dove⋆·˚ ༘ *

kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor

[rafeswif3]

────୨about meৎ───────────────────────────

ㅤ❀dove ❀she/her ❀mdni!! ❀masterlist ❀twenty ❀bi ㅤ❀rafe cameron ❀yearning ㅤ❀not a reliable writer ❀sabrina carpenter ❀lip stains ❀pink ❀tate mcrae ❀five seconds of summer ❀flowers ❀thick thighs save lives ❀pinky promises ❀youtube ❀tteokbokki ❀lizzy mcalpine ❀matt sturniolo ❀bites ❀be my friend or else

[rafesthroatbaby]

🤰🏻🤰🏻🤰🏻🤰🏻

[rafesteddy]

[thewineranout]

thinking about making a boxer!joe and then u clean him up after a fight😇

[rafeswif3]

the fall always makes me want to write…

[writteninkat]

Nesting Season | Daryl Dixon x Reader

synopsis: In the safety of Alexandria, survival is no longer your priority—living is. You’ve started cooking real meals, folding laundry with clean soap, and yelling at Daryl for tracking mud into your house. But with every soft, domestic habit you reclaim, Daryl finds himself falling harder—and imagining a future where you’re barefoot, pregnant, and his.

w/c: 5.6k

warnings: unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, creampie, impregnation, talk about pregnancy, daryl develops a breeding kink

a/n: i need to see daryl as a dad. biologically or through adoption, idfc

navigation

You didn’t realize how much you missed the sound of a wooden spoon clacking against a pot until Alexandria made it possible to cook again—not just boil, but cook. Real food. Garlic sautéed in oil. Dough rising in bowls. Crackling butter, eggs cracked into hot pans. You had spices now. Not many, but enough. Enough to make you feel human again.

You stirred the soup gently, humming to yourself, bare feet cold against the tiled kitchen floor. The windows were open, and somewhere down the street, Judith was laughing. That kind of laughter—the kind that didn’t sound like it came from someone holding their breath—was new. A rare luxury. You soaked in the sound.

Your little house wasn’t much. It had peeling baseboards and that one light in the hallway that flickered if you stepped too hard. But it was clean. Yours. You’d hung mismatched rugs, lit candles with no scent left in them, fluffed pillows that didn’t quite match, and named the little houseplant on the windowsill “Martha” just to remind yourself to water her.

And for some reason, lately, Daryl Dixon kept showing up.

“Got ya wrench,” he said gruffly from your doorway, holding up a rusted tool with one gloved hand.

You looked over your shoulder. “Did I… ask for a wrench?”

“Nah. Figured y’might need one eventually,” he muttered.

You quirked a brow. “You sure that wasn’t just an excuse to show up during dinner?”

He shrugged like it was possible. “Smelled somethin’ good from down the street.”

You pointed your wooden spoon at him. “Boots off.”

Daryl glanced down, pretending not to notice the trail of mud he’d already left behind. “Shit. Sorry.”

The next time he came by—two days later—he left his boots on the porch without a word.

It became a routine neither of you acknowledged. You cooked. He showed up with something—an old book, a fixed knife, once even a box of instant pudding mix he’d found “for later.” You stopped asking why. You just made enough food for two.

“Soup again?” he asked one night, eyeing the steaming bowls on your table.

You handed him a spoon. “Be grateful. It’s chicken this time.”

He gave you a crooked smile. “Damn near gourmet.”

“You ever cook, Dixon?”

He leaned back in his chair, looking far too comfortable for someone who never officially moved in. “Cooked squirrel once over a campfire. Burnt the ears off.”

You choked on your drink. “They have ears?”

“Yeah. Cute little ones. Not anymore.”

You laughed so hard you snorted, and Daryl grinned at the sound—barely, but enough.

Sometimes you’d catch him watching you. Not in a weird way. In a way that felt… reverent. Like he wasn’t quite sure how you were real. You’d be folding laundry on the couch, sleeves inside out, warm fabric tucked under your chin. You didn’t look your best—your hair was tied up in a half-falling bun, you had a smudge of flour on your cheek, and your socks didn’t match.

Still, his eyes lingered. Especially on your hands.

He didn’t know why he kept imagining them folding something smaller. Softer. Baby-sized.

Didn’t know why the thought made his heart twist like that.

One afternoon, you were putting away canned goods when you realized your shelf was suspiciously full. You stared at the neat row of tomatoes, peas, beans.

You turned toward the man fixing your porch light without being asked.

“You been sneaking in food again?”

He didn’t look back. “Ain’t sneakin’. Just settin’ it down.”

“Daryl.”

“Y’run low on stuff. I notice.”

You crossed your arms, trying to hide your smile. “You know, if you wanted an excuse to move in, there are more subtle ways.”

That made him finally glance at you. His ears went pink. “Ain’t movin’ in.”

“Sure,” you teased. “You’ve only eaten here five nights this week.”

“Six,” he corrected under his breath.

The next day, you caught him sniffing your laundry.

Not, like, creepily. He didn’t even notice he was doing it.

He’d picked up a folded shirt to move it and paused, his brow furrowing.

“Daryl?”

“Huh?” He looked up, startled, the shirt still in his hands.

You smirked. “That mine or yours?”

He glanced at it like he couldn’t tell. “Yours, I think.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He cleared his throat. “What soap d’you use?”

You tilted your head. “Why?”

“Smells… real nice.”

Your lips curved up slowly. “You mean I smell real nice.”

He went bright red. “Didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He dropped the shirt and muttered, “Ain’t askin’ no more favors.”

“Yes you are,” you said, grinning. “You’ll be back tomorrow.”

He tried to hide the way the corner of his mouth lifted. “Tch.”

One evening, while you were both on the porch—he was fixing your railing, you were drinking lukewarm tea—you caught him saying it.

“So,” you started casually, “you just go around fixing everybody’s house?”

“Just yours,” he said. Too quick. Too natural.

You blinked. He didn’t seem to notice.

He finished hammering in a nail and leaned back on his heels. “Was thinkin’… ya might wanna repaint this part of—” He paused, then frowned. “—your house.”

You gave him a look.

“What?” he asked, suddenly cautious.

“You were about to say home.”

“No I wasn’t.”

You grinned. “You were! ‘Your home.’ Admit it.”

He stood up, scowling. “Ain’t gotta admit shit.”

“Uh-huh.”

He muttered something under his breath about “smartass women” and stalked back inside—barefoot.

You followed him in, cheeks warm.

That night, when he left, he lingered in the doorway longer than usual.

You leaned on the frame beside him. “Y’know, you never knock.”

“Door’s always open.”

“Only for you.”

He looked at you then. Really looked. Eyes soft beneath the rough edges.

“I ain’t used to this,” he murmured.

“To what?”

“This,” he said, nodding at the warm kitchen, the folded laundry, the candles melted low on the table. “Quiet. Bein’… wanted.”

You rested your hand on his arm. “Get used to it, Dixon.”

He hesitated. Then nodded.

When you shut the door behind him, you could still smell the flannel he’d left on your couch.

You picked it up, held it close, and whispered into the empty room, “You already live here, dumbass.”

From the street, Daryl glanced back once before walking home.

Or, maybe—just maybe—not home.

Not yet.

But close.

So damn close.

It started with sandwiches.

At first, just plain ones—peanut butter, or if you were feeling generous, ham with a thin slice of tomato. Then they got fancier. Little notes tucked in foil. An extra fruit wrapped in cloth. One time, you even snuck in a brownie and drew a tiny, lopsided squirrel on the napkin.

You didn’t expect him to bring anything back. But he did.

A bottle of honey. A tiny carved bear he claimed “just showed up.” A beat-up paperback with half the pages intact.

“Found this in a glovebox,” he said one afternoon, tossing the book onto your kitchen counter.

You turned it over, lips twitching. “A Beginner’s Guide to Making Soap. Is this a hint?”

“Nah,” he said, though you caught the way his eyes darted toward you. “Jus’ thought ya liked that kinda shit. Feels… homey.”

You pressed your mouth to hide a smile. “Thanks, Dixon. I’ll be sure to whip up some lavender body wash next time you stomp in here smelling like smoke and bear traps.”

He chuckled—low and gravelly. “Ain’t my fault. Nature likes me.”

You rolled your eyes. “Nature wants you to shower.”

The rhythm between you and Daryl wasn’t something you planned. It just… settled. Like dust on windowsills, or the way the kettle always whistled five minutes before he knocked.

He never asked for food. Never requested anything. He just showed up, sat down, and quietly accepted whatever you handed him.

And in return, he gave.

Little repairs around the house. Odd tools left on your porch. And one particularly cloudy morning, a shelf.

He was on his knees, screwing the last bit of wood in place beneath your window when you padded in with a mug of coffee.

“You building me furniture now?” you asked, sipping slowly.

He didn’t look up. “Ya said ya ain’t got no place for them cookbooks. Figured this’d work.”

You stared at the sturdy thing. Real wood. Sanded edges. No frills, just strong and clean.

“You made this?”

“Didn’t steal it, if that’s what yer askin’.”

You bumped your hip against his shoulder, grinning. “We’re practically married at this point.”

That made him freeze.

Just for a second.

Then he cleared his throat and rose to his feet, brushing sawdust off his jeans. “Yeah, well… ya bake good.”

The wound was stupid.

Barely a scratch, really—just a scrape along his upper arm from a rusted fence post. But it bled, and he grunted about tetanus, and you rolled your eyes so hard it gave you a headache.

“Sit still,” you said, holding the wet cloth to his skin.

He flinched.

“Drama queen.”

“Ain’t dramatic,” he muttered. “Y’just heavy-handed.”

“Don’t be a baby.”

You sat on the edge of the kitchen table, close enough to smell the pine on his clothes, the sweat on his collar. His shirt was half-pulled down around his arm, bunched up awkwardly against his chest. Every time he moved, the fabric lifted just enough to show a line of taut stomach, scarred and sun-kissed.

Your fingers slowed.

His eyes flicked up—watching you, not the cloth.

“Y’almost done?” he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded, but your hand didn’t move. “Yeah. Just…”

The room felt quieter than it had a moment ago. Like something was leaning in. Like the walls knew.

You looked up, and he was already looking down—at your mouth.

And there it was.

That pause. That almost.

Your breath caught.

But then he blinked, and the spell broke, and you shoved him lightly in the shoulder. “Stop fidgeting, Dixon, you’ll get blood on my floor.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Ain’t the first time, probably won’t be the last.”

Later that week, while folding your laundry, you found his flannel again.

Still draped across the arm of your couch. Still worn and warm.

You held it up, burying your nose into the fabric. It smelled like firewood and wind. Him.

You didn’t ask if he left it on purpose.

You just folded it and left it on your bed.

“Here,” he said one evening, holding something small and metal between his fingers.

You looked up from your stew. “What’s that?”

“Knife. Cleaned it. Sharpened, too.” He pressed it into your palm. “Just in case.”

Your throat caught. “Daryl…”

“Don’t mean nothin’,” he mumbled quickly, backing off. “Y’know. Jus’ in case I ain’t around sometime.”

You closed your hand around it, blade snug in the leather sheath. It was small, light, but deadly. Like him.

“I feel safer already,” you said quietly.

He shrugged, but his ears turned red.

That night, you stood together in your tiny kitchen, washing dishes side by side.

You handed him a plate. He dried it.

You reached for a cup. He bumped your hand with his elbow.

“Careful,” you teased. “I’ll sue.”

He snorted. “For what? My crossbow?”

“Damn right. I’ll mount it above my new bookshelf. Like a trophy.”

He smirked. “Still think we’re married?”

You paused, fingers submerged in soapy water. “What, you think we’re not?”

He didn’t answer.

You turned, dish towel in hand, ready to tease him again—but he was already looking at you.

That same stare. Soft, wide-eyed, awestruck.

The towel slipped from your fingers.

Your shoulders brushed. His hand was on the counter, fingers just inches from yours.

You were close enough to kiss.

You were close enough to want.

Your lips parted slightly—but then he blinked, looked away, and rubbed his jaw with a muttered, “S’gettin’ late.”

You swallowed. “Yeah.”

He left a few minutes later without taking his flannel.

And this time, you didn’t move it.

You curled up with it on the couch, heart fluttering against your ribs like it wanted out.

He didn’t say much the next morning. Just nodded when you handed him a sandwich, tucked it into his bag, and slung his crossbow over his shoulder.

“You comin’ by for dinner?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

He hesitated at the door.

Then, real soft: “Yeah. Reckon I am.”

He stepped out, but didn’t quite shut the door behind him. You could still hear his boots on the porch.

And just before they faded, you caught it—quiet and rough, like a secret spilled from his chest:

“Ain’t that somethin’…”

You stood frozen, dish towel still in your hand, heat rushing to your cheeks.

You didn’t know if he meant the sandwich. The shelf. The almost-kiss.

Or you.

Maybe all three.

But yeah.

It was somethin’.

It started with a vision he couldn’t shake.

You, barefoot in the kitchen. The morning light soft and golden, filtering through linen curtains you hung just to make the place “feel less apocalypse-y.” A coffee mug in your hand. One of his old button-downs barely buttoned over your chest, hanging loose over your thighs.

Your belly round, swollen, alive.

The image hit him like a punch to the gut. Not because it was hot—though it was—but because it felt like something sacred. Something he had no right touching.

He blinked hard and looked away, jaw tight.

You were just standing there. Coffee in hand. Bedhead. Sleepy eyes.

Messy and real.

And his, if he ever dared to claim it.

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Didn’t mean he didn’t think about it.

Didn’t mean he didn’t ache for it.

“You okay?” you asked, voice raspy from sleep.

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Jus’… starin’ off.”

You moved toward the stove, yawning into your shoulder. “You want eggs or oatmeal?”

He didn’t answer. He was too busy watching the way your shirt dipped at the collar. The way your hip swayed as you reached for a pan.

God help him, he wanted to walk over, wrap his arms around you from behind, and press his hands to the curve of your belly—his baby under your skin, your soft sigh in his ear.

He hated himself for it.

But he wanted it anyway.

The rain started around noon.

By four, the power cut out.

You lit candles like it was second nature, placing them carefully in jars, tea lights on the counter. Daryl stood in the doorway watching you, arms crossed like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“Cozy, right?” you said, holding a match to a stubby wick.

He grunted. “S’quiet.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Ain’t bad. Just… loud.”

You tilted your head. “That sentence made no sense.”

“Did to me,” he mumbled.

You handed him a candle in a chipped ceramic mug. “There. You get ambiance.”

He took it, blinking at the tiny flame. “Ain’t this a fire hazard?”

You smirked. “So is your attitude.”

The storm outside turned from steady rain to thunderous sheets, rattling the windows and howling through the gaps in the frame. The wind shoved hard against the house. You pulled a blanket around your shoulders, sitting on the couch cross-legged. Daryl paced once, then settled across from you in the armchair.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Just candlelight and stormlight and the quiet.

Until you said it.

“Why do you keep coming back?”

His head snapped up.

You didn’t say it with malice. Just curiosity. Just soft and warm and real.

“You’re here almost every day,” you continued. “You fix things. You eat here. You sleep on my couch when you think I don’t notice. But you never say why.”

Daryl stared into the candle like it owed him answers.

“Dunno,” he muttered.

You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Bullshit.”

He shrugged. “Ain’t got nowhere better to be.”

“Liar.”

“I ain’t.”

You raised your brows. “So you just happen to bring me coffee filters and screws and dried lavender you found in someone’s abandoned sock drawer for no reason?”

His lip twitched. “Weren’t a sock drawer. Was a glove box.”

You smiled, but it faded quick. “Daryl. Just say it.”

“I don’t know,” he said again, voice harder now. “I jus’… it’s quiet here. Y’don’t talk too much. Smells good. You make real food. And I—shit—I like it, alright?”

You sat back, blinking at him.

He scrubbed a hand down his face and muttered, “Ain’t mean t’get loud.”

You didn’t flinch. You just said, “You’re already a part of this place. Of me.”

He looked up.

You gave him a little shrug. “Whether you realize it or not.”

The candle flickered between you.

You reached forward to adjust the glass jar around it, and your fingers brushed his.

He didn’t pull back.

You didn’t either.

His hand turned under yours, rough palm meeting your skin.

Warm. Solid. Familiar.

You didn’t move.

Neither did he.

You let your gaze drift up to his—those stormy, uncertain eyes, like he was at war with something inside himself.

“Daryl,” you said softly, “you’re allowed to want something good.”

He inhaled through his nose, shaky.

“Ain’t used to it,” he said. “Wantin’ somethin’.”

“Why not?”

“‘Cause if I want it, that means I can lose it.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty.

It was full—so full it felt like the room was pulsing with it.

You didn’t let go of his hand. “Maybe it’s time to stop thinking you don’t deserve it.”

He didn’t answer.

But his fingers curled around yours.

And that was something.

You stood a little while later, candle in hand, heading to the kitchen to check on the rainwater leak above the sink. You were halfway there when you felt him behind you.

He didn’t say a word.

Just lifted a hand, brushing your hair from your cheek.

Calloused fingertips against soft skin. Barely a touch. But it made you shiver.

You turned to look at him, and the candlelight caught his face just right—softened him. His brow furrowed in thought, lips parted like he wanted to say something but couldn’t.

You said it for him.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

He exhaled. Shaky. Relieved.

“You promise?” he asked, voice almost broken.

You nodded, stepping in just enough that your foreheads almost touched. “You already have me, Daryl. You just haven’t figured it out yet.”

Outside, the thunder rolled.

Inside, you stayed quiet.

But your hands stayed locked together until the candle burned low.

Your lips hovered over his, waiting for him to make the next move—wanting for him to make the next move. He stared up into your eyes, hesitating.

You closed the gap for him, pressing your lips into his. Dry and unmoving, you tried getting him to open up. Parting your lips, you lap at his lower lip once, twice—until he's parting his lips and taking your tongue in his.

Your tongues dance for dominance, Daryl's hands crawling lower and lower until they're rested on your hips. You suck on his lips, arching uour back to press your breasts against his hard chest. This action has the bowman grunting into the kiss, hands squeezing at your hips.

Your hands find themselves cupping his cheek and jaw as your greedily take and take and he just lays there and lets you.

As the pleasure builds inside you, so does the desperation. You're breathing harshly, your sex growing wet and hot, demanding for any kind of friction. So you give yourself exactly that.

You move your hips slowly, grinding down on Daryl's growing member. Heavy breathing fill the room as you grind harder onto him, the hard material of his jeans accentuating the feeling of bliss.

Your head starts growing light as you throw your head back, hips quickly moving back and forth as you chase after your high.

Daryl grunts and pants underneath you, eyes trained on your moving hips. His eyes shift up at yours as he looks at you through his lashes.

You smirk down at his desperate expression, planting your hand on his chest as your hips move faster. "Could you—" Daryl grits out, holding your hips down. Unable to move, you tilt your head to the right, waiting for his next move.

With his chest rising and falling rapidly, his hands stay glued to your hips. The tension is thick and buzzing in the air—waiting for something, someone to move.

Then Daryl's hands move to hook your panties to the side, exposing your needy cunt. He presses his thumb onto your sensitive clit, making you roll your eyes back. He starts drawing circles, making you roll your hips.

"God, yes." You breathe out, pushing Daryl to add two more fingers, pressing onto your sex. He looks up at your for permission, only to be met with desperate eyes.

Daryl smirks, pushing his digits easily through your slick walls. A low moan leaves your chest as your hips slowly move back and forth, gringing onto his open palm.

Your fingers move nimbly to undo the last buttons of your shirt, exposing your bare breasts underneath. You can feel the way Daryl's hand hardens as soon as his gaze lay on your breasts.

Hand on his nape, you pull at him. "Open your mouth." You mutter, pulling him closer. He immediately follows your order, taking your nipple into his mouth. You let out a satisfied breath as his warm tongue circles your hardened bud.

He takes your other breast in his free hand, playing and tugging at your nipple. The stimulation from both the bottom and the top has your euphoria quickly rushing over at you.

Your moans quickly become louder as you grab and claw at the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair. Your digits curl and tug as your orgasm washes over you, making your back arch and your pussy walls flutter around Daryl's digits.

You lift and lower yourself as you ride out your ecstasy. It quickly washes off, bringing you back to the present.

Looking back down at Daryl, you can't help but giggle at how desperate he looks. "Mmmm, your fingers are amazing." You move your hips into a slow circle, lifting them up.

Daryl's digits easily slip out of your cunt as you move into him, closing the gap between the both of you. You taste him once more, notes of cigarettes and musk filling your tongue.

Daryl's hips move on their own, pressing against your dripping cunt. His lips slowly move toward your neck, biting and nipping and leaving small marks until he reaches where your shoulder and neck meet.

His hands move quickly, undoing his belt and pants. His breathing is ragged and quick, but you don't point out his neediness.

"Condom?" You whisper, making him freeze.

He slowly looks up at you, eyes searching your face. You can practically see the wheels in his head turning as he thinks of another way through this.

"No..." He whispers back, still thinking of a different solution. You smile, pressing your lips into his. "Good." You watch as his eyes grow wide with your unexpected response. "Had to make sure."

"What do you—" You cut him off by taking his cock in your hand, pumping it a few times before lowering yourself on it until his head is pushing up against your ready folds.

You cradle his head, looking into his eyes before you continue lowering yourself. His size isn't something new to you, but you could never get used to his overall size. He was thick, filling you up completely, so much that it's hard to breathe.

When he's completely inside you, he stalls for a moment, holding you in his arms. He loves staying still inside you, just feeling the way your cunt pilses and grips around him.

He pulls back, only to roughly thrust in again. That first act pulls a surprised moan out of you until he's ramming his length in and out of you, his cock has the right curve to hit that bundle of nerves you love.

His hips snap at you roughly, forcing your tits to bounce and your moans to become more high-pitched, more whiny. And God knows Daryl loves hearing you come apart because of him.

With a new-found motivation, Daryl flips the both of you, pinning you to the couch. He grabs at your thighs, parting them even more to give himself more space to work with.

"God, yeah." He breathes out, eyes rolling to the back of his head as his jaw grows slack. His eyes arebshut as his hips move mechanically, as if he isn't thinking about anything else, anything at all, really.

With his head thrown back, his hips move selfishly for his own pleasure. You love how he uses your body greedily, but you don't dare tell him so he doesn't overthink his actions.

His thrusts become faster, more shallow; like he's moving less to feel you and more because he's—

"Close," He grunts, "I'm so fucking close." He's almost slurring his words as he thrusts into you, obviously nearing his release.

You gather your breasts together, looking up at him with wide eyes and scrunched brows. "Daryl?" You call out, his head snapping in attention to you. "Put a baby in me?"

The second he drinks in your lewd look, you immediately feel his release coating your walls. "Is—Is that what you want?" He hiccups, hips going still as he finishes releasing inside you.

"Want me to put a baby in ya?" He breathes into your neck, hand wrapping around your neck. Squeezing lightly, a grin stretches across your lips.

You love bringing this side out of him.

He straightens himself out, his hips resuming to deeper and slower thrusts as he regains his composure. "Hmm? That what the lil' lady want?" He mocks, tilting his head to the side.

His gaze digs into yours, moans spilling from your chest as he slowly reels upur own high in. His movements are slow but languid, building up the tension until you're ready to snap.

"Please, please!" You whine, digging your nails onto his shoulders as he squeezes your left breast. He stares at your nude body, legs eagerly open for him.

"You look ready to be a mommy." He chuckles, grunting as he feels his own release quickly approaching. "Tell ya what—" He breathes out, "Come with me," He looks into your eyes, "And I'll make sure you won't have to worry 'bout no period cramps for nine months."

The thought of him so willing to impregnate you is what pushes you over the edge. Unprepared and incredibly sensitive, your walls clamp down at his dick. Daryl groans as he releases inside you for a second time, your walls milking him dry as you pull him closer.

You can't get him close enough.

He keeps you plugged full until you've completely ridden out your orgasm, slowly pulling himself out. You feel his release slowly dripping out of you.

"Need ya pregnant by tomorrow." He mumbles into your neck, making you giggle.

"That's not how it works, Dare!" You squeal, his fingers tickling you as he slowly wraps his arms around your waist. He flips the both of you once more, settling you on top of him.

You yawn, the sense of home and peace overcoming you. It's like a big, warm hug. It's Daryl.

You look up at him one last time, studying his features, memorizing your favorite ones before letting your lids fall shut.

He woke up before you did. He usually did.

Even in Alexandria, with safety stitched into the walls and comfort stacked in jars on the shelves, Daryl’s instincts still buzzed before dawn. But for once, he didn’t move. Didn’t reach for a weapon. Didn’t sit up and scan the corners.

He just lay there.

Watching you.

You were curled up under the quilt you insisted on keeping even when the nights were warm, one leg poking out, hair a wild mess against his arm. Your breath was steady. Soft. There was a crease by your mouth from the pillow, and you had this stubborn little frown, like even in sleep you were fighting something.

He reached up and gently ran a finger across your cheek.

Didn’t know why, but the sight of you—real, messy, completely unguarded—made his chest feel too tight and too full at the same time.

He’d never had this before. Never thought he could.

Peace.

Warmth.

You.

He could’ve laid there forever.

But then you stirred, mumbling something unintelligible and blinking up at him.

“Mornin’,” he said, voice low and scratchy.

“God,” you rasped, stretching with a dramatic groan, “do you always look this good at sunrise, or is that just my dumb luck?”

He snorted, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Pretty sure it’s the other way ‘round, sunshine.”

You leaned in and kissed the corner of his mouth. “Come on. Let’s make something that doesn’t come out of a can.”

You cooked like it was therapy. Barefoot, hair up, music humming from the old record player someone scavenged last month. Daryl didn’t know the song—it had twang and heartbreak and something about wildflowers—but it made you sway around the kitchen like you were dancing just for yourself.

Or for him.

He stood behind you, cutting up potatoes. Clumsy but focused.

“So,” he said slowly, like the words might spook you, “what would ya name a kid if ya had one?”

You dropped the spatula with a clatter.

“Jesus, Daryl.”

“What?” he shrugged, defensive but not really. “Just askin’. Ain’t like I’m handin’ ya a ring or nothin’.”

You gave him a look. “Uh-huh. That a proposal in disguise?”

He flushed, ears turning pink. “Ain’t what I meant.”

You grinned. “You’re blushing.”

“Ain’t.”

“You so are.”

He turned back to the potatoes, grumbling, “Well, you didn’t answer.”

You bit your lip, stirred the eggs. “I dunno. Something sweet. Maybe something old-fashioned. Nora, if it’s a girl. Eli for a boy.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “Nora Dixon. Got a nice ring to it.”

You turned, arching a brow. “You just assigned your last name without even blinking.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, smirking, “ain’t givin’ ‘em anyone else’s.”

Your heart gave a traitorous little flutter.

Later that day, you were on a supply run near the edge of town—clearing a half-looted baby store you’d always skipped, assuming there wasn’t much worth salvaging. Most shelves were dust and crumbled boxes, long since picked over.

But Daryl stopped dead in the middle of an aisle.

You turned to find him staring at something.

A crib.

Wooden, pale. A little dusty but intact. A tiny mobile still hung from one corner, faded stars and clouds gently turning.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked up to it, gave it a little push, and watched it creak back and forth.

Then—without a word—he bent down, lifted it, and carried it to the cart.

You blinked. “What… are you doing?”

He didn’t look at you. Just said, “Ain’t gonna be here next time. Someone else’ll take it.”

Your voice came out quieter than you meant. “You think we’ll need it?”

He paused. Just long enough to say everything without saying a word.

Then: “Hope so.”

That night, the crib sat in the corner of your bedroom, not built yet—just leaning against the wall like a promise waiting to be made.

You lay beside him in the low light, one hand on his chest, the other tracing lazy patterns across the thin scar just above his collarbone.

He was quiet. Tense in that way that meant his brain was working overtime.

“You okay?” you asked.

He nodded once. Then again. Then finally spoke.

“Ain’t never had a real home,” he said, voice soft. “Not one where I felt like I belonged. Always someone else’s rules. Someone else’s roof. Got used to leavin’. Got good at packin’ light.”

You didn’t interrupt. You just let your hand rest over his heart.

“But you,” he continued, “you make me wanna build one. Y’know? With walls I picked. With shit on the shelves. With meals that ain’t cold. With you in it.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, heart full to the point of aching.

“Daryl,” you whispered.

He looked up at you, expression unreadable.

You cupped his face in your hands, thumbs brushing his stubble.

“We already are.”

Then you kissed him—slow, deep, like sealing a vow you hadn’t even needed to speak aloud.

The next morning, you found his crossbow mounted on the wall.

You hadn’t heard him do it.

But there it was—above the fireplace, neat and proud and deliberate. Not tucked by the door like he was waiting to leave.

You touched the edge of it, smiling.

A silent signature.

This is where I stay.

The sun was setting when you brought two mugs of tea out to the porch. The air was warm and sticky, the sky painted in shades of honey and fire.

Daryl was already sitting there, legs stretched out, eyes on the horizon.

You handed him his mug and sat beside him, your thigh pressed to his, head resting on his shoulder.

For a while, you just breathed together.

No words.

No pressure.

Just that quiet kind of peace that only shows up when you’ve got nothing left to prove.

“So what now?” you asked softly.

He didn’t look at you when he answered, but his fingers laced with yours.

“Now?” he said, voice low and sure.

“Now we live.”

[soupy-girl]

omg i can’t believe they won ssg all on their own!!

[rafeswif3]

as a harry styles girly who never read duplicity when it was trending, i just read a page and it was so ass what were yall geeking about

[rafeswif3]

──୨geraniumৎ──

❀ chapter 8: work place shenanigans ❀

❀ pairing: mechanic!rafe x florist!reader

❀ warnings: smut! , dirty talk, cussing, kissing? idk

❀ word count: 3.8k (literally if it wasn’t for @kennedyweagle and her brilliant ideas this chapter would not be out! thank you queen! even though this is sooo short and so rushed)

the morning starts slow, honey-soft, wrapped in warmth that isn’t really yours but feels like it is. his sheets still smell like him, cedar and soap, a faint trace of motor oil clinging stubborn at the edges. you curl deeper into them, pressing your cheek to the pillow he used, trying to pretend it’s the same as his chest. but it’s not. it’s not enough.

rafe had kissed you before he left, you remember that much, his lips brushing your cheek, his low morning voice promising he’d be back before you knew it. but that was hours ago. now the house feels too quiet, and your body feels too restless.

you roll onto your back, staring up at the ceiling, and the ache in your chest swells. it’s not just missing him, it’s deeper, heavier. your skin tingles like it’s waiting for his hands, your thighs press together on instinct, and every minute stretches long without him here.

you grab your phone from the nightstand.

you: good morning. i miss you.

the reply comes quick, because of course it does.

rafe: mornin, bunny. miss you too. you sleep okay?

you chew your lip, smiling, but it’s not enough. his words are warm, grounding, but your body feels fidgety, humming under your skin like something’s missing. you want more, you want him.

you: i slept fine. just woke up kinda… restless.

you: your bed’s too big without you.

you hesitate, stare at the bubbles as he types back.

rafe: restless, huh? what’s that mean?

your cheeks warm. you pull the blanket tighter, the phone glowing in your hand, your pulse kicking up.

you: it means i keep rolling around looking for you. feels weird waking up alone.

you press send before you can overthink, and god, your heart pounds.

rafe leaves you waiting a little longer this time, and when his reply comes, you can hear the smirk through the screen.

rafe: oh, i see what’s goin on. my girl’s needy this morning, huh?

the word hits you low in the stomach, makes your throat dry. needy. you are, though, you can’t deny it.

you bury your face in his pillow, grinning helplessly, skin heating all over.

you: maybe a little.

you squeeze your thighs tighter, the silence stretching, every second of waiting for his response heightening the buzz in your chest.

rafe: fuck bunny. i can’t stop picturing you tangled up in my sheets, poutin cause i’m not there.

you let out a tiny, frustrated laugh, nerves and want twisting up inside you. you are pouting, and he knows it.

you close your eyes, inhale the lingering scent of him all around you, and your whole body aches with it, this mix of comfort and hunger, this sharp need for the weight of his arm around your waist, the scratch of his stubble against your skin, his voice right in your ear instead of glowing through a phone.

he’s at work, grease on his hands, sweat probably dripping at his temples, and here you are, wrapped in his sheets, flushed and restless, missing him so bad it’s almost unbearable.

the phone buzzes in your hand and you swear your pulse skips each time his name lights the screen.

rafe: bunny, you’re makin it real hard to focus at work.

rafe: what am i supposed to do knowin you’re in my bed missin me?

you roll onto your stomach, chin propped on his pillow, legs kicking behind you like you’re a teenager again, nerves and want tangled so tight it’s dizzying. the thought of him, sweaty and grease-stained at the shop, still taking time to text you like this, it makes your chest swell and your thighs squeeze tighter.

you bite your lip, staring at your camera. a little spark of mischief catches in your chest. he called you needy. he knows you’re needy. but if you’re being honest, you love when he catches you like this, when he’s the one who notices before you even say the words.

so you tug his shirt a little lower on your thighs, mess your hair with your fingers, and snap the picture. your pout is perfect, eyes wide, lips soft, the collar of his shirt slouching enough to hint at your bare skin underneath.

you hesitate, breath shallow, then send it.

you: this is your fault. you left me like this.

for a moment there’s nothing but the thrum of your heart in your ears. then the screen lights up, his reply almost instant.

rafe: jesus christ, bunny.

rafe: you tryin to kill me?

you can see him, you just know it, jaw tight, phone in his dirty hand, probably ducked behind a car so no one else sees what you just sent.

then another message pops up, and your stomach flips.

rafe: you got any idea how fuckin pretty you look wearin my shirt like that?

rafe: poutin, waitin for me to come home.

rafe: and don’t think i didn’t notice, baby.

your cheeks flame, breath catching.

you: notice what?

the typing bubble pops up immediately.

rafe: don’t play dumb. i can see those pretty little nipples pressin through the fabric.

rafe: my girl’s sittin in bed, all worked up, isn’t she? missin me so bad she can’t hide it.

your whole body prickles with heat, the mix of embarrassment and thrill washing through you. he noticed. of course he noticed. rafe always notices.

and god, you’ve never wanted him more.

your phone buzzes again and you snatch it up so fast it makes you laugh nervously, chest fluttering with want.

rafe: you’re such a good girl for me, bunny.

rafe: sittin there all needy, but i know you’re not touchin yourself.

rafe: you wouldn’t do that unless i told you to, huh?

your breath stutters. he knows. he always knows. you curl onto your side, squeezing his pillow to your chest, thighs pressing together so tight it almost hurts.

you: no. i’m not, i promise.

you: i’m waiting for you.

the dots appear, then pause, then start again. when his messages come through, your face goes hot all over, stomach tumbling with heat.

rafe: fuck, that’s my girl.

rafe: you’re gonna drive me insane before i get home.

rafe: and when i do get home, you better still be wearin that shirt. nothin else.

you press your lips to the pillow, muffling the little whine that slips out.

rafe: first thing i’m gonna do is lay you back on that bed.

rafe: spread you open nice and slow, make you beg for me.

rafe: i’ll take my time, taste you ‘til you’re cryin, ‘til you can’t remember your own name.

your pulse thrums in your throat, the words painting pictures so vivid you almost forget he’s not here yet.

rafe: then i’m gonna fuck you stupid, bunny. real deep.

rafe: hold your legs open, press my hand down on your lower belly so you feel me everywhere.

rafe: make you remember who you belong to for sendin me pictures like that.

your fingers clutch at the sheet, your body humming, restless.

rafe: you’ll take it all for me, won’t you?

rafe: let me ruin you a little just cause you were bein such a tease this morning.

you’re trembling now, bottom lip caught between your teeth, because every word makes your chest ache with wanting him, makes your body so restless you can’t keep still.

you: mhm, i’ll take it all.

your thumb hovers, heart hammering, before you send the last one.

you: hurry home, rafe.

your screen lights up again and you fumble it in your hands, your pulse so wild you can hear it in your ears.

rafe: send me another.

rafe: shirt off this time. i wanna see what’s mine.

you stare at the words, heat curling up your spine. the little thrill of nerves, of being told what to do by him, makes your chest squeeze tight. rafe’s voice feels like it’s in your head, low and certain, that bossy edge that makes you want to give him anything.

your hands tremble as you set the phone against the pillow, angling the camera. the shirt slides off your shoulders, pooling in your lap. your skin prickles under the cool air of the room, nipples tight as you press your arm across your stomach just to steady yourself.

you snap the picture, bare, stretched out in his sheets, soft and waiting, and your breath hitches when you hit send.

the reply is instant.

rafe: holy fuck, bunny.

rafe: look at you. prettiest thing i ever seen.

rafe: sittin there all shy but lettin me see what’s mine.

you squirm, cheeks burning, thighs pressing together as his next messages come through, one after the other.

rafe: god, i wish i was there right now. i’d have your tits in my hands, in my mouth, makin you cry for me.

you bury your face in his pillow, biting back a whimper, the scent of him wrapping around you like a blanket.

rafe: you’re bein such a good girl for me.

rafe: stay just like that ‘til i get home. you owe me that much for teasin me like you did.

your whole body trembles, needy and restless, and you type with shaky fingers.

you: i’ll wait, i promise babe.

his reply makes your chest ache with how much you want him.

rafe: that’s my girl. my perfect fuckin bunny.

you hear the front door open earlier than you expected, the heavy thud of his boots on the floor. your heart leaps straight to your throat, he wasn’t supposed to be home yet.

“bunny?” his voice calls, rough and loud from the entryway, and you scramble upright in his bed, clutching the sheet to your chest. your stomach flips with excitement and nerves.

you barely have time to answer before he’s there, filling the doorway. rafe looks wrecked from the day, grease smeared across his forearms, his shirt clinging with sweat, hair a little damp where he must’ve wiped his face with his sleeve. and god, he looks so hot like that. raw and dirty, like he’s coming straight from working hard just for you.

his eyes drag over you, bare in his sheets, cheeks flushed, lips parted, and his jaw clenches tight.

“fuck me,” he mutters, stepping inside, tossing his hat down without a second thought. “left work early for this. couldn’t take it anymore thinkin about you sittin here naked for me.”

you don’t even care that he’s sweaty, that his hands are streaked black with grease, if anything, it makes your body thrum hotter. he looks untamed, feral with want, and all of it aimed at you.

“rafe,” you whisper, fingers knotting in the sheet, “you’re all dirty, ”

“don’t care.” he cuts you off, already yanking his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him. his chest glistens with sweat, muscles flexing as he stalks closer. “don’t care if i ruin these sheets, don’t care if i get you messy. i just need you.”

the mattress dips under his weight as he crawls up over you, big hands grabbing at your thighs, squeezing like he’s been starving all day. his touch leaves smears of grease on your skin, and instead of pulling away, you arch into it, a whine slipping free.

his grin is sharp, breathless. “yeah? you like seein me like this? all filthy from workin hard, comin home just to wreck my girl?”

your only answer is the desperate nod of your head, your body already aching for him.

he kisses you then, hard and hungry, tasting like salt and smoke and rafe, one hand pressing you down into the mattress while the other palms your breast, smearing more grease across your soft skin. he groans into your mouth, half-crazed.

“gonna ruin you, bunny,” he growls, dragging the sheet down off your body so he can see all of you. “gonna make you remember why you wait for me.”

he doesn’t give you a chance to breathe. the sheet is gone, ripped out of your grip, and suddenly you’re bare under him, his weight pressing you into the mattress. he’s all heat and sweat and grease, and it makes your pulse thunder in your ears because he looks like he’s about to devour you.

“fuck, bunny,” he rasps against your throat, kissing and biting down your skin, leaving damp trails of sweat behind. “do you know what you did to me today? sittin’ there, sendin’ me those pictures? i couldn’t think straight. i left the guys at the shop starin’ at me like i’d lost my mind.”

his hips grind down, hard, and you can feel how desperately he’s been holding back all day. you whimper, arching into him, and he laughs breathlessly against your neck.

“you like that, huh? makin’ me crazy? god, you’re perfect. my sweet little tease.” he mouths at your collarbone, voice ragged and rough with want. “couldn’t even wait to clean up, had to get home to you. all i thought about was wreckin’ this pretty pussy ‘til you’re cryin’ my name.”

he’s fumbling with his belt, impatient, cursing when the buckle catches. you reach for it and he bats your hands away with a growl, teeth gritted. “nah. you just lay there for me. let me take care of it. you already did your job, drivin’ me fuckin’ insane.”

his pants hit the floor and then he’s between your thighs, pushing them wide with the weight of his hips. his hands are filthy, smeared black, so he uses his mouth instead, pressing kisses, nipping along your breasts, tongue circling your nipple until your back arches clean off the bed.

“taste so good,” he groans against you. “wanted to get my hands all over you but i can’t, so i’m just gonna use my mouth ‘til you’re beggin’.”

you’re trembling, clutching at the sheets, and he grins wickedly, dragging his mouth lower until he’s kissing just above where you need him most.

“been thinkin’ of all the dirty shit i’m gonna do to you, bunny. bend you over the counter, fuck you in the shower, make you ride me slow on the couch ‘til your legs give out. you want that?”

you can barely choke out a yes before he’s pushing inside, fast and desperate, a groan ripping out of his chest as he sinks into you like he’s been starving.

“fuck. fuck.” his forehead drops to yours, his thrusts hard and unrelenting right from the start. “this is what i thought about all day. my girl, spread out for me, takin’ me so good. you’re mine, bunny. mine.”

every word comes out like a vow, his praise spilling as fast as his hips move, telling you you’re perfect, you’re his dream, you’re the best girl he’s ever had.

“god, i love you like this,” he pants, kissing you messy and hard between words. “so sweet for me. lettin’ me use you like i need. you’re all i fuckin’ want, bunny, always.”

his weight settles heavy and grounding above you, the mattress dipping with every rough push of his hips. it’s not brutal, not careless, just urgent, like he’s been holding back all damn day and finally snapped. every thrust drives deep, dragging a whimper from your chest, your body stretching and clenching around him in a way that makes you dizzy.

your nails bite into his shoulders, feeling the slick heat of sweat beneath your palms. he doesn’t flinch. if anything, he presses harder, chest to yours, like he wants to merge into you completely.

“that’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice ragged, mouth brushing your temple as he thrusts deeper. “fuck, you take me so good. made for me. swear to god, you were made for me.”

your eyes flutter shut at the words, heart pounding so hard it feels like it’ll bruise your ribs. everything about him is overwhelming, the heat, the scent of motor oil still clinging to him, the rasp of his breath in your ear. and underneath it all, the way he says it like it’s gospel, like there’s no universe where it isn’t true.

he shifts, one filthy hand sliding under your thigh to hook it higher on his hip. grease smears into your skin, but the reverence in his touch makes it feel like a blessing instead of a stain. “look at you,” he groans, pulling back just enough to see your face. “all flushed, so pretty. you don’t even know what you do to me, bunny. i’m fuckin’ ruined for anyone else.”

the thrust that follows hits something deep inside you, and your breath stutters, a high whimper breaking loose. he’s watching, eyes dark and wild, and the sight of you unraveling beneath him makes his pace falter for a second, like he has to hold back or he’ll lose it.

“don’t stop,” you whisper, desperate.

he kisses you then, slow in contrast to the quick, needy rhythm of his hips, like he’s pouring every unsaid word into your mouth. when he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, sweat dripping down his temple, and his voice is almost broken when he says, “you’re everything i prayed for, you know that? swear i’ll spend my life takin’ care of you if you let me.”

the sincerity crashes over you harder than the thrusts, tears prickling your lashes as your body tightens around him. he groans, low and guttural, feeling it.

“fuck, that’s it, bunny,” he pants, clutching your thigh tighter. “you’re so close, i can feel it. let go for me. be my good girl and let go.”

you can’t hold it anymore, the mix of his rough, desperate rhythm and the worship in his words tears you apart. pleasure rips through you, your cry muffled against his shoulder as you come around him, body trembling.

rafe curses, thrusts faltering as your release drags him over the edge with you. his voice is raw in your ear when he groans your name, hips stuttering before pressing deep, like he wants to stay there forever.

he doesn’t collapse on top of you. instead, his dirty hands frame your face, thumbs stroking over your cheeks, smearing grease but touching you like you’re fragile glass. his chest heaves, breathless, but his eyes are soft, melted, worshipful.

“fuck,” he whispers, pressing a shaky kiss to your lips. “my perfect girl. my bunny. you don’t even know how much i love you.”

and you believe him, every single word. because even messy, sweaty, and desperate, he treats you like treasure.

you’re still trembling, skin sticky with his sweat and yours, when he finally eases out of you. your thighs ache in that warm, satisfied way, but you can’t stop the little huff of laughter when you glance at the sheets beneath you, smeared with grease, damp with sweat, and ruined by the both of you.

“rafe,” you groan softly, pushing at his chest as he hovers over you, still catching his breath. “we made a mess. the bed’s, god, the sheets are disgusting.”

he grins, all smug and spent, hair sticking to his forehead. “worth it.”

“i have to wash them,” you say, stubborn even on shaky legs as he helps you sit up. “before it sets in. grease doesn’t just come out, you know.”

rafe just stares at you for a moment like he can’t believe you, then laughs under his breath, pulling his boxers back on. “you just got fucked so good you can barely walk, and your first thought is laundry?”

“yes,” you argue, tugging his shirt tighter around you, wobbling off the bed. “if i don’t do it now, it’ll be worse later. and i’m not letting us sleep in this mess.”

he mutters something about you being impossible but he’s already trailing after you, hands hovering at your hips like he’s ready to catch you if your knees give out. you manage to strip the bed, huffing and tugging the duvet into your arms, and he chuckles when you stumble under the weight of it.

“bunny,” he sighs, snatching the bundle away from you and tossing it over his shoulder like it weighs nothing. “you’re killin’ me. fine, washer first. bath second.”

“exactly,” you say, satisfied, padding down the hall after him on sore legs.

once the cycle starts, he finally corrals you into the bathroom, muttering about bossy little housewives under his breath even as he starts the water. the tub fills with steaming bubbles, the scent of lavender soap curling through the air.

when you sink in together, the warmth of the bath makes your muscles sigh in relief. rafe sits behind you, pulling you back against his chest, big arms circling your middle like he’ll never let you go.

“see?” you whisper, resting your head against his shoulder. “much better.”

his lips graze your temple, slow and sweet, nothing like the frantic pace from earlier. “better now that you’re in my arms,” he murmurs, dragging the washcloth gently over your skin, careful where he wipes away the grease stains. “gonna take care of you, bunny. always.”

steam curls up around the two of you, lavender and warmth wrapping everything in a soft haze. you’re leaned back against his chest, his arms loose and lazy around your waist, the washcloth forgotten on the edge of the tub. it’s quiet for a while, just the sound of the water sloshing gently when he shifts, the steady thud of his heartbeat against your back.

then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, rafe murmurs against your damp hair, “so. tomorrow.”

you tilt your head, smile tugging at your lips. “tomorrow?”

“mm,” he hums, brushing his knuckles along your arm. “we’re packin’ up your place. gettin’ everything out. no more overnight bags, no more pretendin’ you’re just stayin’ over. tomorrow you’re movin’ in for real.”

you turn enough to catch his face, the way his jaw is set like he’s sure of this, the faint grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. your heart flips, even though it’s not a surprise, this has been settled for days, the both of you knowing it without saying.

“you’re serious?” you whisper anyway, just to hear him say it.

rafe’s grin deepens, a little cocky but soft underneath. “serious as hell. i’m even bringin’ the trailer.”

you laugh at that, nose scrunching. “your trailer? the baby?”

“yeah, bunny,” he says with mock solemnity, leaning down to kiss the damp curve of your cheek. “you oughta know how much i love you if i’m lettin’ my baby haul your furniture. i don’t let just anybody use that thing.”

your chest warms so much it almost aches, and you press a wet hand to his stubbled jaw, thumb brushing his cheek. “guess that makes me pretty special, huh?”

he kisses your palm, eyes crinkling at the corners. “pretty damn special. baby’s got competition now. trailer’s my baby… but so are you. guess it evens out.”

you can’t help it, you laugh, soft and giddy, sinking back against him as the bath water rocks around you. and in the way he squeezes you tighter, pressing his smile into your hair, you know he means every word.

[rafeswif3]

writers block is currently beating my ass and then kicking my stomach as i’m on the ground. someone please for the love of god give me recommendations on what to do for the next chapter of geranium!! im suffering LMAO

i kinda want some angst but i have no idea what to do

[hostilecandle]

If ANY of yall EVER do this shit to me, im deleting every single fic out of spite.

If I ever catch one of yall doing this to another author and I know youre a follower of my work I will block you personally on every platform

None of yall are the fic police. I DESPISE genai. I think its an insult to art, humanity, and the planet itself. But aint not a single fucking person here qualified to pick apart a strangers fic looking for a gotcha moment to make yourselves feel superior. If you think something is ai you can ask the author (most are proud of the ai use and will just tell you straight up) if they say yes you have your answer and can warn people. If they say no and you dont believe them you block and quietly keep it between you and maybe a close group of friends. Spreading misinformation is DANGEROUS. And NONE of you doing this shit are anywhere near qualified to do it.

THIS GOES DOUBLY FOR ARTISTS.

[rafeswif3]

okay so i’m going on vacation with my family and that either means i’ll have tons of time to write for geranium or none at all😭 hopefully i do have time though! i should be back home by saturday because i think we’re staying a week! please be patient with me and thank you sooo much for the love <3

[rafeswif3]

──୨geraniumৎ──

❀ chapter 7: moving on in ❀

❀ pairing: mechanic!rafe x florist!reader

❀ warnings: fluff, fast moving relationships, kissing

❀ word count: 6.1k

the morning sunlight spills slow and syrupy through the curtains, casting lazy gold across the bed, across your bare shoulders, across the sheets tangled around your hips. everything smells like sleep and skin and him.

you wake up warm. stretched out on your stomach, cheeks still flushed, thighs sore in that good way, your body humming with leftover heat from the night before.

and rafe’s already awake.

he’s draped across you from behind, one arm wrapped under your ribs, the other slung heavy over your waist, fingers resting possessively on the curve of your hip. his chest is pressed to your back, slow breaths brushing against your neck, and his legs are tangled with yours like he never wants to let you move again.

he shifts just a little, grumbling something low and unintelligible, and then, he noses into your shoulder, kisses the top of your spine, and sighs like he’s never been more content in his life.

“you awake?” he murmurs, voice scratchy from sleep.

you nod into the pillow, voice muffled. “mmhm.”

his hand slides down, over your hip, to your ass. he gives it a lazy squeeze.

“good morning,” he says, grinning now, and you can hear it in his voice.

you huff a sleepy laugh, turning your head to peek at him over your shoulder.

“do you have to grab me first thing?”

he doesn’t even pretend to feel guilty.

“yeah,” he says easily, kneading your ass again, both palms now claiming their spot like he’s been waiting all night. “i do. this is mine now. i’m never gonna stop touching it.”

you roll your eyes, but you’re grinning too.

“noted.”

he hums, happy, and presses another kiss between your shoulder blades.

“you feel okay?” he asks after a moment, quieter.

you nod again, softer this time. “yeah. a little sore. but in the best way.”

his arm tightens around your middle. “good. i was worried i got carried away.”

“you did.”

he tenses, just for a second, until you add, “and i liked it.”

he groans, dramatic and wrecked, burying his face in your neck.

“you’re gonna kill me, bunny.”

you laugh and roll to your side so you can face him. he looks soft like this, sleepy and shirtless and all yours. his hair is messy and his eyes are still heavy, but there’s a slow, tender smile on his face that hasn’t left since last night.

you press your hand to his chest and lean in for a kiss.

“we should make breakfast,” you murmur against his mouth.

he groans again, but this time like you’ve suggested something impossible.

“we have to get up?”

“we don’t have to,” you say with a smirk, sitting up and stretching, the sheets slipping down your back. “but i’m hungry. and you owe me pancakes.”

he props himself up on one elbow, eyes trailing down your back to your ass again.

“i owe you a lifetime of pancakes if you keep wearing nothing around my house.”

you shoot him a look over your shoulder. “then give me something to wear.”

he grins, climbs out of bed, completely naked, and rummages through a drawer until he tosses you a pair of his boxers and an old, oversized t-shirt.

you pull them on slowly, and rafe watches the whole process like it’s the most erotic thing he’s ever seen.

“jesus,” he mutters. “how do you look hotter in my clothes than i do?”

you roll your eyes and head for the kitchen, bare-legged and barefoot, and he follows a second later in just his boxers.

you start rummaging for ingredients, and rafe stays close, too close, hovering behind you like he can’t help it. his hands find your hips first, then slide down to your ass again.

you give him a look.

“you’re really not gonna stop, huh?”

“not a chance,” he says, smiling against your neck. “i’m obsessed. sorry.”

you’re not sorry at all.

you mix batter while he fries bacon. he stands behind you the whole time, occasionally kissing your shoulder or slipping a hand under your shirt just to touch your stomach. once, when you’re bent to reach a pan, he smacks your ass lightly and lets out a soft, reverent “fuck” like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

you eat at the kitchen counter, legs brushing under the stools, his fingers never really leaving your skin.

and after breakfast, when the dishes are done and you’re wiping syrup from your lip, he catches your face in his hand, tilts it toward him, and kisses you slow.

“we got the whole weekend,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your cheek.

you nod. “what do you wanna do?”

his eyes flick to your mouth, then your shirt, then your thighs spilling soft and thick out of his boxers.

“everything,” he says, and he means it. “as long as it’s with you.”

and he’s already pulling you back toward the bedroom.

they head out late morning, after a second round of kisses and a long, lazy shower that mostly consisted of him washing you with both hands like he didn’t trust soap to do a good enough job on its own. now, the two of you are walking down the sidewalk, warm drinks in hand, the sky soft and overcast like the world’s been dialed down to match the calm buzz between your bodies.

you’re in those tight, high-waisted mom jeans he loves, he practically begged you to wear them, and a pale pink sweater, soft and slouchy, sleeves pulled down over your hands.

and rafe can’t. stop. touching you.

his white flannel is open over a faded tee, sleeves rolled up, jeans riding low on his hips. his hair’s a little messy, the way you left it after raking your fingers through it in the kitchen, and his grin hasn’t gone anywhere all morning.

his hand’s in your back pocket again, big palm pressing possessively over the curve of your ass like it belongs there, and it kinda does now.

he leans in close as you pause to look through a shop window, his voice low and smug in your ear.

“you know everyone can see how good this looks on you, right?”

you glance at him, confused. “the sweater?”

he smirks and gives your ass a squeeze, his fingers slipping a little deeper into your pocket.

“nah. this.”

you roll your eyes, but your cheeks go warm. “you’re incorrigible.”

he leans in and kisses your cheek. “and you’re mine.”

at the next shop, when you’re checking out with a little candle and a mug shaped like a mushroom, rafe slings an arm around your waist and grins at the cashier.

“she’s my girlfriend,” he says, out of nowhere. “isn’t she gorgeous?”

the cashier blinks, then smiles politely. “very.”

you shoot him a look once you’re outside. “you’re telling people now?”

“why wouldn’t i?” he asks, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i want everyone to know.”

you shake your head, trying not to smile too wide.

he smacks your ass as you cross the street. lightly, subtle, but definitely real. you spin around.

“rafe!”

“what?” he says, all innocent. “no one saw.”

he’s lying. someone definitely saw. and you’re not even mad about it.

you stop for coffee next, and while you’re digging in your bag for your wallet, rafe tells the barista, “make hers extra sweet. it’s for my girl. she’s the one in pink, and she’s literally the love of my life.”

the barista looks like she’s trying not to melt. you look like you’re trying not to crawl under the counter.

you nudge him hard in the ribs when you sit down. “you’re embarrassing me.”

he grins, completely unbothered. “good. now you know how i feel every time you put on jeans like that and expect me to act normal in public.”

you sip your drink, trying not to smile.

he watches you with so much love in his eyes it makes your chest ache. like he can’t believe you’re his. like he wants to eat you alive and marry you in the same breath.

as you walk out of the café, he loops an arm over your shoulder and pulls you close.

a couple walking their dog passes by, and rafe doesn’t miss a beat.

“hey,” he says, pointing to you with a cocky little smile. “this is my girlfriend.”

they blink. “uh… congrats?”

you bury your face in his chest.

“rafe, oh my god, ”

he’s just laughing now, loud and open, tugging you close again, his hand sneaking right back into your back pocket like it never left.

“get used to it, baby,” he murmurs against your hair. “i’m gonna be like this forever.”

you’re tucked into the little bench outside the café, legs crossed at the ankle, drink warm in your hands. rafe’s sitting beside you, thigh pressed to yours, his hand lazily rubbing up and down your back like he just needs to be touching you, even when there’s nothing to say.

the city moves around you, soft chatter, passing footsteps, the distant sound of someone tuning a guitar a few shops down, and rafe looks so content, sunk into the quiet like it’s something he’s been craving for a long time.

then,

“rafe?”

you both look up at the same time.

two girls are walking up the sidewalk, blinking like they can’t believe what they’re seeing. one’s maybe in high school, tall and all long limbs, clutching a giant iced coffee with both hands. the other’s older, maybe mid-twenties, sun-kissed and wide-eyed, her jaw hanging slightly open.

“wheeze?” rafe says, grinning as he stands up. “sarah?”

suddenly you’re watching a reunion unfold, wheezie launching herself into rafe’s arms, nearly spilling her drink down his back as she wraps him up tight.

“where the hell have you been?” sarah laughs, pulling him into a hug right after. “we haven’t seen you in forever!”

“been busy,” he says, grinning. “working. living. and…”

he turns, one arm still looped around sarah’s shoulders, and gestures toward you.

“this is my girlfriend.”

you stand up automatically, nervous and warm all over, but rafe’s eyes are soft when they meet yours, he’s proud, so clearly proud to be saying those words, and that settles something deep in your chest.

“this is bunny.”

sarah’s eyes light up. wheezie gasps.

“bunny?” sarah says, already grinning. “oh my god, you’re the girl. the one he wouldn’t shut up about for, like, weeks.”

“you’re so pretty,” wheezie blurts, stepping forward like she already wants to be best friends. “and i love your sweater. and your jeans. and your vibe.”

you laugh, flushing. “thank you. it’s really nice to meet you guys.”

rafe slides his hand back into your back pocket like it’s second nature, then bumps his shoulder against yours with a little smirk.

“they’re alright, huh?” he murmurs.

“we’re amazing,” sarah says, overhearing easily. “and it’s about time you brought someone around. i was starting to think you were secretly married to your toolbox.”

rafe rolls his eyes. “i was waiting for the right person. and now i’ve got her.”

you glance up at him, surprised by how easily he says it, how certain he sounds. sarah and wheezie both smile, like they see it too.

“you guys wanna sit?” rafe asks, motioning to the table.

“we’re meeting john b in, like, ten minutes,” sarah says, checking her phone. “but we just had to say hi.”

“and meet bunny,” wheezie adds.

you smile again, a little bashful.

“well,” sarah says, giving rafe a once-over, “you look happy. annoyingly so.”

“i am happy,” rafe says, grinning wide. “what, is that weird for me?”

“a little,” wheezie says. “but in a good way.”

they hug again, quick and tight, and rafe kisses both their foreheads before they go.

as they walk off, wheezie turns around and waves dramatically.

“bye, bunny! you’re so cute! marry him!”

you blink, startled, but rafe just grins and shrugs like yeah, that’s the plan.

you sit back down together, your hand slipping into his this time.

“so,” you say, trying not to laugh, “they seem sweet.”

“they’re nuts,” he says fondly. “but they mean well. and they’re gonna love you. already do, probably.”

he looks at you for a long second after that, like he’s soaking it all in.

then his hand slides right back into your back pocket.

“let’s walk some more,” he says. “i wanna show you off.”

the boutique is bright and airy, tucked into a corner of the block with wide windows and a little bell that jingles when you walk in. everything inside is soft pastels and linen curtains, a dreamy little spot filled with floral prints and flowing fabrics, the kind of place that smells like peonies and vanilla sugar.

rafe holds the door open for you and follows close behind, one hand drifting to the small of your back, fingers brushing under the hem of your sweater like he just can’t help himself.

“look at all this,” you whisper, already wandering toward a rack of sundresses. they’re all light and feminine, fluttery sleeves and delicate ties, some patterned, some simple and soft.

rafe stays right behind you, his eyes warm and completely full of you.

“you’d look so good in every single one of these,” he murmurs, tugging a pink floral one from the rack and holding it up in front of you. “this one. this is so you.”

you laugh, cheeks already warm, but he’s not joking. not even close. you glance back and he’s got that same look on his face, the one like he’s seeing a miracle.

“go try it on,” he says. “and that white one next to it. and the green one. and, actually, just, here.” he starts grabbing more. cute little babydoll tops, high-waisted skirts, a couple crop tops that look soft as clouds. “you’re getting all of these.”

you stare at him. “rafe, ”

“i’m serious.” he leans in close, voice low and sweet against your ear. “wanna spoil you. wanna see you in all these pretty things. you like ‘em, right?”

you nod, already clutching a growing pile to your chest.

“then that’s all that matters.”

he walks with you to the fitting room, hands full of more options than you know what to do with. jeans that hug your hips, shorts he keeps mumbling about being “unfair,” a tiny floral bralette that makes him stop and stare for a second too long when he finds it near the front of the shop.

and tucked behind it, barely visible, is a soft pink lingerie set. lacy, sheer in places, with little bows on the straps and delicate scalloped trim.

you pause. hold it up. your heart does something strange and fluttery.

rafe’s already next to you again, voice a little huskier now. “that one. definitely that one.”

you look up at him, teasing. “you just want an excuse to stare at my tits.”

he shrugs, entirely unapologetic. “i always want an excuse to stare at your tits.”

you roll your eyes, laughing under your breath, but the look in his eyes is deeper than just lust. it’s adoration. awe. like he still can’t believe you’re his.

“try it on for me,” he murmurs, stepping back to let you take the pile into the fitting room. “and if you like it, i’m buying it.”

you duck into the little booth, heart pounding, hands shaking just a little as you shimmy out of your sweater and jeans. everything in here feels like too much and not enough, too intimate, too sweet, too real.

you try on the pink set last.

and when you step out, shy and flushed, rafe is sitting on the little bench just across the hall, his elbows on his knees like he’s trying to be casual. but the moment he sees you, he goes still. eyes wide. jaw slack.

he stands up so slow it’s like he doesn’t want to spook you.

“baby…” he exhales, stepping closer. his hand lifts like he’s about to reach for you, but he stops himself just shy of touching. “you, you look like a fucking dream.”

you bite your lip, arms folding loosely over your middle. “you really like it?”

“i love it,” he says, voice thick. “i love you in it. it’s sweet, and soft, and sexy as hell. like it was made for you.”

he finally steps in, fingers ghosting over the edge of the fabric where it hugs your hips. he looks like he’s in a daze.

“can’t wait to see you in this again,” he whispers. “but more than that… can’t wait to see you wearing it around the house. for me.”

your face burns.

“i’ll take it,” he says before you can even speak. “and everything else. go change back, baby. i’m spoiling you today.”

you laugh as you duck back into the fitting room, heart so full you don’t even know how you’re standing.

when you come back out, dressed again, cheeks still warm, rafe’s already waiting at the register, wallet out, chatting up the cashier like it’s the best day of his life.

“see this girl right here?” he says, turning to grin at you. “she’s mine.”

the cashier smiles politely, but rafe doesn’t even notice. he’s too busy looking at you like you hung the damn moon.

they walk slow on the way back, hands clasped, shopping bags swinging gently between them. the afternoon sun spills golden across the sidewalk, warm and soft as it filters through the trees lining the street. everything smells faintly like coffee and grass and the perfume of late summer blooms.

rafe’s thumb strokes gently over your knuckles, and his voice is soft when he breaks the quiet.

“you got real quiet back there.”

you shrug a little, eyes on the sidewalk. “just thinking.”

he looks over at you, watching your profile like he already knows something’s weighing heavy on your heart. “what about?”

you hesitate, then sigh. “work. it’s… not great right now.”

his brows draw together, concerned. “what’s going on?”

you pause, choosing your words carefully. “my manager’s been different lately. cold. nitpicky. and a few of the newer girls… i don’t know. it just feels like i’m being pushed out. i love it there, you know? i love the flowers. the quiet. making things pretty. but… i don’t think they’re gonna keep me much longer.”

his jaw tenses. not in anger, just in that quiet, protective way he always gets when something’s hurting you and he can’t fix it fast enough.

“and if they let me go,” you continue, voice smaller now, “i won’t be able to pay rent. i barely make enough as it is.”

he stops walking, just for a moment, pulling you gently to a halt with him. his fingers slide from your hand to your waist, warm and grounding.

“hey,” he says, voice steady, eyes locked on yours. “you listen to me, bunny.”

you blink up at him, heart thudding.

“i don’t care what happens with that job. you’re not alone, okay? you have me.” he cups your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin like he needs you to feel what he’s saying. “and having me means you have a place to stay. no questions. no pressure. just… come home with me if it comes to that. you’d never have to worry about rent again.”

your throat tightens. “rafe, ”

“nah,” he says softly, but firm. “we’ve already talked about this, haven’t we? the kind of life we want? i want to take care of you. always have.”

you nod, biting your lip, eyes shiny.

“i’m serious,” he continues. “i don’t need you to carry everything alone. i like being the one who works and makes the money. and i love the idea of coming home and knowing you’re safe and cared for. that’s all i want.”

you look away for a second, blinking fast. “i just… i like working. not just for the money. i like the flowers. being around all of that beauty.”

he leans in and kisses your forehead, soft and slow.

“then we’ll make sure you still have that,” he murmurs. “you always say you’ve wanted a garden, right?”

you nod.

“then we’ll build one,” he says. “in the backyard. full of everything you love, roses, lilacs, tulips, whatever you want. you can grow your own flowers. cut them fresh every morning, fill the house with them.”

your lips curve into a soft smile.

“maybe i’ll learn to press them,” you whisper. “make little keepsakes.”

his grin grows. “see? already sounds like a dream.”

you lean into his side as you start walking again, the weight in your chest lifting, replaced by something warm and steady.

“you’d really be okay with that?” you ask. “me not working?”

he snorts. “baby, the thought of you at home wearing my shirts, barefoot in the kitchen or out in the garden? yeah. i’d be very okay with that.”

you laugh, cheeks flushing as he slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in close.

“besides,” he adds, nuzzling into your hair, “you working was always a bonus. not a requirement. you being happy? that’s what matters.”

and as the two of you stroll through town, your bags full of soft pink things, your heart a little lighter, you start to believe him. maybe losing your job wouldn’t be the end. maybe it’s just the start of something even better.

they get home just as the sun starts to dip behind the trees, golden light casting long shadows across the porch. the air is still warm, humming with cicadas, and your arms are full of pastel shopping bags when you go to open the front door.

you shift one of them to your hip and reach for the handle, but rafe is already behind you, keys in hand and brow furrowed.

“bunny,” he says, stepping up close behind you. “what did i say?”

you glance over your shoulder. “what?”

he doesn’t even open the door yet. just sets a hand on your lower back and leans in until his voice is right by your ear.

“i told you i’d carry everything,” he murmurs. “you’ve done enough today. spoiling you means you don’t lift a damn finger.”

you blink, caught a little off guard, stomach flipping at the firmness in his tone. not harsh, not scolding. just sure. just steady. he takes the bags from your hands one by one, stacking them in the crook of his arm with easy strength, like it’s nothing. like he wants to.

“go inside,” he says, nodding toward the door once he unlocks it. “change into something comfy. one of my shirts. leave the rest to me.”

your cheeks heat, heart fluttering. “okay.”

you walk inside, a little dazed, your steps slower than usual. not because you’re tired, because something about the way he told you what to do, so calm and gentle and certain, did something to you.

you don’t usually like being fussed over. not in a way that makes you feel small.

but this?

this is different.

this is him holding doors open. taking the bags. pressing a kiss to the crown of your head as you slip past him. telling you what he wants and expecting you to listen.

it doesn’t make you feel small.

it makes you feel safe.

you head down the hall and pull off your jeans and sweater, folding them neatly before digging through the laundry basket for one of his old shirts. it’s the gray one, soft and worn and oversized, the collar stretched a little from use. you tug it on, no bra, nothing underneath but panties, and the fabric falls almost to your knees. it smells like him.

you hear him moving around out front, doors opening and closing as he brings in the rest of your haul. his boots thud against the hardwood when he comes inside, and your heart skips when you hear the low sound of him humming under his breath.

you pad barefoot out to the kitchen, still wearing his shirt, and find him setting the last bag down on the counter. he glances up, and freezes.

“jesus,” he mutters, his eyes dragging over you slowly. “you tryna kill me?”

you smile, shy but glowing. “you told me to change.”

he walks toward you, his hands already reaching, sliding over your hips as he pulls you in.

“you listened,” he murmurs, clearly pleased. “god, baby. i like you like this.”

you feel yourself melt, leaning into him as he ducks to kiss you, slow and sweet, like he has nowhere else to be. his hands settle on your lower back, fingers curling lightly in the hem of his shirt.

you whisper into his mouth, “i think i like it too.”

“yeah?”

“yeah,” you nod. “being told what to do. being taken care of. i didn’t know it could feel like this.”

he presses his forehead to yours, grinning.

“it feels like this because it’s me,” he says, voice warm and quiet. “and because it’s you. you’re not a burden, bunny. you’re mine. and i want to take care of you.”

your throat tightens, eyes stinging for a second, but the feeling that rises next is soft and full and so steady.

you nod, kissing him again, slower this time.

he pulls away first, just enough to murmur, “go sit on the couch, baby. i’ll make us something to drink, then i wanna go through everything we bought and see how cute you’ll look in all of it.”

you hesitate, just a second, then smile, all soft and trusting.

“okay,” you whisper. and for once, it’s easy to let someone else take the reins. especially when it’s him.

they don’t have much on the tv, just some old cooking show reruns humming soft in the background, the kind with a warm narrator’s voice and gentle chopping sounds, but you’re not really watching it.

you’re curled up in rafe’s lap, your knees tucked beside his thigh, your cheek resting against his shoulder as he wraps his arms around your waist. he smells like sun and cedar and grocery store soap, and his hands keep moving, one stroking lazily up and down your back, the other trailing circles over your hip like he can’t help himself.

“you comfy?” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple.

you hum, eyes closed. “mmhm. too comfy.”

“good.” he presses a kiss there, just under your hairline. “i like you like this.”

you pull back just enough to look up at him, your fingers idly tracing the buttons on his flannel. “can i tell you something?”

“always.”

you take a breath. “i think i’m gonna quit.”

his brows lift a little, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

you keep going. “i just… i know it’s coming anyway. i can feel it. the weird energy. the way they’ve been cutting my hours. and i don’t want to sit around waiting for them to decide when it happens. i wanna be the one to walk away.”

rafe’s face softens. he shifts just a little so he can cradle your cheek in one hand.

“are you sure, baby?”

you nod. “yeah. i’ve been thinking about it since earlier. and if you really mean it, what you said about me staying here, then i want to.”

his thumb brushes your cheek. “i meant every word.”

you smile, small but certain. “okay then.”

he grins, wide and sweet and boyish, like you just made his entire month. “you’re really gonna stay here with me? full-time?”

“guess you’re stuck with me now,” you tease, nudging your nose against his.

“good.” he kisses you, quick and smiling. “finally.”

you settle back down against his chest, and he keeps petting your back, voice low and thoughtful.

“we’ll make it work, bunny. you’ll be here when i get home, and i’ll take care of everything else. bills, groceries, whatever. all you have to worry about is what makes you happy.”

you nod against him. “i’ve been thinking about the garden.”

his chest lifts with a slow breath. “yeah?”

“i wanna plant one in the backyard. nothing big, just… some flowers i love. the ones from the shop. dahlias, peonies, lilacs maybe. maybe some wildflowers too. something messy and soft.”

he smiles again, and you feel it against your forehead. “you can have the whole yard if you want. i’ll help you dig the beds.”

“and i could keep the house nice. make little lunches for you to take to work. laundry, cleaning… i actually like that stuff.”

rafe groans, dropping his head back against the couch dramatically. “jesus, baby, you’re gonna kill me. you know that? you’re my actual dream girl.”

you laugh and kiss his jaw, and his arms tighten around you.

“i’ve never wanted anything more,” he says, quieter now, voice low and warm against your hair. “you. here. in my shirt. in our house. waiting for me.”

your heart swells, full and slow and heavy in the best way. you don’t say anything for a while. just listen to the soft TV and his heartbeat under your cheek and the creak of the couch as he shifts to hold you closer.

eventually you murmur, “maybe tomorrow we can start mapping out where the garden will go.”

he nods, stroking his fingers through your hair. “anything you want, bunny. this whole place is yours now too.”

and you believe him. more than you’ve believed anything in a long, long time.

yeah. it’s fast. dizzying, even, when you stop to think about it.

but right now, you’re tucked into rafe’s lap, warm and soft and wrapped up in his arms like you belong there, like you’ve always belonged there. like your body remembers something your brain hasn’t caught up to yet.

“this is fast, huh,” you murmur, fingers drawing slow circles on his chest.

rafe doesn’t flinch or pull back. doesn’t joke or change the subject.

he just nods, slow and steady, brushing your hair behind your ear. “yeah. it is.”

you tilt your head to look up at him, brows pinched just a little. “do you think it’s too fast?”

he huffs out a breath that’s not quite a laugh and cradles your face like he can’t believe he gets to hold it. “nah, baby. not if it feels like this.”

your throat gets tight. because yeah. it does feel like this. like the kind of story you used to daydream about, the kind people used to tell back when things were simple. when love was all that mattered.

you lean your head on his shoulder, voice barely above a whisper. “you know… people used to do this all the time. fall in love quick. get married after a week. a month. when it felt right.”

he hums, rubbing your thigh in lazy little sweeps, eyes still on the tv but not really watching it. “yeah. back when people weren’t afraid of it. when love meant something you didn’t second guess.”

you smile, small and soft. “i always liked that. always wanted that.”

his hand stills for a second, like he’s really listening now.

“yeah?” he says, a little rougher. a little lower.

you nod against him. “i used to feel kind of… dumb for it. like i was too romantic. too old-fashioned or something.”

“you’re not,” he says quickly, shifting so he can see your face again. “bunny, you’re not. i swear to god, i’ve been waiting my whole life for someone who wants that too.”

your breath catches. he sees it, leans in, presses his forehead to yours.

“you wanna know something?” he whispers, voice soft and serious. “i was thinkin’ about it earlier. like… this could really be it for me. you could be it. i already feel it in my gut.”

your whole body goes warm. your heart hammers so hard you’re sure he can feel it.

“yeah?” you breathe.

he nods, eyes on yours. “yeah. and i don’t care if it’s only been a few weeks. i’d marry you tomorrow if you let me.”

you don’t laugh. don’t even smile.

you just stare at him, wide-eyed, a little breathless, heart racing for a whole new reason now.

and then you whisper, “what if i said yes?”

his mouth drops open just a little. his grip on your waist tightens.

“baby,” he breathes. “don’t play with me.”

you shake your head, serious. “i’m not. i meant it. this is all i’ve ever wanted. someone to love me like this. to build a life with. something real. forever. and if you feel the same way…”

“i do,” he says, instantly, gripping your face with both hands. “i do. you’re it for me, bunny. i swear. and if you wanna go fast, we’ll go fast. i don’t care what anyone thinks. i’ll buy you a ring tomorrow. hell, tonight.”

you laugh through a sudden rush of tears, cupping his cheeks, and god, he looks so happy it makes your chest ache.

“okay,” you whisper, voice trembling. “okay.”

he kisses you hard, full of heat and promise and something wild and real, and when he pulls back, he’s grinning like a man who just won everything he’s ever wanted.

“you’re mine now,” he says, almost in awe. “my girl. my baby. forever.”

you nod, smiling so hard your cheeks hurt.

“yours,” you whisper. “completely.”

and you mean it. with everything you’ve got.

later that night, everything feels quieter. softer.

the tv is off. the lights are low. you’re curled into rafe’s chest, legs tangled, his shirt hanging off your shoulders and brushing the tops of your thighs. he’s warm and still just a little damp from the shower, his skin clean and smelling like cedar and soap, his chest bare, boxers riding low on his hips.

his hand’s resting on your lower back, fingers tracing slow, absentminded shapes. your face is tucked under his jaw, and the steady thump of his heartbeat is enough to lull you halfway to sleep.

but then his voice comes, low and thoughtful in the quiet.

“you sure this is what you want?”

your breath catches. not because you’re surprised, but because you know exactly what he means.

you pull back just a little, enough to look up at him in the dim light. his brows are soft, his lips parted like he’s been chewing on the question for hours. there’s no doubt in his eyes. just concern. just care.

“you mean… all of it?” you ask gently.

he nods once. “yeah. the ring. the wedding. staying home. us doing this fast. for real.”

you pause, letting your fingers slide over the center of his chest, right where his heart lives. it’s still beating steady. still beating for you.

“i do,” you whisper. “i want all of it.”

his arm tightens around you, jaw clenching just slightly like he’s trying not to feel too much too fast.

“i know it’s fast,” you go on, your voice quiet but sure. “but it doesn’t feel fast. it feels like… like we just knew. like our hearts decided before our heads even caught up.”

rafe lets out a slow breath, and then he kisses your forehead, long and deep.

“mine did,” he says. “the second you smiled at me.”

you nuzzle into his chest again, smile tucked against his skin.

“you still want me home every day?” you murmur. “making the house nice, taking care of things, maybe starting that flower garden?”

he groans softly, dragging his hand down to cup the curve of your hip.

“baby, i need it. i think about it all the time now. coming home to you in one of my shirts, barefoot and soft, something good cooking, flowers on the table. your voice greeting me at the door.”

you hum, heart warm and full. “and kids?”

he grins into your hair. “as many as you want. i’ll give you everything, bunny. i want that life. old school. simple. real. you and me, building it together.”

your eyes sting a little, but you’re not sad. not even close.

you press your lips to his chest, right where his heart is, and whisper, “i want it too. all of it. the house, the babies, the ring. i wanna be yours forever.”

rafe exhales like he’s been holding his breath all day, pulling you even closer until there’s no space left between your bodies.

“then we’ll do it,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “we’ll do it all, baby. i’ll make you my wife.”

you smile against his skin, letting yourself sink into the moment, into him.

[novamiss]

ditched & devoted- wasted material

summary: a day of sun, sea and a shirtless Rafe Cameron is all you could need but it starts off on a rocky foot when you finally come face to face with Sarah again, your (ex?) best friend. Rafe is not letting it ruin his one chance with you.

pairing: best friend's brother rafe x fem!reader

previous part next part

words: 3.7k

It was Saturday. You were going on a date with Rafe Cameron. If someone told you that just a month ago, you would think they’d lost their minds and if someone told your 13-year-old self that, she’d be jumping for joy. You expected to feel nervous, waited for the nausea to trickle into your stomach, to feel the regret wash over you like an early morning wave but it never came. The tides stayed steady and strong. Instead of nervousness, excitement shadowed you in the days since you took Wheezie shopping. You’d already picked out your outfit by Thursday, told Mayci about it on Friday and now it was the day.

The sun was shining bright with only a few clouds lingering in the sky. You awoke to the usual sounds of a chaotic Saturday morning, your parents getting ready for Miles’ soccer game, the click of your mom’s heels; ones that she refused to switch for sneakers no matter how many times they got stuck, the deep tone of your dad’s voice as he called for Miles to hurry up and the stomps of your little brother clambering down the stairs. With the slam of the door, the house was enveloped in silence, a deep sigh of calm settling through the walls as you got up and started to get ready. You’d settled on a butter yellow bikini, molten sunshine clinging to you like a second skin - small enough to catch his attention but not too outrageous, nothing he hasn’t already seen before. You paired it with a light, linen shorts and shirt set and some mini brown sunglasses pushed up into your wavey hair.

Once in your car, butterflies swirl in your stomach as you tighten your grip on the wheel. You let out a deep breath and loosen your hold as you try to tame the flurry– it’s good nerves, the first date excitement, wanting to look cute, wanting him to think you look pretty. You don’t have to be scared, or worried – it’s Rafe. You’ve known him forever; you don’t remember a time before him. You know him explicitly, the good and the bad. And so, you make the familiar journey with a smile on your face, humming along to your usual playlist and when you get to Tanneyhill you don’t hesitate.

Rafe had been getting the boat ready all morning, he’d gotten up earlier than usually for the weekend, when the only sound echoing the halls was Ward starting up the coffee machine. He threw on a pair of basketball shorts and a random t-shirt before he made his way downstairs, he passed his dad in the kitchen grumbling a low “good morning” before making his way to the docks – leaving Ward with a coffee mug in hand and brows raised to his hairline. After an hour, the Druthers was refuelled, tidied and restocked with any drinks and snacks he could remember you liking. 

By the time he got back to the house, Ward and Rose were in the wind so he took his time getting ready – didn’t have to worry about his dad making a comment on the amount of water he was using. He freshened up his shave, before picking out his blue swim trunks and a striped t-shirt and sprayed a generous amount of his Tom Ford cologne – one you’ve complimented him on many times before. As the clock was ticking closer to midday, he felt his chest tighten with an unfamiliar sense of nerves. Rafe had gone on many dates, too many first dates to count but the big difference was, he has never been on a date with you. You, who’s haunted his dreams for as long as he can remember. You who’s always had his back, without question. You who has no trouble calling him out, reminding him when he’s being an asshole. You who’s also soft enough with him to let him change, and to notice it when he does. So that’s why his chest feels tight and his hands have been jittery since Wednesday – he’s waited his whole life for this one shot, and he refuses to mess it up. With a deep breath he grabs some beach towels from the closet and jogs them over to the boat, double checking that everything is in order one more time.

You walk through the front door of Tanneyhill, floating through like summer breeze and lightly call out for Rafe. You’d planned to meet here but when you see no signs of him, you shoot him a text to let him know you’re here, asking if you should meet him by the dock. The creak of the stairs draws your attentions and your head snaps up only to be frozen in place by a familiar blonde.

“Y/n, hey.” Sarah startles, stopping mid step on the staircase.

“Hey.” You hesitantly reply, a tingle of awkwardness making its way down your spine, dampening the flutters that had been running rampant all morning, like a damp towel on a fire.

“What are you doing here? Oh my god – did we have plans? John B’s coming to pick me up.” Sarah rambles as she starts to make her way down the stairs. Irritation prickles at your skin as you listen to her; she’d have to speak to you to make plans, even ones she forgets about. She was once someone who would drop everything for you if you showed up at her door, how could that change in only a matter of weeks?

“Oh no, I’m here for-“ You go to correct Sarah before a deep voice overtakes your own.

“Hey, you ready?” Rafe greets you as he walks through from the kitchen, eyes steady on you, with a lightness in his step. When he takes in your slightly rigid posture and how your eyes darted from the stairs as he walked in, his gaze travels to the steps and he scoffs as he spots his sister.

“You’re here.” He states blandly, making Sarah roll her eyes.

“I’m on my way out.” She retorts with a huff.

“Shocking.” He replies with a sarcastic drawl before he turns his attention back to you. “Ready to go?” Rafe asks you again.

“Yeah, I just wanted to give Wheezie these earrings – I’ll be two minutes.” You say quickly, giving his forearm a squeeze in reassurance as you rush up the stairs, not wanting to keep him waiting. You breeze past Sarah, shooting her a short smile before you disappear up the stairs. Rafe’s breath stutters for a moment at your warm, comforting touch and as your fresh, beachy scent lingers in your wake.

“What are you two doing?” Sarah questions as she stops in front of her brother, crossing her arms across her chest. Rafe lets out a huff, as if he’s already tired of this conversation.

“Going out on Druthers.” He dryly offers.

“Just you two?” She asks, her eyebrows furrowing and Rafe watches as disdain clouds her face.

“Yes, Sarah.” He drones, hoping his short answers will annoy her enough to leave – he isn’t quite so lucky.

“Why?” She demands, her arms tightening around her body.

“Why not?” Rafe shrugs, looking back to the stairs hoping you’ll appear.

“You’re not friends.” Sarah argues, narrowing her eyes at her brother – her distrust blatantly obvious.

“Well, I’m not trying to be her friend.” He turns back to look his sister in the eye, letting a small, boyish smirk work its way across his face as he watches her get more annoyed.

“Rafe, I told you- “

“No.” He swiftly interrupts. “You don’t get to tell me shit about her anymore.” He reprimands in a harsh, whispered tone as he hears your steps once again.

“I- “

“Okay, ready now.” You beam as you rush back down the stairs. Rafe quickly puts a smile back on his face, turning his back to the blonde.

“Let’s go.” He gently takes your hand, shocking you slightly, as he pulls you into the kitchen and away from where Sarah still stands wordlessly. You feel the urge to glance back at Sarah, to see if she’s upset, if she even cares but you keep your head staring straight and instead chance a glimpse up at Rafe. He keeps his hand still loosely holding yours, as you peer up at him and watch him attempt to school his expression.

“That was… frosty.” You try, his head darts to you and his blue’s meets yours and his shoulders unwind.

“Sorry, I didn’t know she was here.” He softens, giving your hand a light squeeze.

“No, no it’s fine. You guys just seemed kind of tense when I came back.” You gently pry.

“It was nothing.” He dismisses but he catches your slight frown so he quickly adds. “It’s just the usual with me and Sarah- nothing to worry about.” He flashes you a grin that quickly melts away any of your concerns and brings you back to the moment.

Rafe leads you down to their dock and as you step foot onto the wooden slates, he intertwines your fingers and shoots you a smile, like he knows the effect he has on you – that he hopes he has on you. He holds your joint hands up, supporting you as you hop onto the Cameron’s yacht, and he makes quick work of untying the mooring lines. He jumps onto the boat behind you, and gently places his hands on your waist from behind to usher you to the helm. Your senses are overrun by his presence; his strong, warm hands encompassing your waist, his signature scent of vanilla, tobacco and spice, his broad chest pressing into your back. You feel your cheeks pinken and you thank your lucky stars, he can’t see your flustered state. He slides his hands from you as you enter the cabin and he makes his way to the steering wheel.

As familiar with it as riding a bike, Rafe effortlessly sails you away from the house and deeper into the water. With no real destination in mind, you make mindless, idle chit chat as he decides where to moor for the day. As you talk, the sun is blazing down on you both, causing you to slide your own glasses down from your hair and look over to see Rafe squinting against the sun, sweat beginning to bead at his brow. He is too focused on steering to pay it any mind, so you grab the sunglasses that are hooked into the collar of his t-shirt and place them on his face, he sends you a beaming smile in thanks and struggles to pull his focus back to the water. As you get more comfortable and the sun rises further, you shrug your oversized shirt off of your shoulders, draping it across the couch, leaving you in your bikini top and shorts. When you turn back to him, you catch Rafe eyeing you. You bite your cheek to try and stifle your smile as you quirk a brow at him when his eyes stay firmly on your form. He sends you another smile as he rubs his hand against the back of his neck, his t-shirt straining against his biceps. 

“You want a go?” Rafe asks, nodding towards the steering wheel, swiftly changing topics from his ogling.

“No, I’m good just watching.” You tease, pulling a light laugh from him as he nods in acceptance. He gleams under your attention as he can feel your eyes on him instead of the island – it is not often that you are alone together, there’s always another friend, another family member and he’s held on to every moment he can with you but now he’s been gifted your undivided attention, and he's not going to waste it.

He manages to steel his focus on the water, until he’s reached his set spot, the one he knows gets the best view of the sunset and drops the anchor – ready to enjoy the rest of the day with you. Just you. 

He guides you out onto the deck, where you are stunned to see your usual chair, the one you shotgun whenever you and Sarah or your larger group of friends go out on the boat, is already set up with a beach towel and bottle of water, and another chair mirrored beside it.

“Had it all planned out, huh?” You grin at him as he stops at your side.

“Yeah, what’d you think this was?” He smirks, nudging you over to your spot. 

You both get comfortable, stripping off until you are just in your swimwear and lay out on the perfectly placed sun-beds. Rafe sits himself up slightly, resting up on his elbows, body turned towards you.

“Is this weird for you?” He asks, removing his sunglasses so he can see you clearer.

“What?” You ask, mimicking his position, your body slightly tilted in his direction.

“This.” He gestures to you both.

“You know, it’s kind of weird how normal this feels.” You admit, pushing your sunglasses into your hair again so you can meet his eye. “I guess I didn’t notice how flirty you were with me, because this feels pretty normal.” You teasingly add, making him smile.

“Doing some of my best work and it was wasted on you.” He jests with a scoff.

“Half the island would kill me if they knew.” You play along but Rafe only shakes his head.

“Nah, this is just for you.” He states like it’s simple, as he lays back on his towel. Like he hasn’t just taken your breath away.

And the rest of the day is just that, it’s simple but breath-taking. You lay out in the sun, for probably too long, just talking about anything and everything. You never have to worry about awkward pauses or tense tremors in conversation and when you get hungry, Rafe brings out an assortment of fruit and snacks he’d stocked away. A laugh or a smile is stuck to your face all day, your cheeks rosy pink from both the bliss of the day and the summer rays, but the glow? That’s all Rafe. 

He hasn’t been able to draw his eyes away, from your radiant smile, your soft, plump lips, the glimmer of happiness echoed in your own eyes, from the stretch of your torso as you lay out on the towel, skin already sun-kissed and freckled. He wants to trace every line, every freckle, memorise every crevice until he can recognise you in the dark. He wonders if your lips are as soft as they look, what they’ll feel like pressed against his own, how they’d taste, how’d you’d sound gasping against his mouth. He wants you unconditionally, and that has never happened to him before – he’s never felt this way. And it should scare him but when he looks at you, as your throw your head back laughing, he can’t find it in himself to be anything but happy.

“What are your plans for the rest of the break?” Rafe asks as he grabs a grape from the bunch, now sat upright and facing you.

“Not a lot – mostly hanging with the group. I basically want to be out of the house as much as possible.” You shrug. “Topper and Kelce were trying to get me and Mayci on the green so.” You trail off, looking back to him.

“Going to be a golf girl, huh?” He asks in a goading tease.

“More like a sit-in-the-cart girl but sure- if it will get them to shut up about it.” You roll your eyes playfully, smiling when you hear a huff of amusement escape him.

“How about we go? I can see how good your swing is.” He offers, miming a golf swing for effect.

“Please – You want to see how short my skirt is.” You retort with a scoff.

“Woah, I didn’t know there were skirts involved – but now that you mention it.” He lets his voice teeter off as he leans over to you, making you push at his chest with a slight giggle. He takes the opportunity to pull you next to him so you’re both sat on the same sun lounger, now facing each other as you sit cross-legged. 

“Kelce only wants us to go because he’s trying it on with Mayci.” You share, fiddling with the strings of your bikini to occupy your hands.

“What happened to Becca?” He inquires, taking one of your hands in his and mindlessly playing with your fingers.

“That flatlined real fast.” You shake your head. “See all the fun you miss when you’re being a big businessman.” You add in a tempting tone nudging him gently with your knee.

“One of the few good things about it.” He huffs in return.

“You mean that?”

“I mean… it’s just a lot of pressure.” He hesitates for a second, momentarily unsure if he should share more but when he sees your face so open and willing to listen, he can’t help but carry on. “Trying to live up to everyone’s expectations and prove myself. They all still look at me like I'm that 17-year-old that screws everything up. It’s harder than I thought I’d be.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” You try to argue but he stops you with a flat look. “No, I mean – the pressure yes, but you’re not a screw up and you never were. You were just figuring things out, if you can’t do that as a teenager, when are you supposed to? Sure, you may have made a few more mistakes, but we also have a hell of a lot more stuff at our disposal and not a lot of supervision, what do they expect us to do? Not throw parties in mansions and get drunk? Sounds kind of lame to me.” You reason, pulling his hand into your lap when you see his eyes flicker away from yours. You never want him to feel like he has to hide this from you, to feel ashamed - not for being a reckless kid, especially when he’s grown from it.

“Probably shouldn’t have driven my bike into Topper’s pool.” He winces making you let out an uncontrollable giggle at the memory – the soaked dresses, Topper’s pure joy turning into horror as he watched the pool tiles crumble like sand.

“No, but it definitely made for a good story.” You surmise, letting out another giggle before you calm. “You have changed though.” You add for good measure, meeting his earnest gaze.

“Yeah?” He bashfully asks. “That a good thing?”

“It’s not that you were bad before it’s just- I don’t know. You don’t seem as angry. I mean, if Sarah tried to date a Pogue as few years ago, he’d already be 6 feet under.” You point out.

“Alright, alright.” He drawls, slightly pulling away from you in jest.

“I’m kidding – kind of.” You wink, pulling him back towards you, missing his warmth.

“Yeah, well- turns out coke is bad for you.” He dryly retorts.

“You know, I have heard that somewhere.” You teasingly add is a faux thoughtful tone. You let the playful moment linger for a moment before interlinking your fingers with his. “I’m proud of you Rafe, really.” For a moment he’s taken aback, eyes flickering to meet your warm gaze and he feels the heat crawl up his neck making him duck his head slightly as he gives your hand a tight squeeze.

“Thanks.”

The sun begins to set along the horizon, painting the sky in a swirl of watercolour pinks and purples. The air starts to cool as the breeze carries the chill of the water causing goosebumps to rise across your skin. Rafe drifts back inside the cabin and emerges with a hoodie in hand, he holds it out to you and you accept it with a blushing smile. The fabric is a light grey and as soft as the blankets that lay scattered across your bed, you can already smell his cologne on it, probably woven into the threads from how often he wears it. You pull it on and he helps you tug it over your head, your vision momentarily clouded grey. When your head pops back out, you are greeted by his wide grin and his soft laugh as your hair scatters across your face. You finish pulling it down the rest of your body, his gaze lingering, watching as his hoodie swallows your figure, falling down until it stops at your thigh. When he meets your eye again, he gently brushes your hair back out of your face and out from under his hoodie. His hands pause, hesitating to fully draw away from you. You can see it in his eyes when he makes the decision, his hands moving to the joint of your neck, his thumbs gently tracing the line of your jaw. 

“This okay?” He asks in a voice close to a whisper. You nod gently, eyes not daring to leave his. He can feel your pulse pick up, feels the way you harshly swallow and the pink start to brush across your cheeks. He grins as he starts to lean in and your breath stutters. He stops a breath away from your barely parted lips, so close that as he moves his mouth to speak, you can feel the shadow of his lips grace yours.

“This?” he asks again in the same whisper, this one mixed with a slight tease. He might as well have shouted it as all you can see, feel, smell is him. Rafe. Rafe. Rafe.

Instead of answering him, you tilt your face up and stretch up onto your toes, capturing his lips with your own in a gentle kiss. You place your hands on his waist for balance and you can feel his moment of shock, before his grip on your face fastens and he draws you in closer. Your hands press firmly into his stomach grappling for the solidity to remind you that this is real, this is really happening. You let your fingers slide up his abs, feeling them clench at your touch, exploring up his chest and over his shoulders as he pulls you closer until your chests are pressed together, his lips never parting from yours. Your arms wrap around his neck, not letting him stray as the kiss deepens and his hands fist the material of your hoodie at your waist – at his hoodie, bunching it up until his hand lands on your bare waist. You pull apart slowly, taking a moment to breathe as he rests his forehead on yours. His hands clench on your waist as your eyes flutter open and he murmurs out softly.

“Fuck.”

[rafeswif3]

──୨geraniumৎ──

❀ chapter six: yours, completely ❀

❀ pairings: mechanic!rafe x florist!reader

❀ warnings: insecurity, name calling, sierra being a bitch, smut, pure SMUT, lovely cuties in love

❀ word count: 5.6k

the morning comes slow.

soft and golden, like it knows you both need the gentleness. sunlight spills in through the slats of your blinds, cutting pale stripes across the sheets and the bare skin beneath them. the air smells like warmth and laundry and the faintest trace of motor oil, like rafe, still tangled up with you in your bed.

you wake first.

you don’t open your eyes right away. just lay there, listening to the soft, even rhythm of his breathing, the way it rustles the pillow beside you. his arm is draped across your waist, heavy and warm, his hand splayed against your side like he needs to feel that you’re still there.

and you are.

you’re still here. and so is he.

his chest rises and falls against your back, steady. grounding. the night was long, but it didn’t break you.

you shift a little, just enough to turn in his arms, and his brow scrunches faintly at the movement. he makes a soft noise, sleepy and rough, and his eyes blink open a second later, still glassy and heavy with dreams.

he sees you, and something in his whole body eases.

“hey,” he rasps, voice cracked with sleep.

you smile. just a little. “hey.”

he scoots closer, nudging his nose into the crook of your neck, his hand sliding up your back like instinct. “you’re still here,” he mumbles, almost like he’s surprised.

“told you i wasn’t going anywhere,” you whisper.

he exhales against your skin, holding you tighter. “i thought maybe i dreamed it. that you forgave me.”

you tilt your face, brushing your nose along his jaw. “you didn’t dream it.”

he pulls back enough to look at you, sleepy and soft. his thumb traces the curve of your cheek. “you really sure about that?”

“i’m sure,” you say, quiet. “doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt. doesn’t mean we’re fixed overnight. but… i still want this. i still want you.”

his eyes go glassy again, but he blinks the tears back this time.

“i’m not gonna fuck it up again,” he says. “i swear to god, bunny. you mean too much.”

you nod, chest warm and aching. “then just… be here. be good to me. that’s all i want.”

he leans in, kisses you slow, just once, soft and lingering. not asking for anything. not trying to prove anything. just a kiss because he can.

when he pulls back, his lips brush against yours as he murmurs, “i like waking up with you.”

you hum. “yeah?”

“yeah,” he says, and it sounds like a promise. “feels like home.”

you smile into his collarbone, snuggling closer. “good. ‘cause i don’t wanna wake up without you anymore.”

he kisses the top of your head, his hand smoothing slowly up and down your spine.

“then you won’t.”

and for the first time in days, it feels like maybe that could be true.

later that morning, rafe’s quiet.

not distant, but thoughtful. soft-spoken, a little distracted, like something’s moving around behind his eyes.

you’re sitting at the kitchen table, bare legs curled under you, one of his hoodies swallowed around your body like armor. rafe leans against the counter, nursing a mug of coffee that’s gone cold in his hands. he hasn’t taken more than a sip.

you glance up. “you good?”

he looks at you, really looks at you, and nods. slow. deliberate.

then he says, “i’ve been thinking about something.”

you set your mug down. “okay.”

he swallows. rubs his thumb over the ceramic. “i don’t want anything hanging over us. no old shit. no ghosts.”

you watch him carefully, unsure where he’s going, your stomach tugging with quiet worry.

he keeps going. “and i don’t want you thinking there’s anything still there between me and sierra. because there’s not. there hasn’t been. not for a long time.”

you nod. “i know that. or, I’m trying to believe that.”

he nods too, like he gets it. like he’s trying to believe you believe him.

then he sets the mug down, pushes off the counter, and crosses the kitchen to stand in front of you. his hands find your shoulders, grounding. gentle.

“so I wanna prove it,” he says. “for real. not just to you. but to her.”

your brows knit. “what do you mean?”

“i want her to come to the shop,” he says. “not for anything weird. just to pick up her car. she left it there last week for a tune-up, and i was supposed to call her days ago. but i didn’t. ‘cause of everything.”

your stomach twists, but you nod for him to go on.

“i’ll tell her straight-up,” he says. “that you’re my girlfriend. that I’m in love with you. that there’s nothing left between me and her. and that she needs to stop showing up and acting like she’s still got a place in my life.”

your breath catches on in love with you, but you don’t interrupt.

he keeps his voice steady, but there’s something simmering just under it. not anger. not exactly. just… finality. like he’s ready to close a door he should’ve locked a long time ago.

“i want you to be there,” he says. “not ‘cause i want to rub it in her face or prove a point, but because this has something to do with you, too. and i want her to see that i choose you. not quietly. not in the background. but out loud.”

you blink at him. slow. surprised.

and then, softly: “are you sure?”

“i’m sure,” he says without hesitation. “i should’ve told her that last week. should’ve told her the second she showed up. but i didn’t, and you got hurt. and i’m not gonna let that happen again.”

you stare at him for a beat, heart thudding.

“you really love me?” you ask, voice quieter than you mean it to be.

his face softens instantly, hands sliding from your shoulders to your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“yeah, bunny,” he says. “i do.”

you blink fast, your throat tight, lips parting but no words coming out.

he presses a kiss to your forehead. “you don’t have to say it back yet. i just need you to know it.”

you nod against him, a little breathless.

“so,” he says, leaning back enough to meet your eyes again, “will you come with me?”

you think about that girl in the cropped tank and glossy hair. the way she smiled like she already knew the ending. the way you shrank in your own skin just watching her.

but then you think about the way rafe’s looking at you now.

and how he’s choosing you. clearly. fully.

you nod. “okay. i’ll come.”

he lets out a breath, like that was the answer he needed more than anything else.

“thank you,” he says, and kisses you again, slow and certain.

you rest your forehead against his. “just don’t make me throw hands in the middle of the garage.”

he grins. “you can if you want. might be hot.”

you snort, shoving his shoulder, and he laughs, really laughs, and you feel it echo in your ribs, softer than the ache that used to sit there.

it’s late afternoon by the time she shows up.

the shop is quieter than usual, most of the crew gone for the day, the hum of the radio low, sun slanting in through the open garage doors and catching the edges of grease-slicked tools and the gleam of a half-finished paint job. you’re sitting on the edge of rafe’s workbench in the corner, sipping a bottled water he handed you earlier, your legs swinging slow beneath his oversized hoodie.

he hasn’t let you out of arm’s reach all day.

he’s nervous, you can tell, but calm. steady. like he’s already made peace with what’s about to happen.

and then she walks in like she owns the place.

sierra.

same glossy ponytail, same too-short shorts, same smug confidence stamped across her face like she thinks the world still spins for her. she tosses her keys in her hand and flashes that sharp, practiced smile.

“got your text,” she says, looking straight at rafe like you’re not even there. “figured it was about time you finally called.”

he doesn’t smile.

he wipes his hands on a rag, tosses it onto the bench beside you, and stands a little taller.

“yeah,” he says. “it is. your car’s ready. figured you’d want to grab it.”

her eyes flick over to you. your bare legs, your full thighs, your soft arms folded across your stomach like you already know what’s coming.

“you brought your new girl to watch?” she asks, sickly sweet. “how romantic.”

you say nothing. you just look at her.

you can feel your heart pounding behind your ribs, but you stay still.

“sierra,” rafe says, voice cool, “i wanted you to meet her properly. this is bunny. she’s my girlfriend.”

sierra’s smile freezes.

she looks at you again. really looks at you. eyes dragging over your body with deliberate, cutting slowness. and then she laughs. loud and sharp and mean.

“seriously?” she snorts. “this is who you’re with now?”

rafe stiffens beside you.

“you’ve gotta be kidding me,” she goes on, and there’s venom in her voice now. “god, rafe. she looks like she’s never said no to a drive-thru. you always used to have a type. what the hell happened?”

your breath catches, face burning, but rafe moves before you can even stand.

he steps between you and her, his body shielding yours completely. his voice drops, low and cold, nothing like the rafe you know.

“don’t fucking talk about her like that.”

sierra blinks. “excuse me?”

“you heard me,” he growls. “don’t ever say shit like that about her again.”

she scoffs. “what, i’m just supposed to pretend she doesn’t look like, ”

“like what?” he cuts in, voice rising. “like a real woman? like someone soft and warm and so fucking gorgeous it makes me dizzy?”

she opens her mouth, but he doesn’t stop.

“i love her body,” he snaps. “i love every inch of her. her stomach, her thighs, her hips, god, her hips drive me fucking crazy. her stretch marks, the way her skin feels under my hands, how she feels when i pull her on top of me, yeah, i’m obsessed with it. with her.”

sierra stares at him, stunned.

“you want to talk about insecurity?” he says, laughing once, sharp, humorless. “you’re the one who can’t stand not being the center of the room. you walk in here and insult someone you’ve never met because you’re still pissed i didn’t chase after you. well, guess what? i don’t want you. i haven’t wanted you in a long time. and i’m done letting you think you’ve still got some hold on me.”

his voice is shaking now, not with fear, but fury. protective and raw and completely unfiltered.

“bunny’s the best damn thing that’s happened to me in years. she’s kind and smart and beautiful and doesn’t pretend to be something she’s not. and you, ”

he stops, breath ragged.

“you don’t get to come in here and talk about the woman i love like she’s something less just because she doesn’t look like you. you don’t even come close to what she is.”

sierra’s mouth opens again, but nothing comes out.

just silence. thick and bitter.

he doesn’t wait for her to say anything else. he grabs her keys off the hook, walks over, and holds them out.

“your car’s out back. get in it. drive away. and don’t come back.”

she snatches the keys, jaw tight. “you’re making a mistake.”

he doesn’t even blink. “no. i finally got it right.”

and then she’s gone, storming out with the sound of her boots echoing down the concrete lot, no parting shot, no smug smirk. just silence.

rafe turns to you the second the door closes. his chest is still heaving, his hands trembling.

you’re still sitting on the bench, wide-eyed and stunned, a slow burn rising in your throat.

“hey,” he says, coming back to you, crouching low like he needs to be eye-level. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t know she was gonna say all that. i didn’t think, ”

you cut him off by sliding off the bench and wrapping your arms around his neck, hard.

he sinks into you immediately, pulling you close, face buried against your shoulder.

“thank you,” you whisper, fingers in his hair. “thank you for saying all of that.”

he squeezes you tighter. “i meant every word.”

you pull back enough to look him in the eye, and he’s already watching you like you hung the damn stars.

you sniff, cheeks flushed. “you said you were obsessed with my thighs?”

his mouth quirks. “babe. violently. i think about your thighs at least six times an hour.”

you laugh, teary and stunned, and he kisses you right there, grease-smudged and smiling, hands firm on your hips, like he wants to prove it all over again.

and you let him.

because this time, he said it loud enough for the whole world to hear.

the garage is still.

the dust hasn’t even settled from the door slamming shut behind sierra, but you’re already pressed into rafe’s chest, and he’s kissing you like he’s starved for it, like the adrenaline, the anger, the love, all of it has twisted into one hot, trembling need.

his hands are everywhere. your waist. your hips. the underside of your thighs where they spill over the edge of your shorts. he cups the softness like it’s something holy, something he’s worshipped in dreams but never fully touched with the kind of desperation he’s feeling right now.

you gasp when his mouth drops to your neck, open and messy, his breath hot against your skin.

“fuck,” he mumbles into your throat, “do you even know what you do to me?”

your fingers twist in the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer. “i think you made it pretty clear.”

he growls low in his chest, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes, his pupils blown wide and wild. “say it again.”

you blink, breath catching. “what?”

“say you know how much i want you. say you believe me.”

you bite your lip, dizzy from how fast the mood has shifted, how deep and real it all feels now that it’s out in the open.

“i know,” you whisper. “i believe you.”

his lips are on yours again before you finish the sentence, and the kiss is deeper now, darker. all tongue and teeth and quiet, breathless moans you try to swallow down before they echo too loud off the garage walls.

but then his hands slide beneath your hoodie, fingertips skating over the curve of your belly, and your whole body jolts like a live wire.

you gasp. “rafe.”

his mouth is at your ear in a second. “you want me to stop?”

you shake your head, throat too tight to speak. “no. i want…”

you trail off, but he waits, gentle even in his need.

“i want to go home,” you whisper finally, voice trembling.

he pulls back, searching your face like he’s not sure he heard you right.

“bunny, ”

you take a breath, steadying yourself, heart hammering like it’s trying to punch through your chest.

“take me home,” you say again, more certain this time. “please.”

you see the second it hits him. the way his jaw tightens. the way his eyes go darker, hungrier. but he still doesn’t move, not until he’s sure.

“you sure?” he murmurs, voice ragged.

you nod, slow and steady. “i want you. i’m ready.”

he exhales hard, like he’s been holding it in for days.

“fuck,” he mutters, already reaching for your hand, tugging you gently toward the back door. “okay. okay. let’s go. now. before i change my mind and fuck you on the hood of that chevy.”

you laugh, startled and flushed, but you follow him, legs shaky and heart pounding and something warm blooming low in your stomach.

you’ve never felt more wanted in your life.

and he’s never looked more like a man about to fall apart in the best way.

the door clicks shut behind you, but neither of you move at first.

you’re standing in the entryway of rafe’s house, quiet, dim, the air thick with tension and the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the air. and you’re shaking, just a little, from the walk over. from the weight of it all. from the way his hand never once let go of yours.

he turns to you slowly, like he’s afraid you might disappear if he moves too fast. but his eyes, they’re dark and heavy and burning. dragging over you like he doesn’t know where to look first. like he wants to drop to his knees right there and press kisses into every single inch of you.

instead, he steps forward. close enough that you can feel the warmth rolling off him.

“you sure?” he asks again, barely above a whisper. “you can still say no.”

you nod, soft and sure, even as your breath catches in your chest. “i want this. i want you.”

that’s all it takes.

his mouth crashes into yours before the words are fully out, and it’s messier now, needier. his hands are already under your hoodie again, sliding up and over your ribs like he can’t touch enough of you at once. his thumbs catch just beneath the curve of your breasts and he groans, deep in his throat, like the shape of you alone is enough to ruin him.

“jesus,” he mumbles, pulling back just enough to yank the hoodie over your head. “you’re gonna fuckin’ kill me.”

you breathe a shaky laugh, but then his hands are on your stomach, flat palms, fingers spread, and you go still beneath the weight of it. he’s looking down, completely transfixed, and you swear his pupils dilate even more.

“fuck,” he breathes, reverent. “you don’t even know.”

his thumbs stroke over the soft swell of your belly, slow and tender, and something about it, how gentle he is, how completely obsessed, makes your knees go weak.

“you like that?” you ask, voice small, almost teasing.

his head snaps up. “i love it. all of it. your stomach, your thighs, ” his hands drop, curling around the tops of them, pulling you close. “they drive me insane. the way they fit in my hands. the way they spill out over the edge of your shorts. you don’t even fuckin’ know what you do to me.”

you gasp when he sinks to his knees, kissing your stomach, your hips, biting gently at the skin just above your waistband. he presses his forehead there, breathing you in like he needs it to survive.

“you’re so soft,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “so fucking perfect. i could spend hours right here.”

your fingers twist in his hair, tugging just enough to pull him up again, and when he stands, he doesn’t stop kissing you. down your jaw, the slope of your neck, the tops of your breasts as he fumbles with the clasp of your bra.

“take it off,” you whisper, and he groans as the fabric slips away, baring you completely.

his hands are on your chest in seconds, warm and shaky, and his mouth follows, sucking, licking, worshipping like he’s lost in it. like he’s never seen anything so beautiful. and the noises he makes, low, desperate, guttural, send shivers skittering down your spine.

“these,” he mutters against your skin, “these are gonna be the death of me.”

“then die happy,” you breathe, tugging at his shirt until he pulls it off and tosses it somewhere behind him.

he laughs, ragged and breathless, before scooping you up like you weigh nothing. you squeal in surprise, arms wrapping around his neck, and he carries you down the hall, into his room, laying you out across the bed like you’re something precious. something breakable.

and then he just stands there, staring down at you, chest heaving.

“fuck, bunny,” he whispers. “i’ve never wanted anything more in my life.”

he hovers for a second, like he’s trying to memorize the way you look laid out in his bed, flushed and half-naked, your thighs parted just slightly, your chest rising and falling quick and shallow. your hair’s a little messy from the hoodie, your lips still kiss-swollen, and you can see it on his face:

he’s obsessed.

not just turned on. not just hungry. completely fucking undone by you.

and when he crawls up over you, settling between your thighs, he moves slow, not out of hesitation, but because he wants to feel every second of it. wants to savor you.

“you don’t get it,” he murmurs, his hand brushing over your waist again, smoothing down to your hip. “i think about this all the time. think about you all the time. this body. your skin. the way you look at me when you want me…”

his thumb traces lazy circles just beneath your bellybutton, and your hips jerk up at the contact, more sensitive than you expected. his mouth quirks, the ghost of a smile, but his eyes stay locked on yours.

“you always do that?” he asks, voice low. “twitch like that when i touch you here?”

you bite your lip, nodding slowly. “didn’t know i did until just now.”

his palm spreads wider, like he’s trying to anchor you in place. claim you.

“yeah,” he whispers. “i could tell.”

he leans down again, pressing hot kisses across your stomach, then lower, until he’s kissing the inside of your thigh, slow and worshipful. his hands mold around them, thumbs dragging along the crease where they meet your hips, like he wants to touch every part of you at once.

“your thighs drive me crazy,” he murmurs against your skin. “you know how many nights i’ve fallen asleep thinking about them wrapped around my head?”

you laugh, breathless, disbelieving, but it melts into a moan when he bites down just gently, just enough to leave a mark.

“rafe, ”

“you’re gonna let me have you now, right?” he says, pulling back just enough to look at you again. his voice is lower now, like it’s gone rough with everything he’s been holding back. “you’re not gonna change your mind on me?”

you shake your head, reaching for him again. “i want you. i need you.”

he groans, ducking down to kiss you hard, messily, like he can’t stand to go another second without your mouth on his.

“fuck, baby,” he mutters, and the words fall against your lips, desperate and sweet. “you’ve got no idea how long i’ve waited to hear that.”

he presses himself closer, and you can feel how hard he is against your thigh. the heat of him. the want. and it’s overwhelming, in the best way. like your whole body is keyed up, wired just for him.

his hand slips between your legs then, and he pauses, just barely brushing his fingers over the fabric there.

“still okay?”

“yes,” you whisper, hips tilting into his touch. “please, rafe.”

and when he finally pushes your underwear aside and touches you, for real, skin to skin, you gasp, loud and sharp and so needy you don’t even care if you’re being too loud.

“fuck,” he grits, burying his face in your neck. “you’re already so wet.”

your fingers tangle in his hair again, gripping tight.

“i’ve been wet since the garage,” you admit, and the sound he makes at that, it’s not even a moan, it’s something raw, guttural, wrecked.

he slides a finger through the slick heat of you, slow and deliberate, watching your face the whole time. like he wants to see everything. every twitch. every flicker of pleasure.

and you can barely breathe.

“you’re perfect,” he says again, like he means it. like it’s a fact, not a compliment. “i’m never gonna get over you.”

he keeps watching you like he can’t believe you’re real. like he’s scared if he blinks, you’ll disappear. his fingers keep moving, slow, steady, unrelenting, and his breath is shaky against your throat, every exhale hot and uneven.

“can’t believe this is mine,” he whispers, not even really meaning to say it out loud. “can’t believe you’re mine.”

his hand slips up your side, tracing the curve of your waist, then higher, slow, reverent. his thumb brushes under the swell of your breast and he groans like it’s the first time he’s ever touched something that soft.

“you don’t even know,” he murmurs, mouth trailing up your neck to your jaw, “how many times i’ve stared at you. tried to keep my hands to myself. tried to pretend i wasn’t thinking about how you’d taste. how your tits would feel in my mouth. how you’d sound when i finally got you underneath me.”

you whimper at that, arching into his touch, and he cups your breast fully now, big hand cradling you like he never wants to let go. his thumb rolls over your nipple and you gasp, back arching off the bed.

“fuck, baby,” he breathes. “you’ve got no idea what you do to me.”

he leans down, mouthing over the top of your breast, warm and wet, then down just enough to get his mouth on you for real. he groans, loud, almost pained, like he’s starving for it. like he’s been dreaming about this for years.

“jesus, you’re so soft,” he mumbles, tongue flicking slow and deliberate, then sucking hard enough to make your toes curl. “so fucking perfect. i could stay right here all night. just like this.”

you’re panting now, heart racing, and when he looks up, his pupils are blown wide, lips red and shiny.

“you like when i talk like that?” he asks, voice low and teasing, even though he’s clearly losing his mind a little. “when i tell you how much i want you?”

you nod, barely able to speak. “yes. god, yes.”

he smiles, crooked and desperate, and kisses down your body again. your stomach, soft and warm beneath his lips, gets the same attention. his hands spread across your sides like he wants to feel everything, and he kisses lower, just below your bellybutton, whispering between kisses.

“your tummy drives me insane,” he murmurs. “every time you wear one of those little crop tops or let it peek out from under your hoodie? you don’t even know how bad i want to get my hands on you. mouth on you.”

you squirm beneath him, overwhelmed, and his hands press down gently, holding you in place. he kisses the softest part of you, just above where he’s already touched, and then he nuzzles in closer, like he’s trying to memorize your scent.

“you smell so good,” he groans. “sweet. like sugar and skin. and fuck, i need to taste you, baby. please.”

you’re already nodding before he even finishes the sentence, hips rocking toward him.

“yes. rafe. please.”

he groans again, almost in relief, and pulls your underwear all the way off, tossing them somewhere over his shoulder without looking. he settles in between your thighs like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be, like the space was made for him, and his hands grip the tops of them like they’re the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

he spreads you with gentle fingers, breath catching.

“you’re unreal,” he whispers. “prettiest pussy i’ve ever seen.”

and then he lowers his mouth to you, slow at first, just one long, teasing lick, and your whole body jumps. your hands fly to his hair, and he groans as you tug him closer.

he doesn’t hold back after that. he eats like a man obsessed. like he’s trying to worship you with every stroke of his tongue, every soft suck and dirty groan.

his hands are everywhere, gripping your thighs, kneading them, sliding up your stomach again to palm your breasts while his mouth works between your legs. he’s everywhere, all at once, and it’s too much. it’s not enough. it’s everything.

you’re crying out now, legs shaking, breath breaking apart, and still he doesn’t stop.

“you gonna come for me, baby?” he mumbles against you, voice thick and low. “wanna feel it. wanna taste it.”

your body’s already unraveling, and you can’t even get the words out, just a frantic nod and a broken moan as you fall apart, thighs tightening around his head.

and he loves it. moans into you like he can’t get enough, like you coming for him is his favorite thing in the world.

he doesn’t stop until you’re squirming, too sensitive, panting for air, then he finally pulls back, face wet, eyes wild.

“fuck,” he breathes. “i’m never letting you go.”

and the way he says it, it doesn’t sound like a threat or a promise. it sounds like a fact.

you’re still trembling beneath him when he comes back up, and his hands are everywhere again, soothing, grounding, worshiping. he kisses your stomach like an apology and a prayer, trailing soft, open-mouthed kisses all the way back up your body, pausing to suck another mark into the side of your breast, then your collarbone, then just beneath your jaw.

his voice is wrecked when he speaks, low and full of something close to awe.

“you should see yourself right now.”

he brushes your hair back from your face, eyes drinking you in.

“you’re so fucking beautiful like this. ruined. flushed. mine.”

you make a soft sound, something between a whimper and a laugh, reaching up to touch his face, his jaw rough with stubble, his mouth swollen from you.

“you look kinda ruined too,” you murmur, thumb dragging across his cheek.

he groans at that, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“i am,” he admits, nudging his nose against yours. “you wreck me, baby.”

he kisses you then, slow and messy and deep, like he’s trying to share every bit of what he’s feeling with just his mouth. and you kiss him back just as hungry, tasting yourself on his tongue, letting him press you deeper into the mattress.

when he grinds down, you both gasp, because he’s still hard, so hard, and now you can feel him, fully, through his boxers. thick and hot and ready.

“rafe,” you whisper, rolling your hips up into his.

he stills, breathing hard, and you feel him twitch against you.

“baby,” he says, voice rough, almost pleading. “if i don’t get inside you soon i’m gonna lose my fucking mind.”

you wrap your legs around him, tugging him closer.

“then do it,” you whisper. “i want to feel you. now.”

he kisses you once more, slow and shaky, and then he’s moving, reaching between you to push his boxers down just enough, his cock finally freed, thick and flushed and already leaking.

and god, the look on his face when he lines himself up, his brows pulled tight, jaw clenched, like he’s trying to keep from coming just from the sight of you spread open for him.

he drags the head of his cock through your slick once, twice, coating himself, and then,

“look at me,” he breathes.

you do. and he presses in.

slow. steady. every inch a stretch, every inch making your mouth fall open, your fingers clutch at his back.

“fuck,” he moans, low and long, voice trembling. “you feel, baby, you feel like heaven.”

you can’t answer. you’re too full, too overwhelmed, your body stretching around him in the most perfect, aching way.

and he’s huge. thick and hard and pulsing inside you, moving just a little deeper with every breath.

“you okay?” he whispers, lips brushing your cheek. “too much?”

you shake your head fast, gasping, digging your heels into his hips.

“no. more. give me more.”

he groans, broken, and pushes the rest of the way in, burying himself to the hilt.

you both freeze there, clinging to each other, breathing like you’ve just run a marathon.

and then, he starts to move.

slow at first, hips rolling smooth and deep, each thrust dragging against the sweetest, most sensitive spot inside you.

you sob out a moan, and that’s all it takes for rafe to lose it.

his rhythm stutters, picks up, his hips snapping harder into yours, his hands sliding under your back to keep you close.

“you take me so well,” he growls. “so tight. so wet. it’s like your pussy was made for me.”

you’re gasping, clinging, your nails dragging down his back, and he just keeps going, driving deeper, panting into your neck, whispering filth and praise like he can’t decide which one you deserve more.

“your body,” he pants. “those tits. these fucking thighs. the way you feel wrapped around me… jesus, baby. i’m addicted. i’m done.”

you’re close again, can feel the heat coiling, can barely form words through the way he’s filling you, the way he’s worshiping every inch of you with his hands, his mouth, his cock.

“rafe, i’m gonna, ”

“yeah?” he groans, thrusting harder. “come for me, bunny. i want it. need it. wanna feel you squeeze me while i’m inside you.”

and when you do, when your body clenches around him, your moan splitting the air like something holy, he breaks.

his rhythm falls apart, thrusts turning desperate and sloppy, his hand grabbing your thigh and yanking it higher around his waist.

“fuckfuckfuck, baby, ”

he comes with a shout, buried deep, pulsing hard inside you, body shaking with the force of it.

and still, he doesn’t stop holding you.

his mouth finds yours again, soft now, his hands stroking down your sides, trembling and tender.

“i love you,” he breathes, forehead pressed to yours. “i love you. i’m yours.”

and god, your heart just shatters. in the best way.

you kiss him because you believe it. because you feel it too.

❀ chapter seven ❀

[rafeswif3]

──୨geraniumৎ──

❀ chapter five: unspoken ❀

❀ pairing: mechanic!rafe x florist!reader

❀ warnings: angst, kissing, insecurity, doubt

❀ word count: 4.8k

unfortunately i think i hate this

the next day slips in quiet and golden, the kind that smells like warm pavement and distant honeysuckle, the sky stretched wide and blue above you. you’re still wearing the ghost of rafe’s kiss on your lips, the softness of last night curling inside your chest like something blooming.

you stop by the little sandwich place two blocks from your apartment, the one with the flaky croissants and garlic aioli you know he likes. you get two, his with roast beef and cheddar, yours with turkey and spinach, and grab a pair of lemonades from the fridge. there’s a lightness in your chest as you drive to the shop, a giddy little flutter that dances behind your ribs. maybe it’s nothing, maybe it’s everything. but it feels like something good.

the garage doors are all rolled open when you pull up, sunlight pooling over the concrete and catching on the sheen of chrome and grease. you spot rafe bent over the hood of a car, sleeves pushed up, forearms streaked in oil, a smudge on his cheek like he’s been working since sunrise. his shirt clings to his back in places, damp with sweat, and your stomach does a slow, helpless flip.

you don’t even say anything at first. just walk across the gravel lot, holding the bag of sandwiches like a peace offering or a love note.

he looks up when your shadow falls over him, that crooked grin lighting up his face. “well hey, bunny,” he says, wiping his hands on a rag. “you bring me lunch or just come to admire the view?”

you roll your eyes but you’re smiling, cheeks warm. “i brought both,” you say, holding up the bag.

“mm, my favorite girl and a sandwich? gonna make a man believe in miracles.”

you sit on the little bench just outside the office, warm wood beneath your thighs and the scent of motor oil and grilled bread thick in the air. he plops down beside you, opening the bag and peeking inside like it’s christmas.

“god, you even remembered the aioli,” he murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “i’m gonna marry you.”

you laugh, soft and pleased, leaning into him. “eat your sandwich, mechanic boy.”

he does, greedy and grateful, and you eat together in that lazy, easy quiet that’s only just starting to feel like yours. the shop hums around you, tools clinking, music playing low from the speakers in the corner, tires squeaking against asphalt. you’re halfway through your lemonade when it happens.

a tall girl walks up the side path from the parking lot, like she owns the ground under her feet. long legs, glossy hair, sunglasses pushed up into a messy ponytail. she’s wearing cutoffs and a cropped tank that clings like it was sewn onto her. she looks like she belongs on a magazine cover.

your stomach twists before she even opens her mouth.

“rafe,” she calls, smiling wide. “you still working miracles with engines?”

he stands without thinking, brushing his hands off on his pants. “jesus, sierra. i haven’t seen you in what, eight months?”

she laughs, coming closer, brushing hair off her shoulder in a way that feels too practiced. “closer to ten. but who’s counting?”

they hug. a full, arms-around-each-other hug. you go still. the lemonade bottle in your hand feels suddenly too cold.

“you look good,” rafe says, grinning.

“you too,” she purrs. “gotten bigger. in a good way.”

you stand slowly, the food sitting like a stone in your stomach.

“hi,” you say, voice light. “i’m, ”

“oh,” rafe says, blinking like he forgot you were there. “this is bunny. my, she’s, uh, this is sierra. we used to, uh…”

“date,” she finishes, still smiling. her eyes flick over you, quick and cool. “nice to meet you.”

you nod, lips pressed into a line. your chest feels tight, like it’s being squeezed from the inside.

rafe’s hand finds the back of his neck, rubbing like he doesn’t know what to do. “sierra just stopped by. she used to bring her car here, back when, ”

“back when she was your girlfriend,” you say quietly.

his mouth opens. then closes.

sierra raises a brow. “well. this got awkward fast.”

“i should go,” you say, grabbing your half-eaten sandwich and tossing the rest in the trash. “i’ve got stuff to do.”

“wait, bunny, ” rafe moves toward you, but you step back.

“it’s fine,” you lie. “i just didn’t realize you still played nice with your exes.”

his face shifts, brows drawing down. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

you shake your head, trying to swallow the sharp thing lodged in your throat. “it means she’s gorgeous, rafe. like, obviously. and i just sat there watching you smile at her like you forgot i even existed.”

“that’s not fair,” he says, voice low.

“neither is feeling like a second choice in your own relationship.”

his jaw tightens. “you’re overthinking this.”

you blink. once. twice. and then you laugh, but it doesn’t sound right. it sounds like something breaking.

“maybe,” you whisper. “but maybe you just made it really easy.”

and then you turn, walking fast across the lot, heart pounding and eyes burning, leaving him standing there with oil on his hands and your name still on his lips.

the light is soft and low when he knocks.

you don’t move right away. you’ve been curled up on the far end of the couch since the afternoon sun started shifting golden, a throw blanket around your shoulders even though it’s still summer, even though you’re sweating under it. it’s not about the chill. it’s about holding something close.

your eyes are puffy. you haven’t checked. you don’t need to. they’ve been burning on and off for hours, the kind of crying that comes in waves, not loud or dramatic, just slow and aching and quiet enough that it feels like it’s leaking out of you.

your phone’s been silent all day.

you waited. stupidly. kept glancing at it like maybe he was just busy, like maybe he needed time, like maybe he’d say something that would make the tightness in your chest ease up.

but he didn’t. and you didn’t text him either. your pride wouldn’t let you.

so when the knock comes, three soft raps, you freeze.

then, after a beat, you drag yourself up and open the door.

rafe stands there in the fading light, his hoodie pulled over his head now, hands tucked into the front pocket like he doesn’t quite know what to do with them. he looks tired. like he’s been working all day and thinking too hard and still doesn’t have the right words lined up. his jaw is tight. his mouth is a line.

you don’t say anything.

“can we talk?” he asks, eyes dark and searching.

you hesitate. then step back. silent permission.

he walks in, slow, glancing around like he’s never been here before, even though he has, dozens of times. but tonight everything feels unfamiliar. colder. you close the door behind him, crossing your arms.

“you didn’t even introduce me as your girlfriend,” you say before he can speak. your voice is quiet, rough from crying. “not even just… ‘this is bunny, my girlfriend.’ i was just ‘bunny.’ like i was nobody.”

he exhales sharply, jaw clenching. “it wasn’t like that.”

“it felt like that,” you say. “it was like that.”

he looks at you, then away. “i was caught off guard. i didn’t know she was gonna show up.”

“that’s not an excuse,” you snap, and your voice cracks, hurt spilling out of you before you can cage it. “you made me feel so fucking small, rafe.”

his face shifts, something tight behind his eyes, like frustration or guilt or both.

“i wasn’t trying to,” he says. “i didn’t mean for it to go like that.”

“but it did.”

he doesn’t argue that. just stands there, silent.

you press your fingers to your forehead, blinking hard. “you said you’ve been single for two years.”

“i have.”

“but sierra said it’s been eight or ten months since you saw her. were you guys still, ?”

“no,” he cuts in, quick. “we broke up two years ago. she came by the shop once or twice after, for her car. that’s probably what she meant.”

you watch him carefully, but he holds your gaze.

“so you weren’t lying about that?” you ask, voice brittle.

he shakes his head. “no. i wouldn’t lie to you.”

you nod, slowly, but it doesn’t make the hurt loosen.

“you looked at her like…” your throat works around the words. “like she was the prettiest girl in the room.”

he steps forward. “she wasn’t.”

“but she is,” you say, voice almost a whisper. “she is, rafe. and i watched you light up when you saw her. i saw it. you forgot i was even there.”

“that’s not true.”

“you didn’t even see me,” you whisper, and your voice wavers again. “you looked at her like, like maybe you missed her. like maybe there was still something there.”

he doesn’t answer right away. doesn’t deny it.

and that silence says more than anything else.

your chest aches. your arms wrap tighter around yourself, like maybe you can hold in all the things threatening to spill out.

“i’ve done this before,” you say. “i’ve been with someone who made me feel like a backup plan. like i was just filling space until something shinier came back around. and today… today you made it feel like that’s all i am to you.”

his brow furrows. “that’s not fair.”

“no,” you breathe, “what’s not fair is showing up at your boyfriend’s job with his favorite sandwich and feeling like an afterthought the second a prettier girl walks in.”

rafe swears under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “bunny, you aren’t an afterthought. i swear to god. but i’m not gonna stand here and get grilled for not knowing how to act when someone i haven’t seen in forever shows up outta nowhere.”

“then maybe don’t come here,” you say, voice soft but steady. “not if you’re just gonna tell me i’m overreacting again. not if you’re gonna make me feel crazy for being hurt.”

his face twists, anger, maybe. or regret. or both.

“i came here to fix it,” he says. “but you won’t even meet me halfway.”

you blink at him, stunned. “i brought you lunch. i showed up. i was there, rafe. and you made me feel invisible.”

his shoulders slump, hoodie hanging heavy on him now. he looks at you like he wants to fix it, but not enough to say the thing you need to hear.

so instead, he just nods once. sharp. like he’s sealing something up inside himself.

“guess i’ll go, then.”

you don’t stop him.

he steps past you. doesn’t touch you. doesn’t look back.

and when the door shuts behind him, you finally let yourself cry again, loud this time. messy and raw and real.

because maybe it wasn’t everything. maybe it was nothing.

but it felt like something good.

and now it’s slipping through your fingers like it never really belonged to you at all.

it’s been six days.

six long, heavy, ache-in-your-bones days.

you don’t realize how quiet your life has gotten until the silence starts to feel like a third presence in every room, something that sits with you at the kitchen table, follows you into bed, curls up beside you on the couch when you can’t sleep.

you keep doing normal things. you go to work. wash your hair. scroll your phone. pretend not to reread old texts. pretend not to notice how you haven’t gotten any new ones.

you’ve been trying so hard not to cry again. telling yourself it was just a week, just a spark, just a stupid little thing that wasn’t ever meant to burn for long. but your heart keeps arguing with your brain. because it felt real. and it wasn’t just the way he kissed you. it was the little things. the way he remembered your order. the way he looked at you like you were something lucky. the way he called you bunny like it meant something. like you meant something.

and now he’s just… gone.

no calls. no texts. nothing but a hollow space where he was starting to fit.

you sit on the floor in the shower one night, arms wrapped around your knees, letting the hot water scald the skin above your collarbone until it turns red. you keep thinking: what did i do wrong? like maybe if you had just smiled more. stayed quiet. not walked away.

like maybe if you had been just a little bit more, he would’ve fought for you.

but he didn’t. he left.

and that’s the part that hurts the worst.

,

on the seventh night, there’s a knock at your door.

you freeze on the couch, heart jackhammering so hard it feels like your ribs can’t hold it. your fingers curl around the blanket in your lap.

you know it’s him.

you just know.

you wait five seconds. then ten.

then you rise slowly, feet cold on the hardwood, and open the door.

rafe’s standing there in a gray t-shirt and jeans, hair messy, eyes bloodshot and tired. he looks rough. like he hasn’t been sleeping, hasn’t been eating. like he’s been carrying a weight he doesn’t know how to put down.

you say nothing.

“i miss you,” he says, barely louder than a whisper.

your throat tightens instantly.

he swallows, stepping one foot closer but not crossing the threshold. “i know i fucked it up. i know that. i keep knowing that.”

still, you don’t speak.

his jaw flexes. his eyes flicker over your face like he’s trying to memorize every bit of you in case this is the last time.

“i should’ve introduced you,” he says, voice cracking slightly. “i should’ve told her you were my girlfriend. i should’ve done a lot of things differently. and i didn’t. i panicked and made you feel like nothing, when you’re… fuck, you’re everything.”

you blink, tears stinging again, already.

“you made me feel stupid,” you whisper. “like what we had was just some little fling to you. like i was just someone to pass the time.”

he steps closer now, urgency in his voice. “you weren’t. you’re not.”

“i barely know you,” you say, trying not to cry, “and it still felt like something important. you made me feel safe. like i could fall, and you’d catch me. and then one girl shows up and suddenly i’m invisible?”

“i didn’t mean to make you feel like that,” he says quickly. “i swear to god, bunny, i didn’t. you were never invisible to me. i was just… stupid. and caught off guard. and scared.”

your brow furrows. “scared of what?”

“how fast it’s all happening,” he says, eyes pleading. “how fast i care about you. how good it feels. how much i don’t wanna fuck this up, and then i did. in like two seconds flat.”

you don’t move. don’t let yourself soften.

because he’s here now, but where was he for six days?

“you didn’t call,” you say, voice barely there. “you left me alone. and i thought maybe i made it all up in my head.”

he exhales, harsh and shaky. “i didn’t know if you wanted to hear from me. i thought i messed it up so bad, you were done.”

you look at him, and it’s not anger that wells in your chest. it’s grief.

“i didn’t want it to end like this,” you whisper. “i didn’t want it to end at all.”

his hands are trembling at his sides. “then let me fix it. please. i’ll do anything.”

your arms stay wrapped around yourself.

“you made me feel like a second choice, rafe,” you say, quieter now. “and i can’t go through that again. not like last time.”

his expression shatters, guilt and sorrow etched into every angle of his face. “you’re not a second choice. you never were. i’ve been a mess all week without you, bunny. i couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, kept hoping i’d see you come into the shop again. i thought about texting every damn night and i didn’t because i didn’t know if i even deserved to. but i’m here now. i’m here because i love, ”

he stops himself.

breath hitching.

your heart catches too.

but he doesn’t finish the sentence. he just shakes his head and backs up one step, like he’s giving you space to choose.

“i don’t wanna lose you,” he says, voice breaking. “but i’ll go if you tell me to.”

and now the air is thick between you, humming with everything that’s been unsaid.

he’s standing in front of you, hurting. hoping.

and your heart is still cracked down the middle, unsure if it’s brave enough to let him in again.

but he’s there.

and maybe that has to count for something.

your fingers twitch at your sides, aching with the impulse to reach for him.

he’s just… standing there, in your doorway, looking so wrecked and so real, and part of you still wants to scream, wants to throw something, wants to shove him back out into the night for all the hurt he caused.

but the other part, the quieter part, the one that still remembers how his hand felt warm and steady against your thigh in the car, how he said your name like a secret,

that part is louder now.

you take a breath, and it shakes a little.

then another.

then you look up at him through your lashes and whisper,

“i missed you too.”

his shoulders drop like he’s been holding his breath since the moment you opened the door.

but before he can speak, you add, firm, but not cruel,

“you can’t ever do that to me again.”

he nods too fast, like he’s already been rehearsing the apology.

“i mean it,” you say, stepping closer, voice low but steady. “you can never make me feel like a second choice. like i’m just… some girl who’s easy to forget when someone shinier shows up.”

“you’re not,” he says immediately. “you’re not, bunny, i swear, ”

“i know what i felt,” you interrupt, softer now. “and it hurt. more than it should’ve. i know it’s only been a week, but it felt like something, rafe. you felt like something.”

he closes his eyes for a second, head bowed like he’s trying to hold it together.

and when he looks back at you, there’s no smirk, no charm, just honesty.

“you are something,” he says. “you’re not just some girl. you’re my girl. and i fucked up, and i know i don’t get to just walk in here and fix it with a few words. but i meant it when i asked you to be mine. i still mean it.”

your bottom lip trembles despite yourself.

“you forgot i was even standing there,” you whisper. “that’s what i can’t stop thinking about.”

he winces. “i didn’t mean to. i just, I saw her and my brain short-circuited, and it was stupid. it was fucking stupid. but you weren’t invisible. i just… didn’t handle it right.”

you stare at him a moment.

then you say, “you looked at her like she was the prettiest girl in the room.”

“she’s not,” he says, instantly. “you are.”

you sniff, and a laugh slips out, bitter and small. “you’re just saying that.”

he steps closer again, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to.

his voice softens. “no, bunny. i’m not. i’m saying it because i mean it. because i thought you were gorgeous the second i saw you. because you’re the only person i’ve thought about since the second i kissed you. and i’m sorry it took me a week to say it.”

you’re quiet.

your heart is still bruised.

but it’s beating.

you hesitate, then say, slowly, carefully, like handing him something delicate,

“i forgive you.”

his eyes shine, wide and glassy.

“but,” you add, “this doesn’t mean we’re okay yet. this means we might be okay. eventually. if you don’t screw it up again.”

he nods. “i won’t. i promise.”

you study him, biting the inside of your cheek.

then, finally, finally, you take one small step forward and slide your arms around his waist.

he exhales hard, almost like a sob, and folds himself into you like he’s been waiting to breathe again.

you press your cheek to his chest, listening to the frantic rhythm of his heartbeat, and whisper,

“i missed you every day.”

his hand finds the back of your head, gentle.

“i missed you every second.”

you don’t say anything else for a while.

just stand there in the hush of your hallway, wrapped in each other. still fragile, still healing, but not alone anymore.

he doesn’t mean to. doesn’t even feel it coming.

but the second your arms wrap around him, solid and warm and forgiving, his chest caves in. his breath shudders, catches. and then he’s crying.

not loud, not messy. not the kind of tears that demand attention. just quiet, broken ones, spilling down his cheeks while he holds you tighter than he ever has.

he buries his face in your shoulder, breath ragged, hands clutching at your back like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go. and when he speaks, it’s thick and muffled and aching.

“i’m so fucking sorry,” he whispers, over and over. “i’m sorry, bunny. i didn’t mean to hurt you. i didn’t mean to make you feel like that.”

your fingers find the back of his neck, brushing through the soft hair at his nape. his body shakes beneath your hands, all that weight finally falling out of him after a week of pretending he was fine.

you stay quiet, just hold him, your own eyes brimming again.

“i didn’t know i could miss someone this bad,” he says, voice cracking. “i kept walking around like a ghost. like i left something behind and couldn’t remember where. i didn’t sleep. i didn’t eat. i kept thinking about you standing there with that sandwich and how i, how i made you feel like nothing when you’re everything to me.”

you press your face into his shoulder, blinking fast. “you really hurt me, rafe.”

his arms tighten around you. “i know. i know i did.”

“i felt like i wasn’t enough,” you whisper. “like if i was prettier, maybe you would’ve picked me first.”

he pulls back, just far enough to look at you, his hands cupping your face like something precious. his eyes are red, still wet, but steady.

“bunny.” his voice shakes. “you are so much more than pretty. you walk into a room and i feel it in my bones. you laugh and it’s like, like everything else goes quiet. i see you, every damn time. even when i’m being a dumbass. even when i don’t deserve you. i see you.”

you blink at him, throat burning.

he leans in and presses a soft, trembling kiss to your forehead. then your cheek. then the corner of your mouth.

“i’ll spend every day proving it if you let me,” he murmurs.

you don’t answer right away. just slide your hands up under his shirt, palms against his bare back, grounding him.

his heart pounds under your touch.

“i don’t know if i can forget it,” you say, quiet.

“you don’t have to,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. “just let me make new things to remember. let me show you I meant it when I called you mine.”

the silence stretches for a second. two.

then you nod, so small he almost misses it.

and he kisses you like a prayer.

gentle. slow. tasting of salt and something like hope.

like he’s holding the second chance in his mouth and doesn’t want to waste a drop.

you kiss him back, soft and aching, your fingers curling into his shirt like maybe, just maybe, he’s worth believing in again.

and when you finally pull back, he lets out a breath like he’s coming home.

“i love you,” he says quietly, voice raw and wrecked. “i didn’t get to say it before, but it’s been sitting in my chest for days. and i know it’s fast. and i know i messed up. but i love you.”

you press your fingers to his jaw, eyes wide and wet and shining.

“say it again.”

he breathes deep, steady this time. “i love you.”

and somehow, it sounds like a promise.

you don’t say it back. not yet. not because you don’t feel it, but because you do. and it’s too big to just throw out into the hallway like that.

but you reach for his hand, threading your fingers through his, and tug him inside.

and rafe follows like he never wants to be anywhere else.

you lead him through the quiet hush of your apartment, his hand warm and rough in yours, trailing just a step behind like he’s afraid he’ll wake up and this will all be gone.

your bedroom smells like clean laundry and faint citrus, your sheets are rumpled, the covers still drawn up from where you curled under them earlier, trying not to think about him. now he’s here. filling the space like he always should’ve been.

he stands in the doorway for a second, eyes flicking over everything, like maybe it feels different now that he knows what it almost cost him.

you pull him gently toward the bed, and he comes willingly, toeing off his shoes with a soft thud before sitting down beside you, still holding your hand like a lifeline.

you crawl in first, lifting the blankets and sliding under, back pressed to the cool cotton. he hesitates for just a breath, like maybe he’s not sure if he deserves to join you, but you reach out again, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, tugging him close.

“c’mere,” you murmur, and that’s all it takes.

he stretches out beside you, turning onto his side, and you shift to face him. your knees brush. his hand finds your waist, tentative at first, but then he pulls you in like he can’t help it, like his body has been aching for this. you end up tucked under his chin, your arm slung around his middle, breathing him in, grease and sweat and that familiar cedar-vanilla scent you’ve been missing like oxygen.

he kisses your hair. your temple. the slope of your cheek. slow and soft and reverent, like he still thinks you might slip away.

“i’m so sorry,” he whispers again. “i keep saying it, but it doesn’t feel like enough.”

you squeeze him tighter. “it’s enough.”

“no, but i, ” he pulls back just a little, enough to look you in the eye. his brow is still tight with guilt, jaw clenched like he’s holding it all in. “i didn’t even look at you. you were right there, and i didn’t look. i hate that i did that to you.”

“rafe,” you say, gently.

he just shakes his head, blinking fast. “you brought me lunch. you remembered what i like. you looked so pretty and soft and happy to see me and i made you feel like you didn’t matter. i keep seeing your face when she walked up. you looked so, fuck, bunny, i hate that i put that look on your face.”

you lift your hand and press your fingers lightly over his mouth. “shhh,” you whisper. “you’re spiraling.”

he goes still. breathing shaky against your palm.

you slide your hand down, trace your thumb along his jaw. “we’re okay now,” you say, soft but steady. “you’re here. we’re in bed. you’re holding me. and i forgave you.”

he blinks, eyes glassy again.

you shift closer until your forehead rests against his. “i’m not going anywhere. not unless you give me a reason to. and tonight isn’t that.”

he exhales, shuddery and broken. “i don’t deserve you.”

“maybe not,” you tease, lips tilting, “but you’ve got me anyway.”

he huffs a laugh, breath warm against your cheek, but it cracks down the middle.

“i’m gonna spend every day proving i do deserve you,” he whispers.

you close your eyes, feeling his arms wrap tighter around you, his heart pounding fast under your palm.

“start by sleeping, mechanic boy.”

he hums a little. “can’t. i just got you back.”

“you’re not gonna lose me in the middle of the night,” you murmur, already half-asleep, lips brushing his collarbone. “i’m staying right here.”

and when he finally lets himself close his eyes, when he relaxes into your touch like maybe, just maybe, he believes you, you feel him sigh, low and deep and full of something that sounds like peace.

❀ chapter six ❀

[novamiss]

ditched & devoted- when did you get hot?

summary: shopping for a midsummers dress is looking a bit different this year but playing dress up with Wheezie may have been just the pick-me-up you needed - her hot brother may just be an added bonus

pairing: best friend's brother rafe x fem!reader

previous part

words: 2.7k

The sun hadn’t long risen when you woke up on the following Wednesday. The air was just heating up as the Carolina sun reached its peak, throwing out gold and orange rays against the clear blue sky - it was going to be a hot one. A perfect day for shopping on the mainland especially as your usual boutique loved to blast the AC. 

You got ready as usual, adding enough make up to feel prettier while trying on clothes but not enough that you left remnants of your face on them. You threw on a summer dress, something breezy but still up to par for the high-end boutiques you’d be scouring later. You decided to skip breakfast as you could treat yourself and Wheezie to something when you were out, might as well make a whole day of it. You knew dressing up wasn’t Wheezie’s idea of fun so anything you could do to make it a bit better for her, you would. 

It was just past 10am when you got into your little silver convertible to make the short trek to Tanneyhill. You sped past familiar houses of friends, having made this journey enough times you could probably do it blindfolded and definitely could do it blind drunk (as proven on multiple occasions). Your hair flew across your face, the downside of having the roof down but you refused to have it up in summer, needing to make the most of the sun before a storm inevitably rolled in. When you pulled up, you noticed that Ward and Rose’s cars were already gone, likely at work or even more likely at the country club. Pushing your sunglasses up into your hair, you gave the front door a light knock before letting yourself in, old habits did die hard after all, the foyer was empty- the downstairs seemingly vacant of any Cameron life. 

“Wheezieee.” You sing up from the bottom of the stairs.

“I’ll be five minutes.” You could hear her frantically yell back from her room.

You hum to yourself in reply, laughing slightly as you think you hear her trip, knowing you won’t see her for at least another ten. Taking your time, you slowly wander into the kitchen sitting down on one of the bar stools by the island, making yourself comfortable as you pull out your phone when the door to the backyard opens behind you.

You swivel to see Rafe coming in, clearly having just finished his morning swim and distracted as he doesn’t notice you right away, too preoccupied towelling off his short hair. The moment he walks in your eyes follow the water droplets running down his tanned, toned torso, thankful for his distracted state so he doesn’t see you eyeing his arms as they flex with the movement of the towel. It hits you suddenly – since when was Sarah’s brother hot?

You’re pulled from your thoughts when Rafe pulls the towel from his head and drapes it over his shoulder. He stops dead in his tracks when he sees you sat in his kitchen, perched daintily on a bar stool in yet another sundress that drapes across your thighs like it was sewn around you. He recovers quickly, blinking away his initial surprise as you smile sweetly at him.

“Hey...” He greets you, his confusion seeping into his tone as he makes his way further into his kitchen.

“Hey, taking Wheezie dress shopping.” You reply answering his unasked question.

“Right.” He nods recalling the dinner from last week. He reaches the fridge and grabs waters for both of you, sliding yours across the island. “You always dress up this much for shopping?”

“Got to look pretty otherwise all the clothes will look ugly - it’s science Rafe.” You playfully advise with a grin as you accept the bottle.

“You always look pretty.” He drawls, leaning his elbows on the island making himself closer to your eyelevel with a smirk pulling at his mouth. You feel your cheeks heat up at not just his words but also his stare, you watch his eyes drift lower following the pink flush traveling across your face. You drop your chin for a moment to recollect before meeting his eyes again, his smirk just that much deeper.

“I’m not buying your suit too, no matter how many compliments you give me.” You tease, leaning closer to him yourself.

“You’re not even the one buying.” He reminds you.

“You’re right.” You hum. “I’ll get you a Rolex in commiseration. All on daddy’s card.” You wickedly grin as he cringes, wincing away from you and standing tall.

“Don’t ever call Ward daddy - ever again.” He asserts with a grimace pulling a loud laugh from you, he quickly joins you as you nearly slide off of your stool.

“What’s so funny?” Wheezie asks, announcing her entrance making you both pause as the young teen eyes you both suspiciously.

“Your brother’s balding.” You faux gasp as you hop down from your seat and make your way over to Wheezie, closely missing Rafe’s towel as he swings it out to hit you. “And so young too, what shame. Let’s go Wheez.” You quickly link your arm through the teen’s, as you start to see movement from Rafe in your periphery, dragging her out of the house as she giggles alongside you.

The entire drive to the ferry consists of you singing along loudly to your girl pop playlist and Wheezie pretending she’s not enjoying it. The starting notes of a particularly risqué Sabrina Carpenter song filters through your speakers, you squeal attempting to quickly skip it but Wheezie catches your wrist before you can and shouts the lyrics at the top of her lungs making you both erupt into giggles for the rest of the drive.

Once on the ferry you both settle comfortably into a booth, happy to sit with the silence but also occasionally pointing out the different people scattered across the deck; guessing their jobs, their relationships with each other, why they’re not working on a Wednesday. On the mainland, you take Wheezie to your favourite little café buying both of you some breakfast and then an iced coffee for the road that you both leisurely sip as you window shop. Wheezie drags you into random game stores you both excitedly enter the book store before swiftly going into your separate sections – her the comic books and you the new fiction releases. Finally, you have to drag her, with only minimal resistance into the dress boutiques. Your first stop is one you thought she would like, aimed more for young teens but by the bland look on her face she was not feeling the dresses covered in butterflies and glitter. Your second stop was a new attempt to lift her spirits, a store mostly focused on elderly women and you both tried on some ridiculous dresses that looked more like table doilies than clothing and ended at your mid shins. Que the movie montage of you both trying on the ugliest dresses you could find and proceeding to cackle at each other. Afterwards you strolled into the main event, your favourite store, Wheezie’s eyes light up in wonder as she takes in the elegant patterns and sheer amount of colour littering the rails. You’re greeted by one of the workers, their eyes warm with recognition as you all get to work to find the perfect dress.

You all focus on Wheezie first, pulling different dresses from the racks for her to try while she mostly stares in overwhelmed wonder. You direct her to the dressing rooms to start trying some on, just so she can see what styles, colours, patterns she likes. She’s on her fifth dress and you can hear her mumbled complaint thorough the dressing room door before she quietens.

“Wheez, you okay?” You tentatively ask. Silence and Wheezie do not often go hand in hand.

“Yeah.” She quietly replies, so quiet you only just about catch it over the sound of the door unlocking. Wheezie gingerly steps out, not quite making eye contact with you as she stands in front of the mirror in the waiting area. She eyes herself wearily but with a small smile starting to lift at her mouth as she turns gently, letting the skirt of the dress swish lightly at her legs. The dress is deep green with splashes of red, pink and blue making up an abstract floral pattern. It is high at her neck and flows down beautifully with a diagonal hem that goes from her knees to the floor – youthful and playful enough for her age but also showing off that she’s growing, she’s not baby Louisa anymore.

“You look beautiful, Wheezie.”

“Really?” She tests, finally looking you in the eye.

“Really. This one is perfect – do you like it?” You question, wanting to make sure she’s getting it for her – not because you like it, or if Rose and Ward would approve.

“Yeah, I think… I really like it. I feel- pretty.” She decides, giving herself an assured nod as she looks at herself in the mirror.

“Because you are – you always are.” She blushes at you compliment but rolls her eyes all the same.

“Yeah whatever.” She dismisses as she quickly retreats back into the changing room. You breathe out a laugh to yourself as you make your way back to the shop floor – time to find your dress.

Once Wheezie comes back out, dress safely waiting for her behind the counter, she seems to have much more fun picking out dresses for you to try on; some outrageous that your mother would disown you for, others looking more like bridal gowns but you try them on for her-sake, letting her laugh at you or you laugh at her as her jaw drops. You try on a blue, floor length dress that is simple but elegant, one that she picked out, and as she sees you step out she lets out a small squeal.

“That one – you have to pick that one!” She excitedly exclaims, a beaming smile on her face.

“You think?” You ask as you eye yourself in the mirror, turning to see how the dress moves, how your body looks in the different angles and – you look good! Not just good but captivating, the dress accentuating your best features, the colour making your eyes pop and tan glow.

“I think you’re right. Look at you being a stylist, better watch out or I’ll tell Rose you actually enjoyed yourself.” You tease as you walk back to change.

“You wouldn’t dare!” She gasps, playing along. She watches you walk back into the changing room with a knowing look in her eyes. “Rafe is going to lose his mind.” She mumbles to herself.

You finally make it back to Tanneyhill and as you pull up Wheezie is rattling off question after question on how she should do her hair, what colour shoes should she wear, does she need to wear jewellery? Amusement swirls in your eyes as you gently calm her and follow her up to her room so you can help raid her wardrobe.

When Rafe arrives home after his meetings, he smiles as he sees your Porsche parked back along the drive. He waltzes in, drops his keys with a clank by the door but stops as silence welcomes him, seeing no sign of you. He starts up the stairs to his room, ready to wash the humid air from the day off, when he hears the soft tones of your voice floating out of Wheezie’s room, her door slightly ajar. It brings him back to all the times he would come home from school, work, a party to hear you and Sarah laughing and whispering secrets – your melodic laugh and gentle tone more of a soundtrack to his life than he realised until it stopped. 

He peaks through the small gap in the doorway to see his little sister sat in front of her vanity, you stood behind her curling her hair and pinning each section perfectly in place. He watches Wheezie talk enthusiastically about any and all thoughts that come to mind but your eyes are intently focused on her hair, flickering to her in the mirror occasionally with a kind smile, nodding along to whatever she’s saying. Rafe can’t contain the small lift of his mouth as he turns away to leave you guys alone, going back to his room.

“Ta-da.” You say as you step away from the younger girl’s hair, Wheezie stops mid-sentence to take in your masterpiece of an up-do, the girl's curly hair pinned up with small sections gracefully flowing out of it, and the front pieces perfectly framing her face.

“Woah. I am so not going to be able to do this.” She exhales turning her head side to side.

“I’ll take a photo – I’m sure Sarah or Rose can help you.” You assure, resting a hand on her shoulder.

“She’d have to be here to help.” Wheezie scoffs with a small pout.

“You can always call me and I’ll help too.” You advise her gently, not wanting to ruin her good mood.

“Thanks, Y/n. I actually did have fun today.” She bashfully smiles as she turns in her seat to face you.

“I knew it!” You jab pulling the girl into a hug as she whines. “I should get going, but I had fun with you too Wheez.” You add.

You’re down the stairs before you hear a deep voice call your name and you turn to see Rafe coming down the stairs.

“Hey, I didn’t hear you come home.” You greet him, taking a few steps back to the stairs to meet him halfway.

“You guys were busy, didn’t want to interrupt.” He waves off. “Have fun?”

“Yeah, it was really nice.” You beam. “Oh wait.” You pause to rummage through your purse before pulling out Ward’s card. “Here.” You pass it over to Rafe, he takes it before dropping it onto the side table next to him. You roll your eyes at his carelessness. “Well, I could have done that.” He shoots you a smirk in reply.

“So, you going to let me see your dress?” He drawls, his usual boyish air on at full force.

“You want to see my dress?” You blandly ask, knowing he’s never been one to care about that sort of thing.

“Well, you in it, yeah.” He corrects as his smile turns into a roguish smirk.

“Down boy, just have to wait like the rest.” You tease, turning away from him and his flirting- he can’t see that he’s made you blush twice in one day, his ego doesn’t need the inflation. 

“Alright, alright.” He settles, drawing your attention back to him. “What are you er- what are you doing on Saturday?” He questions casually.

“Nothing, why?”

“Thinking of taking the Druthers out, would be nice to have company.” He trails off, looking to you. Rafe subtly brushes his hands against the fabric of his shorts, before pushing them into his pockets.

“Yeah, sounds good, who else is- “ 

“No one. Thought this could just be you and me.” He states simply like he hasn’t sent your mind reeling. Sure, you’ve known the Cameron’s your whole life but the number of times you’ve hung out with just Rafe could be counted in single digits and even fewer were planned. But now that you’re thinking about it, you’re struggling to remember why – why haven’t you spent more time with just Rafe? You’ve always gotten along, he’s always been easy to talk to, someone you’ve divulged your secrets and feelings to without a second thought. You feel yourself nodding before you can think about it.

“Yeah, yeah. That would be fun.” You smile gently, feeling yourself already getting excited.

“Great. I’ll pick you up at your dock.” He grins, letting ghis hands fall back to his sides as he lets out a relieved breath.

“My dad’s having it extended so it’s out of commission. I can just meet you here.” You advise, stepping backwards towards the door again but this time not taking your eyes off of Rafe.

“Cool - it's a date.”

[rafeswif3]

Hii! I just wanted to check up on you and see if you’re okay because you haven’t posted in two days.

Take care of yourself!! 🍄

thank you sooo much! i’m okay! my bestfriend had an emergency so i’ve been staying with her and babysitting my niece! everything’s all good, its just hard to write with a toddler around 😭. i should be back with part five to geranium by monday or tuesday! love u guysss <3