đđ â i do owe you for taking that punch, though. â
á°.á pairing: bf!rafe x routledge!reader
á°.á contains: overprotective john b, fluff, a bit suggestive at the end (that's all, i think)
đ based on this request by @liamslover !
read this one first . . . đ
the sound of the alarm ringing from your phone jolted you awake, making you sit up so fast your head starts spinning. the room was still dark when you look at the time, panicking as you try to get out of bedâkeyword: try toâwhen a pair of arms snake their way around your waist, stopping you from doing so. "rafe, please. i really need to go." you sigh, hands holding his arms that are wrapped around you.
he didn't even budge, burying his face deeper into your side as he tries to get you back to sleepâback to where you were just laying right next to himâmumbling something incoherent to the bare skin exposed to him. you pushes him away slightly, moving to the side as both your feet now hang by the bed with the sheets still wrapped around you.
you can hear him grumbling when you got out of bed, picking up the clothes scattered around the room before putting them on. you turn around in time just to see him already sitting up with his back propped against the headboard, sheets pooling around his waist. "my brother will be so pissed knowing that i didn't go home again last night." you huffed, fixing the front of your shirt.
running his fingers through his hair almost frustratedly, he finally asks the question you had dreaded. "you haven't told him yet, have you?" you can see the look on his face, shifting your weight onto one leg as you take a breath in. "are you ashamed of me or something?" he couldn't stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth, the question that had been running around in his head the past few weeks.
"what? no!" you raised your voice by accident, sighing as you fiddle with your fingers before crossing your arms against your chest. "i'm notâit's just that, i'm not ready yet. okay?" you finally let out, looking away from him. question is, why would you be ashamed of him? if anything, he should be the one feeling that way knowing his status and reputation that is way different than yours.
"whatever." he shook his head, laying back down as he turn away from you. it's not the first time this had happened, resulting in the both of you to argue. he would always be the one to apologize then, coming up to you when you're in the garden with flowers in his hands knowing how much you love them. the first time he did, he had picked the flowers you had just planted, resulting in you cryingâboth afraid and hurtâknowing that rose would be mad if she finds out.
you stare at his bare back, bracing yourself as you went over to sit on the edge of the bed. "rafe, you know it's not like that." your voice were soft, hand reaching out to trace your fingers against his skin. "yeah, i know." his voice was quiet, it took him a while for him to finally turn and look at you. "i just can't control how i feel. especially when it includes you," he sighs, hand reaching out to lace his fingers with yours.
"it's my fault. i should've thought about you when i make my decisions," you nodded, thumb moving against the back of his hand. "let me send you home. you're taking a day off today, right?" he didn't wait for you to answerâalready sitting upâslowly letting go of your hand before finding for his shirt somewhere on the floor to his room. you hummed, eyes following him as he moves around the room to look for his keys.
the house was still, everyone asleep with the sun still not rising when the two of you got out of his room. he was just about to guide you downstairs when he remembered something, hand going down to his pockets to check. "shit, i forgot something. wait here for me," he removes his arm from around you, leaving you just a few steps away from his room to wait for him.
you were left alone then, looking around the dark spaceâthe only source of lighting coming from the street lights outside through the windowsâbiting on your lower lip in thought. the sound of a door closing from behind surprised you, turning so fast you almost stumble on your feet. that wasn't the worse part, thoughâyou can feel your heart in your throat the moment your eyes were met with sarah's widening ones.
your mouth opened, but no word were able to form on your tongue as the two of you stare at each other. every worse possible thoughts ran through your mind when you see the look on her face. at that moment, you knew that you're too far gone. a hand sliding against your back made you jump, turning your head as you hesitantly look away from her to see that rafe is already there by your side.
"hey, you okay?" he asks softly, his grip tightening slightly on your waist as he searches your eyes. looking away from him to where sarah were, you're met with nothing as you look around for the sight of her. he turns your head towards him with his hand cupping the side of your face, "what's wrong?" you shook your head as your eyes met with his, but didn't say a word as he guide you down the stairs to the front door.
the drive back to the chateau was quiet, his hand holding yours while the other stay on the steering. he didn't question your silenceâalthough it was unusual of you to be that quietâyet. the car came to a stop, but before you could say goodbye to him, "what's wrong? why are you so quiet?" he hummed, hand going to cup your cheek as he look you in the eyes.
you hesitated at first before letting out a breath, "sarah saw me," the words finally rolled off your tongue. it felt silly now that you had said it out loud, maybe you're just being overdramatic and it's nothing for you to worry about. it's not like you're doing something illegal, you're just in love. he sighs softly, brushing your hair away from your face to look at you better.
"are you worried that she would tell him?" he tilted his head so you would look at him in the eye. truth is, you're not scared of the fact that your brother would find out. it's just that you want it to be at the right momentâyou want it to be perfectânot from anyone's mouth but yours, but who are you to say that it would go the way you want it to?
you shook your head, looking away from him as you bit on your lower lip. "i'm just tired," your voice breaks and he didn't even need for you to say anything else, nodding as he leaves a kiss on your forehead before kissing youâdeepâlike he was afraid that it would be the last time for him to be able to. he leans his forehead against yours when the two of you pull away, "you know that i love you, right?" he searches your eyes, looking for answers.
"i love you, too," you hummed, pulling away from him with a goodbye. the sun was slowly rising by then, he had waited for you to go inside before driving away. he was lost in his thoughts by the time he was alone, he can't stop the fear he's feeling of you slowly pulling away from him. even if it's all in his head, he still think that it was possible for you to do so and he can't let it happen. you're everything to him.
the chateau was quiet when you went inside. you didn't waste any second when you walk into your room, going straight to bed. you hadn't been able to sleep easily the past few daysâexcept for when you're with rafeâso you would take any chance given to let yourself rest, even if it's only for an hour or two. the restlessness is also the reason why you would take days off, which is a bit odd since you're not the type to do so.
you didn't know how long you were able to sleep, but the noises from outside your room stir you awakeâthe poguesâyou thought. rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you slowly make your way out of the roomâstopping in your tracks when you feel eyes on you. "where were you last night?" john b's voice erupted, any sleepiness you're feeling now gone from the sudden outburst.
he didn't give you the chance to speak, already calling you out again. "you go to âworkâ and ended up not being home right after like you're supposed to," his hands were gesturing towards you rather harshly, making you stand there in silence as you bit on your lower lip nervously. "do you want to tell me what's going on or should i believe the things i've been hearing?" your eyes went towards sarah who's sitting on the couch, but she was quick to look away.
"no, don't try to blame someone on this when you've been doing this to yourself." he blocked your view from the others, pressing you to be honest to him. you can feel your breathing ragged, knees going weak now that you don't know what to do as your head spins. it's not like you're afraidâor that's just what you're telling yourself.
you shook your head, "i don't know what i'm supposed to say." tears well up in your eyes when you see the look on his face, it's like he was disappointed in you. it's not helping that he's doing this in front of his friends, you felt more than embarrassed now that it's happening in real time. "can we not do this here?" you pleaded, gesturing towards the pogues who are in the same room as the two of you.
"oh, so now you're embarrassed? did you thought of this when you were doing it?" he said almost exasperatedly, making you feel worse than you already did. to be fair, you don't even know why he's so angry about itâfor him to be this angryâwhen you're not doing anything wrong at all, at least from the way you're seeing it. a hiccup escaped you, resulting in your chest to jerk from the way you're holding in your tears.
"why do you even care?" you couldn't stop yourself from the words tumbling out your mouth, "my whole life, i've been second to your friends. you care more about them than you do me when i need you most. i'm your sisterâ" you sobbed, tears now running down your cheeks. you point towards yourself, "i've always been left out. it's because i'm a âweirdoâ, right? that's what you all say. so now that i finally have someone that actually care for me, why are you trying to take it away from me?"
"do you not realize who you're talking about?" he had raised his voice then, stopping himself when he sees the look on your face, but still stood by his point. shaking his head, "i don't want you to see him anymore. quit your job or whatever it takes. find something else to do." you scoffed at that, but before you could bite back, kiara's voice calling out for both of your attention interrupted.
"what the fuck is he doing here?" she lets out, standing by the window as she glances out of it. john b was by her side in less than a second, cursing to himself as he make his way out the front doorâyou following right after when the others stood from where they were sitting. rafe was there, closing the door to his truck as he make his way towards the chateau.
before he could say anything, john b had landed a punch to his jaw, surprising everyone including he, himself. "what did you do to my sister, you fuckerâ!" he was held back by both pope and jj then, both of them asking him to calm down. you were quick to be by rafe's side, taking his face in your hands as you check on him. "why did you do that!?" you couldn't stop the anger running through your body when your eyes met with your brother's.
"open your fucking eyes! he's only using youâ" he insisted, trying to pull himself away from the tight hold he's in. you can feel the frustration building, angry by the way he's doing everything impulsively without having any second thought, resulting into this messy situation you're all in that shouldn't even be happening.
rafe finally stepped forward, ignoring his own emotions he's feeling so that it wouldn't get worse. "listen, i'm only here to talk," you can see the bruise blooming on his jaw from the impact he had taken from john b's hit, but he didn't let himself falter by the pain he couldn't ignoreâbut didâas he pull you to the side, standing in front of you now. "i know that you're worried, scared that i would do anythingâ"
"as i fucking should." john b cuts him off, spitting the words at him like he's disgusted by him. rafe tongue at his cheek, looking away as he try to calm himself down. shaking his head, he couldn't stop his emotions from taking over, "yeah? well, you're doing the same shit to my sister too," pissing john b off even more as he lurch forward to grab him, but failing when rafe move away from him.
"stop! john b, please." you were practically begging for your own brother to stop this sudden outburst of his, standing in front of him now. "i know, i fucked up. i shouldn't have let it happen when i knew that it was going to lead to this, but i can'tâi can't help who i fall in love with." your voice breaks, looking at him in the eyes now. you can see his eyes softening at that, his anger slowly disappearing the more you talk.
"you're worried. of course, you are. you're my brother," the way you had said it, made something bloom in his chest. both pope and jj had let go of their hold on him, seeing that he had calmed down. "i should've told youâi should've been honest, but i was scared. i was scared that you wouldâ" he had pulled you into a hug before you could finish, arms wrapping tightly around you now.
"i'm sorry," you let out between sobs, arms wrapped around him as he bury his face into your hair. "no, i should be the one apologizing. i went overboard," he mumbled, pulling away from you to look at your face. "felt the need to be that protective brother, y'know?" he joked, trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere around the two of you.
letting go of you, he finally acknowledge rafe who he had just punched in the face moments earlier. you can see that he was trying so hard to be egoistic, not even trying to move from his spot, but as if something had crossed his mind, he did. "i know that this won't be enough, but sorry." he shrugged, sighing to himself. rafe stayed quiet, nodding in acknowledgement before looking away from him.
they had left the two of you alone by then, going inside one by one with sarah being the last one as she look at the two of you before john b pulls her inside. clearing your throat almost awkwardly, you stood in front of rafe to finally look at him in the eyes. "i'm sorry about that. he can be a bitâyou know," you gritted through your teeth, hands going to clasp themselves in front of you rather awkwardly.
"nothing i haven't survived before," he chuckled, feigning nonchalance as he cross his arms against his chest. you nodded with an eyebrow raised, "i'm no longer needed here then," as you turn away from him, but before you could walk away, he was already grabbing you by the arm. "wait,"
"it does hurt a bit too much for me, though," he hummed, pulling you closer against him with his hands on your waist. "maybe you can kiss it better f'me?" a slight pout were tugged on his lips as he look at you with those puppy eyes of his, making you laugh to his faceâacting as if you're grossed out by the way he's actingâthe pout deepening even more.
"gross," you grimace, pushing him away by the shoulders before making your away back to the chateau. he hesitated, not knowing if he's even invited there until you call out for him. "i'm sure he won't throw you another punch this time." without sparing him another glance. when you notice that he's not even making any effort to move, you finally turn on your heels to look at him with both hands going to your waist.
rolling your eyes, you call out for him again, "are you coming in or what?" but he was still sulking, looking everywhere except at you. you huffed, crossing your arms against your chest when an idea popped into your head as you smirk. clearing your throat, you try your best not to laugh as you glance away from him.
"i do owe you for taking that punch, though." you hummed, before adding, "don't you wanna find out how i'm gonna pay you?" you feign innocence, already walking backwards towards the front door. that seem to catch his attention, any sort of sulkiness now gone as he follow you almost too quickly.
đđ â i don't think you're boring or weird. â
á°.á pairing : s1!rafe x routledge!reader
á°.á contains : jealous rafe, fluff, just a kiss hehe
đ based on this request by @liamslover !
read this next . . . đ
the chateau was filled with the pogues talking over each other when you got out of your room, checking your bag to see if you've got everything with you. the first person to greet you was pope, straying your attention from the inside of your bag, "leaving already?"
"yeah," you look around to see everyone seemingly ready to go out too, "where are you guys going?" making them look over towards john b instead of answering. "out somewhere," he answers casually with a shrug of his shoulders. your eyes light up at that, knowing how much fun they always find themselves in.
"can i come?" your tone were hopeful, not even noticing the shared looks amongst them. "don't you have somewhere else to be? i mean, you didn't take the day off from your gardening job, didn't you?" it was obvious he was trying to reject you in the most subtle way as possible, looking around so that the others would agree with him.
your smile faltered slightly, but you were quick to recover as if you just realized something you had forgotten, "oh, yeah! i should probably get going." you clear your throat, making your way towards the front door, "have funâall of you." as you try to mask the hurt in your voice.
it's not the first time they had left you out like this, but you never said anything about itâthey're your brother's friends anyway. you once heard how they thought you were weird, not fitting in their "pogue standard", but never letting you join in on them so that you could fit their seemingly ideal standard.
you have been trying to clear your head for the past hour as you kept your hands busyâplanting a new batch of starter plants right where rose had told you toâbut failing when you notice how harsh you're being towards the innocent plants. a sigh left your mouth as you put everything down for a second so that you won't ruin anything with your gloved hands, taking them off.
it's not like you're hurt by them, knowing how annoying it would be for someone's sibling to suddenly join the friend group, but your heart just seem to not understand it. especially when they're okay with sarah joining them now that your brother is dating her knowing how much kiara used to hate her.
you didn't even realize a tear had escaped from your eye until it hit the soil in front of you, making you reach out to wipe at your now wet cheek using the back of your hand that's free from any dirt. "stop being dramatic, for fuck's sake." you whisper to yourself, already annoyed at how easy it is for you to take everything personally.
"don't you usually take a day off on saturdays?" a voice from behind you made you jump slightly, not expecting for anyone to talk to youâespecially when the person is rafe. you felt yourself physically malfunction, questions start piling up in your head as you stare at the plants in front of you.
why is he talking to you? are you just imagining it right now? is he talking to someone else from behind you, and they're just out of your sight for you to actually see it?
the last question made you look around, making sure that you're not embarrassing yourself before you answer the question asked by him. "didn't want to," you shrug, hands suddenly busy as you play with the gloves on your lap, "need that extra money, you know?"
you look up to him just to see that he's already looking at you, the sudden eye contact made your heart flutter without you wanting it to. "saw the pogues just now. thought you would be with them, but" he shrugs, feigning nonchalance as if he didn't just look for you in that certain group of friends, "i guess not."
the only thing you could do is nod, humming as you break eye contact with him. you thought that he would leave you alone then, maybe finding boredom the more he talks to you, but you were wrong. "don't you all always stick together?" he asked almost too interestedly before masking it quickly, "i mean, that's what the pogues do, right?"
"yeah, justâmaybe not me." that was supposed to be your only answer, but you ended up telling him more than you should. "they're my brother's friends, not mine. i don't have much friends to actually, you know, stick together with." emphasizing the words he had spoken to you just now.
he chuckled at that, and you almost got offended by it being funny to himâquickly covering it up with a tight-lipped smile. he saw the look on your face, already regretting everything he had done for the whole time he spent talking to you. he even thought that it was stupid for him to come up and talk to you now that it ended up like thisâended up with you getting hurt by him because he didn't know how to be a person with empathy.
"i didn'tâi didn't mean toâ" he scratched his ear before trailing his hand down to the back of his neck, rubbing it in an awkward manner now that he's fucked everything up. you probably hate him nowâmaybe even more after thatâand it scares him. "i'm sorry, i justâfuckâi should leave," he stammer over his words, already taking a step back from you.
but you were quick to dismiss him, "no, it's fine." making him stop in his tracks, "people do think i'm weird and get bored easily when they're with me so," you assure himâwell, trying to assure him because you sounded unconvinced with your words yourself although they're mostly true.
he shoves his hands into his pockets before clearing his throat, "that's just bullshit. i don't think you're boring orâweird at all." that surprised youânot expecting for him to say that to youâand by the look on his face, you know that he's surprised by himself as well from how easy it is for him to admit them.
that's how everything started between the two of you. you thought that it would be the first and last time he would come up to you, but no. everytime you're in the garden, he'll somehow find the opportunity to be there with youâeven if it means cancelling his plans with his friends. you didn't think any of it, not wanting to get your hopes up just because he's showing you just a bit of affection.
until that one specific day where your scooter starts acting up when you're already too late to go through this whole thing. you had asked john b for helpâin which he told you he's got something else to work onâso he ended up telling jj to help you instead by dropping you off at the cameron's.
jj hesitated at first, but brushes the thought off considering that you're his best friend's sister. the whole ride on his bike was awkward with you not making any effort to talk to him. it's not like he would be interested in conversating with you, right? the silence continue until the bike came to a stop, the tannyhill coming to view.
as if the day couldn't get any worse, the buckle on your helmet got stuck when you were in a hurry to take it off. "oh, please no." as you tug at it. surprisingly, jj reaches out to help you, undoing it easily as he help you take it off of your head. you let out a sigh of relief, "thanks, jayj." as you lean forward to give him a hug. he was surprised at first, but was quick to melt into it, "yeah, no prob cupcake." as he ruffles your hair, making you grumble at him for messing it up.
"i'll see you later, yeah?" he calls out when you pull away, already making your way to the estate. you gave him another glance with a quick "yeah", knowing that he'll be the one needing to pick you up that evening seeing that john b is too busy to actually do it.
you get to work right when you arrived, apologizing to rose for being late although she didn't mind at all. it was supposed to be easy, a normal day where you'd work in the gardenâplanting, watering, and cleaning up just a bitâbut there was something missing. you couldn't ignore how your heart starts feeling the emptiness of rafe not being there with you.
he would usually be there right after you came, but you didn't even see him except for his bike being at it's usual spot he would always park at. questions start running through your mindâdoes he think that you're just another person he should stir away from before it starts getting too far?âmaking you shook your head to stay focused on what you're supposed to do. working for his family.
a few hours passed and you still haven't seen him. you hate to admit it, but you felt the disappointment blooming in your chest without you being able to control it. your eyes kept darting towards every corner he could possibly come out of, your focus completely gone even with your hands moving like they have the minds of their own.
at one point of the day, you were carrying the watering can with you when you went past the pool to see that rafe had his friends over, but you still didn't see him. you were just minding your own business when a voice calls out for you, "hey," you were surprised to see that topper actually knew you by your name. you knew him, of course, he got into a fight with your brother multiple times before.
you don't know why he's thereâtalking to youâbut it would be rude for you to not pay him any mind. he threw some jokes at you, making you laugh although they weren't funny at all. "heard many things about you. from rafe, specifically." he says out of nowhere, making you stop mid laugh. you were just about to ask him what he's trying to say when a voice calls out from behind you.
"aren't you supposed to be working?" making you turn so fast you almost dropped the watering can in your hands. rafe stood there, hands in his pockets with his cap on backwards. he looked so good right at that moment except for the scowl he's wearing on his face, making you look down to your feetâashamed.
"i'm sorry," was the only thing you could let out, but he didn't pay you any mind as he took a hold of your wrist making you drop the watering can fully to the ground. you can hear topper asking him to calm down, but he didn't even stop to tell him off as he kept pulling you away from there. "rafe, please." you don't know what you're saying please for, but you know damn well you don't want to lose this job.
when he got the two of you aloneâsomewhere quietâthat's when he finally turn to look at you, "do you act this way with every fucking guy you're talking to?" his tone was harsh, almost accusing making you jump slightly from it. he turn away then, hands going up to cup his eyes as he sighs angrily. you were still clueless, not getting the reason why he's acting this way from you not doing your supposed job.
"what do you mean?" you finally ask with confusion laced in your tone, but he didn't seem to buy any of it when he turns to look at you. "are you actually this clueless or are you just fucking with me?" he let out a breath through his nose, eyes closed just for a moment to calm himself down.
your face scrunched at that, you fucking with him? what did you even do to let that thought cross his mind? if anything, he's the one playing with you. "me? i think i should be the one asking you that." you scoffed, making his eyes widened at the audacity you had to accuse him. "listen, rafe. i don't know what you're trying to do, but you're succeeding at it. now if you don't mind, i'm going back to work."
he grab your wrist before you even had the chance to walk away making you wince at the tight hold, "what are you doing, rafe? let me go," but he shook his head, tightening the already tight grip he had on you. "what's your relationship with jj, huh?" he asked out of the blue making your eyebrows furrowed at that, "do you like him?"
"no, what?" you pull your hand away from his hold, "why would you even think that?" you gave him a perplexed look, still not getting where he's trying to get this to. he shrugged, turning away slightly from you as he scratch at his eyebrow, "i don't know, you look like you were in love with him or something."
you scoffed again, "so this is why you didn't show up the whole day?" shaking your head in disbelief. "yeah, well if you're still not getting it," he hesitated at first, closing his eyes as he let out a breath through his nose. "i like you, okay?" his sudden confession made you froze, expecting anything from him, but that.
"i waited for you to show up everyday since the first time you stepped a foot here, but was too much of a pussy to do something about it because i know that you hate me." he sighs, finally looking at you then. "i got jealous seeing you with himâwith any other guyâbecause i know it will never be me. now that i finally got the chance to, why not just say it even if it fucks everything up between us."
your silence scares him, telling him something words can't even say. at that moment, he was so sure you would curse him outâeven giving him a slap or two before leaving him forever and ever and everâuntil your lips landed on his. his eyes widened at that before gaining consciousness, his hands going to your waist as he pull you closer to him.
your hands were on both sides of his face as you kiss him, tilting your head slightly so he could deepen it. your breathing were heavy when the two of you pull away, your hands going down to his chest as you take a moment to regain yourself. he was still looking at you in disbelief, "am i dreaming or did you just kiss me?"
you hit him on the chest, embarrassed now that it came to your mind what you just did impulsively without giving yourself another chance to think. "shut up." you gritted through your teeth, "i don't know where you got the idea that i hated you. if anything, i should be the one thinking that you did from how much dirty looks you were giving me when i first got here."
he scoffed, feigning offense as he tilt his head to look at you better now that you're this close to him. "dirty looks? i was showing you every kind of interest i had for you." he pouted slightly, a bit hurt now that you didn't get the signals he had been sending the whole time. "well, you're not one to be good with facial expressions," you retorted, laughing at the way his face shifted.
"why were you riding his bike, anyway?" he asks, voice low now as if he's embarrassed by his sudden outburst towards you. his hands are holding you tighter nowâas if he was afraid you would run away from himâas it went down to your bum, fingers playing with the back pockets of your jeans. "my scooter was acting up and my brother was busy so he had asked jayj to help."
he tried to be subtle, but you saw the way he had rolled his eyes before voicing out what he's thinking, "you should've called me to pick you up." like it was the most obvious thing you should've done. you push him away slightly, but he didn't move even an inchâonly pulling you closer towards him, "well, if i had your number then i would've considered doing so."
your hand went down to remove his hands from around you before walking away, leaving him behind. "wait, you can't just kiss me and leave me like this," he was quick to follow you, taking a hold of your hand when he reaches you just to lace your fingers with his. you snorted, shaking your head in disbelief, but didn't make any effort to let go of his hand.
"let me send you home," he said it like it was a final decision made by him and not even you can change it, "or you can stay here with me." his eyes were hopeful then, having his hopes set high from his own idea. you didn't say anything, but aren't against the idea either, bumping your shoulder against his as the two of you walk side by side.
he couldn't stop the smile spreading on his face, eyes going down to the way both of your hands fit perfectly against each other now. maybe having a crush isn't as bad as he thought now that it's not one-sided like he thought it was, a bit too proud of himself for making the first move to talk to you. he didn't care what people would say as long as he got you with him by his side.
á°.áđď¸ i actually wanted this to be as perfect as it should be, but idkkk if i did execute it the way it's supposed to be đŁ i would love to write more about them, my mailbox is always open for any ideas! đ
â â "He called you that?! Go punch him in the face."
⪠â "What your dad meant to say was; kick him in the balls."
summary: people around the Island often talk of the new generation of the Cameron surname and the two who raised them, a match made in somewhere between hell and heaven.
â When the two of you had your first baby, an adorable blue-eyed boy you had named Callum Cameron, people of Figure Eight suspects that it was a baby of mistake, conceived during a meaningless night between the infamous kook with terrible reputation and the woman with a tongue as sharp as a blade. But when they heard that you have gotten pregnant again with your second baby, a blonde girl named Isola "Izzy" Cameron, just a year later, they knew the new Camerons weren't mistakes. Because people like Rafe Cameron and you don't make the same mistake twice.
â People suspected it was a loveless marriage, sealed by an arrangement made by your parents. But behind closed doors, Rafe's skin never left yours. Even if it means holding your pinky while you read a magazine. The tiniest seperation from you feels like a throbbing pain to his heart.
â Callum tends to come to you for comfort or really anything, even asking you for advices when having a girl on his mind. You'd tell him to "be you, be brave, and go ask her out for ice cream" with a wink. Meanwhile Rafe, who have Izzy clinging onto him like a koala on a tree most of the times, would ask her "Do they even know who your dad is? Moreover, don't they see how adorable my little princess is?" before giving her money to buy any dress she wants to look pretty for her crush, despite knowing he wouldn't let any boy near his own daughter.
â Rafe would teach Callum how to golf from an early age, perhaps even signing him up for some local tournaments. Though Callum enjoys it, he had an curiosity in surfing as wellâ no courage to ask for surfing lessons, knowing his dad would be opposed to it. So what did he do? He convinced you to find him a surfing lesson schedule when Rafe wont notice, later on giving you a terribly handwritten letter saying "i love you, coolest mom on earth!" with a smiley face.
â Izzy, on the other hand, spent most of her time being spoiled by Rafe, even when she refused buying new clothes all the time. He thinks that Izzy's beauty needs to be highlighted, always telling her how much her beauty reminds him of yours; near to perfect yet never exaggerated.
â However, that doesn't mean you never had any girl day with Izzy nor Rafe having a father-son bonding moment with Callum.
â Rafeâs love language is acts of service and possession. Your carâs always filled up, your jewelry box mysteriously restocks, and youâll catch him staring whenever you wear something he bought. âYou like spending my money,â he would tease. âOnly because you like watching me do it,â you shoot back.
â Birthday parties for your kids at the Camerons household are always filled with many perspectives to look from. Through the eyes of the friends your children invited, they were amazed by every little decoration at the partyâ even more when they found out it was you who had arranged everything with Rafe being the one who paid for every expensive decoration, now visioning you and Rafe as the dream parents.
â Rafe would be busy with the other dads, talking about business and somewhere in between, he'd find any reason to brag about you being Mrs. Cameron. He'd say something like, "My wife chose this watch for me. She got good eyes, huh?" or "We don't go to barbershops or salons for a haircut anymore. Izzy and Callum? My fucking amazing wife trimmed their hair herself."
â You'd pretend not to hear it, but even the moms of the other kids heard itâ even immediately started chit-chatting about it, bringing up the arranged marriage rumors again, or speculating that you married Rafe for the money in his bank account, sometimes even comparing your kids to theirs.
â You're a dirty liar if you said you didn't care the tiniest bit for what they said, especially the bit about your kids. So as a revenge, you and Rafe both prepare every strategy to win a golf game for Callum and a kindergarten fashion show competition for Izzy, determined to demolish what the moms have been comparing to your kids.
â Whenever your kid is up, the both of you would yell three same words; "KICK THEIR ASSES!"
â He kisses your shoulder while you do skincare, closing his eyes with a reluctant sigh, letting you put moisturizer on his face.
â While he secretly uses the body lotion that smells so nice on you and makes his skin feels softer, you steal his cologne when heâs gone, even checking the brand to make sure he buys the same one next time.
â If someone flirts with you, Rafe doesnât make a scene. Instead, he just gets quieter, more charming, standing closer. After all, he didn't really care much, knowing the expensive diamond ring around your finger speaks louder than any of the punches he'd throw at the guy's face.
â Rafe sees men flirting with you as a sign that his wife really is the coolest chick woman on the Island. You see women flirting with Rafe as an entertainment, watching the way he turn them down coldly before turning to you with a dorky smile.
â Whenever he feels lost when sorting out business stuff, he'd consult to you and watch in awe as you type away on his laptop with ease while his chin rests on your shoulder, then he'd ask, "Will you marry me again?"
â Rafe's idea of an anniversary surprise is not flowers, fancy dinners, or an expensive present. Instead, he'd surprise you with a sudden vacation somewhere far away from Outer Banks.
â Youâre the kind of mom who lets the kids make art on the wall, bring random stray cats home, blast music in the living room, and stay up too late on Fridays. Rafe pretends to disapprove, but the next morning, heâs the one making pancakes shaped like dinosaurs with aesthetically-placed chocolate sauce and berries.
â Whenever someone mentions how someone so tight and tempered like Rafe and someone so free and blunt like you managed to stay so in love after years of marriage is "crazy", Rafe always answers the same thing. âWell, that's the point,â he says, smirking. âThat goddamn woman still drives me crazy.â
summary: the cheerleading squad needs to raise funds, and a certain quarterback is feeling generous.
content warnings: original afab!reader, football captain!rafe & head cheerleader!reader, use of petnames (sweetheart), 18+ MDNI - suggestive af
length: 1.5k words
The football season had barely started, but the cheerleaders never did as well with donations as the actual team, with all their boosters and wealthy alumni. You'd been roped into helping out with the kissing booth by your best friend during welcome week festivities, something you hadn't been planning on attending yourself if she wasn't making you do this.
It wasn't as busy as you expected it to be, probably because most of the crowd consisted of nervous freshmen who were still trying to find their way around campus. You were working the first shift, which was mostly just sitting around and gossiping with the other volunteers, with only a few students walking up and deciding to pay the premium.Â
"Oh shit! Is that who I think it is?"
The familiar voice traveled across the field as a cluster of football players approached, Rafe leading the pack with his eyes already locked on you. He shot you his signature grin when he saw you standing there, under the kissing booth sign, stalking towards you like a predator locked in on its prey.Â
"Must be my lucky day," he declared.
"Wow, Rafe. You're so desperate. You're making yourself a charity case now?" you quipped, taking a step back and crossing your arms over your chest to put some distance between you.
He placed his hands on the table that was separating you, stretching out his arms as his large frame towered over yours. His bangs fell onto his face, which only emphasized how devastatingly handsome he was despite being truly the bane of your existence. Even with his varsity jacket on, you could see his biceps bulging through the leather sleeves, as if they were trying to burst through the seams.Â
"Is it just you, or the entire goon squad?" you seeked out, gesturing over to the group of guys he had in tow.
"You really gotta ask me that?" he feigned dramatically, clutching his chest like you wounded him. "I don't like sharing when it comes to you."Â
"I'm just trying to make money here," you shrugged.Â
"Yeah? For what? More books or something?"
"Actually, it's so the cheerleaders can come on the road for a few games," your bestie piped up. "Not that you'd be interested in that..."Â
"That's definitely a cause I can get behind," he replied.
"Hurry up and make up your mind," you provoked. "I don't make anything from chatting. I'm sure there are plenty of paying customers who'd be more than happy to take your place."
"Depends," he retorted, making you suspicious.
"What do you mean 'depends?'" you mimicked, making him chuckle.
"Well, $5 gets me a kiss. What if I wanna take you back to my place?" he surveyed.
"Fuck off, Rafe," you laughed in disbelief, shaking your head at the bold proposition. Not that it was new behaviour from him.
"I'm being serious," he maintained.
He reached into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out his wallet and folding it open to show off a stack of cash sitting there. Skimming his thumbs over the edges of the crisp bills, as if openly taunting you with it. You could hear all the other cheerleaders whispering to each other, scowling at you as they questioned why he hadn't taken notice of any of them.
"What about $100?" He proposed, unable to hide the disgust on your expression.
"No fucking way," you immediately refused.
"So, less than what you get for five? You should rethink your business model-"
"Whatever you pay, all you get is a kiss," you didn't budge, not missing the flicker of disappointment that flashed across Rafe's face.Â
"I just want to make a generous donation,"
"Nothing about you is generous, Rafe."
"I'm sure if you asked any girl I've been with, they'd disagree."Â
"Cute."
"Don't sound so jealous, sweetheart," he warned you. "I might believe you're secretly interested."
"Well, I'm not," you asserted. "And I'm not interested in your bribe either."Â
"I'll kiss you, Rafe," one of the other volunteers interjected from behind you, batting her lashes at him.
"As great as that sounds, there's only one woman I'm trying to impress tonight."Â
The girls around you awwed as he gave you a smug look, as if their encouragement was what would sway your decision. You were used to his constant flirting, usually just being subjected to it between practices or when he'd track you down at a party, but you knew you wouldn't be getting out of this as painlessly as you usually could.
"You can't brag about this, you know," you contended. "I'm still not kissing you because I want to."
"Of course not. That would be too easy," he remarked, his smirk growing. "But it definitely won't hurt my chances of convincing you to do it again."Â
"Let's just get this over with," you rolled your eyes.
He leaned in at a frustratingly slow pace, stopping just before your lips touched so you'd have to be the one to actually make the first move, knowing you couldn't turn him away. You weren't totally sure what your game plan was, and you couldn't deny how hard it was to keep your composure when he was close enough for his breath to mix with yours.Â
You went to give him the same rehearsed kiss you'd given to the other men who had visited the kiosk, boring and prompt. A short peck. Then Rafe cradled one of your cheeks and deepened it, and you couldn't hold yourself back anymore. Your hands flew to his chest, not to shove him off but to find your balance.
He slipped his tongue into your mouth, catching you off guard and making you gasp softly in reaction. You could feel him smiling triumphantly as he kissed you, quick to bite down on his bottom lip in retaliation, only for a husky moan to escape him instead. Not that he seemed as flustered about it as you were.Â
You were brought back to reality when his teammates started hooting and hollering, reminding you of the fact that you currently had an audience. When you went to end it, though, he pulled you back in for one more chaste kiss. Your breath hitched in betrayal as he drew away from you, lingering there for a few more seconds.
"Come on now," he muttered against your mouth, speaking so low that only you could hear him. "You can't tell me you don't want to do that again."Â
"That's not how this works, Rafe," you lightly scolded, trying your best to keep your tone steady despite the wildfire burning beneath your skin.Â
"How about this," he initiated, drawing your gaze back to his lips as he licked them. "If you hit your goal tonight, I get to take you out when you come with for the next away game."
From the lack of traffic flowing past the booth, you were pretty confident that you could take that bet and easily avoid the consequences. Even with all the cash he had, it would take a few thousand to cover it all. But this was Rafe, and you couldn't help but suspect that it was a trap.Â
"And if we don't, you lay off this year," you negotiated, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he nodded in agreement. "Fine."
"Wanna seal it with a kiss?" He attempted.Â
"Bye, Rafe," you shut him down sweetly, plucking a random bill out of his wallet. Ooh, it was a $20!
The football players continued hyping up their captain as he jogged back over to them, Rafe peeking over his shoulder and winking at you as they disappeared back into the carnival. And of course, you couldn't just push it out of your mind once he left because your friends wouldn't drop the subject, none of them understanding why you were always so cold toward one of the school's top athletes.Â
It wasn't even an hour later when your bestie's cell started going off. You'd switched with one of the other volunteers not long after your encounter with Rafe, and it hadn't gotten any busier since then, letting you eavesdrop on one side of the unusual phone conversation that was happening nearby.Â
"Holy shit!" She blurted out suddenly. "Sorry, sorry. But, you're being serious? Wow, alright. Thanks, I'll let them know."Â
Her attention shifted to you as soon as she hung up the call, instantly giving you a bad feeling, which was only amplified when she dismissed you all for the night. She explained that she'd spoken to our coach, who'd informed her a football donor had 'unexpectedly' decided to contribute more to cheerleading, which in turn meant there was no need to keep fundraising.Â
As much as you wanted to pretend it was a coincidence, you had a sneaking suspicion that it had to do with the arrogant quarterback who was confident enough to challenge you. And of course, because he couldn't stop himself from gloating, his name popped up on your phone screen in your Instagram messages, confirming exactly what you'd assumed.
rafecameron99: Make sure to pack something nice for our date next road trip đÂ
note: a little blurb i've had sitting around that i decided to clean up for valentines day! hope you guys enjoy!! if you want a part 2/continuation/have any more requests for football captain!rafe & head cheerleader!reader, send them over!!!! đđđ
a/n: okay so!! I thought this was gonna be the last part and it kinda isâŚbut! im gonna keep writing little blurbs now that this storyline has kinda wrapped up :) I hope you guys liked this and donât forget to leave me requests for this tag in my inbox!! luv yall <3
â°ââ¤ËËË ę° the first time jj says he loves you ⌠ęą
ĘÉ âş Ë â¸â¸â¸
âjayj! câmon, fit check,â you yank your boyfriendâs arm as he passes by you in the small little corridor of the chateau, taking the opportunity to snatch him for the vlog youâre filming, before you forget. the blonde hums knowingly as he spins to your side, adjusting his hair in the mirror and flexing his biceps for the camera â always showing off isnât he?
âyoyoyo, wassup my dudes. this is papa j wearinâ some good olâ,â he flips around, pointing at the large blue logo plastered across his back, lacing his southern twang with an exaggerated sort of phoney salesman accent. âpelican marina tee. made of the finest, a hundred percent natural cotton on kildare, better buy âem fast, âfore they sell out. ânâ of course of course, we got the misses over here, lookinâ âŚâ
he takes a moment to trace his ocean-blue eyes over your figure, taking in the sight of his girl all ready to go out. every part of you looks immaculate: from your lipgloss, the sunblock heâd smeared over your skin, to the way your tits took in the new top you bought last week â every part of you, perfect. âfuckinâ magestic gawddamn. your ass looks amazinâ in that; you gotta wear that more. ânâ your eyes? that top makes âem pop or somethinâ. remind me how did i get you tâgo out with me?â
itâs hard to exactly pinpoint the way heâs staring at you, but the affection behind his eyes when you twist your head away from your phone is unmeasurable; the closest you can describe the look heâs giving you is saying how heâs kind of looking at you like youâve hung the moon. his blonde strands of sun-damaged hair falls slightly out of his signature red cap, and his hands just naturally find themselves around your hip. âyou look like youâre in love with me.â
âthatâs âcuz i am in love with you.â
it slips out so easily, as if he didnât even have to think about the confession before he answered your rhetoric prompt. but the impact? it lands instantly.
âyou what?â you squeak, staring up at him with the happiest look of disbelief youâve possibly ever worn. the blonde? he practically jumps out of his skin. his hands fly to his mouth, his eyes widen comically, and his mind blue-screens. then a larger problem dawns on him â larger then admitting his literal love for you on some random day before going out: âwait shitâ you got that on camera, fuckâ! âm cooked.â
his callouses move into his hair, pulling against the follicles as he obsessively rakes though them and shakes his head just as manically. âjayâ?!â
ânuhuh, delete thatâ no way the first time i said i love you got recorded. this?â his hands suddenly leave his hair to instead occupy the air around and between you both, just as he switches his stare between your grin and the camera â the camera thatâs still recording, and producing the video youâre 100% going to show to sarah and kie as soon as you can. âdidnât happen. nuhuh. wipe that damn smirk off of your face!â
âi love you too yâknow.â
âcool, real cool. câmon letâs go. ânâ stop recordinâ, princess!! my humiliation has already been fit checked enough. fuck.â
summary: as the thunderboltsâ overworked assistant, invisibility comes with the jobâlate nights, impossible schedules, no recognition. so the single red rose waiting on your desk feels like a mistake. until another appears. then another. each morning brings a quiet gift, easing the exhaustion youâve learned to carry. by valentineâs day, your desk holds a full bouquetâand far too many unanswered questions.
pairing: thunderbolts!bucky x female reader
content warnings: â18+ MDNI - minor suggestive contentâ flirting, secret admirer, overworked reader, john walker is kinda a dick (sorry not sorry), first date, first kiss, fluff city, bucky is a loverboy, and a gentleman, spicy kiss with wandering hands but thats it, not beta read we die like men.
w/c: 5.6k
a/n: shoutout to miss tang @salty-tang for putting this awesome exchange together, iâm glad i was able to get in before it was too late! i had so much fun writing this secretly flirty bucky heâs my favorite ever
prompt: a bouqet of flowers.
dt: this is for the almighty @navybrat817! i was so nervous when i got you lol, youre such an inspiration to me and to the bucky community and im so glad to be in this space as the same time as you! happy valentines day, i hope you like it <33
By the time you swipe into the Thunderbolts tower, your coffee is already cold and your head is already pounding.
Itâs barely 7 a.m., the sky outside still bruised with early morning gray, and yet the building hums like itâs midday. Security lights glow. Elevators ding. Somewhere down the hall, someone is already arguing about ammo requisitions.
You sigh, adjust the strap of your bag on your shoulder, and keep walking.
Being the Thunderboltsâ assistant means youâre the first one in and the last one out. It means fixing messes before they become disasters and cleaning up the ones that already are. It means triple-booked schedules, emergency debriefs, and last-minute âI forgot to tell youâ requests that somehow always become your responsibility.
It also means being largely invisible. You donât mind. Most days.
Your office sits tucked away from the main operations floorâsmall, functional, quiet. Your sanctuary. You unlock the door, flick on the lights, and drop your bag onto the chair with a tired exhale.
Thatâs when you see it.
A single red rose rests neatly at the center of your desk.
You stop short.
For a moment, you just stare, brain struggling to catch up. The desk is otherwise exactly how you left itâfiles stacked, tablet charging, sticky note reminding you to call accountingâbut the rose is unmistakably new. Fresh. Deliberate.
Your brows knit together as you step closer.
âOkayâŚâ you murmur.
You check the room. The door is still locked behind you. No windows open. No card. No note. Just the rose, stem trimmed, petals deep crimson against the pale wood of your desk.
You pick it up carefully, half-expecting it to disappear.
It doesnât.
A small, surprised smile tugs at your lips before you can stop it. You shake your head, letting out a quiet huff of disbelief. Probably a mistake. Someone dropped it off at the wrong office. Maybe meant for Valentina. Or one of the analysts upstairs.
Still, you canât bring yourself to toss it.
You find an empty mug, rinse it out, and set the rose inside with a bit of water. It looks oddly perfect thereâlike it belongs. You try not to think about it as the day takes over. Meetings blur together. You reschedule a training session after John Walker storms out of the gym. You field a call from supplies about missing equipment. You type, print, organize, repeat.
The sun had well set past the horizon before you've began to pack you bag up, grabbing all three folders and your laptop before slugging your bag onto your shoulder. Your hand were always full leaving the office, as you stepped around your desk to walk out something tugged an invisible string within you.
You turned back and looked at the rose sitting on your desk. Your teeth dug into your bottom lip as you hesitated for second before turning back forward, it was just a rose, you told yourself. It didn't mean anything and likely wasn't for you anyways, you'll probably hear about someone who got one tomorrow and then you'll know.
With your mind set on it being an accident you left the Tower and made your way home, but even the evening breeze had nothing to do with the pink tinge to your cheeks.
The next day starts like always, out of bed before the sun has even greeted the sky and out the door as it's slowly peeking through the horizon. One of your favorite parts of your day was your commute to work, albeit hectic, watching the morning wake itself through the parting clouds with birdsong and beaming sun rays just soothed a certain knot in your chest, making you feel that anything was possible.
That was until you got to the office, of course.
"These mission debriefs need to be typed up and filed."
"The pads in the training room need to be rethreaded."
"Ops want the schedule reshuffled again."
Security needs clarification on visitor clearance, and someoneâs requisition form is missing a signature that absolutely, definitely cannot wait. By the time you finally make it down the hall to your office, itâs well past your usual arrival time.
Youâre frazzled, coffee-less, brain buzzing with a to-do list that feels physically heavy. You swipe your card, already mentally drafting emails, already bracing yourself for the mess waiting on your desk.
The door opens.
And there it is. A single red rose, resting in the exact same spot as yesterday.
You stop so abruptly your bag slides down your shoulder.
For a second, you just stand there, chest rising and falling too fast, the noise in your head grinding to a halt like someone flipped a switch. The rose is perfectâfresh, unbothered, petals still tight at the center. Deliberate. Still waiting for you.
âOh,â you breathe.
The tension you hadnât even realized you were carrying loosens its grip, just a little. Your shoulders drop. Your jaw unclenches. You shut the door behind you more gently than usual, like the quiet suddenly matters.
You step closer, eyes scanning the desk for anything else, some note you missed, some clue, some explanation that would make this make sense.
Thereâs nothing. Just the rose. You let out a small, tired laugh and rub a hand over your face. âThis is ridiculous,â you mutter, though thereâs no heat behind it. It has to be a fluke. A delivery error. Someone mixing up offices. Maybe whoever itâs meant for hasnât noticed yet. Maybe today youâll get a knock on your doorâsorry, wrong desk, can I grab that?
But no one comes.
You set your bag down and move automatically, repeating the same motions as yesterday. You rinse out a mug at the tiny sink, fill it halfway with water, and trim the stem just enough to keep it fresh. You place the rose beside the first one, adjusting it until it sits just right.
The effort feels strangely important.
When you sit, the roses are in your line of sight, vivid against the dull beige of paperwork and screens. You tell yourself youâll move them later. Somewhere less conspicuous.
You donât.
The day barrels forward at full speed. You draft reports, reroute calls, and mediate a disagreement that nearly turns into a shouting match. Lunch passes unnoticed. Your coffee goes untouched until itâs cold again.
Every so often, your eyes flick back to the roses.
They ground you. Each time your stress spikes, the sight of them eases it back downâjust a fraction, but enough to matter. Enough to get through the next task. And the next.
At some point, you catch yourself wondering. Not wildly. Not romantically. Just⌠curious.
Who would do this without leaving a note? Who would take the time to come by every morning and leave a single rose, like clockwork, and say nothing at all? Someone quiet, maybe. Someone observant. Someone who doesnât want credit.
You shake your head and refocus on your screen. Itâs not for you. It canât be for you.
Still, when the day finally winds down and the office grows quiet, you linger a moment before leaving. You straighten the roses one last time, fingertips brushing soft petals, and feel a small, unexpected smile curve your mouth.
You leave them there when you turn out the lights. Just in case.
Today's meeting runs long.
You sit in the back of the briefing room, tablet balanced on your knee, fingers moving almost automatically as you take notes. The Thunderbolts fill the table, boots hooked around chair legs, arms crossed, tension and ego packed into the room like it always is. Youâre used to being there without being there, eyes down, voice quiet unless youâre called on.
New assignments stack up fast.
Training rotations. Media clearances. Equipment requests. You jot everything down, already mentally rearranging your afternoon to make it all fit. By the time Valentina clears her throat and fixes you with that sharp, knowing look, your list is already long.
âBefore you go,â she says, sliding a separate folder across the table in your direction, âthese are personal requests. Off the record.â
Of course they are. You nod, accepting it without comment. A whole new list. A whole new set of fires to put out.
The meeting finally adjourns, chairs scraping back as the team stands in a loose, uncoordinated wave. You tuck your tablet under your arm and gather the folders, already bracing yourself for the rest of the day.
You turn too quickly. And walk straight into someone solid.
âOhâ! Iâm so sorry,â you blurt out instantly, stumbling back a step. âI wasnât looking, Iââ
A hand comes up, steadying, though it doesnât actually touch you.
âItâs okay,â a low voice says. âReally.â
You look up. Bucky Barnes. Heâs closer than you expect, taller than he looks from across a room, blue eyes soft rather than sharp. For a split second, your brain stalls.
âOh,â you say, eloquently. âIâsorry. Again.â
He gives a small, almost amused huff of a laugh. âYouâre fine.â
You shift the folders in your arms, suddenly unsure what to do with your hands. Youâve never really spoken to anyone on the team beforeânever needed to. They exist in one sphere, you in another. Parallel lines.
âWell,â you start, then stop. Clear your throat. âUm. I was justâchecking. If there was anything else you needed? From your list?â
You wince inwardly. Smooth.
Bucky blinks, clearly surprised by the question, then shakes his head. âNo. Youâve got everything covered.â
Relief loosens something in your chest. âOkay. Good.â
Thereâs a brief, awkward pause. You debate filling it with small talkâweather, training schedules, anythingâbut the words refuse to come. You shift aside to give him space to pass.
Before he does, he looks at you again, expression gentler than you expect.
âHey,â he says. âDonât work too hard for us, yeah?â
The comment lands heavier than it should.
You smile, small and polite. âIâll try.â
He nods once, then steps past you, disappearing down the hall with the rest of the team. You watch him go for half a second longer than necessary before shaking yourself and heading the opposite direction, toward your office, your lists, and a desk that, for reasons you still canât explainâor don't want to admit, youâre suddenly eager to reach.
By the time you make it back to your office, your arms ache from the weight of folders and your head buzzes with overlapping deadlines. You swipe your card, push the door open.
And there it is. Another red rose, waiting in its usual place on your desk.
You stop just inside the doorway, breath catching before you can help it. A smile slips onto your face, slow and unguarded, relief blooming warm in your chest like youâd been bracing for disappointment without realizing it.
âOkay,â you murmur, exhaling. âGood.â
You close the door behind you and set your things down more gently than necessary, eyes flicking back to the rose as if it might vanish if you look away too long. Itâs just like the others, fresh, carefully placed, unmistakably intentional.
You shake your head, half-laughing. âYouâre really committing to this, huh?â
The room is quiet. The rose, unsurprisingly, doesnât answer. Still, you find yourself talking anyway as you rinse out a mug and fill it with water. Maybe itâs the stress. Maybe itâs the fact that no one ever hears you complain without interrupting.
âYou would not believe the day Iâm about to have,â you tell it, trimming the stem with practiced care. âVal gave me a whole separate list. A secret list. Because apparently thatâs what my life was missing.â
You place the rose beside the others, adjusting the stems until they sit evenly, then sigh and drop into your chair.
âAnd donât even get me started on John Walker,â you continue, booting up your computer. âWho needs three separate uniform fittings in one week? Who? And why is it always somehow urgent?â
Your fingers fly across the keyboard as emails pile up. You vent softly between tasks, muttering about impossible turnaround times and equipment requests that make no sense, about calendars that refuse to cooperate no matter how carefully you arrange them.
The rose listens. Quietly. Faithfully. At some point, somewhere between scheduling a debrief and rewriting a report, you stop. You lean back in your chair and really look at them.
The growing collection of roses sits bright and vivid against the neutral tones of your office, petals brushing together like they belong. You didnât even realize how many there were now. You count them once, then again, just to be sure.
âThis is getting a little ridiculous,â you say softly, though thereâs no real complaint in your voice.
Your brow furrows as you wonder, again, where theyâre coming from. How someone keeps getting in without you noticing. Why they bother at all. Thereâs no note. No expectation. Just the flowers. Every day.
For you. The thought sends a small, unfamiliar flutter through your chest.
Work eventually pulls you back in, but something has shifted. You take a real break for onceâstanding, stretching, sipping water instead of caffeine. When the day finally winds down and the office empties, you move a stack of folders aside before shutting down your computer.
You pause, then slide a pen holder over, clearing a little extra space on your desk. Right where the rose always sits. You hesitate, then smile to yourself, feeling faintly foolish and strangely hopeful all at once.
âJust in case,â you murmur. You turn off the light and leave, the desk waiting quietly in the darkâready for tomorrow.
The next morning greets you the same way.
Another rose. Another soft, involuntary smile.
You donât even question it anymore, you just step into your office, let the door click shut behind you, and breathe out like youâve been holding it all night. The rose waits in its place, perfectly centered in the space you cleared yesterday, as if whoever left it noticed.
That thought lingers longer than it should. You repeat the now-familiar ritualâmug, water, trimmed stem before the day pulls you away from your desk entirely.
Today isnât a desk day.
Valentina sends you running physical errands across the tower: dropping off documents, coordinating fittings, tracking down approvals in person because apparently email is no longer sufficient. You weave through hallways and training rooms, clipboard tucked under your arm, moving through the Thunderboltsâ space in a way you usually avoid.
Itâs louder here. Heavier. Youâre double-checking a storage manifest when you turn a corner too quickly and nearly collide with someone again.
You stop short this time.
âSorryââ you start, then blink. âOh. Hi.â
Bucky Barnes. Again. Heâs leaning against the wall near the equipment lockers, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp like heâs just come from training. He straightens when he sees you, expression easing into something familiar.
âHey,â he says. âWe keep meeting like this.â
You huff a quiet laugh. âI swear Iâm not usually this clumsy.â
âSeems like youâre just busy,â he replies easily.
You nod, lifting your clipboard. âErrands. All day.â
âSounds rough.â
You hesitate, fingers tightening around the edge of the board. For half a second, the roses are right there on the tip of your tongue. Maybe he might know something about them. The absurdity of them. The comfort. The curiosity thatâs been gnawing at you all week.
You swallow it down.
Donât be weird, you tell yourself.
âWell,â you say instead, âI shouldâuhâkeep moving.â
âRight.â He pauses, then adds, âIf you need anything, let me know.â
You smile, small but genuine. âThanks.â
Youâre halfway down the hall when Valentinaâs voice cuts through the air. âAh. There you are.â
You turn, bracing yourself.
âIâve decided,â she continues smoothly, already walking, âthat weâll be hosting a gala for Valentineâs Day. Donors. Press. Allies.â
A gala. Your stomach drops.
âI want you to plan it,â Valentina finishes, glancing back at you like sheâs just assigned you a coffee run.
You stop walking. âIâsorryâme?â
âYes,â she says flatly. âYouâre capable. Youâll handle it.â
And just like that, sheâs gone. You stare after her, heart racing, mind already spiraling through venues, security, catering, guest lists. A gala. In less than two weeks. For this team.
âOh my god,â you whisper.
âYou okay?â
You hadnât realized Bucky was still there. You look at him, stress written all over your face, and let out a breath you didnât know you were holding. âShe wants me to plan a Valentineâs Day gala.â
He blinks. âThatâs⌠a lot.â
âI donât even know where to start,â you admit. âThis is insane.â
Bucky studies you for a moment, then smilesâsoft, steady, reassuring.
âYouâve got this,â he says. âIâve seen how you work. Youâll do a great job.â
The words hit deeper than you expect. Your shoulders ease. Just a fraction. Enough.
âThanks,â you say quietly. âThat actually helps.â
He nods once, like itâs a given. âAnytime.â
When you finally make it back to your office, the roses are waiting. The space you cleared is filled perfectly. You set your things down, take a steadying breath, and open a new document.
Valentineâs Day Gala â Planning
For the first time since Val dropped the bomb, you donât feel like youâre drowning. You glance at the roses, then get to work.
Valentineâs Day arrives like a held breath finally released.
The days leading up to it blur together in a haze of logistics and late nights, venue walkthroughs, security approvals, last-minute menu changes, donor seating charts that refuse to cooperate. Every morning brings new stress.
And every morning brings a rose.
You stop pretending itâs coincidence somewhere around the fifth one. By the eighth, you buy a proper vase. By the time Valentineâs Day dawns, the roses fill it completely, lush, red, alive, sitting proudly on the corner of your desk like proof that something good can exist alongside the chaos.
Theyâve become your anchor.
Now, youâre dressed for the gala, standing in your office in front of your desk, heels clicking softly against the floor as you pace. The dress feels strange after weeks of practical clothes, elegant, fitted, unmistakably formal. You tug once at the fabric, then force yourself to focus.
Your phone is wedged between your shoulder and ear as you review final details with the caterers, fingers tapping nervously against your tablet.
âYes, confirmed vegetarian options are clearly labeled,â you say. âAnd the band arrives at six for soundcheck? Perfect. Thank you.â
You end the call, exhaling, then immediately bring up the next checklist. Everything has to be perfect. It has to be. A light knock sounds at your door.
âYeah, come in,â you call automatically, already turning back to your desk.
The door opens quietly. You donât look up right away, flipping through notes, muttering under your breath. âIf this is about seating, I swear I alreadyââ
You turn. Bucky Barnes stands just inside your office. For a second, your brain refuses to process the sight of him.
Heâs in a suit, dark, tailored, broad shoulders filling it effortlessly. His hair is neatly styled, jaw clean-shaven, the sharp line of him softened by something almost nervous in his posture. His hands are tucked behind his back like he doesnât quite know what to do with them.
âOh,â you say, eloquently, blinking. âHi. Um, did you need something?â
He swallows, nodding once. âYeah. I⌠actually, I do.â
You glance at your desk, then back at him. âOkay. I canâgive me one second andââ
âNo,â he says gently. âIt canât wait.â
Something in his tone makes you still. You set the tablet down slowly. âWhatâs going on?â
Bucky exhales, shoulders rising and falling as if heâs been bracing himself for this moment all day. Then he brings his hands forward.
Heâs holding a single red rose. Your breath catches.
âI need to confess something,â he says.
Your heart starts to pound, loud in your ears. You donât speak. Youâre not sure you could.
âIâve been the one leaving the roses,â he continues, voice low but steady. âEvery morning. Sneaking in early, before anyone else got there. I just⌠wanted to brighten your day. No pressure. No expectations.â
You stare at him, then at the rose, then, slowly, at the full vase on your desk.
âOh,â you whisper.
He steps a little closer. âI see how hard you work. How you hold everything together without anyone saying thank you. And youâre kind, quietly kind. You donât make a show of it. You just⌠do it.â
His gaze doesnât waver from yours.
âI admire that,â he says. âI admire you. I just didnât know how to tell you without making it awkward or⌠weird.â
A breath shudders out of you, half-laugh, half-disbelief. âYou broke into my office every morning.â
He winces. âWhen you put it like that, yeah. That sounds bad.â
Despite yourself, you laughâsoft, overwhelmed, emotional. Your eyes sting.
âYou donât know what those meant to me,â you say quietly. âI thought I was invisible.â
âYouâre not,â he says immediately. âNot to me.â
He holds the rose out to you, hand just slightly unsteady. âI was hoping, if you wanted, that tonight wouldnât just be work. That maybe I could take you out after the gala. A real date.â
The room feels smaller. Warmer. Like everything has narrowed down to this moment. You take the rose from his hand, fingers brushing his.
âIâd like that,â you say, voice soft but sure. Bucky smiles then, really smiles, and for the first time all day, the weight lifts completely.
The gala is perfect.
From the moment the doors open, everything moves like itâs been rehearsed a hundred times, guests flowing in smoothly, music low and elegant, the band hitting every cue. The lights glow warm instead of harsh, the dĂŠcor understated but intentional. Exactly right.
You move through the evening with a practiced calm, heels clicking softly as you check in with staff, answer questions, and adjust tiny details no one else would ever notice. It all works. Every risk pays off.
Across the room, Bucky watches you more than once. You donât notice at firstânot until you finally pause near the edge of the dance floor, exhaling as the band shifts into a slower song. Thatâs when heâs suddenly there, standing beside you, offering his hand.
âDance with me,â he says.
Your heart jumps. You glance around, instinctive panic flaring. âHere? With everyone?â
He follows your gaze, donors, press, teammates, and then looks back at you, completely unbothered.
âSo what?â he says simply. âYou deserve to be seen.â
The words land deep.
Before you can talk yourself out of it, you place your hand in his. He leads you onto the dance floor, one hand settling at your waist, the other holding yours steady and sure. At first, youâre stiff, hyper-aware of every pair of eyes.
Then Bucky leans in slightly. âJust look at me,â he murmurs.
You do. The rest of the room fades. The music carries you, his movements calm and unhurried, like heâs done this before, or like nothing else matters. Your nerves melt away, replaced by something warm and buoyant in your chest.
For the first time all night, youâre not managing anything. Youâre just⌠there.
The evening winds down gradually, guests filtering out with polite smiles and praise youâre too tired to fully absorb. When the last of them leave, you kick off your heels behind the scenes and start helping staff pack up, dress hiked up, hair slightly loosened.
âYou donât have to do that,â a familiar voice says.
You look up to find Bucky reappearing, jacket off, already grabbing a stack of chairs.
âI do,â you reply. âI always do.â
He studies you for a second, then shakes his head. âYouâre impossible.â
Still, he helps. Together, you tidy the space, working in easy silence broken by soft laughter and the clink of glassware. When everythingâs finally done, Bucky stops and presses a cool bottle into your hand.
âBreak,â he says. âNon-negotiable.â
He leads you out onto the deck, the city lights stretching wide and glittering below. The night air is crisp, refreshing. You pop the champagne quietly, pouring into two plastic cups you somehow still have.
You talk. About nothing. About everything. The absurdity of the team. Your favorite music. The roses, he admits he was terrified youâd hate them. You tell him they got you through the hardest weeks youâve had in years.
Time slips by unnoticed until the last lights inside click off. When itâs finally time to leave, Bucky walks you down to the curb and flags a cab before you can protest. He opens the door for you, lingering for just a moment.
âIâll see you tomorrow,â he says, smiling. âFor our date.â
He leans in, brushing a gentle kiss to your cheekâwarm, deliberate, sweet. You smile all the way home, the city rushing past outside the cab window, knowing that tomorrow⌠you wonât be invisible at all.
The afternoon stretches long and anxious.
You pace your apartment, outfit choices strewn across the bed like casualties of indecision. Every mirror reflects a different worryâtoo casual, too formal, too flashy, not enough. You check your hair, your nails, your bag, and then start over.
After an hour of this exhausting cycle, you finally settle on something simple: a soft floral dress that sways just past your knees and a jean jacket that keeps it grounded. You stare at yourself in the mirror, take a deep breath, and tell yourself itâs fine. Itâs fine.
The nervous second-guessing doesnât have time to return. Thereâs a knock at the doorâquick, polite, and undeniably him.
You steady yourself, letting out a small, reassuring breath, and open it. Bucky stands there, looking impossibly calm, holding something that immediately steals your attention. A bouquet, impossibly full and vivid, tucked carefully in both hands.
Pink roses, Gerbera daisies, Oriental lilies, larkspur, white snapdragons, and lavender stock. Petals brushing each other delicately, colors and shapes blending into something breathtaking. You inhale sharply, you'd never seen such beautiful flowers before.
âItâs⌠itâs incredible, this is the prettiest thing I've ever seen.â you breathe, fingers brushing against the blooms as if they might vanish.
He smirks, that mischievous glint in his eyes. âI've seen prettier,â he says, winking at you.
You laugh softly, unable to stop yourself, and accept the bouquet. The weight is perfect, the scent overwhelming in the best way. You carry it inside and place it in the center of your table, the arrangement spilling over with color and life.
At a glance, your apartment looks like a tiny, personal garden. You turn to him, teasing, a small smirk curling your lips.
âAt this rate,â you say, tilting your head, âIâm going to have enough flowers for my own flower shop between here and the office.â
Bucky laughs, low and warm, eyes crinkling at the corners. âThen Iâll have to make sure I keep supplying you,â he says, stepping inside. âSomebody has to keep your flower empire going.â
And just like that, the nerves melt a little, replaced by the warmth of him, the colors of the flowers, and the promise of the evening ahead.
The night begins with the kind of energy that makes your nerves settle somewhere in the back of your chest.
Bucky leads you out into the crisp evening air, the city lights fading behind you as you approach Coney Island. The smell of fried dough and saltwater drifts on the breeze, blending with the faint tang of cotton candy. Your hands are brushing, then locking together, and you realize youâre smiling without even thinking about it.
First stop: the arcade. Lights flashing, tickets clattering, and the smell of popcorn in the background. He insists you start with a game of ring toss, laughing every time you nearly, so nearly, miss a ring. Then he drags you to the strength tester, and you watch him grunt and strain while you roll your eyes, amused.
Next, the claw machine. He makes a show of trying, pulling the lever with exaggerated effort, and after a few failed attempts, he triumphantly hands you a stuffed bear. âFor you,â he says, grinning, pride twinkling in his eyes.
âNot bad,â you tease, hoisting it up. Then you spot the air hockey table, and suddenly competitive fire sparks inside you. âYour move, Barnes.â
He laughs, confident, and the game begins. The puck slides back and forth, rapid and loud, but within minutes, youâve completely beaten him. He feigns outrage, grabbing his chest in mock horror. âCheater!â
âI think you just needed practice,â you tease, smirking.
Afterward, you walk along the boardwalk, the evening breeze tugging at your hair, the ocean glinting in the distance. Without thinking, Bucky slides a hand into yours. You glance at him, heart thudding. He bends slightly and presses a soft kiss to the back of your hand.
âYouâre good at this,â he murmurs. âBeing you.â
You let yourself melt a little at that, squeezing his hand. The two of you drift to a quiet spot for dinner, a small seaside cafĂŠ tucked away from the throngs of tourists. Plates arrive, warm and simple, the golden glow of the sunset painting your faces.
As you talk, laugh, and share stories, a dollop of dessert clings to the corner of your lip. He notices it instantly.
Before you can react, his thumb sweeps it away, brushing softly over your skin. You look up at him, heart hammering in your chest, and something electric sparks between you.
He leans in slightly, and you meet him halfway. The kiss is soft at first, curious, hesitant, but quickly deepens, the heat between you building, breaths mingling, teeth catching slightly as both of you get lost in it. You press into his side and feel him hum against you, a hand brushes the hem of your dress before slowly tracing up, pressing soft circles into the skin of your upper thigh.
A soft squeak leaves your lips as he squeezes the soft flesh, making your legs close on instinct, trapping his hand in the warmth. He nips your bottom lip and you sigh, letting your body go lax under his touch. Your mind and heart start to run like an F1 race, the warmth of his hand against your skin makes you shudder and sends a lick of heat up your spine and down to your lower stomach. A cool night breeze washes over you both and finally, you pull back, chests rising and falling in tandem, eyes locking. The world around you disappears, leaving just the two of you and the taste of each other lingering.
âYou drive a hard bargain,â he murmurs, voice low, lips grazing yours once more in a teasing ghost of a kiss.
The night isnât over yet. He leads you to his bike, safe and careful, securing you in front of him. The ride is exhilarating, wind whipping your hair, laughter spilling into the night, city lights streaking past. When he parks outside your stoop, he turns to you, leaning in just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips, brushing your forehead with his hand.
âIâll see you tomorrow,â he whispers, a promise in the night air, before stepping back and letting you climb your steps, heart racing and cheeks warm.
The next morning feels different.
You catch it the moment you step out of your apartmentâlighter, brighter, like the world tilted just enough in your favor overnight. Youâre practically bouncing as you head into work, replaying snippets of laughter, the wind in your hair, the warmth of Buckyâs hand in yours.
Even the elevator canât touch your mood.
Valentina steps in halfway down, heels sharp against the floor, already talking before the doors close. She launches into a list of new tasksâfollow-ups from the gala, donor reports, future planning that somehow needs to be done immediately.
You nod. âSure. Iâll handle it.â
She blinks, just slightly, clearly expecting resistance. When none comes, she smirks and turns back to her phone. You hum the rest of the ride.
The sound follows you down the hall, soft and absentminded, as you swipe into your office. You flick on the lightâ
âand there it is.
Another rose.
This one sits in its usual place, perfectly centered. But this time, a small folded note is tied neatly around the stem with thin twine. You laugh out loud, a real laugh, warm and unguarded.
âOf course,â you murmur. You cross the room and carefully untie the note, fingers brushing the familiar red petals before unfolding the paper.
Hope todayâs a good one.
âB
Your cheeks heat instantly.
You shake your head, smiling to yourself as you place the rose into the vase, adjusting the stems until it fits just right among the others. The bouquet looks full now, lush and intentional, like itâs always been meant to be there.
So do you. You step back, taking it in, basking in the quiet glow of it all, the date, the roses, the note, the knowledge that someone sees you. Appreciates you. Thinks about you when youâre not in the room.
Your phone buzzes a moment later.
Bucky: Still smiling?
You bite your lip, cheeks aching from it. You glance at the roses, then back to your screen, heart full in a way it hasnât been in a long time.
a/n: I fear there might be more than ten parts teamâŚweâll see what happens! also thinking about starting to make some small blurbs/headcanons for this story :) if you guys have any ideas my requests are open!!
content warnings: semi-unclear commitment?? lemme know if I missed anything!
You always wondered when your marriage started feeling⌠small.
Maybe it was the way Topper laughed things off.
The way he never took anything seriously.
The way every argument somehow ended with him saying, âYouâre overreacting.â
Or maybe it was the night at the bar.
Topper was already too drunk by the time you and Rafe were dragging him out the door, his arm slung over Rafeâs shoulder, mumbling loud, slurred nonsense that had half the bar staring.
Your jaw was tight the entire time.
âTop, shut up,â you hissed under your breath as he nearly tripped over his own feet.
He just laughed, stumbling harder into Rafe.
Heat burned up your neck â not from alcohol, but from embarrassment. People were watching. Whispering. You could feel it. This was your husband. Your husband acting like a frat boy who didnât know when to stop.
Again.
You werenât amused. You werenât charmed.
You were humiliated.
By the time you got him outside, you were fuming. Your heels clicked sharply against the pavement, arms crossed as Rafe practically carried him to the car.
âIâm fine,â Topper slurred.
âYouâre not,â you snapped.
Rafe glanced at you but didnât say anything.
And that almost made it worse.
Then the drive home was silent.
Not awkward.
Just⌠heavy.
You sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead, arms folded tightly over your chest. Topper was knocked out in the backseat, head tipped against the window, mouth slightly open. Every now and then heâd mumble something incoherent.
The streetlights flashed across the windshield in slow intervals.
Rafe didnât turn the radio on. Didnât try to fill the quiet. He just drove one hand on the wheel, jaw set, eyes forward.
You were grateful for the silence.
When you pulled into the driveway, Rafe killed the engine and got out without a word. You followed, heels crunching softly against the gravel.
Getting Topper inside was harder than it shouldâve been. He was dead weight, barely conscious, stumbling over his own feet. You held the door open while Rafe hauled him down the hallway.
âEasy,â Rafe muttered as Topper nearly knocked into the wall.
You pushed open the bedroom door.
Together, you managed to get him onto the bed. His shoes were kicked off. His shirt hung half-unbuttoned, wrinkled from the night. He didnât even stir once his head hit the pillow.
Out cold.
You stood there for a moment, staring at him.
This was your husband.
You exhaled slowly and stepped back.
When you turned toward the doorway, Rafe was still there.
Watching.
âThank you,â you said, quieter now. Tired. Not soft just worn down.
Curled up on the couch, shoes kicked off, hair a little messy from running your fingers through it too many times. The lamp in the corner casts a soft golden glow across the room.
Rafeâs sitting close, closer than he probably should be.
âThere is no way you did that,â he laughs, shaking his head at you.
Youâre already nodding, covering your face with your hand. âYes, I did.â
âNo.â
âYes!â you insist, half laughing, half mortified. âI actually did.â
He stares at you in disbelief, eyes crinkling at the corners. âThatâs embarrassing.â
âI know,â you groan, hiding your face fully now. âWhy did I just tell you that?â
Rafeâs still laughing, his knee knocking lightly against yours. âThatâs insane.â
You peek at him through your fingers, smiling despite yourself. âYou cannot judge me.â
âOh, Iâm absolutely judging you.â
The laughter slowly dies down, fading into quiet smiles and lingering eye contact.
Rafe looks at you.
Really looks at you.
His expression shifts something slower. Something deeper.
âYou know,â he says, voice lower now, âI feel like I know nothing about you.â
You take a sip of your whiskey, tilting your head slightly. âWhat do you mean?â
He shifts closer on the couch, his thigh pressing lightly against yours now.
âLike⌠all Iâve ever known you as is Topperâs girl.â His jaw tightens just a little. âTell me about you.â
You huff softly, thinking.
âWellâŚâ you start, swirling the drink in your glass. âI was an only child growing up, so my life was pretty boring.â
Rafe gives you a look. âI highly doubt that.â
You roll your eyes slightly, a shy smile tugging at your lips. âOh, um I did four years of college. Got my bachelorâs degree.â
Rafe blinks. âReally?â
You nod. âYeah. I wanted to be a teacher abroad.â
His small smile fades. âWhat stopped you?â
You stare at your glass for a second too long.
âWell⌠I met Topper,â you say carefully. âAnd I guess I just became his trophy wife.â
The words feel heavier out loud.
âNot to blame him completely,â you add quickly. âI mean, I chose it too. But it just always became about what he wanted. He said he made enough money for both of us. That I didnât even have to work.â
You give a small shrug.
âBut it wasnât about working. I just wanted to travel. I wanted to see the world. I didnât want to just⌠stay.â
When you look up, Rafeâs staring at you like you just handed him something fragile.
âThat matters,â he says quietly.
You let out a soft, almost dismissive laugh. âIt doesnât anymore.â
âIt does,â he insists, scooting even closer.
Now his hand rests on the couch beside your thigh. Close enough that you can feel the warmth from it. Not touching but almost.
âYou shouldnât let him decide your life like that.â
Your breath catches.
The room suddenly feels smaller. Thicker. Like the airâs shifted.
You shouldnât be sitting this close.
You shouldnât like the way heâs looking at you.
But you do.
Thereâs a long pause.
Neither of you speaking.
Neither of you moving.
You donât even realize youâre leaning forward until you are.
Just barely.
Rafe notices.
And this time, he doesnât hesitate.
He closes the distance, his hand coming up to your jaw, thumb brushing softly along your cheek as his mouth meets yours.
The kiss is slow at first. Warm. Whiskey-sweet.
Testing.
Then it deepens.
His other hand slides to your waist, pulling you closer until thereâs no space left between you.
And upstairs, your husband sleeps through every second of it.
Iâd love to blame it on the whiskey.
On the dim lighting.
On the tension.
On the fact that he was right there and I was three glasses in.
But the truth?
I wasnât drunk.
Just tipsy.
And horny.
And tired of feeling invisible.
And maybe⌠a little reckless.
Because the way he kissed me back like heâd been waiting had nothing to do with alcohol.
And everything to do with wanting.
Rafe pulls back just enough to break the kiss, breathing a little heavier now.
His hand slides from your waist to his collar, and he tugs his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere onto the floor.
The sudden shift makes your stomach flip.
He cups your face gently, thumb brushing along your cheek, his forehead resting against yours.
âAre you sure?â he asks quietly.
Not teasing.
Not smug.
Serious.
Your heart is racing so loud youâre sure he can hear it.
You bite your lip, nodding a little too eagerly.
Instead of answering with words, you lean in again.
This time youâre the one closing the space.
Your fingers tangle into his hair as your mouth finds his, slower at first then deeper. Needier.
Any hesitation disappears the second he kisses you back.
Desperate.
Like both of you are making up for something you didnât even realize youâd been missing.
You pulls down Rafe's pants and underwear, getting on your knees. Rafe stares down at you like a starved animal. You looks up at him, and he nods. Not wasting another second, you takes him into your mouth. Rafeâs head immediately flies back, his hands tangling in your hair. The room fills with the sound of the sounds of you sucking Rafe and his deep groans.
"Just like that, baby," Rafe grunts, nodding. Feeling himself about to come, he pulls out of your mouth. He grabs you, pulling you on top of him, and you both share a sloppy kiss. "I wanna cum in you, baby," Rafe moans, looking into your eyes.
He pulls off your dress and panties, wasting no time lining himself up with your entrance. You both moan as you lowers yourself down. You starts to ride him on the same couch where you and Tooper have movie nights. Toppers upstairs fast asleep, not knowing that his wife and best friend are having sex.
Rafeâs hands find your ass, giving it a smack before moving to your hips to guide you up and down. "Fuck, you drive me crazy," Rafe moans. You loves this. You and Topper don't have the best sex life; anytime you guys have sex, it doesn't last longâTopper never lasts. But with Rafe, itâs like heaven. They are still going at it; if this were Topper, he wouldâve been done in a minute.
"Iâm gonna come, Rafey.â You moan. Rafe smirks; itâs music to his ears. "Cum for me, pretty girl," he whispers in your ear. It doesn't take long before you are cumming. For the first time in years, you cum. Rafe follows soon after, cumming inside of you. You both try to catch their breath as you lay your head on his shoulder.
You and Rafeâs cum mixing as it leaks out of you.
Rafe presses a slow, lingering kiss to your forehead.
Itâs softer than everything that just happened.
Gentler.
His lips rest there for a second longer than necessary, like heâs grounding himself. Like heâs claiming the moment without saying it out loud.
Youâre still curled against him, your head on his shoulder, both of you breathing heavy in the quiet living room.
His hand slides up your back, not urgent now. Just warm. Steady.
âYou okay?â he murmurs, voice low.
The chaos from minutes ago has settled into something heavier. More real.
Upstairs, the house remains silent.
And downstairs, Rafeâs lips brush your forehead again softer this time like heâs memorizing you.
hello guys đ¤ iâm starting a new series as you can see and iâm really excited about this one. i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it! also donât be afraid to send in new requests đ¤ please reblog & like and let me know what you guys think!
Š 2026 Suny777 This is my original work. You do not have my permission to copy it or post it anywhere.
a/n: inspired by a tradition my girlies and I do on galentine's (minus certain activities lol) happy valentine's day!
Rafe was halfway out the door when he suddenly realized that the apartment smelled like rose petals and whipped vanilla. He paused, keys in hand, brows pulled together as he leaned back instead to take a proper look. The light from the sunrise spilled into the living room, catching onto something pink and shiny draped over the ceiling fanâheart streamers resembling candy hearts. On every corner of the wall was something that almost felt like the Valentineâs Day aisle from Party City exploded in his apartment, cheap paper garlands taped unevenly along the wall, a bowl of pink and red Hersheyâs kisses and other dollar-store candy dumped into a red mixing bowl because it was the closest thing to something festive. Only a singular champagne flute was set out, which made his chest tighten before he could stop it because he knew it wouldâve been just for you.Â
Rafe heard your footsteps coming down the hallway, and he looked to see you getting ready to leave for work.Â
âIs this what you stayed up late for last night?â You looked up to see Rafe looking at you with a raised eyebrow while also observing you in a way youâd never seen before.Â
âGood morning to you too,â you slipped into your kitten heels and grabbed your keys before slipping out of the door with Rafe. âYeah, itâs uh, a tradition my friends and I do every year. We watch the shitiest, raunchiest movies we can find and make fun of them. Itâs like⌠therapy to make up for our lack of romantic attention.âÂ
A small smile tugged at your mouth. âBut everyoneâs busy this year. Dates and stuff. So.â You pointed your head back to the apartment, âIâll be doing it on my own this year.âÂ
There was a beat of silence. Rafe looked at you as you both waited for the elevator to arrive. âYou decorated the whole place for it?âÂ
âI mean,â you laughed softly. âI gotta commit to it. Itâs one of my favourite times of the year.âÂ
He shouldâve just left it as is. Rafe had somewhere to be, a night of drinking with his work buddies, and perhaps spend the night with some girl and leave her before the sun even rose the next morning. A life that didnât involve sitting on the couch watching terrible romance movies with his roommate.
But the apartment felt different tonight, like itâd suddenly gotten a lot warmer and welcoming because of the tiny bubble of comfort youâd created, and now he wanted to squeeze in and watch how you view the world from the inside.
âIâll take them down as soon as Iâm back from work,â you offered, Rafe wincing at how apologetic you sounded.Â
âNah. Iâll join in.âÂ
Your eyebrows shot up. âWhat?â
âI said Iâll join.â He nodded toward the apartment. âYou said you were alone anyway.â
âThat was justââ You stopped. âWait. Donât you haveâ werenât you going out?â
âPlans changed.â It wasnât entirely a lie; he was changing them right now. He could always pick up some cougars tomorrow during morning brunch, if he wanted to.Â
You studied him, suspicious. âYou hate rom-coms.â
Rafe put his hands up in surrender, âGod forbid I want to have a laugh too.âÂ
A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it, and something warm settled low in his chest at the sound.
âYouâre telling me he kidnapped her and held her captive, so now sheâs willing to just suck him off like he deserves it?â Rafe stared at the screen incredulously. You wholeheartedly laugh at his reaction, âI know! Sheâs got a whole other level of Stockholm syndrome.âÂ
He shook his head slowly. âI really question your traditions.âÂ
âAnd I question why you donât just get a girlfriend instead of going to the bar just for a quick fuck.âÂ
âWhoaââ He pointed at you. âFirst of all, that feels targeted. Second, youâre the one who diagnosed me with daddy issues, so maybe donât come for the coping mechanisms.â
You rolled your eyes, looking back at the TV before speaking up, âIâll never understand how people just⌠enjoy the cowgirl position.âÂ
âWhat do you mean?â
âI mean,â you looked towards Rafe, âit looks exhausting. And unrealistic. Likeâ youâre doing all the work, your legs are dying, and then at the end nobody even finishes.â
He stared at you for a second, something unreadable flickering across his face.
âThatâs your takeaway?â he asked.
âYes,â you said defensively. âItâs overrated.â
âNo,â he said quietly, leaning a little closer. His lips brushed against your ears, smirking as he whispered, âYou just havenât been with someone who knows how to make it good for you.â
The movie was long forgotten, the cheap grocery store cupcakes Rafe had brought home and decorations a blurry backdrop to the only thing that matteredâthe raw, desperate need thrumming between you. Rafeâs smirk was all the answer you needed. In one fluid motion, he pulled you up on top of him. His hands were firm on your waist, his gaze never leaving yours.Â
âTake this off,â he commanded, his voice a low rumble as he hooked a finger in the hem of your oversized shirt that youâd stolen from him, but Rafe had pretended not to notice. You didn't hesitate. You crossed your arms and pulled the shirt over your head, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes roamed over your exposed skin, dark with appreciation. He reached up, his thumbs brushing over the lace of your bra, teasing the sensitive skin just beneath it before he deftly unhooked it. It joined your shirt on the floor.
âYouâre so fuckinâ perfect,â he breathed, leaning forward to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the valley between your breasts. His hands moved to the waistline of your mini sleep shorts, making quick work of the drawstring and pushing them down your hips. You stepped out of them, kicking them away, leaving you in just your panties.
He lay back against the pillows, propping himself up on his elbows. âNow, come here.â
You climbed onto the bed, straddling his lap. The hard ridge of his cock strained against his sweatpants, pressing right against your core, and you couldn't help the little rock of your hips, a desperate seeking of friction. He groaned, his hands gripping your thighs.
âEager, arenât we?â he teased, but his voice was tight with his own need. âTake them off.â
You shifted back, your fingers hooking into the waistband and tugging them down. His cock sprang free from its constriction, thick, hard, and already leaking at its reddened tip. You could feel the rush of heat between your thighs, the dampening mess occurring on your panties.Â
âNot yet,â he said, reading your mind. He gripped your hips again, pulling you forward until you were hovering over him. âYou wanted to know how good it can be. Iâm going to show you.â
He reached between your bodies, his fingers hooking the side of your panties and pulling the damp fabric aside. He ran a single finger through your slick folds, gathering your wetness, and you shuddered at the contact.
âSo fucking wet for me,â he growled. âYouâre going to feel so good wrapped around my cock.â
He lined himself up, the head of his cock nudging at your entrance. âTake your time,â he instructed, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. âSink down on me, nice and slo- atta girl. Let yourself feel every inch.â
You braced your hands on his chest, the muscles hard and defined beneath your palms. You slowly lowered yourself, his thick head stretching you open and causing a delicious burn that left you gasping. You sank onto Rafe inch by inch, your body accommodating his impressive size until he was fully seated inside you, filling you completely. A silent moan of relief left your mouth as you adjusted to the overwhelming sensation of being so full. But Rafe was impatient to show you how much you were missing out.
âThatâs it,â he encouraged, his hands stroking the back of your thighs. âNow move, baby. Ride me. Show me how you like it.â
You started to move, a slow, tentative roll of your hips. It felt good, but you were still conscious of the burn in your thighs, the awkwardness you always associated with the position.
âDonât think,â Rafe commanded, his voice firm. âJust feel. Look at me.â
Your eyes met his, and the raw lust you saw there gave you a jolt of confidence. He brought one hand up to your breast, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple before pinching it.
âGood girl,â he praised, his voice thick with approval. âJust like that. Fuck, you look so beautiful taking my cock.â His words were like gasoline on a fire. You started to move with more purpose, lifting yourself up and sliding back down, the slick drag of him inside you sending sparks of pleasure through your veins.
âYeah, thatâs it,â he groaned, his hips starting to thrust up to meet yours, driving himself deeper. âTake what you need. Use my cock to make yourself feel good.â
The encouragement was exactly what you needed. You let go of your self-consciousness, focusing only on the feeling of him inside you, the way his hands roamed your body, the filthy words pouring from his lips. You found a rhythm, a steady bounce that had his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every downward stroke.
âFuck, youâre a natural,â he gritted out, his grip on your hips tightening. âRiding me like you were made for it. Such a good girl, taking my cock so well.â
The praise sent you spiralling. You could feel the pressure building low in your belly, a tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter with each thrust. Your movements became more frantic as you became more desperate catch the release you were chasing for so long.
âCome on, baby,â Rafe urged, his thumb coming down to rub tight circles over your clit. âLet go. I want to feel you come all over my cock. Thatâs it, good girl, come for me.â
âFuck, Rafe. Oh my god,â you moaned, throwing your head back as Rafe kissed your collarbone, peppering small purple marks as a reminder of this night. The stimulation Rafe was giving you was all too much. With a cry, you shattered, your orgasm crashing over you in waves of intense pleasure. Your walls clenched around him, milking his cock as you rode out your high.
Rafe didnât stop, though. He gripped your hips, flipping you over without ever pulling out, suddenly on top of you. He hooked your legs over his arms and drove into you, hard and deep, chasing his own release.
âFuck, you feel so good,â he panted, his forehead pressed against yours. âSo tight, so wet. All for me.â
With a final, guttural groan, he buried himself to a hilt deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came, filling you with his warmth. Rafe collapsed on top of you, his weight a comforting pressure as you both struggled to catch your breath. After a moment, he rolled to the side, pulling you into his arms. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then on your lips, almost as if he was thanking you.
âTold you,â he murmured, a smug satisfaction in his voice. âItâs not overrated. You just hadnât been doing it right.â
a/n: I donât remember if I mentioned this or not but this version of rafe is 6 months sober for reference. Also Iâm kinda excited to write the next chapterrr
content warnings: implied underage drinking. Lemme know if I missed anything pls!!
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