to wait up. 

“But, my parents are signing up for membership today.” 

“I���m sorry ma’am, but until you’re in the system you’ll have to pay with cash or card.”

Milan pouts and furrows her brows. She just wanted to have a quick refresher before she met up with her mother at the new house so she’d ridden over to the club with her father. She didn’t really think she’d need money. She never carries cash because she’s likely to lose it and she’d left her card in her red purse, but it didn’t match her outfit so she’d sent it ahead to the house. She could go ask her father for money, but he was in the club owner’s office talking shop and had instructed her to explore while he finished up. “But it’s hot out here.” she whines. 

Milan turns to her right and starts scanning the outdoor bar area, looking for someone who looked friendly enough to spot her until her dad came down and paid them back. She drums her manicured nails on the wood of the countertop, ignorant to the bartender rolling her eyes at the girl. 

Finally, her eye lands on a table with three guys that look fresh off of the golf course. They’re all dressed similarly and just like every other guy at the club. Polo shirt and khaki pants. Two of them wore hats. They looked like her friends from back home. But the third one, he’s the one who gives her pause. As soon as her eyes land on him his shoot over, locking on hers. She straightens her posture a bit under his gaze, offering a polite smile before doing what most normal people do when accidentally making eye contact with someone, looking away. Her bob length hair brushes her shoulder as she turns her head away, but she can’t help but feel someone was still watching her. She decides to turn her head back slowly, trying to be inconspicuous, only to find she’s right. The guy is still watching.

He wets his lip as he tilts his head. His eyes still trained on her as he uncrossed his muscular arms. A small, what seems to be a smile, rests on his lips as he drums his hands on the arms of the chair he’s sitting in, pushing out of the seat and making his way over. One of his friends making a comment about something being ‘fuckin’ unfair’.

Milan fully straightens, tucking her hands under her butt and whirling around to face the bar again as if she hadn’t just been staring back at him. She kicks her feet until she feels a presence behind her? Beside her?

She turns her head and looks up to find the same guy, caging her in, standing slightly behind her with one hand resting on the bar at her side, the other grabbing the bottom of her stool and turning her to face him fully. 

Seeing him up close she can see how cute he is. Pretty blue eyes, clear skin and pink lips. His jawline is sharp, his seemingly blond hair is buzzed short to his head, and a dimple is revealed in his cheek with his smug grin. He’s big too. Tall and muscular, his presence is all imposing, crowding her against the bar and giving her no choice but to accommodate him in her bubble. “Hey.” he says softly, his voice still a deep rumble. 

Milan finds herself mimicking his position, tilting her head to match his, placing her elbows behind her to rest on the bar leaning the same way he was. Missing his eyes dropping briefly to wear the fabric of her shirt strained against her breasts. “Hi.”

“So, you uh, you want a drink or somethin’?” he asks lowly.

“Um..” she shrugs sheepishly, lifting her shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “I dunno.”

She does. That’s what she’s been trying to do for the last few minutes, but that was before the cute guy was towering over her, taking up her space. He furrows his brow for a second, a smile still on his face as he pushes up a little, whistling into the air, nodding his head for the bartender to come over.

The woman sees the man and immediately sweeps her hand over her hair, smoothing it out and prancing over. “Yeah, yes, hi Mr. Cameron.” She twirls the end of her ponytail, offering him a wide grin. “What can I get for you?”

“Yeah, Erica, get me and the boys some beers and, uh,” the man raises his eyebrows at Milan.

“Oh, Milan.” she smiles up at him prettily before looking back at a very annoyed Erica. “Can I have a peach refresher? Please?”

“She doesn’t have a membership account yet-” Erica starts only to pause when she realizes that the blond hadn’t glanced in her direction since calling her over.

“Then put her shit on mine. Want anything else, sweetheart?” he asks, a heavy hand resting on Milan’s lower back.

“No, I think I’m okay.” she hums, lifting her chin as the bartender rolls her eyes and strolls away. “Thank you, by the way, for covering me. My father will pay you back when he’s done with his meeting.”

The mention of her father has the man recoiling a little, retreating his hand from her with his smile dropping slightly. “Don’t uh, worry about it, aight? So, Milan, how, uh, how old are you anyway?”

Milan works an even wider eyed look on her face, perching herself on the edge of the stool and swinging her legs. “15, how old are you, Mr. Cameron?”

His eyes widen and he takes a large step back, smoothing his and over his jaw, looking away briefly before looking back at her. “No shit? I uh…I’m-”

“Cute.” Milan giggles, hitting his arm lightly, pulling back when she feels the muscles that are barely concealed by the stereotypical polo that he’s wearing. “‘M 20, Mr. Cameron.”

“Rafe.” he says firmly. Milan straightens again when she feels his imposing presence once again, the heavy hand back at her back, spreading warmth up her spine. 

“Rafe.” she repeats.

“Good.” Rafe praises. Milan shifts in her seat at his approval, furrowing her eyebrows in confusion at the feeling she gets from the praise. “You, uh, new around here, or…”

“Yeah, I’m new, just settling in.”

“Right, yeah, and uh…your family just left you all alone, that doesn’t seem fair.” He offers her a small pout that Milan fails to recognize as patronizing. “Wanna join me and the boys?”

“Sur-”

The sound of a glass slamming down on the bartop startles the girl, the splashing of her drink leading her to scoot back, bumping into Rafe’s hard chest. “Three beers and a refresher.” Erica sneers. Milan checks her outfit for juice stains while Rafe tosses a tip onto the bar, an unimpressed look on his face.

“That shit’s not cute.”

Both girls whip their heads to look up at him, a hard look of disapproval has Erica huffing and storming away after snatching the tip from the counter. As quickly as it appeared, the look is gone when Rafe refocuses his attention on the girl directly in front of him.

Milan finds herself smiling again as the man mumbles a short, ‘you’re good’ under his breath as he scans her clothes for any evidence of a spill. Just as she’s going to agree to join them she receives a text from her father. Time to go. “I’d love to, but my father is ready to leave, it’s been a long day for him, I don’t wanna keep him waiting.”

“Nah, we wouldn’t want that.” Rafe offers Milan a hand, helping her hop down from the stool and passing her the drink. “Go on, sweetheart. I’ll see you around.”

As Milan walks away perkily all she can think about is the cute guy she met at the country club. Turning back once to wave her fingers at him and being met with a crooked smile and a nod of the head she flounces off to find her dad. 

And sharp blue eyes follow her skirt the whole way.

The muscle working in Rafe’s jaw is doing overtime as he cocks his head to the side, staring blankly at the wall trying to temper the rage boiling in his stomach as Ward carries on screaming in his face. 

Apparently if he didn’t have anything better to be doing, he should have been shadowing his father today instead of golfing.

Apparently he was a dickhead for even thinking he’d be sitting at one of the seats at the end of the table because that’s where the head of the house sits and he doesn’t run shit but his mouth. 

Apparently he was a poor excuse of a man for not knowing why Sarah was late and Wheezie’s dress wasn’t perfectly ironed, because how the women in the house look and act is a reflection of him and more importantly, Ward. 

So Rafe stood there. And he ate that shit. Nodded quietly, eyes squinted, internalizing every slight, every insult, and making note.

He counted every book on the bookshelf in his father’s office until he felt his jaw being gripped and forced over to face Ward. Then, he started counting the wrinkles on his face. 

The verbal lashing didn’t end until Sarah came barreling in, her straps to her dress barely on and her hair combed for fucking once since getting with that fuckin’ bum. But Ward softens. He redirects his attention to tell his daughter she’s beautiful and thank her for coming. And then he points a warning finger in Rafe’s face before storming out of the room.

“Where the hell were you?” he asks his sister through gritted teeth. 

Sarah rolls her eyes, pushing past him. “Don’t have to answer to you, Rafe.”

It takes everything in him not to put his fist through a wall.

So, yeah, one could say he’s a little on edge. Sitting on his father’s right because the guest of honor, Mr. Cabot deserves the seat on the left, that’s where food gets served first. Rose sat on the opposite end, where the second host sits which will also place her closest to where Mrs. Cabot will likely be. Ward is at the head because where the fuck else would he be? And Rafe is in the seat on the right. The seat where the food will get served last. The seat where the youngest in the family is supposed to fuckin’ sit which anyone who has any kind of knowledge of etiquette would know. Which Rafe knows because he’s proactive and he fuckin’ learned it. Because he knows every aspect of running a household, not that Ward would acknowledge it. 

He needs a fuckin’ bump. 

Or a blunt. 

What the fuck ever the wine ain’t cuttin’ it. 

But Ward is watching him like a hawk and clearly won’t tolerate him disappearing to find some peace no matter how brief and slick he is about it. 

So instead, Rafe’s leg jumps under the table. And his fingers drum on top of it. And he works his jaw irritably.

“You need a nicotine patch or something?” Wheezie asks, pushing her glasses up her nose.

“C-could you actually shut the fuck up for one second?” 

“You’re such a jerk, Rafe, she’s a kid, Jesus.” Sarah huffs. “When’s this family supposed to be coming anyway?” 

“Asking that repetitively is not going to make them get here faster.” Rose groans, rubbing her temples. “Honey-”

“They’re here,” Ward calls, retreating from the door, snapping his fingers and pointing toward the sitting room for Rafe to get four scotches ready, and sitting in the seat in the corner of the room. “Ladies?”

“We’re going.” Wheezie whines, following behind Rose into the kitchen and carrying in the dinner that they were pretending Rose and Sarah made as Sarah goes to the foyer to wait for the bell to ring. “But this little routine we have is really sexist.”

“Don’t screw this up.” Ward sneers under his breath, as he takes his glass from Rafe.

“Dad-”

The ring of the doorbell has everyone falling into their roles. It all starts without a hitch. Sarah pulls the door open with a bright smile and sickeningly sweet greeting. Rafe tries to tune in to the fake conversation his father started with him when they heard the footsteps in their home multiply. 

“Oh! I’m a mess, nice to meet you, I’m Rose, please come in. Sweetheart, why don’t you go with Sarah and Louisa while I show your father to the sitting room. Then us girls can really get to know each other.” Rose plays her part easily, her heels clacking against the floor, the sound getting closer as she chatters away to what should only be the couple and their son now that she’s dumped the girl off with Sarah. “Your daughter is just beautiful, really, you’re going to have to watch her on this island.”

She says that to everyone. 9/10 it's a lie. 

“Your daughters are gorgeous too. You must have your hands full.”

Sounds like Mrs. Cabot knows the game too, usually people don’t get a word in while Rose is running her lines.

“We keep our eyes peeled, but our girls just aren’t doing the dating scene yet.” No, Sarah’s too busy laying on her back for dirty pogues to date someone worth mentioning. A little money doesn’t change status. “Ward, darling, our guests are here.”

And that’s our cue. 

Like they’ve done many times before the two men stand, Rafe watches his father’s movements carefully, making sure to always stand tall, and one step behind him. Ward takes 2 steps, Rafe takes 1. 

The man entering the room behind Rose was tall. Only a little shorter than Rafe. Broad and appearing stern. He guides his wife in by her waist and Rafe quickly looks away from the older woman. She’s attractive, and if it was him, the last thing Rafe would want is his potential business partner’s son eyeing down his wife. The man holds out his large hand to Ward first, the two of them shaking firmly. “Gregory Cabot.” 

“Ward Cameron, good to meet you.” Ward gestures behind him for Rafe to enter stage left. “And this is my son…”

“Rafe, uh Rafe Cameron, nice to meet you, sir. Ma’am.” he says, shaking Gregory’s hand and squeezing the appropriate amount. A craft he’d perfected during the early days of doing these. 

“Good shake son.”

The comment has Rafe standing at his full height, biting back an accomplished smirk as his dad glances back at him with a look of approval. 

“Handsome young man, too.” the older woman hums. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Rafe offers her a polite smile to appease his father. 

It’s all a part of the game. This little back and forth. It breaks the ice, and Rafe is the sacrificial lamb for it everytime. Gregory would say:

“Don’t be tryin’ to seal my wife there, boy.”

Pause for laughter. 

Then Rafe would say something like, “if I was a couple years older I might give you some competition, sir.”

To which everyone would laugh and Ward would swat him with strength that varies depending on how the interaction goes. 

Rafe has this little dance down to a science. 

It was going well. Really, it was exactly how it should be, and going quickly too. Rafe was desperate to get this part over with so they could handle business, make some money, and he could celebrate by going to a party he’d heard about earlier. 

But then she came in. And suddenly this was something entirely new.

“Dad, I’m gonna go to a party with Sarah after dinner. Can I have some money?” 

There she is. Her shapely body draped in a silky green dress with pretty pink roses, her manicured fingers already outstretched toward her father. Glossed, rose petal lips pursed as she waits for the bills to be placed in her hand. 

Milan. Rafe forces his eyes away from her, feeling two warring feelings flood his body as he wills himself to keep his eyes on her father instead.

“Without Milo?” Gregory asks. 

Milan rolls her eyes to the ceiling, huffing and crossing her arms over her chest, pushing her breasts upward and causing Rafe to work his jaw lightly. “‘M grown, Dad.”

Ward would never tolerate that tone…neither would I.

“We’re in a new place, your brother’s away on business-” Rafe can immediately feel his father’s eyes burning holes into the side of his head. 

Milan’s eyes slide shut as she takes a deep breath, retracting fully and turning to leave the room. She was so caught up she didn’t even notice Rafe. It aggravated him. Spoiled. She’s spoiled. 

I can fix that. 

Eventually they get dinner started and it’s like the interaction hadn’t happened. Milan sat through the dinner and acted her role accordingly. She introduced herself to his father, which clearly had impressed Ward. She made her obligatory conversation points, but mostly chatted with the other women at the table. When Rafe pulled out her chair, she smiled at him prettily but aside from that, gave him no indication that she recognized him from earlier. 

Rafe tries to focus on talking shop with his dad and Gregory, but his eyes keep wandering back to Milan’s mouth on her spoon and the little hums that leave her mouth. 

The damn ice cream ain’t that fuckin’ good.

“Uh, yeah, I’ve been trackin’ the macro model for crude oil and uh, I, I’d wanna know more.”

“That’s great son, yeah, it takes time, but it seems like you're on track, maybe I could put you in contact with one of my buddies that does the numbers for me, then you can run them with your dad and I.” 

Rafe’s on fuckin’ fire. He’s killin’ this shit, and he’ll be deep in those Cabot pockets in no time. But all he could think about is the man’s pretty little princess perched on her chair a couple seats down, pouting as Sarah raves about how fun this party is going to be to Milan and Wheezie.

None of my fuckin’ business. 

“Sounds really cool, Sarah.” the girl smiles behind the metal spoon, sighing wistfully. 

Don’t do this shit man, Ward’s gonna kill you.

Her final sigh and last scoop of vanilla ice cream being spooned into her mouth through plump glossy lips is what does it.

Fuckin’ weak, Cameron. Over some pussy?

“Uh, Gregory, I’m goin’ to this party too. I’m takin’ Sarah, there’s no reason why I can’t keep an eye out for Milan too.” 

If looks could fuckin’ kill. 

Ward is staring Rafe down with a look that would have a weaker man retracting his offer immediately, but the bright smile that plastered across Milan’s face made Rafe stand his ground. 

Gregory is simply pensive. His eyes flick between his daughter and the Cameron siblings. “How old did you say you were again?”

“21, sir.” 

Gregory’s brows furrow as he looks Rafe over again, before turning to Ward. “Reminds me of my boy. Protective over his sister and her friends. Good stuff, Cameron.” He turns back to Rafe with a menacing look on his face. “Back like I sent her, Rafe.” 

“Of course, Gregory.” 

The older man couldn’t have known what he just allowed.

“Fuck, Sarah, how long does it take?”

“I didn’t even want to ride with you, Rafe, John B. could’ve picked up me and Milan-”

“Yeah, well, her dad put me in charge of her safety, Sarah, and actually, Dad put me in charge of yours, so-”

“Oh my God, don’t act like…like you’re doing some noble thing, okay? I know why you offered to take us, cause you leave me all the time-” 

“You don’t know shit, alright, Sarah?” Rafe groans, backing out of his spot and turning out of their street.

“I know plenty, and I know you’re tryin’ to fuck Milan.”

“So what?”

“So what?” Sarah tosses her hair angrily, shifting in the passenger seat. “So, you’re fucking nuts, and she’s actually a nice girl. So, Dad’s doing business with her dad, that’s so what, Rafe.”

“I like, genuinely don’t need you telling me shit about shit Sarah, like for real.” 

“I really hope her brother is fucking huge, so he can kick your ass.”

Rafe snorts, slowing the car down a little and turning down the music as he pulls into the Cabot’s neighborhood. “Yeah, maybe right? Cause God knows your little pogue bitches have tried and failed.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, love you too, sis.” Rafe looks at the large house found at the address that Gregory had given him and unbuckles his seatbelt. “Get in the back seat.”

“Are you serious-”

“Back seat, Sarah, Jesus!” He huffs, slamming the car door and making his way up the walkway, stopping on the freshly laid cobblestone when the heavy, double wooden doors swing open. 

“Bye, Dad, I’ll see you later!” 

If Rafe had thought the dress Milan had on earlier was something, this skimpy number she trots out in would test any man. The girl absently twirls in her outfit. It’s a white two piece set consisting of a long, see-through skirt, barely hiding her white bikini bottoms and matching cropped top. His eyes trail along the dips in her waist, catching on the dimples on her back before finding the matching ones on her cheeks. All he could think is how perfectly his thumbs would fit in both sets of dimples. “Hi, Rafe.” 

He tilts his head back, openly staring down at her appreciatively. “Don’t you look cute.” 

With the shy smile that overtakes her face he all but expects the girl to melt under his gaze. Rafe is pleasantly surprised when she lifts her shoulder before brushing past him to make her way toward the car. “Thank you, I know.”

He chuckles to himself as the heels of her sandals clack on the cobblestone and stop just before the passenger door. Milan purses her lips without even considering touching the handle, rocking on her feet and swinging her purse absently as she waits patiently for him to come open it, just smiling when Sarah calls from inside the vehicle, ‘it’s unlocked.’

Rafe doesn’t know what moves him. Normally, he left girls to hoist themselves into his car as he hopped in himself on the driver’s side. But he could tell, this girl didn’t even conceive that she should be the one to open the door. No, she expected him to help. To care of it. And used her pretty little grin as his payment once he gets the picture and pulls the door open and offers her his hand to settle her into the seat. “You uh, you comfortable?”

She’d already pulled down the mirror and was reapplying the lipgloss Rafe was determined to taste, humming absently to herself. “Hm? Oh, yeah.” 

Not a thought behind those pretty eyes, huh?

I like that.

Milan watches out of the window as they pass by trees and grassy nooks. String lights twinkling as they ride by, people selling produce on the side of the road. The salty smell of water in the air through the open window. She could see Sarah in the backseat, smiling to herself as she texted on her phone. Milan’s own phone lights up as she receives the girl’s message. The two of them had really gotten along when they met at dinner earlier. She wasn’t expecting the blonde girl to be so kind and welcoming. The entire family had been really kind. Wheezie was a cute kid and Rose seemed like every other tired housewife in their world. A little fake, but ultimately harmless. Ward seemed strict like her dad. He seemed to grit his teeth angrily at almost everything his family said, only to offer a wide smile when her own dad seemed pleased, or at the least unbothered. 

And Rafe. Rafe was…cute. Hot, he’s hot. He’s handsome and tall, and can talk to her dad about all that business shit she didn’t give a shit to try and understand. And he’s attracted to her. Milan can tell. His eyes were shooting between their fathers and her the whole dinner. She felt the intensity of them even as she reapplied her lip gloss, as she chatted with his sister, when she’d taken a selfie as she leaned against the headrest, posing both for the camera and him. 

But for some reason he’s wound so tight. As hot as it is, it can’t be healthy how frequently that muscle in his jaw jumps, keeping in rhythm with the bounce of his leg and the drumming on his fingers. Milan’s eyes flick across his movements and her lips part as she considers asking him if he was okay. Her voice catches in her throat when sharp, blue lands on deep brown and his brows raise as if he were asking a sarcastic ‘yes?’ When she shrugs lightly, smiling in return, he sends her a smirk before turning his gaze back to the road, peeling off at the light and turning up the music playing on the speaker to drown out his sister’s chatting. 

Milan blinks at the heat she feels on her face and refocuses on her phone, opening her messages from Sarah. 

Sorry about my brother. He’s a dick. When we get to the party you can hang with me. :)

The party was apparently at some house on the beach. Young adults were filling the walls of the building, spilling out onto the sand and grass. The music booms in the night air, and the smells of salt and weed fills their lungs.

Sarah pulls Milan along, their arms looped together as she guides her away from Rafe as quickly as possible. The man is clearly disinterested in following, offering Milan a brush on the shoulder before stalking off toward the back of the house, calls of his name in greeting following his arrival. 

“Oh okay, yeah, my friends are in the kitchen, c’mon.” Sarah tugs her the rest of the way, leading Milan to the dark kitchen over to a crowd of people. She recognizes one of the guys as the guy on Sarah’s phone. John B. she said his name was. Apparently, normally, Sarah stays with him at his house but Ward had asked her to come around today to meet with Milan’s family, and she did it because they were trying to ‘rebuild their family’. “Hi.”

John B. turns to her immediately, a grin spreading on his face as he pulls Sarah to him, effectively separating her and Milan. “Hi, baby.”

His loud blond friend with his arms draped around a pretty girl with brown skin peaks his head out from behind them, pausing mid story, and drunkenly causing his girl to stumble with him. The girl follows his gaze and offers her a kind smile, pushing the blond by his face, laughing at whatever he’s mumbling in her ear. “Hi,” she calls over the music. “I’m Angel. This drunk dumbass is JJ.” She huffs, as he gives Milan a wide grin and nod before guiding Angel’s face back to his.

The tall guy next to him is flanked by a shorter light skinned girl and a girl pouring shots, laughing with Sarah, calling her a lightweight with a thick accent. “Cleo. You want one?”

“Yeah, I’ll take a shot.” Milan shrugs. Her eyes squeeze shut as the liquid slides down her throat, burning it and her mouth. She shakes her head, before letting the warm feeling spread in her belly. A hand on her elbow grabs her attention and has her looking over her shoulder. 

“Come dance with me.” 

It’s some random guy, already tugging her toward the crowd of moving bodies, not waiting for her reply. “Oh, no thanks.” Milan plants her feet, stumbling a little against his pulling. 

“C’mon, you don’t like to dance?”

“No, I just don’t want to dance with you.” Milan chirps, glancing down at her nails to make sure he hadn’t made her accidentally knock a gem off. She watches as the guy’s face shifts from shock to a deep frown. He roughly releases her arm and storms off. She takes a couple steps back to where Sarah and her group are standing, seeing all of the couples wrapped into each other. The light skinned girl reaches her hand across the island counter to get her attention.

“You good? I was about to make my way over. The guys on this island are entitled assholes.” 

“Yeah, that’s guys everywhere. It’s never the cute ones that come to you, huh?”

“Nah, it’s generally the creeps and losers who feel bold.” The girl laughs. “I’m Kie, Kiara.” 

“Milan. Do you feel like dancing?” 

Kiara shrugs, mumbling a ‘why not’ glancing back at her own friends before taking Milan’s hand and leading her toward the sea of people dancing. Milan twirls Kie as they step onto the makeshift dance floor smiling as they begin dancing together. The two girls take turns spinning each other, holding each other’s hips and guiding their dance. Milan can feel several pairs of eyes on them as they rock against each other, the base of the drum in her ears and chest. But her eyes only searched for one set in particular. She allows Kiara to turn her and flips her hair out of her face. And then they are. Steely blue. 

Rafe blows smoke from his nose before licking his thumb, flicking through the stack of cash Kelce had just shoved into his hand. “Aight.” He nods, reaching his jacket pocket and producing a small bag of coke. He’d been giving Sarah and Milan space. For one, because he genuinely does not give a fuck what his hoe ass sister does. If she doesn’t give a fuck about the Cameron name then she could take that dirty pogue’s. On Milan’s end, Rafe was exercising self-restraint. He knows that now that they’re away from their families it wouldn’t take long for him to crack. She’d looked fucking gorgeous earlier that day, and even more so at dinner. Now that they were at a party, and he could take a fuckin’ second to breathe outside of Ward’s scrutiny…he’d break eventually. He was relying Sarah to keep her busy and away from him so he didn’t end up fucking her and fucking up the deal their fathers were trying to work out. 

“What the fuck? That’s it?”

Rafe’s brows furrow as he looks at his friend. “Yeah, you fuckin’ druggy, told you I needed to go see my supplier. Your fiend ass didn’t wanna fuckin’ wait, so take it.” 

“Shit.” Kelce scratches his head, scooping out some of the white powder and leaning forward on the couch to line it up on the coffee table. “Hey, that’s the girl from before right? At the club?”

Rafe looks up to find Milan across from him in the other room. He watches as she twirls and rolls her hips against Kiara’s. Her shiny dark hair bouncing from shoulder to shoulder and her pretty lips mouth along to the song that’s blasting throughout the house. He runs his thumb over his bottom lip as he watches her movements, completely unaware of the group of girls trying to flirt with him and offer him a bump on the couch next to him.

When they lock eyes her smile grows even brighter and his own becomes wolfish. Her movements become even more daring, she dips low, arching her back before coming back up quickly, flipping her hair and rolling her full body. Her hands cover Kiara’s on her hips as she puts on a show for him.  

Rafe chuckles darkly under his breath as he drinks her in, sitting back against the couch comfortably as if he’d paid for this little performance.

It all ends too quickly.

The song changes and Kiara leans into Milan’s ear, murmuring something and making a smoke motion before heading toward the sliding door in the kitchen. The girl is gone for like a few fucking seconds before the fuckin’ loser bastards that had been lurking around them pounce on Milan. Crowding her, trying to usher her into a dance. 

She pushes up onto her tiptoes, looking over some guy’s shoulder to regain eye contact with Rafe, an offer in her eyes as she motions him over with her finger. 

Shaking his head and smirking, Rafe pats his knee, challenging her. He cocks his head slightly to the side when she gently shakes her own head, and gestures for him to come to her with a single finger.

“Rafeeee, you got anymore?” A whiny voice calls to him. 

Right. He was supposed to be moving weight. Damn girl is distracting him. “Uh, yeah, I’m low right now, so I’ve only got baggies, aight?” 

“That’s fine,” the girl says flirtily. He rolls his eyes as he feels her hand on his knee. “You have discounts for pretty girls?”

His eyes drag back over to Milan and his jaw immediately clenches. She’s still facing him, but this time she had someone decidedly less acceptable in Rafe’s eyes clutching her. He watches as some prick who he used to play league basketball with when they were fuckhead teenagers basically nutting on Milan’s back. Rafe’s lip curls as he watches the girl dance for this guy. He couldn’t even think of his fucking name. Milan catches his eyes again, looking at him through her pretty lashes, shrugging absently. Seemingly completely unbothered by the goddamn loser basically humping her like a dog. Rafe feels his head swim dangerously and his stomach turn as he watches weak hands trail along her perfect body. Her brow quirks at him once before she turns in the guys arms, turning her back on Rafe. 

“Rafe?” The girl to his side looks at him questioningly, briefly trying to follow his gaze with her drug-addled brain, giving up and leaning on him again. 

“Uh, right, I’ll give it up for $200.” 

The girl’s eyes widen as she looks back at her friends who gesture for her to try again. She smiles at Rafe and tilts her head toward him. “Um, how much if we can hang out a little upstairs after?” 

“Oh shit.” Kelce chuckles, sniffing and wiping his nose. 

Rafe rolls his eyes. He’s so used to girls offering to sleep with him or suck his dick for drugs. Usually they at least ask him to give it to them for free, this girl was gonna fuck him for a discount. He rarely takes advantage of it, on doing it if he was trying to hit anyway. Really, he doesn’t have to exchange free drugs for getting his dick wet. Fuckin’ look at him.  

Right now, he wasn’t really in the mood for random pussy. Not when he literally can’t fucking see Milan in his line of sight anymore. And that fucking idiot that was grinding his dick on her was fucking gone too. He needed to look for her ASAP. “You got the $200 or what?”

The girl huffs and digs in her purse, dropping the money in his extended hand and snatching the bag off the table, grumbling ‘asshole’ under her breath as she and her friends stumble outside. 

As soon as Rafe pockets money he goes to shoot off of the couch to hunt Milan down, only to be stopped before he can fully stand. 

“Is that cocaine?” 

Milan’s sweet voice puts him on red alert. Rafe settles back into his seat and looks at her. She’s staring down at the table worriedly, wrapping her arms around herself as she stands in the doorway. “Was that guy a friend of yours?”

“You didn’t wanna dance.” she pouts.

“Okay?”

“And I wanted to dance.”

Brat. “So you, uh, just dance with some random dick instead?” He asks, giving her a disappointed look and relishing in the way she shifts under his gaze. 

Interestingly enough, even with his glare, she doesn’t back down, pursing her own lips and sitting on the arm of the couch. “Jeez, you’re strict, I feel bad for Sarah. Is that cocaine?”

“Yeah, I just provide a little party favor for my friends here and there. What, you want a bump?” He starts to test her limits, resting a large, warm hand on her thigh, feeling her through the thin fabric of her skirt. Careful not to move and startle her. 

“I don’t do coke. D’you?” 

It’s her wide-eyed look. The dimpled frown as she glances back down to the white substance on the table. She gives herself away to him easily. Milan is a good girl. She’s just a good girl who knows she’s pretty. That’s what the whole dance was about. She was being cute. That’s what she does. But she’s not really about shit. Daddy’s girl with a protective older brother. Two dragons guarding their little princess. Never had anyone tell her no and mean it. If Rafe used the logic in his brain, he would know, he’s too much. What he expects of the girls he hooks up with. God forbid dates. He’d turn this pretty little thing out. He should be nice, and leave her alone. 

But Rafe isn’t a nice guy. Not really.

“‘Course not, can’t get high on my own supply.” He smoothes a thumb over her knee. “Don’t worry, Princess, it can’t jump off the table and get you.”

Kelce snorts and Milan’s brows furrow. Rafe whips his head around to his friend, nudging him sharply and sending him a silent message. “Oh, uh, I’m gonna get another drink. I’ll be back.” Rafe sends him another look. “Or I won’t.”

As soon as Kelce gets up, Rafe scoots over on the couch, holding one of Milan’s hands and guiding her onto it with him. “That was one of your friends from earlier right? At the country club?” 

“Yeah, Kelce, he’s a fuckin’ idiot.” He says absently, reaching over and grabbing the blunt he’d abandoned when he’d started dealing, re-lighting it. “You don’t smoke weed either, huh?”

Milan shrugs, scooting closer. “I just don’t know how to do it by myself.” 

God she’s just fuckin’ perfect isn’t she? Rafe hangs his head, letting out an exasperated laugh. It’s like she was sent as a test. She’s already bad as shit, she’s just sitting here, damn near in his lap with her big fuck-me eyes and wide-open personality. She knows she’s sexy and that’s just about it. But her dad let her go because he was supposed to be responsible. That’s big money on the table, and Ward would fuckin’ kill him if he was distracted by the opportunity to hit on the literal oil baron’s daughter. “Figures, pretty thing like you can’t do anything by herself. What, you need me to light it for you?”

“I’ve only ever had someone shotgun it for me.” She says.

Rafe’s hand is at the back of her head, fist in her hair before he can even realize what he’s doing. He pulls her close, tugging her against him and halting right before she hits his lips. He brings the blunt to his own lips, inhaling the smoke before leaning even closer, drunk on the way she’s looking at him. “Yeah?”

When she gasps out a breath, offering him a little nod, already puckering her plump, lips for him.

Fuck it. Rafe thinks. 

He could be a responsible man for his dad tomorrow.

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 9: Pretty Tired of Talking About Tennis

Note: Well...I'm back. And I have several things to say in this author's note. A.) sorry, it should've been sooner. B.) I can't wait to get back into the swing of this story. Most importantly, C.) thank you so much for the continued love you've shown it. As those who have seen the movie know, we're quite literally still in the beginning. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and the ones to come. Please remember these characters are all meant to be flawed but none completely evil as you read. They will be toxic and make mistakes. Our good friend Patrick is distinctly missing in this one, but don't worry, his absence is not permanent. Anyways, I love interacting with you all so feel free to send me messages, things in my inbox, and comment. And to those who would like to know who's children those are...well...what do you guys think? I'd love to hear thoughts and guesses. If this sucks let's chalk it up to me being rusty and I'll try to do better next time lol. Love y'all <3

Warnings: Mention of sexual content, strong language, themes of cheating (MDNI)

Taglist (This shit normally doesn't work for me): @spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

“This is some bullshit. Now, they don’t wanna sing.” Heaven shakes her head, flexing her toes against Tashi’s leg on the other side of the couch. “That’s so stupid.”

“They need to get rid of those other two girls, clearly, Chanel and Galleria want it more.” Tashi shrugs, swatting Heaven’s foot away, rolling her eyes when she feels the girl drop them right back into her lap. “I’m Galleria, you’re Chanel.”

“Um, I’m definitely Galleria, what the fuck are you even saying?” 

“Nope,” Tashi says, popping the ‘p’ and reaching across the coffee table to take a sip of her drink, cringing at the bitter taste of alcohol on her tongue. “Okay, this is fucking nasty, we probably should’ve looked up what the fuck we were making.”

“Mm. And have my mom find out we drank when she goes through my computer? Girl.” Heaven shifts in her seat, moving to sit criss-crossed and face Tashi on the couch. “Cheers.” She grins, pushing her mug against Tashi’s, smiling even harder when the taller girl mirrors her position and makes a little ‘tink’ sound as the glasses collide. “You wouldn’t even like having two other girls that hang out with us all the time.”

Tashi’s brows furrow disbelief clear on her face at the accusation. “Me? Why?”

“You’re possessive.”

“I’m not possessive, you just pick dickheads to fuck with.” 

“Oh yeah? And your type is better?” Heaven snorts, leaning to the side, reaching over to the coffee table digging through the makeup bag of nail polishes Tashi had presented her with when they’d started setting up for their little movie night. Heaven produces a sage green polish from the bag, waving the bottle for Tashi’s approval. “Caleb was the cream of the crop then?”

Tashi shrugs, reaching into Heaven’s lap and selecting the baby blue the dancer had selected for herself. “Better than Chance. Try to stay in the lines this time?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Heaven mumbles, a smile on her face as she takes Tashi’s hand, hunching over, breaking her generally perfect posture to focus in on her friend’s delicate nails. Tashi sits back and watches as Heaven tilts her head in concentration, biting down lightly on her bottom lip as she glides the brush across her fingernails, the cool polish setting in as Heaven lightly blows on each nail as she goes. “Chance was the fucking worst.”

“Yeah and he hated me.”

“All of your boyfriends always hate me.” Heaven hums. “Wonder why that is.”

Tashi smiles, turning her face away for a second, giving herself a break from the thrumming feeling looking at Heaven gives her and watching the scene playing out on tv. It was something of a mutiny. Dorinda and Aqua, talking shit about Galleria to Chanel. Calling her a diva and demanding that her best friend do something. Chanel knowing her friend had gone too far, done too much and loving her anyway. Because their dreams were too important. Their friendship took precedent. “Probably because they know you’re obsessed with me. Look at you, working so hard to paint my nails and make me all pretty.”

“You’re the one who picked out my favorite color.” Heaven purses her lips, closing the polish and placing it back into the bag, holding out Tashi’s hand to admire her own work. “They’re just jealous because I;m a better boyfriend to you than they are. No one meets your expectations like I do.”

“Yeah?” Tashi challenges, quirking an eyebrow, her own twin grin matching Heaven’s. “You think you impress me?” Locked in a stalemate, both girls are unflinching, both daring the other to look away, to fold first. That’s how it starts. Their staring contest had begun as a battle of wills. The smell of popcorn and nail polish in the air. The distant noise of the ‘All Around the World’ song from Cheetah Girls playing on the television. The dark hallways leading to the living room threaten to suddenly reveal Heaven’s stepfather or worse mother to discover them and burst their bubble. But what was more pressing was the energy between the two girls. It was nothing they hadn’t felt before. After a heated match, as they rush together to celebrate another victory for Tashi, Heaven’s voice hoarse from how loudly she’d screamed from her. After each show, or recital, when Heaven is still doused in show makeup and glitter, and Tashi can’t help but see a shining star when she’s looking her in the face. But this time, Tashi did something different. Something only Heaven has ever been able to draw out of her in her 16 years of living. 

She concedes.

“Hev, you’re really pretty. Obviously,” she pulls Heaven’s hand into her own lap, toying with her fingers, without breaking eye contact. Her voice dropping to a whisper. “You know that.”

Heaven can appreciate it. Tashi putting herself out there like this, no matter how small the gesture. She got the point. And it was hard for Tashi, for both of them, to be vulnerable. Heaven had spent the past year wrestling with the feelings she’d developed for her friend. She’d just convinced herself she was satisfied just being her favorite person, even if they weren’t romantic a few months ago. Sure she flirted and joked, but she never thought Tashi would initiate something. There wasn’t anything in the world at that moment that could make her leave her hanging. 

“Yeah, but, you’re the only person it really matters to hear it from.” Heaven’s cheeks dimple as she scoots closer, intertwining her fingers with Tashi’s. 

Tashi’s brows furrow as she cocks her head back, creating a little more space as Heaven leans in, causing the other girl to roll her eyes. “And?”

“And,” Heaven’s nose wrinkles playfully as she sits up on her knees, breathing softly against Tashi’s lips before connecting them with hers. “You’re really pretty too.”

2019 (California)

Heaven speed walks down the walkway to the larger waiting room she knew Art would be placed in. A splitting stress headache is already forming in the front of her brain as she makes her way past the busy employees running the event, hiding her face from the flashing lights of fans and photographers. 

As she rounds the corner she sees Tashi pacing back and forth, running her fingers through her bob and biting her lower lip. She pauses in her steps as she sees Heaven making her way toward her. Clapping her hands together and shrugging she fixes Heaven with a disapproving look. “This should be easy. What the fuck is wrong with him?”

“Why? What happened?”

“He’s just,” Tashi huffs out a breath, shaking her head. “He doesn’t give a fuck. I can’t give a fuck for him, Heaven.”

“M’not asking you to. Stop talking to me like that, you’re not my coach, you’re Art’s.” Heaven snaps the gum in her mouth irritably.

“I am his coach.”

“Then coach him.”

“Arthur is a grown man-” Tashi scoffs, laughing humorously.

“I know.” 

“I can’t get him to do anything that he doesn’t want to do.” 

“Be patient with him.”

“Interestingly enough, that’s your job, not mine.” Tashi grimaces, leaning down to mumble as a pair of fans walk by waving at them. Heaven offers them her own smile and nod as they pass.  Team Donaldson is a unit after all. “Look, I’m doing my part. He needs to do his, or this doesn’t work. Then none of us are happy.” Tashi tilts her head in the direction of the door. “Look, he’s asking for you. If you can get him together, that’s great, if not…”

“He’s fine, Tashi. I’m gonna talk to him. Let me talk to him.” Heaven’s tired. She knows Tashi’s tired and it’s obvious Art is. But this has to work. They’ve worked too hard. All of them have worked too hard to not make it to the finish. Heaven reaches out, grabbing Tashi’s hand and squeezing, her own face softening at the exhausted look on Tashi’s pretty face. “Let me fix it.”

Tashi takes another deep breath, eyes slipping closed briefly before flexing her fingers around Heaven’s, twisting the gold band underneath the accent ring on her finger. “He needs to be ready in 7 minutes. I’m giving you 5.”

“That’s all I need.”

The door clicks open and Art’s eyes trail over from the wall to the doorway. 

“Arthur.”

Heaven stands in front of him with her hand on her hip, the other hand wrapped around the knob as the view of a sour Tashi fades from his view as the door closes again, head tilted as if she’s observing him. He shifts under the weight of her gaze, sitting back in the fold out chair, opening his legs and holding out one of his calloused hands he’d just been inspecting. Art holds his breath as she purses her lips, raising a single brow at him as she decides if she feels like bothering with him, if she is mad at him too. 

He releases that breath when she rolls her eyes, taking two large steps before standing between his legs, resting her own soft, unbroken hands on his face, soothing the frown on his lips away with each brush of her thumb. She allows him to explore with his own hands the body he’d wished he’d woken up to that morning. Every morning. He runs his palms up and down her strong, dancer’s legs, taking in her sweet scent as he pushes his face against her stomach and his palms squeeze her ass, pulling her closer. A familiar wave of pride washes over him as he feels the difference in fabric between the rest of her tracksuit and the letters painted across the backside that were similarly spelled out across her chest.

DONALDSON

“What the fuck?” She all but whispers, her rose petal lips set into a confused grimace. “You don’t wanna play today?”

“I never said that.” he mumbles against the fabric. Heaven pushes him by his shoulders so that he settles against the back of the chair and leans down so they’re face to face, sighing as Art pushes their foreheads together. 

“So, why are you sitting here like someone who doesn’t wanna go play some fucking tennis?” She asks. Big brown eyes scan his somber face, her manicured thumb sweeps across the skin of his cheek. “He’s a fucking nobody, Art.”

“I know that.” 

“So what’s the problem?” Heaven squints, brows furrowing, pushing him away again as he rubs his face against hers. She guides him by his chin, forcing him back enough so that can look him in his eyes. “Are you done?”

“Baby-” He starts, only for her to pull him even closer.

“No, seriously. Are you done? Is this all? Let me know now.” 

“I never…I never said that, it’s just-” Art stares up into concerned brown eyes and sees his reflection in them. He can't take it. The look. It’s not the stern look of disapproval or disdain. It’s not even annoyance or agitation. It's disappointment. It’s fear. Fear that he’s tapped out. Fear that he is done. He can see that Heaven is petrified of what that would mean. And Art is too. “I dunno, Hev.” 

She cups his face then, her warm hands contrasted by the cold ring on her finger, her proximity clouding his judgment and overpowering thoughts of exhaustion and disinterest. Heaven seduces him with the love in her eyes. She climbs fully into his lap then, resting her weight on him as they melt together, tension in his body dissipating with each new place their bodies meet. “I want to help you. Tell me how. Tell me what you need. Tell me what you need me to do, Art, and I’ll do it. What do you want, baby?” 

“I want,” He sighs deeply, eyes fluttering shut as he brushes his lips against hers, gripping her waist tighter as they share their air. “I want you to look at me.” His lips capture hers in a heated kiss. Heaven opens her mouth to him, releasing her own sigh as their tongues brush before she tugs his bottom lip into her mouth. A small sound of surprise escapes her as Art steals the gum from her mouth, holding it out of the way in his cheek as he explores her mouth. “Just me.” He murmurs against her lips. 

Heaven pulls back at that, pressing one more kiss on his nose, face softening when he leans into the last little piece of affection desperately, before dropping his own kisses on her nose, forehead and jaw, ending with her palm. “I’m always looking at you, superstar.”

It’s almost like fate wanted to remind him that’s not true. That these little moments in time are just a fantasy. Because just like that the room doors were opening and Tashi was power walking her way in. Suddenly, those brown eyes didn’t belong to him anymore. Neither set of them. Instead, there’s a silent conversation happening over his head. A language he couldn’t understand even if it were spoken out loud. He’s cold under the shadows they cast as they discuss him without him. His mind wanders as his eyes trail back over to the picture of a younger, more enthusiastic him that hangs on the waiting room wall. 

There’s another knock at the door that catches the trio’s attention, a woman with a headset pokes her head in and offers the blond a wide smile, a fan working the event no doubt, damn near gushing as she holds her clipboard to her chest. “Mr. Donaldson, it’s time.”

“Okay.” Tashi answers for him. The woman is shaken then, acknowledging there are two other people in the room. Two other athletes. There always are, with Art. But he’s the star. In everyone else’s eyes. He’s the one that matters. She nods and leaves the room, scurrying away to her hurry and fulfill whatever other responsibilities, no doubt in interest of finishing in time to see the Art Donaldson play.  Heaven doesn’t even wait for them, following the employee out as both Tashi and Art watch her slip from the room to meet them outside. Tashi moves in front of Art, smoothing her hand over his hair as she studies his face. She cups her hand under his mouth glancing down at it expectantly. Breathing out a heavy sigh, Art spits his gum into her open palm, before feeling the other hand hold his other cheek. “Decimate that little bitch.”

Leo Du Marier was a new player. He was the best in his school and eventually made it into the big leagues. Big enough that today, he’d be playing against Art Donaldson today. The kid was fucking shitting his pants. Art Donaldson has basically won, every fucking award a tennis player could win, and was the youngest to do so. All he was missing was the U.S. Open. Du Marier himself had waited in line for an embarrassing amount of time to try and score a pair of Nike x Donaldson sneakers when they’d dropped. The younger player couldn’t decide if he was excited to meet the man he wishes to model his career after or petrified. The man was going to destroy him. Humiliate him. He knows it. 

The only thing that gave him some kind of relief was that Art was known to be kind. While the man was admittedly smug, past opponents do speak of the crooked smile and strong handshake that he offers after he drags them through the fucking mud. He’s seen many pictures that the blond man has taken with people just like Du Marier, wrapping his arm around them on one side, but refusing to let go of whatever trophy he’d wrenched out of their hands with the other. 

At least he’d kick his ass with a kind smile. 

So, when Du Marier’s coach nudges him as they make their way through the player’s tunnel leading to the courts and he sees Art, he stops. He feels larger than life. Not in height, because though he’s pretty tall, it’s not the length of him. It’s the stride. It’s the walk. His gear. It’s pristine, with his name printed on it. His demeanor. It’s not at all what the younger player had expected. It’s cold and unmoving. Nothing like the player he’d seen from the bleachers years ago when he was too young to even enter. Flanking his sides are two beautiful women, walking in unison with him, all of their steps coming off perfectly executed and calculated. Each of them seemingly the exact same distance apart from each other. Du Marier couldn’t help but stare. 

And Art felt it. He turns his head, looking at him. Staring. Almost…glaring. It felt like ice in his veins as he watched the celebrity frown at him, not so much as offering a wave as he made his way past. Du Marier unconsciously holds his breath, waiting, pleading for the moment to pass. He thanks his fucking lucky stars as one of the woman’s hand makes its way to Art’s face, diamond ring glittering against her skin as she guides his face forward before they exit the tunnel, waving to the paparazzi. 

“Did you see that look? He’s going to destroy me, no?”

“Worry about it later, Leo.”

As Du Marier watches the Art Donaldson, send yet another tennis racket sailing against the wall, sweat dripping down his brow he releases his breath. A smile spreads across his face as some of the crowd cheers for him and even more of them boo him for his win. He was cool with being an underdog success story. Especially against that asshole. He could feel the people in the crowd nearly vibrating with disappointment, as the fan favorite lost another match. He used to be one of them. Rooting for the blond asshole across the net. But now? Well, maybe this is why they say don’t meet your fuckin’ heroes. 

He could at least say, to Art’s credit, he didn’t seem to give a fuck about the crowd. As he paced along the court, kicking his chair and swearing under his breath, he only seemed to be looking in one section. To be honest, it’d been the only section he’d bothered looking at the entire match. One might say he’d looked so much that it was what threw him off. Du Marier takes a second to follow Art’s gaze, eyes flicking between the angry tennis player and two empty seats. He couldn’t help but understand why Art was so upset. Leo would be hurt too if his wife and coach left before they even got to matchpoint. 

.

2007 (California: Stanford Campus) 

Heaven’s leg jumps as she sits in the spectator seat, watching the ball go back and forth between Tashi and Art twice before it rolls to a stop on Art’s side. She drops her head back in the chair in annoyance as she hears Tashi huff. 

“Hit the ball.”

She doesn’t even bother opening her eyes as she hears Tashi serve, a severe lack in the sound of footsteps coming from Art’s side. He’s not even trying. It’s just gonna piss her off. It’s not helping us see what she can do. Heaven groans when she hears the ball hit the fence behind him and sits up with a frown on her face.

“What’re you, scared you’re gonna hurt me?” Tashi growls, gripping her racket. Her brows are furrowed as she glares at the blond man who simply opens his mouth and then closes it, glancing at Heaven as if she was supposed to save him from Tashi’s scrutiny. “Pussy.” 

With that, Heaven climbs down from the spectator’s seat, walking irritably over to Art’s side, tugging up her gym shorts and hopping a little from one foot to the other. “Tashi, come on.” She holds her hand out for Art’s racket without sparing him a glance, “move.” she mumbles nudging him out of the way.

Heaven is by no means a tennis player. Recreationally, she could hold her own very well, and she was quick on her feet due to dance, but the real reason she could play decently was because Tashi demanded it. It was for when Tashi was antsy and no one else was unavailable. Or when she was upset and needed to blow off some steam the only way she knew how. 

“Actually try to hit the ball.” The taller girl says grumpily, rounding back into position, sitting into a squat.

And she does. 

Heaven tries very hard. She respects Tashi, and she knows she’s the better player, so she does her best. And it’s good for a few moments. Until she tries to send her down the line, and her knee gives out, sending her down onto the court. 

Art is jumping over the net in a flash trying to get to the girl and help her up. But Heaven just stands behind, twirling the racket in her hand.

“Tashi, get up.” 

“I am. I’m good-” she lightly pushes Art’s helping hands away, leg wobbling as she attempts to stand, pushing off of the rough gravel of the court. “I’m good, I’m fine-”

“Hold on.” Art says softly, holding the girl’s arms, sighing as her knee buckles slightly, causing her to stumble. “Maybe we should take a break for today.”

“She’s fine. We need to keep going.” Heaven walks over to the net, taking Art’s outstretched hand as she swings her legs over, oblivious to Tashi's eyes dropping to their hands. “T, you’re good, right?”

“I’m fine.” the taller girl grits her teeth, trying to regain her balance.

“See?”

Art sucks some air between his teeth, running his hand along Heaven’s arm, pulling her a little closer, speaking softly. “Hev, her knee, c’mon.” 

Tashi feels her skin crawl as Art and Heaven’s eyes drop to her leg. The fucking pity in Art’s voice. The frustration on Heaven’s face. She was so fucking sick of being injured. Her teammates were bad enough, but Art the fucking tennis player who is hellbent on stealing her girlfriend, and said success junkie girlfriend looking at her the way they were was literally too much to fucking bear. She couldn’t handle him feeling bad for her and Heaven looking at her like she was damaged good. She was already irritable because that loser Patrick had been blowing up her goddamn phone with nothing but excuses. Even after she’d made it clear she never wanted to see him again. Then she misses one recital. One goddamn opener and all of a sudden Heaven was ‘navigating’ a new relationship with Art. They weren’t breaking up, but now there are feelings between the two of them. She can understand the appeal of Art. He’s hot, a good player, successful in his own right. And desperate. A lovesick puppy, hearts damn near appearing in his eyes when the object of his affection is in the room. But he’s here and he’s a constant reminder of what her body is screaming it can’t do anymore. They both are. And her choosing him in Tashi’s face only made the pain worse. “Ignore him. Let’s keep going.”

Her voice sounds stronger in her head than it does out loud, leading her girlfriend to pause. “T, maybe Art’s right and you need a break?”

“Jesus fucking christ, fucking forget it.” she hisses, tossing her head back. “If you don’t want to help me you seriously just go.”

“I’m here to fucking help you!”

“You’re here to fuck Art, which is fine, trust me, I don’t fucking care.” Tashi shrugs, laughing humorlessly. 

“Hey, Tashi-” Art starts, standing between them.

“I’m here to help you, Tashi. That’s what I always do, that’s why I’m always here.” 

“Well, I don’t need your help right now. I really don’t need to fuck up my other leg.” Tashi finishes, crossing her arms. Heaven’s mouth drops open, eyes watering as she stares at her girlfriend in shock.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean was it supposed to be helpful finding out you’re cheating on me with our friend and then watching you fight with our boyfriend right before my match?” Tashi smoothes a hand over her messy ponytail, wetting her lips. “It’s fine, I forgive you. You too, thank you, for rubbing that in my face by the way, friend. I forgive you, for white knighting your way into my girlfriend’s pants and taking the time to let me know right before one of the biggest matches of my college career.”

Heaven’s eyes widen, turning to look between Art and Tashi, bottom lip wobbling as she holds back the tears that threaten to flood her eyes. Tashi rolls her own eyes to the sky, looking away as Art wraps his arm around Heaven, tugging her into a hug, murmuring an apology and stammering explanations into her hair. “Tashi, that’s not how it went, alright? All she ever does is try to think of you, and care about you.”

“Fucking kidding me.” the girl murmurs, limping to the other side of the court. Heaven watches as Tashi picks up a stray ball, bouncing it off of the fence and beginning to practice by herself. She shifts in Art’s arms, looking up at him. 

“I’m um, gonna stay with her for a while. Practice with her a bit. Can we…can I talk to you later?”

Blue and brown puppy dog eyes stare into her soul, and involuntary pout forming as Art lets Heaven send him off, chest tight as he feels his own wave of guilt overtake him. 

Art is anxious for the next few hours as he waits to hear from Heaven or Tashi. He’d hope they’d talk and call him back. But as day turned to night, he realized that the girls may have genuinely just needed him out of the way to continue peacefully practicing. 

He wishes he’d said more. Done more. Heaven and Tashi’s relationship is so complex, it feels like a minefield to navigate. Sometimes they’re friends, sometimes they’re girlfriends, sometimes it’s like they believe they’re the only two people in the world. He couldn’t step in and yell at Tashi, he wouldn’t want to, and even if he did, Heaven wouldn’t tolerate it for a second. He couldn’t bring himself to ask Heaven to leave with him. Partially because part of him wonders if what Tashi was starting to say was right. Did he ruin her life? He, Patrick, and Heaven, were walking out of this mess they made relatively unscathed and Tashi’s dreams were likely ruined. Anyone could look at the proud girl and know she’s devastated. Had her life been better without them in it? Had Heaven’s? 

The other reason being he’d feared what he would find out. It was one thing, to gain some confidence and beat Patrick out for something they both wanted. Someone. But his friend was liable to fuck up in some way, to lose the girls and leave room for Art to take his place. But Tashi was nearly flawless. She was so similar and different from Heaven, anyone could see they compliment each other. And Heaven loves her so much. Tashi has years worth of ‘I love you’ from Heaven under her belt. Art had just managed to get two to match his fifty. He didn’t want to know what would happen if he drew a line in the sand, held out his hand for Heaven when Tashi was going in the opposite direction. And so he’s careful. And he waits. He was choosing not to play a game he’s almost certain he would lose. 

It’s no shock to him when Heaven texts him at 1:25 in the morning to let him know she’d gone back to UCLA. He’d already packed a bag to take with him and had begun shoving one shoe on his foot, stumbling around the room as his phone vibrated with her message. He would chase her. Art would always chase her if he had to. Even if someone was pulling her away. 

But not if she didn’t want it. 

No. If Heaven decided she needed space, she didn’t…want him, he’d do what she wanted. Even if it hurts him. She’s worth it.

That’s exactly what he tells himself as he climbs into his twin sized bed, biting down on his own fist, willing himself not to cry when the phone brings him the message he was dreading.

I’ve got to think through some things. I think we need space…we did a bad thing Art.

Well, Tashi did warn him. When it came to Heaven, she’d never really lose.

2019 (California)

“Ouch this is getting to be brutal, you just can’t be missing shots like that.”

Tashi cuts her eyes toward Art, sipping her coffee silently as he meets her eyes, offering her a borderline sarcastic smile. 

“And there goes the racket.”

“He was playing really well.”

Tashi leans forward, placing her drink on the table before crossing her arms. “I’m pulling you out of Cincinnati.” 

“T-”

“Might as well pull you out of the Open too, if this isn’t gonna be your year then why bother?” she shrugs, kicking her feet back up onto the hotel couch. 

“I’m just rusty, it’s a confidence thing.”

“Get your fucking confidence back, I can’t do it for you. Heaven can’t do it for you.”

“No one is asking you to.” He sighs, grabbing his protein shake from the table. 

“When you play like that you are.” The door to the suite clicks open and Heaven comes in wearing a gym set, one headphone covering her ear, the other pushed back on her head. Art’s eyes follow her as she pauses, briefly making eye contact with him before leaning over the counter and typing on her phone. “I would fucking kill for a recovery like yours, a child, an old lady, fucking anybody.” 

“Okay, jesus.” Heaven calls from behind the couch, making her way over. She leans over the back of the couch, resting her forearms and curling her lip. 

Tashi shrugs again, adjusting herself to look at Heaven. “I mean we’re all adults here. Everyone has made decisions, if this is it, if this is all you guys want as your legacy that’s fine. We’ve all made enough money. We can retire, and be rich people, run the foundations.”

“Where are they?”

“In the living room.”

The three adults pause their conversation, all plastering easy looks onto their faces as Aurora comes bounding in, curls still dripping wet from the tub, plopping herself onto the couch between Tashi and Art. Tashi’s mom hovering in the doorway. 

“Hi, baby.” Tashi chirps, adjusting the girl’s Doc McStuffins nightgown. 

“Can we watch Spiderverse?” 

“Of course we can. Course we can, it’s just, we gotta talk about tennis right now.” Tashi pouts, running her hands along the little girl’s hair.

“But you’re always talking about tennis.”

“I know baby,” Tashi sends Art a pointed look, causing him to drag  his own eyes over to Heaven. The shorter woman stands behind the couch, rubbing her temples, eyes closed, refusing to look at either of them. “I know.” 

“Aurora, baby, I’ll watch with you. That’s like, my favorite movie.” Heaven smiles brightly, the grin not meeting her eyes as she walks around the front of the couch, taking Aurora’s hand in hers. “Besides, I’m getting pretty tired of talking about tennis too.”

Tashi picks up her phone, shaking her head as Art watches Heaven leave with Aurora, the separator for the bedroom closing shut behind them. “She likes it here. Aurora.” She snaps her phone shut. “Heaven doesn’t.”

“We could figure something out. Something more permanent. Or, closer to New York.” Art sighs, a pained expression on his face as he stares past Tashi at the doorway. 

“We could. I meant what I said. If this is all you can handle. It ends here.” The blond man swallows, bringing his gaze back to the woman in front of him. He knows it’s not true. It’s not okay if he can’t get them to the finish line. No matter how tired he is. “Or you can keep being a tennis player, which is what you are. What do you want?”

“I can play Cincinnati.”

“No, no you can’t. Not like this. Let me see.” Tashi crosses her legs as she scrolls through her phone, finally finding something she deems reasonable and scooting closer to Art, turning her phone to him. “Phil’s Tire Town, that seems promising.”

Art skims the information on the page and scoffs in disbelief, “That’s a challenger.”

“That, is exactly what you need to get your fuckin’ confidence back. Because in middle of fucking nowhere, Phil’s Tire Town, there will be absolutely nobody on the other side of the net who can shake your fucking confidence. Right?” She doesn’t wait for him to respond before she stands, declaring she was going to make a call to get him a spot.

He feels a wave of embarrassment at the thought of going to butt fuck nowhere to participate in the kind of Challenger he hadn’t participated in since he was 19. He’s fucking humiliated actually. But before the shame can overtake him, he catches sight of the gold band gleaming on his hand that he’d been sure to put back on as soon as his match was over. And any complaints he’d had are suddenly being drowned out by the fear of what would happen if he didn’t finish. 

“Tashi.”

“We had a deal, Art. I upheld my end, you uphold yours.”

[theitgirlnetwork]

Hi! I love your writing soo much! Especially your" Better" series. Do you think you could write something where Lip is a single, teen dad who has a daughter? I really want to see him as a girl dad!

Hii!!! Thank you so much! I'm glad you're enjoying! I appreciate this so much. He is very girl dad coded to me so I love this. I also think being a dad, particularly a teen one would bring out some complex feelings in Lip. Also there's a bonus at the end that people who don't like Charlotte (the OC from Better) should skip. It's short and sweet, but let me know if you guys want more from Phoebe Gallagher.

warning: strong language

“I’m fucked.”

That was the first thing Lip said to his little brother Ian, blowing smoke into the air of their shared bedroom when he got home from seeing his…girlfriend…bestfriend…? Babymama. 

When Karen had invited him over to her house earlier that day, he’d assumed he was gonna get to fuck. Or at least get some head. He’d had a long day in the two classes he’d attended, a blowie was exactly what he’d needed. And to her credit, that’s what he’d gotten. Except immediately after she spit into one of her mother’s doilies and got off of her knees she unenthusiastically announced to him, ‘I’m pregnant.’ And then she started flipping through a magazine. 

Lip sat on the edge of her bed for a solid twenty minutes just opening and closing his mouth. Finally swallowing down the lump that immediately formed in his throat and fixed his wide blue eyes on her.  “You…gonna keep it?”

It’s fair. That Karen kicked him out. He understood. 

But shit. He was just a kid. He wasn’t ready to be a fucking dad, he’d been carrying around the same $30 for the past week in an attempt to replenish he and Ian’s weed supply. Fiona was gonna fucking kill him. He was gonna fucking kill himself.

Lip dragged himself home from Karen’s, ran upstairs, ignoring the calls from Debbie to help her with her homework and slammed the door. Ian had made his way in a lit a blunt for them to share, pushing open their rickety window, sitting with him in silence until the dam finally burst and Lip started confessing. 

“Yeah, you are.” Ian blows a cloud of smoke from his nostrils, snorting as Lip kicks his leg with his own. “I don’t know why you’re so worried man, there’s no way Karen’ll keep it. Even if she does, any person with a dick within a 40 mile radius could be the dad.” 

“Fuck you.”

“You’re gonna have to clean up that language when the baby gets here.” 

After Lip climbed over the bed and kicked Ian’s ass, he rolled back into his, gritting his teeth to himself. He was at an impasse. He couldn’t believe he’d fucked up like this. Sure he’d hit raw a couple of times, but he’d thought they were good. He mostly pulls out. And Isn’t Karen supposed to handle that? And he’s not a fucking idiot. He knows Karen is a hoe. But the intimacy he’d had with her, he can’t believe she shares with everyone else. They’re best friends, and they love each other. There’s no way she’d let him believe the baby was his if it wasn’t.

So he’s having a baby. So what? Lip is living in a modern era. There are…options. Before the baby is born and after. If Karen keeps it, they can put it up for adoption. They could give it to a family who really wants it, who will take care of it. They could give it a good home, away from it’s shitty parents. It wouldn’t get stuck being a Gallagher with an addict and bum for a father. His baby…the baby…it could be loved and cared for. And Lip could go about his business. He could live up to his potential, without any baggage holding him back. 

He’d really believed that to be true, too. He thought he’d be able to see that baby one good time, and pass them off without any regret, content to know that any responsibility he had for it had dissipated. 

But then he saw her. 

Lip was standing there, in oversized scrubs, and clutching Karen’s hand when he first heard her take her first breath. She’d let out a wail so loud and Lip felt his heart ache at the sound. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d let go of Karen’s hand. His feet moved without his permission, guiding him over to the sinks where the nurses were washing her off. He trailed after her to get a good glimpse, and when he did, the world changed. 

Large blue eyes. Little wisps of hair. Her cries slow to small hiccups. 

Lip was in love. 

The older nurse rocks the newly swaddled baby slowly, smiling brightly as she makes her way back to where Karen lies in the bed. “Well, Mom, your beautiful baby girl has arrived. Let me let you hold her-”

“No.” Karen cut in sharply, her tone startles Lip and all off the nurses. The teen girl grips the railing of the bed, grunting as she scoots up, looking at everyone but the little angel squirming in the nurse’s arms. “I…don’t wanna hold her. I don’t want to see her. Give her to the agency lady.” 

“But-” the nurse stammers, looking between her and Lip.

“Honey,” the doctor lowers her mask, bending to make herself level with Karen. “You can change your mind. You can still decide that you’d like to keep your baby.”

“She’s not my baby.” Karen breathes, screwing her face up in determination. 

Lip doesn’t understand. He can’t understand. How could she be here, in the room, with that baby…hell, carry her for 9 months, and choose not to even look at her. Even hold her. He could respect not wanting to be a mom yet, not being ready. But right now, the way Karen was acting, she’s never reminded him of his own parents more. 

That little girl deserves better. She deserves love. She deserves someone who would love her more than anything.

“Um, excuse me,” He hears himself say. His hands extend toward the nurse as everything else in the room becomes blurry except the new little human that was half of him but just that fast, all his. “I’d…um…I’d like to hold her.”

“Phoebe, baby, it’s good. Watch, Daddy likes it.” 

Lip brings the pink rubber spoon to his mouth, spooning a small scoop of his daughter’s turkey puree baby food into his mouth. As soon as the taste hits his tongue he gags, dropping the spoon to the table and shooting up. “Motherfucker!”

Phoebe squeals, giggling as her father darts over to the sink, sticking his head under the faucet and attempts to flush out the foul taste. 

“That shit is fucking nasty, Daddy’s sorry he tried to give you that.” He coughs, lifting the girl out of her highchair and into his arms. The blond buries his face into his daughter’s chubby cheeks, nosing her golden curls out of the way before kissing her cheek repeatedly. 

“Are you still here?” Fiona asks, tilting her head and crossing her arms in disapproval as she watches their display. She’d been surprised when her brother had stopped his ex-girlfriend from putting their baby up for adoption last year. He’d been determined, filling out the necessary paperwork for full custody before completely ex-communicating Karen. He'd not asked Fiona about moving the newborn into their home when he asserted he’d be raising her himself. He was undeterred by her declaration that he’d be on his own, and the baby would not at all be her responsibility. He’d simply adjusted the baby carrier on his hip, flipping her off before carrying the little girl up to his room. 

His academic excellence was the only thing that encouraged teachers to be understanding about his almost constant absences. “I, uh, I gotta skip today, Phoebe has a doctor’s appointment.” He says, smoothing a hand over his daughter’s cherub cheeks, brushing away remains of the baby cheese puffs he gave her while he’d gotten her food out. 

“This is the third time this week.” Fiona sighs, crossing her arms. “Lip-”

“It’s fine, fuck it, it doesn’t matter.”

“It’s your senior year. There’s limits on how many days you can miss before they stop you from graduating.” Fiona nods to herself, mumbling an ‘okay’ under her breath. “I can watch her today. I don’t work until tonight, alright, I’ll take the baby, you go to school, we’ll figure out a schedule later.”

Lip wants to accept. He does. He’s done a year of being a father without accepting any help, mainly because no one was fuckin’ offering, but also because no one would take care of his baby quite like he would. He stops by the school and picks up his work. Hell, some days, he brings her with him, the ghetto ass district he lives in isn’t exactly strict, how could they tell their most promising student he couldn’t bring his very well behaved baby with him.  He glances down at the baby girl in his arms and feels his heart grow with the innocent little smile he receives back. 

And the thought of leaving her feels unappealing as ever. 

“Nah, I got it, thanks though.”

Something about Lip being a dad shocked the whole neighborhood. No one was surprised that he’d knocked someone up, it was only a matter of time the way he was going. And only a few had raised a brow at the fact that he’d promptly told Karen to fuck off and kept the baby to raise himself. With how he grew up, anyone could guess he’d have a thing about abandonment. No, what shocked them was the way that suddenly, Lip Gallagher was some kind of family man. 

No parties. No weed. No dealing. 

No hookups.

Lip got hit on way more than he did back before Phoebe took over his life. When he was at the store or in the park, his baby cooed broken words as he carried her on his shoulders, pointing at small trinkets that she whined for. Easily pocketable things that occasionally magically appeared in his pocket to give her when they got home. Girls would come up to them, fingers in their hair, chests as pushed forward as they squawk about how adorable Phoebe is, how sweet it is that Lip is actually taking the time to raise his own daughter, and how they’d like to help him in any way they can. 

Usually, he would just leave it at no thank you before turning away. The more persistent ones would get a curl of the lip and head shake before adjusting his baby and pushing past. 

See, Lip was fucking strict as a dad. He didn’t give a fuck what other people thought about him and the life he lived before, everything changed when Phoebe showed up. 

“Hey, I uh, really don’t give a fuck what you do, but keep that hoe shit to a minimum when you’re over here, okay? My fuckin’ daughter can see you.” 

More than a few neighborhood girls had stormed their way out of the Gallagher house with hot, fat tears of embarrassment streaming down their face as they declared they’d never talk to Debbie again. Because…you know… her brother’s an asshole.

By the time Lip is 17 and Phoebe is 2 it’s a well known fact that the Gallagher Princess is spoiled rotten. She’s clingy, and whiny, traits that the blond teen had never been known to tolerate but suddenly had all of the patience in the world for. She barely could stand to be held by anyone else, constantly in her father’s arms or wrapped around one of his legs, holding on as he walks for them both.  The only people he really let's watch Phoebe are Ian and Mickey. For some reason, Mickey seemed to have a soft spot for Phoebe. Maybe it was because they understood each other. They're both cute, and bratty, and bite. It was ironic considering who Mickey is, and his distain for Lip but when the blond teen had been overwhelmed one day and passed out on the couch with his books after school, his brother's boyfriend had been the one who stepped up. He'd been in the Gallagher home in search of some cheap weed Ian had promised him, but he saw the little girl whining and after a failed attempt wake Lip, made her a bottle his damn self. When Lip had woken, he found Mickey rocking the squirming little girl in his arms, trying to pretend he wasn't enamored with her. After that day, Mickey proclaimed himself the girl's favorite uncle, and got damn near violent if anyone even tried to so much as give her a tap on the wrist. Lip appreciated it considering he felt the same.

Other parents fucking dread when they see the father-daughter duo making their way to the park because it immediately means that play was over for all of the other kids.

Timmy Keeves had learned the hard way. The little boy was all but 5 when he first encountered the terror that was Phoebe Gallagher. She was a 3 year old terror and loud and bossy as ever. Her blonde curls and bright blue eyes gave her the appearance of an angel, so Timmy hadn’t been alarmed when she’d walked slowly, but confidently over to the swing, his swing at the little run down park a couple streets over from his house. She was holding hands with a little black boy who looked a little older than her, but not by much.

Timmy had waited his turn, really. The other kid before him had swung five whole minutes before he had climbed on with great effort. “Hi!” He’d chirped down at the kids in front of him. 

“Hi.” the little boy said back.

Not the little girl. No, she pointed at the swing with her free hand, mouth spreading into a wide smile, revealing one missing tooth.”My turn!”

Timmy’s eyes had grown wide and he gripped the chains a little tighter. “No! I just got on it!”

It happened fast.

In a matter of seconds. Timmy hadn’t meant to nudge her out of the way with his foot. Really. He’d already been swinging and she’d moved in his way. But before he knew it Phoebe Gallagher had plopped onto the rocks and clay in front of him, and suddenly he felt his back hitting the ground.

“Hey!” Timmy wails as his own father storms his way over and some young blond guy comes running up. “Gallagher, your fuckin’ kid just pushed mine off the swing!”

The blond man flicks his cigarette on the ground and shrugs. “I didn’t see it. You push him Liam?”

“He pushed Phoebe first!” 

“It was an accident!” Timmy hollers.

“Sounds like the little fucker deserved it. Don’t push girls, kid. Or next time I’ll knock you on your ass.”

“Are you threatening my kid?”

“What’re you, gonna hit me?” Lip snorts, picking his daughter up and brushing off her skirt. “I’m a minor.”

“You need to get those hoodrat kids of yours in order!” 

“What you need to do is stop whining like a little bitch, it’s rubbin’ off on your kid.” The teen adjusts the girl on his hip, grabbing his little brother’s hand on the other side and guiding them away. 

So, Lip wasn’t a great disciplinarian. As far he was concerned, his daughter was still a good kid. She’s fuckin’ smart like him. And sweet, like Debbie and Ian. Funny like Carl. Determined like Fiona. She makes him want to be better. He finished high school so she could see how important learning is. He put off college a little bit, just because he’d rather use that time to make money to take care of her. Besides, when it came to Phoebe, there was nothing more important. He didn’t want to miss a thing.

“Daddy?” Phoebe whispered from her spot between his legs. She was watching Little Bear on the tv as Lip rested the book he was reading atop of her head, sloppy pigtails that he’d forced into her blond mop that morning. “How come there’s three?”

“Three what, angel?” he asks without looking up from the pages, snorting to himself at the philosophy of Thoreau in Walden. 

“Three bears.” Little fingers push at his face, trying to force him to look at the screen. “Look.”

“Okay, shit, okay. What?” He asks, leaning forward to rest his head on top of hers and dropping the book to the couch. 

“Th-there’s a daddy bear, a baby bear, and a mommy bear. We only have two. Daddy,” she places her hand on his stomach, turning in his grasp, “and I’m the baby. Except I’m a big girl.” 

Lip’s heart squeezes at where he knows this conversation is going. His baby is smart. She’s always been smart. He should’ve seen this coming. But for some reason he hadn’t prepared yet for this question. “We uh, we have more than two. We’re Gallagher’s, there’s too many of us. Like, Fiona, Ian, Debbie, Carl and Liam. There’s a lot of us.”

“But no mommy, right?” Phoebe’s little brows furrow as she runs through the list in her head. 

All Lip could do was open and close his mouth as he searched for words. He was only 18 when this conversation came. Still a kid himself, he’d just stopped giving a fuck that the closest thing he’d had to a mom was his own older sister. Sometimes he still felt bitter. Unwanted. Cheated. That was the last thing that he wanted his baby to feel. He’d spent the first two years of her life trying to ensure she wouldn’t notice. To do everything he could. Fill every space. She didn’t need anyone but him, because he was so fucking here. Every girly dance, every beauty salon, every tea party, he took the time to do. Because he didn’t want her to feel the sting of having a parent that didn’t give a fuck about you. He didn’t want the look in her eyes that he saw in his siblings, the one he refused to acknowledge reflecting back at him in the mirror. Going above and beyond what an adult man could do as a child himself. All for her.

Yet here she was. Wondering where mommy was.  

Lip could fucking kill Karen. If she wasn’t the one who gave him Phoebe.

He must’ve not hidden his face well. Because as advanced as his daughter was, the face that slipped onto her own was nothing but that of a child. Her eyes widened as she observed him and little hands squeezed his forearms. “It’s okay, Daddy. I like just two. It’s okay.”

Lip could kill Karen. But for now, he was going to focus on his daughter.

Bonus: Lip: 20yrs Phoebe: 5yrs

“And if someone fucks with you?”

“My dad will kick your ass.” Phoebe smiles, swinging Lip’s hand as she holds it in her own. “But no one is gonna be mean to me, Daddy. I’m a pretty girl.”

“Yeah, well I’ll kick their ass if they’re too nice too. Hold on, angel lemme get the keys from Kev.” 

“Kay!”

It was Phoebe’s first day of school and to say they were both nervous and excited was an understatement. Lip had saved up for three months for new clothes for Phoebe to wear to school. They’d used the flashcards at the library for the past year to give her a head start. Lip was finally starting college too. He’d do two years at community college to save up more money until he could transfer his credits and get a place for him and Phoebe closer to the university. But all of that was the future. Right now, he just had to survive dropping his baby off to school. He’d always been stingy with Phoebe. She was something that was his alone. Yes, they had family but he kept her far away from Frank and left the house altogether whenever Monica tumbled into town. He never offered for Karen to see her, even when she came back, only accepting the occasional child support check from Sheila and spending it solely on Phoebe. Now he’d have to share her with the world and ask (demand) for it to be kind to her.

“I wanna ring it!” Phoebe hollers, lifting her arms for Lip to hoist her up to ring Kev and V’s doorbell. He grunts dramatically as he lifts her, cherishing her giggles as she presses the bell over and over again.

Lip’s brows furrow when he hears a sweet voice calling from inside of the house, ‘I’m coming, I-jeez I’m coming!” 

Phoebe’s gasp echoes Lip’s inner thoughts as the door swings open, revealing a young woman who is definitely fucking not Kev or V. The girl smiles brightly, keys to Kev’s truck dangling around her dainty, manicured finger. Long lashes flutter around pretty brown eyes that glance at him politely before focusing on his daughter.

“Daddy! A princess!” Phoebe grins, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

The girl just smiles wider, brow lifting as she places her hands on her hips. “Well I was just about to say the same thing. Pleasure to meet you, your highness.” she dips into a brief curtsy, causing his daughter to squeal and kick her little legs. Those same pretty brown eyes lift to meet Lip’s again and he realizes he’d just been staring at the exchange, mouth agape, like a fucking idiot. “I’m Charlotte.”

Lip knows scientifically he doesn't have ovaries, but if they did, the way his daughter was looking at this girl would’ve made his burst. 

“Lip.”

[theitgirlnetwork]

omg please we need a new earn it chapter like whose baby is that 😳

Ooh y'all on my ass about them kids, huh? Lolllll <3

[theitgirlnetwork]

Hi! Remember in your, ‘Better Series’ we learned the Charlotte has Sickle Cell disease? What does that look like for her? Can you write a short fic where she is going through a flare up and Lip takes care of her throughout the week? Only if you’re up to it. Thank you!

Ask and you shall receive. Thank you so much for sending this in! I appreciate you!

Lip x Charlotte Sick Fic

[theitgirlnetwork]

Hey!! I love Earn It, you have beautifully captured the essence of the movie with this fic. Just a quick question about the recent update, are the children Art’s and Heaven’s?

Thank you so much! I appreciate you for reading! Ummmm...that's an amazing question friend...

[theitgirlnetwork]

heyyy queen

Hi frienddd. I'm out of retirement lol

[theitgirlnetwork]

Girl. THANK YOU, thank you so much for creating the Better series! I am IN LOVE. I’m crying, I love your writing so much! I wanted to ask if it would be possible to request a one shot? I was thinking one where Charlotte gets really sick, and Lip dotes on her and takes care of her, and is really domestic? If not, that’s okay! Just wanted to let you know that I love your writing!

Note: I could bore y'all with the explanation about all the stuff I was doing...but I'll just offer the promise to do better now. Thank you so much for this, I received one other one from an anon similar to this. I'm so glad you enjoy my writing, to be honest these messages mean so much, I really appreciate y'all's investment, creativity and thinking about what you'd like to see from the characters. It's a little long and all over the place and angsty but I'm getting back in the swing. I love and appreciate you all for reading. I think I'm gonna keep doing one shots for a little as I get back into the swing of characters and then get back to the fics but there are chapters in the works. Let me know what you think <3

Warnings: Mentions of illness (some from research, some from personal experience); strong language

Better: Sick Fic

Lip adjusts his backpack on his shoulder as he digs his house keys out of his pocket. He grunts irritably as the keys slip between his fingers and tumble to his feet, head falling backward as he works up the strength to bend down and pick them up.

It’d been a long day. A really…really fuckin’ long day. He’d arrived at the office with 13 messages waiting for him and two programs he’d developed sent back down the line for absolute bullshit reasons. Then, he’d received a call from the lobby, letting him know that there was a piss soaked drunk man making a fucking spectacle out front, demanding to see his son, Lip, who works there. After encouraging the security to take Frank out back and beat him within an inch of his life, Lip hoped to settle into his office during lunch, eat the food his wife made him, and talk dirty to her on the phone to hold him over until he could go home.

None of that happened. Because his coworkers are fucking incompetent. And his boss is weirdly becoming obsessed with saying he was his protege or something and forcing him to take on tasks that have absolutely fucking nothing to do with his work. And the cherry on top, Charlotte didn’t pick up the phone. 

He’d called once, twice, three times, growing more and more worried with each dial tone and message of Hi, this is Charlotte Gallagher… Lip was already picking up his bag and logging off of his work computer when he received a vague text that lowered the nervous burning in his stomach to a strong simmer. Can’t talk, see you when you get home.

It makes the blond man feel slightly better that she responded, but this short, curt text left Lip other questions. Charlotte always wants to talk on the phone. Why was she not answering his calls? Is she mad at him? Hurt? Busy? No, not busy. They’re never too busy to answer each other’s calls. 

As he shoves the door to their townhome open his wide blue eyes scan the room for his wife. Lip haphazardly dumps his bag on the floor, stepping over his spilled belongings, making a mental note to come back and pick it up before Charlotte has to leave for work later. He expects to hear the quick clicking of her slippers shuffling across the floor to meet him. Even when she’s angry she always welcomes him home in one way or another. Either greeting him with bright eyes and a kiss or furrowed brows and crossed arms. But still, always there. Not this time. 

“Bunny, m’home.” He calls into the void, pausing to listen for a response of some sort of scoff, or high pitched harumph to start whatever rant she was about to ream him with. But nothing. No sound. No doors slamming. No sniffles born of fat, angry tears cried out of frustration because he’d fucked up in some way he’d already forgotten. Silence. 

Something Charlotte does know is that Lip doesn’t do well with being ignored. Call it abandonment issues, or narcissism, not being acknowledged triggers the fuck out of Lip. If…if this was some attempt at the silent treatment he doesn’t fuckin’ like it. His jaw clenches as he kicks off his shoes and starts to storm around the lower level of the home looking for her. “Charlotte.”

“Charlotte.” He pushes the downstairs bathroom door open, checking the kitchen and out back before heading up the steps. “Charlotte, c’mon, seriously?” 

He huffs as he turns the corner, his feet sinking into the cheap carpet on their hallway floors, rounding into their shared bedroom. The door is slightly ajar and all Lip can do is ponder why his wife would set herself up in their room and wait for him ominously like some kind of supervillain. That’s until he found her lying on the floor, still only wearing the ratty navy blue t-shirt from his cafeteria job and a pair of his boxers. Her brows furrow as he enters the room, but she remains unmoving on the floor as Lip moves closer, crouching next to her.

“Babe,” the blond starts, moving his hand to smoothe one of her fallen rollers from her forehead only to recoil away. “Jesus, Charlotte, what the fuck? You’re burning up!” He presses his hand down more aggressively this time, moving from her forehead to her neck, nudging her head out of his way with his knuckle.

Charlotte grunts and yawns, large brown eyes glassy as they flutter open to meet his blue ones that are storming with worry. “Bubba, you’re home…and you’re loud.” she pouts.

“What the fuck?” He whispers under his breath again, moving to sit fully on the floor as he inspects her closer. “You sick, Bunny?”

His wife just shifts, sitting up to move between his legs and lean her back against his back, trying to hide her face as she winces in pain with each movement, forcing cheer into her voice. “Phillip, m’fine, just sleepy.” She tries to reach behind his head and run her fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of her neck, and Lip shakes his head in distrust, catching her wrist when she can’t bite back the gasp from the sharp ache in her joints.

Echoes of Charlotte’s father’s voice fill Lip’s head. Do you know that she suffers from chronic pain. That she has sickle cell. Do you know that? Are you ready for that?  Is…should he be doing something? Calling someone? Fiona? She’s always taking care of him when he was sick. Maybe. Maybe her…maybe V? 

He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, only to realize he’d left it downstairs. He eyes the woman between his legs, feeling her body making stifled jerks, her teeth quietly chattering behind her closed lips. His beautiful girl’s normally vibrant, pink and brown lips muted versions of themselves. Dry. Dehydrated? 

“Let’s get you off the floor.” He murmurs, either to himself or to Charlotte, it was hard to tell. Lip is cautious as he hoists her into his arms, eyes locked on her as he carries her over to the bed, and lays her down. “Do you…um, what do you…did you eat?”

“M’not hungry.” she sighs, settling into the pillows, snuggling under the blankets, leading Lip to question if he should pull it off. She’s too hot. Isn’t she too hot?

“Okay, I’m gonna be right back. I’ll be right back, okay, Bunny?”

“Okay.” Charlotte hums weakly, eyes fluttering shut again before Lip can even make it out of the room. His chest clenches as he jogs down the steps, brain moving at rapid speed. He immediately digs through his discarded bag for his phone, pulling it out and dialing his older sister’s number.

“Come on, Fiona. Come the fuck on.” His teeth grind as he paces, once, twice across the living room floor before deciding to balance the still ringing phone between his ear and shoulder as he grabs ice from the fridge. He ignores the pins and needles in his hands as he shovels the cubes into a ziplock bag. Each ring of the phone before the dial tone hits pisses him off until he hears the voicemail prompt Fiona, you know what to do…except no the actual fuck he doesn’t. And thank you for absolutely nothing Fiona, and suddenly his phone is under the couch and its battery is somewhere against the wall because somebody might have thrown it. 

“Baby, here.” Lip mumbles as he pads back into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, worry growing as he notices that in the two minutes he’d been downstairs she’d already been back to sleep. He tries to push the baggy full of ice that he’d wrapped in a paper towel on her forehead, only for her to groan and push it away. 

“No, wait, Phillip-”

“Bunny, you have a fever, we need to cool it down.” He sighs, trying to push it forward again.

Charlotte holds his hand away, scooting further on the bed and wincing in pain again. “No, Phillip, it’s gonna make the pain worse. With what I have,  I can’t be cold, okay? No ice.” Her eyes soften as she watches him pull back, tossing the ice on the dresser.

Make the pain worse. Lip can't breathe. “Okay. Okay, so what can I do to help you?” 

“Maybe breathe, just a little bit. And tell the vein in your neck to chill out before it bursts. And..and you’re doing that thing you do. You know, when you’re upset, so you start annunciating each letter of each word you say. S’weird, bub.” She giggles through her chills and chattering teeth. “I’m fine, Bubba. Just come cuddle with me, I’ll warm up.”

“Charlotte.” Lip isn’t amused. His wife is sick and it’s not funny. He’d…distantly known, one day he’d be faced with Charlotte experiencing discomfort in some function. Her father’s words about her illnesses had yet to be confirmed by her so he’d assumed eventually they’d been a ploy to scare him into trying to send her back to her parents. But now, she was sitting before him, looking beautiful as ever, but sick. She looks weak. And all he can think is how he’d missed it. This morning, how slowly she’d moved, how she’d fallen back asleep when he showered. The lack of texts and calls. Were her eyes that glassy then? Was she in pain like this all day?

And so Lip decided he was the worst husband ever. It’s not the first time he’d come to that conclusion, but this time he really felt it. He should’ve rushed home. Hell he should’ve stayed home. He had all night to berate himself. Charlotte had almost immediately fallen asleep after he’d climbed into bed with her. Her hand that’d been rubbing slow circles on his chests halted and got heavier. 

So, Lip got to work. He slid out from underneath her, and snuck downstairs to grab his work laptop. Ideally, his source for symptoms for sickle cell crises would be a doctor, or someone else who’d actually had an idea of what they were doing, but google would have to do for now. He’d turned the screen light down and carried the laptop upstairs. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lip sat up all night, rotating between reading horrific facts and worse-case scenarios and sticking his finger under his wife’s nose to make sure she was breathing. His eyes burned as he would take breaks from reading to stare at her, watching the rise and fall of her chest, feeling the paranoia fill his own.

“Uh, thanks, V.” Lip places the machine onto the counter before pulling his wife’s cousin into a hug. “Sorry you didn’t get to say hi, she’s uh..really tired lately.” 

Charlotte’s not getting better. 

No matter what Lip does, she won’t just fucking get better. For three days, he played her game. At least a little. He agreed not to involve anyone else. He went to the pharmacy and bought her tylenol for the pain and the headaches. He wrapped her in heating pads and his arms, staring down at her with pools of worry. He let her sleep as much as she wanted. On the condition that he could watch to make sure she woke up. 

She’d tell him over and over she was fine, and that this feeling would pass. She refused to call it what it was and tried to carry on with business as usual. But Lip’s not stupid. Charlotte’s either going into crisis or already in it. 

He hasn’t been to work in 3 days. 

He hasn’t showered alone in 3 days.

He hasn’t slept more than an hour at a time in 3 days. 

The first and only time he’d left the house was to get the medicine and heating pads. The first person he’d spoken to aside from Charlotte had been V. 

Fiona had called from some fucking detention center. Something about a mix up and a boyfriend was what the voicemail said. Lip had sent her a text to go fuck herself before blocking her number. That was day 2. That day, Charlotte had tried to hide from Lip as she cried in pain in their bed while he brought her lunch. He didn’t have time for the bullshit. And at 4:00am leading into day 3, she’d tried to sneak and go to the bathroom by herself, and got so dizzy she fell back on the bed, alerting her husband. 

That’s when Lip tried to call her parents. 

“Don’t call them!”

“Charlotte, you’re sick! We have to call your parents.”

“I’m fine!”

“You’re sick, I don’t know how to fucking help you, I’m calling them, okay? Jesus, fucking-Bunny, Bun…Charlotte you have to stop crying, you’re gonna make your chest tight.”

It was too late. So they had to compromise.

Lip called V. V brought Charlotte’s nebulizer, kissed her forehead and left. It was an older one. A big clunky machine, with tubes and plugs. Different liquids that need to be poured into it at different measurements. All of this shit just to help the love of his life breathe normally. To get her lungs to work at their full capacity. Lip swallows the lump in his throat as he puts the mask around her pretty face, watching as liquid medicine turns to fog for her to breathe in.  The sound of the machine fills the room as Charlotte falls asleep again, and Lip goes downstairs.

He scrubs his hands down his face before going to the kitchen to start making her a grilled cheese to eat when she wakes back up and the doorbell rings. Lip assumed V had forgotten something during her brief visit. He wasn’t expecting for his fuck up sister to have the audacity to be standing at his doorstep. “Yeah, fuck that, get the fuck out of here.” he sneers, turning and pushing the door to close behind him, only for her to catch it with her foot.

“Lip, why didn’t you tell me Charlotte’s sick?” Fiona’s lip curls as she takes in his disheveled form, his hair and clothes eskew and stained, very similar to the state of the kitchen and living room. “This place is a mess.”

“You know, I’m not sure why you’re still here.” The blond snatches a red notebook off the couch, producing a pen from behind his ear and scribbling in it. “What time is it?”

“I’m here to help,” She picks two plastic bags off of the floor and folds them in on each other. “Clearly you need it-”

“Fuck you. The time? Can’t find my goddamn watch-”

“9:36. Why?”

Lip huffs, running a hand through his uncombed hair. “Why are you here? Like you said, my wife’s sick, and none of the drugs she’s taking can get you high so, you’ll have to take your bender elsewhere-”

“Okay, fuck you, because if you’d un-fucking block me you’d know that was a mixup and I’m completely clean. I’m gonna ignore the fact that you’re being a complete asshole right now because I’m here to help my sister, alright? Move. What’s that burning smell?”

“Fuck!” Lip rushes over to the stove and takes the pan with the crispy remains of a grilled cheese and throws it in the sink. He kicks at the cabinet in front of the sink and tugs at his strands again. “Fuck, fucking-I needed help 3 days ago! My wife is fucking sick and I don’t know what to do. It’s not a cold. She’s not going through withdrawals or ODing. She was literally just fucking born with something that could kill her and I have the fucking nerve to be tired. She can’t move. Her bones hurt. She gets a fever for nothing. She can’t fucking breathe right. And I’m tired. Be-because I can’t sleep. I have to watch her. A-and, my mind is constantly trying to think of what she needs next. I’ve got a fucking notebook full of medications and times so I can keep them straight I want her to get better. I need her to get better now.”

Fiona stands quietly as her little brother tries to even out his breathing. She takes careful steps forward, sweeping the tears from his cheeks before using her sleeve to wipe the snot from his nose. It’s easy to forget. Lip is a man now. But every now and then, Lip reminds her he’s only 20 years old. That he’s her first baby. 

“Go take a long shower.” She says, taking her bag off her shoulder.

“I can’t, I need to check on Charlotte.” He sniffs. “I don’t like leaving her alone that long.”

“I’ll check on her. You can’t take care of her if you’re not taking care of yourself. Plus you’re gross.”

Charlotte is sitting up in the bed by the time Lip comes back to their room. It was the first time in 3 days that they’d been apart for an hour. Fiona had brought her a new grilled cheese sandwich and wiped the tear tracks from her own face when she acknowledged that she’d heard Lip’s breakdown from before because her nebulizer had turned off.  The younger woman used shaky hands to pick at her nails as she watched the door for her husband after her sister left.

She felt guilty that he had to take care of her so much. Charlotte had always had health issues, and they’re a lot on anyone. Her parents had even hired help when they were really bad when she was younger. She has always had her own feelings about feeling like her body betrays her randomly sometimes, that excruciating pain can come from nowhere and occasionally her parents would use that as a way to control her.

 But Lip isn’t like that. He just cares. He cares to the point that he’s angry for her. At the situation. At himself. She can feel him. Looking at her at night, making sure she’s breathing. Kissing her temple and trying to massage the migraines from her head. She knows he called her parents despite her wishes. And she felt his disappointment and desperation when they told him that since she decided she was grown, she was on her own. Her husband spent the past few days driving himself insane, just in hopes of her getting a little bit better. And she couldn’t even promise him that.

“Hey, baby, you’re up.” He smiles softly, tugging on a pair of pajama pants over his boxers. 

“Boo, I was enjoying the show.” Charlotte offers him a tired grin back.

He shakes his head, placing a hand on the back of her neck under the guise of pulling her into a kiss, not very discreetly feeling to see if she has a fever. “Fuckin’ perv.” Lip presses his lips against hers once, twice, before resting his forehead against hers. “Pain level.”

“3.”

“So 6.” He sucks his teeth, “Headache?”

“Nope.” she pops the ‘p’, rubbing his nose with hers and pouting at his disapproving look. “Promise.”

“You have to be fucking honest, Bunny, really, we can’t play with your health.” 

“I’m fine-” she groans, pushing him away lightly only to pause when she sees his face. It’s stoic and strict. Almost angry. Almost, if not for the water glittering on his waterline. 

“I don’t have to say the fucking words, I know you don’t want me to say them. But, I need you. So we need to handle this right. I have to take care of you, because this is freaking me the fuck out, baby. I know it’s fucking annoying that I keep waking you up, and making you take things you don’t wanna take. I know you don’t want me to carry you around, but Charlotte, please. Seriously. Fuckin’ please.”

Charlotte bites her bottom lip, eyes slipping closed, she reaches up, waiting for her husband to lean down into her arm. He does, encasing her, holding her. Like glass, she hates this. But she can understand. If Lip looked the way she looked, felt the way she felt, she’d feel horrible. “Okay. My…my head hurts a little bit.”

“Okay.” Lip nods against her shoulder, reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing the tylenol bottle and the glass of water Fiona had left. Charlotte opens her mouth and Lip places the small white pill in her mouth, ignoring the shiver of familiarity he gets from it and reasoning to himself how different this is from anything with his own parents. “Thank you, Bunny.” He breathes as he watches her swallow down the water he holds to her lips. 

“Thank you, Bubba.” She scoots over and pats the space in the bed next to her. “Time for my other medicine.”

Blue eyes roll as he climbs under the covers, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her to his chest. “You’re so fuckin’ corny.” Lip relaxes a little as he nuzzles his nose against her head, breathing her in and feeling her heartbeat as his fingers run along her wrists. “You’re starting to have the energy to make stupid jokes again, so you must be getting better.”

Charlotte hums as he smooths his hands along her arms, stomach and legs. Her head drops back against his shoulder. “Eh, I wouldn’t take out that life insurance on me just yet.”

Lip brings her hand to his lips kissing her wrist before speaking against it. “Fuckk, there goes that vacation I was supposed to take my other wife on.”

“Yeah, Helene will simply have to wait.”

“Eyes and mouth closed, brat.” he snorts.

"Phillip?" she starts.

He sighs, letting his own eyes slip shut, resting his head on hers. "I'll be fine when you are, Bunny." And he means it. Charlotte is Lip's life. His wife is the best thing that's ever happened to him. He...was overwhelmed earlier. But he'd loose 3 more days sleep. He'd keep a million notebooks. Keep track of hundreds of medications. Just to see her feeling better again. "Just get better for me, baby."

[theitgirlnetwork]

ily moreeee

<3

To those of you who watch The Bear…don’t worry, imma fix this. Alsoooo new chapter of Earn It today and Better tomorrow!

[theitgirlnetwork]

End of Beginning Index

Yeah I'm a fuck up but I wanna be your fuck up... or stop fucking up for you.

Snippet

[theitgirlnetwork]

End of Beginning

Note: Because I started watching and literally said, Fine. I'll do it myself. Seriously though I love this couple and I can't wait to write for them. This will be a Sydcarmy story, so no leading OC lady because I love Syd. I hope you all enjoy and give it a chance! The aesthetics for this story should be dropping tomorrow. Thanks, please let me know what you think (politely). Also, hi to my best friend who I know will find this. Hope you enjoy <3

Warnings: Depictions of depression, mentions of suicidal thoughts (not from main characters, grief, explicit content (future chapters) and strong language.

“My therapist said um…something about how I’m probably in love with you or something. Behind.” He says quickly, as if it was a normal ass topic of conversation.

“I’m-I’m sorry, what would that even look like? Sorry.”

“Uh, like this, Chef.”

“Right. Okay, could you maybe…say more…about that?”

“Do I have to?” He asks, putting his knife down and staring at the counter, refusing to meet the pools of chocolate speckled with golden flakes that would be there if he lifted his head. There are two possible outcomes here. The shitty one, where she scoffs at him. Or tells him she’s fucking someone else. Loves someone else. Knows how much of a fucking shit storm he is in the inside and is thinking ‘No absolutely the fuck thank you, I have no interest in taking your crazy ass on any more than I already have, motherfucker’

Or the shittier option. Where she’s fucking gracious and blind enough to give him a chance to fuck shit up more than he ever has before. Where he’d get a taste of everything he’d ever wanted and then have it wrenched away. Where he’d lose her completely.

“Um, yes you absolutely do, Carmy.” He sees her roll her neck, facing him with an incredulous look that demands more of him. “This is bullshit. Like you wait right until I’m on my fucking game, you know? Like the perfect moment to fuck me up. I’m getting it together, working for my star-”

“I’m getting you your star.” He mumbles, scratching his jaw nervously.

“I know. You’re helping me get my star.” She huffs, looking up at the ceiling. “It’s just…I was just getting over it. And then you started acting weird, and Ritchie started saying shit, and you’re fucking me up, Carm, like for real.”

He breathes out, letting her finish her tirade before dragging his piercing blue eyes up to see her pretty face marred with stress. “M’sorry, okay?”

“Okay.”

“And I fucking love you, so-” He pats her shoulder, grabbing the pot of shrimp he’d been de-veining and slipping behind her to move to another part of the kitchen. “Yeah, my bad.”

“Fuck you, dude. Seriously.”