#we’ve been childhood friends to enemies | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gojonanami · 7 months

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ALL'S FAIR (IN LOVE AND MERGERS) ✩ SATORU GOJO

✴︎ summary: you're not sure what's worse -- being an arranged marriage or being an arranged marriage with the person who used to be your best friend. ✴︎ contents: 18+ only, nsfw, arranged marriage au, gojo and reader are both heirs to large companies, childhood best friends to enemies to lovers, lots of fluff + banter, gojo is down bad, geto makes an appearance, handjobs (f!+m! receiving), oral (f!+m! receiving), creampie, unprotected sex, dom! + sub!gojo, degradation (slut), breeding kink, gojo has a praise kink, semi public sex, office sex, tiny amount of sexting, under the desk oral (m!receiving), pet names (sweetheart, princess, baby), pregnancy mentions ✴︎ wc: 16,381 (why do i do this to myself?)

“Why do you look so down, Princess?” Your eyes flicker up from your book, forcing your expression to stay disinterested — the one emotion Satoru hated, “shouldn’t you share your feelings with your fiancé?”

“Don’t call yourself that,” you snap, and his lips curl at your reaction, “what are you so smug about? You’re stuck in the same position as me,”

“And what’s that?” You close your book, glaring daggers at his all too perfect face.

“Marrying your worst enemy.”

It wasn’t always like this.

Satoru Gojo used to be your friend — your best friend in fact. The fact your families’ companies were rivals often meant you ran in the same social circles more often than not. And it meant more than one boring adult party that the two of you were stuck with each other.

The two of you had become inseparable — attending the same prestigious schools with the most pretentious children, though the two of you were no exceptions. But you liked to think you were.

And you didn’t realize your feelings for Satoru, until someone else had.

“Do you want to hang out on Friday?” You ask, flipping through the channels as the two of you watched TV, looking for something other than the second half of movies and the reruns of shows you didn’t care for.

“I can’t, I’m going to the formal,” he replies, not looking up from his phone, and you pause.

“You’re going to that?” You raise an eyebrow, “we’ve never went,”

“Well I never had someone ask me who I wanted to go with,” his eyes flicker up from his phone, a smirk on his lips, “you jealous?”

Your reply leaves your lips like whiplash, “You wish,” you cross your arms, but you can’t help ask the question burning on your lips, “who are you going with?”

“Akari,” and you scoff, “what?”

“That girl goes out with a new guy every week,” you shake your head, “you’re better off staying at home with me,”

“So you are jealous,” he hums, leaning back on the couch, “if you wanted to go with me, all you had to do was ask, Princess,”

Your cheeks flush, which you make up for in indignancy and sharp words, “Don’t call me that,” the nickname your family affectionately had called you had become Satoru’s favorite thing to call you, “I’m just telling you to be careful — that girl isn’t someone you should trust with your feelings,”

“I think I’ll use my own judgment instead of someone who hasn’t even been on a single date before,” his tone is far too biting and his accuracy is far too sharp — and you can’t stop your face from dropping, and his lips part - regret flashing across his features, “princess—“

“Go home, Satoru,” you rise, brushing past him, “you know the way out,”

“Princess—“ he tries to reach for your hand, but you slap it away. His hand retracts like he’d been burned.

“Please, go,” you open the door for him, and he does, and little do you know that would be one of the last times you spoke.

The day of the formal arrives, the two of you hadn’t seen each other outside of class since that day. But Satoru did see you at the dance that night - on the arm of his former best friend, Suguru — the same one he had a falling out with a year ago. He doesn’t say a word to you, but you don’t miss the hurt in his eyes - but you wonder why it was there in the first place - and why he was acting like you put it there.

It all goes to hell after.

The Gojo Corporation poaches one of your family’s biggest clients in a shady backroom deal, breaking their truce and your family’s trust. Arguments and stress reach a peak over the phone and lines are drawn and metaphorical guns are drawn.

And you and Satoru are caught in the crossfire.

Not that you weren’t firing shots yourself.

It wasn’t until you pulled Satoru into a secluded classroom, and you shut the door behind the two of you. Even with the sunglasses perched on his nose as always, he flinches in the bright light of the sun setting behind you, dipping the classroom in a blazing orange — light sensitivity nearly required him to wear his sunglasses out, but he certainly made a statement in them — though what didn’t he make a statement in?

“What are we going to do about our families?” you chew your lip — you had listened this morning to your father rant about the Gojo family — unkind words to say about them all, even Satoru himself, who your father had treated as a second son — and now he was grilling you about what you had told him about the family business.

“What can we do?” His arms are crossed and his gaze is upwards, “they are going to do what they want,”

You stare at him, your heart cracks, blood rushing in your ears, “Satoru, if this gets worse, we won’t be able to be friends,” you refuse to let your voice break.

“So what? I know the way out, don’t I?” But your heart did break, “I’m sure Suguru could comfort you,”

Your eyes burn, but you can’t, you can’t let him see you cry, “Why are you so upset? You had a date—“

“And mine wasn’t the person who backstabbed me,” he bites back, “what my family did is done, and so are we,” and he doesn’t look back when he leaves.

And it was good — because he didn’t see you cry.

And now you sat with him in your living room, trying to process the fact you would be legally married soon enough.

“Worst enemy? I know you liked to embellish princess, but that seems excessive,” he snorts, “glad to know I haven’t escaped your thoughts these years,”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” and he grins his shit eating grin, and it’s almost as if no time has passed, except the person who sits before you isn’t a seventeen year old with an attitude of a shithead — it’s an adult man (albeit with the same attitude).

“Don’t need to - you already do that for me, baby,” he winks, and you don’t know whether you want to slap him or strangle him. Either way, you wanted him to shut up, “shouldn’t we at least try to make the best of this?”

“The best of what?” You scoff, ready for your veins to burst out of your head, if only to spare you the agony of this conversation, “Gojo, we were best friends a million years ago and then we weren’t and now we’re getting married - all on the whims of our families, so how do we make the best of it?”

He pauses a moment, almost thoughtfully, “I was your best friend?”

And you rise to your feet, “this is impossible,” you brush past him, but he catches you by your wrist, his thumb grazing your pulse.

“Princess, I’m sorry,” he says, and you stop, meeting his gaze reluctantly, his lips part, “that you were so annoying in high school—“

“Fuck you,” and you storm off as he cackles, but you don’t notice the small smile on his lips that stays as he watches you.

And nor do you hear him say, “God, I missed you.”

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath, as you place back the millionth dress you looked at, “we’re hardly celebrities but we have to make a public appearance?”

Your families wanted the marriage to be portrayed as a love marriage in the media - childhood friends falling in love after reconnecting - the thing of love stories. The thing that would circle the drain on social media on cute threads of meetcutes and what ifs. When in fact, you were being forced on a shopping date with an already well paid and positioned paparazzi ready to take pictures of this charade.

“You may not be, Princess, but I am quite the catch,” Satoru takes the attention in stride, not only of the paparazzi, but the passersby who gawked at the two of you. It was true, Satoru was nearly always listed as an eligible bachelor in far too many of these lists that existed, if not the eligible bachelor, and yet here you were, glued to his side like some taudry accessory.

“So does that mean if I just toss you away, someone else will catch you?” You grumble, and he looks at you over the rim of his sunglasses.

“Like it or not, you caught me,” he flashes you those pearly whites, and you supposed he blinded you as you stumble forward, tripping. But you don’t kiss the pavement — but you almost wish you do. He catches you, his arm around your waist, the other on your shoulder, and his eyes graze over you in a flash of concern, and then amusement, “and I’m not going anywhere this time,”

And you flush, the clicks of cameras in the distance snapping you back to reality, as you right yourself with a fake smile plastered on your lips. You brush his shirt off as lovingly as you can, “And if I go?”

His lips only curl into his obnoxiously charming smile, as he gestures for you to walk on, “I’ll follow, Princess,”

Finally the trip is over, and Satoru is driving the both of you back, “I’m surprised you took a day off for this,” he remarks, “usually you work all week,”

“Well I wasn’t given much of a choice, now was I?” And then you glance at him, furrowing your brow, “how do you know how often I work?”

“What’s the phrase? Keep your enemies close, and your lovers closer?” He gives a wry grin as you scowl at him, “you’re not surprised I kept tabs on you, are you?”

“Well, no,” because you did the exact same. You pinned the blame on late nights and doom scrolling on social media — curiosity killed the cat.

“And now I know you kept tabs on me,” he looks far too satisfied with himself, “I’m flattered,”

“Yeah, yeah,” you wave him off, “it’s not like you’re that interesting to begin with,”

“Sure,” he smirks, and then you glance outside, noticing you were getting further out from home rather than closer.

“Where are we going?” You sit up, glancing around — you didn’t recognize the area.

“Oh, you didn’t think our date was over yet, did you?” his lips curl, his eyes still on the road, “we are just going to a more private location,”

“If you take me to a hotel, I will slap you,” you murmur, and he laughs, a sound that makes your stomach flip.

“I didn’t know a princess’s mind could be in the gutter,” he remarks, his fingers flexing on the wheel, a small infinity tattoo on his ring finger, and your mind really then all but fled to the gutter as you thought what else he could use those fingers for.

“Oh my mind goes a lot of places,” this was growing more dangerous — for your tongue and for your heart.

And he notices your gaze flickering to his hands, and his lips curl, “I think I’d like to familiarize myself with the places your mind goes, Princess,” You flush, “but that’s for a different day.”

“Where are you taking me anyway?”

“We’re almost there, just enjoy the ride,” you eventually pull up to a park, and he leaves the car, opening the door for you, “after you, my lady,”

You slide out of the car, as he shuts the door behind you, and then pulls a basket out of the back, “Is there tape and rope in there?” You raise an eyebrow.

“Didn’t know you were into that,” he winks, as you glare at him, “it’s a picnic basket - this is a nice spot to watch the sunset,”

“You watch sunsets?”

“Only with you,” you roll your eyes.

“Such a dork - are these the lines you use on all your dates? And don’t say only with me,” you add quickly, and he snorts.

“You catch on quick,” and he takes your hand, leading you along, “come on,”

His hand envelops yours, his fingers eventually intertwining with yours, his warmth flooding your body, but you can’t urge yourself to pull away.

A bottle of sparkling cider and a charcuterie board later, the two of you watch the sun begin its descent, blazing colors bleeding into one another.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask, looking over your glass as you sip, “even when we used to hang out, I was the one to bring the snacks,”

“Well times change,” he replies, “plus you’re the one who always stopped me from buying snacks,”

“You always bought only sweets — it was always chocolate, sugar, and desserts,” you roll your eyes, “I see you got over that,”

“Nah, I just decided to buy things I know you like,” and your heart traitorously squeezes, but then he points, “look,” and your gaze falls onto the sunset and you gasp softly.

“It’s beautiful,” you sigh, and you don’t notice Satoru’s gaze on your face, a small smile on his lips.

“It is,” and you look back at him, his eyes shifting to you again.

“You never answered my question,” you say, “why are we doing this?”

“Why wouldn’t we? We’re getting married, Princess, did you forget?” He expertly dodges the question, swiftly leaping over a landmine, but you weren’t one to mince words or hesitate to do a direct assault.

“We’re getting married, it doesn’t mean we have to date,” you tilt your head, “Gojo, tell me—“

“Call me Satoru,” his words are so soft, hesitant even, as if his words could break apart any second if he had spoken them any quieter.

It’s a fragility he doesn’t often grace you with - that’s he’s maybe never given to you, and you don’t wish to break it.

But you’re also scared - scared that this will break yours.

“Satoru,” you whisper, and he smiles — the same smile he’d greet you with when you would meet up after school, the same smile when he’d beat you at whatever game you guys were playing, and the same smile you hadn’t seen in so long, “why are you doing all of this?”

“Is it not obvious?” He’s leaning closer and you only realize that you’re doing the same when your wrist hurts from leaning on your hand.

“Nothing is obvious when it comes to you, Satoru,” his lips warm yours with his breath, and the sun has set - there’s no other explanation for the warmth blooming on your skin other than him—

Ring. Ring. Ring.

His phone ringing sends both of you flinching apart, but his eyes don’t leave you for a lingering moment, before he picks up.

“Hello,” his voice is unwavering even after the moment you shared, you barely hear what he says over the blood thundering in your ears, “yes, we’ll be home shortly. Ok. Bye,”

He turns to look back at you, “My parents were wondering where we went,” and you nod, “we should get back,” and he begins to pack away the things,

“Satoru—“ you start, but he grabs your hands, tugging you forward.

“What?” he smiles, “not ready to part with me yet, princess?”

You scowl, pushing him away, brushing past him to the car, “Forget it,”

And he catches you by your wrist and pulls you back to him, your back against his front, “I don’t want to forget it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I—”

And his phone rings again, and he sighs, showing you that it was your father this time, putting his phone on silent, “Our parents have impeccable timing,” and the moment is broken, as the two of you walk back to the car in relative silence, the sun long sunk below the horizon, and the moment along with it.

The wedding comes and goes without much ado — it was a private ceremony done with only your families and a few close family friends. And aside from a photo shoot that was to be “leaked” of the two of you looking far too lovey dovey that wound up circulating the media drain and ended up causing you and Satoru to keep a low profile for a week or two, not much of your life changed. The only thing being that you and Satoru slowly start to move in together, each moving your things into separate bedrooms, not that you’re around enough to even notice a shift as the work piled on due to the merger, only accumulates, and as do your late nights.

You come home again, back to your shared apartment, late at night, shutting the door softly behind you. You slip your shoes off, along with your jacket by the door, before setting your things down. You stretch your sore muscles, your stomach crying for mercy of the deprivation you had put it through today, and you allow it to lead you to the kitchen.

Satoru was surprisingly neat, aside from his own room that was a disaster zone not worth entering. The living spaces were always clean, as was the kitchen (though you had a sneaking suspicion he had hired a cleaning service to specifically tidy up when you were gone (due to the lingering lemony scent every surface had at times). You rummage through the refrigerator as quietly as you could, but not quietly enough as the lights flick on, and you feel akin to a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“I feel like I’ve seen the mailman more than my own wife this week,” Satoru stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame of the door, a small grin on his lips, but a hint of something else in his eyes — concern? You don’t have the time to decipher the feeling, as your mind chooses to replay the phrase “my wife” on repeat.

“The merger has been killer to deal with — all the diligence requests has buried us,” you grumble, as you grab a box of cereal off the top of the refrigerator and the milk from the inside, and he’s holding a bowl and a spoon, “thanks,” as you reach for it, he holds it away from you.

“You know there’s something called delegating that you should try sometime, princess,” he says, tilting his head, “otherwise, you’re likely to run yourself into the ground,”

“It sounds like you care,” he puts down the bowl and spoon, grabbing the cereal and milk from you, and fixing a bowl for you, as you rub your eyes, sitting on the stool by the island.

His lips curl, “Who said I didn’t?”

You lay on the counter, staring up at him, “Didn’t know my husband could be anything but annoying,” and you enjoy the way his eyebrows shoot up, and it may have been your tired eyes, but you swore a small pink flush settled his way onto his cheeks, “cute,” you mumble, the word escaping you before you could stop it.

“What?” his eyes snap to yours, but he only finds them closed, the soft snores from your lips told him you weren’t pretending, as he stares at you, biting his lip, before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose, “what are you doing to me, princess?” he murmurs.

And the next morning when you wake, you find yourself tucked into bed, as you roll over, to find your alarms had been turned off, and you were far too late to several meetings you had that morning.

You jolt up, before you find a note stuck to your shirt, you pause in your panic, to peel it off and read it:

Canceled your meetings for today and had your staff handle the ones they could deal with. You’re taking a break. You need it. - Satoru.

You wanted to protest, but even as you willed yourself to try and check your email, your body was screaming in agreement with Satoru, and you sighed, lying back down in bed, as you drifted into a dreamless sleep, with the note still in your hand.

~~~~~

“Gojo, get back in bed,” you cross your arms in front of his doorway, “you’re sick,”

“I’m fine,” he pouts, his normally pale skin flushed with a red tinge that gave away his fever, his eyes bloodshot from a restless night, and yet he still looked as perfect as ever, if not a bit rumpled from his askew hair and ruffled clothes, “I have to—”

“Rest,” you say, gently pushing him backwards towards his bed, “you need rest. You made me rest, and now it’s your turn,”

“But—”

“Satoru,” and the use of his name stops him in his tracks, as his knees buckle as his legs hit the end of his bed, “please?”

His resistance crumbles, “Princess, I’m fine—” and you press your forehead to his, making his breath catch, your face far too close far too fast.

“You’re burning up,” you ease him back into bed, as you roll your sleeves up, “will you be okay? I’m going to run out and get some supplies - have you taken any medicine?”

He shakes his head, “You can send out someone,” he says, reaching for his phone, but you grab it, “Princess-“

“I’m texting everyone that you’re sick and that you can’t make it in for the next two days while you recover,” you pocket his phone, putting it on silent, “consider this payback,” and you’re pulling on your jacket, “and I’m going to get you some things. I don’t need to send someone out. Do you want anything? I can’t get anything sweet because it will make your cough worse, but is there anything that you want?”

He shakes his head, as you snap your fingers and head out of the room, before returning with cold medicine, “I’ll give you this for now, and then I’ll grab some more while I’m out,”

You pour the medicine into the cup, and he sits up as best he could, reaching for the medicine cup, but you cup his chin, feeding it to him. He feels like his body is burning hotter from your touch than it is the fever, “I have to make sure you drink all of it, you can’t leave half of it in the cup like you did when we were kids,”

“You remember that?” he mumbles, as you help him lie down again, your hands gentle as you help lean back, and you tilt your head.

“I remember every ridiculous thing you did,” you snort, as you check to make sure you got everything — phone, wallet, keys — “just rest here, and call me if you need anything, ok?” his eyes are already starting to droop, heavy with sleep, and he gives a small nod.

And he catches you by your wrist, “Do you have to go?” he mumbles, pulling your hand close to his face, “I don’t want you to go,” his words slur, and he’s asleep in a moment, his hand still clutching yours to his face, lips brushing against your palm.

Heat flares up your cheeks, as you stand, motionless, his soft snores filling the room, as you manage to tug your hand away, and you stand over him, his mouth in an adorable pout, as sweat glistened on his forehead, white locks sticking to the damp skin. You leave for a moment to grab a cold compress for his forehead, and you come back, brushing his hair back to place the compress on. He shivers ever so slightly, but you just rub his head slowly, and he drifts back into sleep.

“I’ll be right back,” you whisper, and you wonder, how often has Satoru been cared for by maids or employees rather than his family? How often had they passed the buck of caring for their son to others as if it was more of a chore than a privilege to take care of someone they loved.

You leave his phone on video call with yours so you can keep an eye on him as he sleeps, even if you were going down the street, you didn’t want to leave him alone completely. Instead of music, you listened to the cacophony of his soft snores and shifting of his sheets. You grabbed the things you needed - medicine, supply for meals, vitamin water, vitamin c supplements, and anything else you could think of.

You return, door shutting softly behind you as you hang up the call, and set everything down on the counter. You poke your head into Satoru’s room to find him still fast asleep, and you remove the cold compress, going to replace it with a new one, but his hand catches yours as it brushes your forehead, and he mumbles your name.

And you flush — were you sure you weren’t getting sick at this point?

You sigh, running your fingers through his hair, “You’re as touchy as you were when we were kids,” and he was — there wasn’t a moment that Satoru wasn’t all over you before the ages of puberty — holding hands, hugging, even laying on top of you — but it was innocent. But even as you got older, it was poking, it was a leg over yours, it was grabbing your wrist instead of your hand.

And now, your hand was dwarfed by his, consuming your wrist and hand with his own, and it was so warm — though exacerbated by his fever. And you couldn’t help but want to lace your fingers through his. But — you pulled your hand away and replace his cold compress — you couldn’t afford thoughts like that.

Not now.

You cooked soup for him, filled with vegetables and nutrients that he clearly did not get enough of, made freshly squeezed orange juice, and put the supplements you wanted him to take on the tray you had found in the kitchen.

You washed your hands, as you start to clean up, your back to his room, and you hear Satoru say your name.

You turn and see him in the doorway, “What are you doing?”

“I should be asking you that,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes, “what’s all this?”

“Lunch,” you walk over, waving him back into bed, “you need to rest,”

“Did you make me lunch?” he asks slowly, and you help him back into bed, as he frowns, “you didn’t have—”

“You’re my husband, Satoru,” you say, tilting your head, “I’m going to take care of you and not let you work yourself to the bone while you have a cold,”

And his lips curl at the words slowly, “Your husband,” he repeats, as if the words were foreign to him, and your cheeks flush as your words that were embarrassing enough to say linger in the air, “thank you,” he mumbles, as you nod, trying to calm your utterly burning cheeks before entering with the tray.

Satoru sits in bed still, more coherent than a few minutes before, a small smile on his lips as you enter his view, and you place the tray carefully on his bed, “Will you feed me?” And your eyes flit up to his innocent baby blues full of skies that you couldn’t say no to — and he knew that, “please?”

And now you’re feeding him, your lips carefully blowing on the hot soup as you spoon fed him, and he takes each one, “is it good?”

He nods, “It is, I didn’t know you could cook. The last thing I remember you making me was a microwave brownie that you burned,” and you rolled your eyes.

“That was because you told me to microwave it for too long,” you pout, and he laughs, sending him into a coughing fit, “karma,” and he scowls at you, before his lips split into a grin, “what?”

“Must have been pretty good in my past life,” he says, as you blow on another spoonful, “to end up with a pretty little wife like you, Princess,”

And you nearly drop the spoon, a few droplets slipping from the utensil, as he makes you flustered for the eighteenth time today — “Satoru,” you chide, and you’re not even sure what you are chiding him for — his word on a loop in your mind, “i think you’re high on cold medicine, or your fever,”

You don’t think he had ever called you pretty before.

And he leans forward pressing his forehead to yours, “I have no fever right now,” he whispers, his eyes glancing at the tray, “and I haven’t taken my cold medicine yet,”

Your words catch in your throat, and you’re swallowing thickly, as your eyes drift to his lips and back again, “Toru,” and you can’t lean away from him, he’s pulling you in, like he always did.

But then he pulls back, his cheeks flushed, “I think I should lie down,” and you blink, as you nod hastily.

“Of course,” you grab the tray and flee, leaving his medicine and water on the bedside table, heart thumping against your ribs and blood rushing to your cheeks.

And you don’t hear him grumble, “If only I wasn’t sick.”

After Satoru gets better, you barely see him. It feels empty in the house without his presence. You had grown accustomed to his loud, obtrusive presence, the clothes half thrown in the laundry basket, his snacks stacked up in the pantry and sometimes on the counters, and his cologne wafting through the halls. It seems all of that has faded with time, as he does his best to spend his time at work, and away from you.

After the billionth time of this, you get a phone call from his colleague, Nanami, asking for you to come and fetch him. You furrow your brow as he texts you the address of a bar near his work, and you arrive to find him passed out at a table, drink glasses and small plates littered the tabletop, his pale skin flushed, as he snored slightly as he slept.

His colleague too was flushed, but still sat with drink in hand looking utterly irritated and bemused, “How much did he drink?”

“Maybe two drinks?” and you raise an eyebrow, “he’s a lightweight, but he likes to pretend he isn’t,” he snorts, shaking his head, “did you two have a fight?”

You tilt your head, as you check on him, fingers brushing over his skin — he was so warm from the alcohol, “No, why do you ask?”

And Satoru is mumbling your name, again and again, pouting, “Is that you, my wife?” you flush, and that was your cue to get him out of there. Nanami helps you get him to his work car, luckily that came equipped with a driver, and you slide in beside him, as he dozes, his head drifting to your shoulder. His breath is warm against your neck, as he nestles into the soft skin of your nape, and you can feel his lips move, only catching your name between soft sighs and snores.

“Satoru,” you mutter, brushing his hair from his eyes, “what did you do?”

The driver helps you get him inside, and you’re left with him, his body leaning against yours on the couch, as you rouse him, “Satoru, wake up,” your hands cup his cheeks, and his eyes flutter open blearily.

You can still smell the scent of alcohol on his breath — and you know it’s sweet from the scent that drifts from him. Sometimes you wonder if he would taste sweet with how much sugar he consumes, but you brush that thought to the back of your head, as he finally speaks.

“Are you a dream?” he murmurs, and you have to suppress your laugh at his puppy dog stare.

“Don’t think so, Satoru,” you pinch his cheek lightly, “see? I’m real,”

He smiles, so gentle that it almost takes you aback, “Too real,” his hand slides over yours, flattening it against his cheek, “your hand is so soft, just like when we were kids, and we’d always hold hands anywhere we went,”

You swallow thickly, wondering if your cheeks were hotter than his were from the alcohol, “Well my family hasn’t sold me into manual labor yet, so they’ll stay that way,” and his eyes widen almost comically.

“I wouldn’t let them do that,” he says, almost every other word slurred, “can’t do that to my wife,” and your traitorous heart squeezes, despite itself, despite everything telling you that it didn’t mean anything — that he was drunk — and the million other reasons to brush it away, your heart does what it does best — takes it to heart, “I missed you so much,”

And he’s burying his face in your shoulder, warm breath against your skin making you shiver as you hold him gently, “then why have you been avoiding me?” He’s mumbling into your shoulder now, as you can’t help but laugh, “Stop, you’re tickling me.”

And his stare lifts and settles upon you, stopping your breath in its tracks, “I didn’t want to avoid you, I just was…” he mumbles something incoherent, “I couldn’t face you,”

“Why?” and it’s objectively cute the way he pouts, his face scrunching up like a child, his brow adorably furrowed, as he mutters under his breath slurred words you can’t make out, “let’s get you to bed — if you promise not to avoid me anymore,” you hold up a finger to his face.

He nods, lips still in the same pout, “promise,” he murmurs, as you help him into bed, but as you do, he grabs you, tugging you into bed with him with a yelp, his arms trapped you against him, as his face snuggles into your back, “stay,”

Your skin burns at his touch, his face buried into your back, his arms wrapped impossibly around you, “Satoru—”

“Please?” and the resistance you have crumbles, as you sigh, relaxing as best you could into his touch, “thank you, Princess,” he mumbles something else you can’t make out, before falling asleep.

And you bite your lip, ignoring how your skin feels under his touch — how were you ever going to sleep now?

But you do.

Satoru wakes with a slightly pounding head, a small groan caught in the back of his throat, as he stirs at the bright sunlight streaming in, his eyes fluttering awake to find you. His breath catches, as he stares at you. Your mouth slightly ajar, you softly snore as you sleep, your head resting against his arm, and he swallows thickly, as memories of last night trickle in.

And he nearly groans. He had avoided you to stop himself, to hold himself back from embarrassing himself, and he had gone and pulled you into bed with him after getting drunk. How pathetic was it that it only took you referring to him as your husband for all his walls to come crumbling down? Not that those walls ever stood a chance against you — it was easy for him to pull away from everyone, as if he had a barrier around him, stopping anything from coming near. But you — you were one thing that could penetrate his infinity — and the one thing he wanted to be infinite, if only for him.

His cheeks burn at his revelations and he can only be thankful you’re still asleep as he stares at you — god, he had almost let it slip twice last night. He had mumbled it twice, but from what he remembered, you hadn’t made out the words.

His cheeks burned, god he had said the words twice, and you didn’t even hear him, but the words had left his lips. And how many years had he been waiting to say them?

His fingers caress your cheek, making sure you were still asleep before he said them for a third time, “I love you.”

“How many social events must be inflicted upon us?” you mutter, pressed next to Satoru at the bar, as Satoru sips a soda instead of the alcohol they offered — if only to avoid the disaster that was the last time. But still, the lack of alcohol only makes your touch worse without its dulling effects, “and why did we need to go to this?”

“C’mon sweetheart, it’s not so bad,” Satoru smiles, his eyes skimming over your new suit that you had donned for the occasion, “I like seeing you all dressed up,”

“Well I rather be dressed down at home,” and he raises an eyebrow and you flush, “i mean in a t-shirt and shorts, you absolute perv,”

“Whatever you say, princess,” and you’re too busy elbowing him to notice who's walking over, until you hear your name.

You spot Satoru’s eyes narrow, his lips pursed, as you spot Suguru holding a hand up in greeting, patented grin on his lips, “Yo!”

“Suguru, it’s good to see you,” you greet, as he sweeps you up in a hug, and you shoot a look at Satoru, nudging him to be polite at the very least.

“Satoru, long time no see,” Suguru says, and Satoru plasters a fake smile on his lips.

“It has been,” and the three of you make pleasant small talk about your work — Suguru’s family was in a business adjacent to the work your families did.

“I heard about the merger your companies are doing, how have preparations been?” you open your mouth to answer, but Satoru gets to it first, his arm curling around your waist.

“It’s been going well, our marriage was the first step after all, wasn’t it, baby?” and you flush as Satoru does, doing your best not to glare at him.

“It was,” you smile, as Suguru raises his eyebrows.

“I hadn’t heard you both had married — congratulations,”

And then you’re beckoned by your family, and you slip away for a moment, going to speak to them about one thing or another, leaving Satoru and Suguru alone.

“It’s too bad we lost touch all these years,” Satoru sips at his drink.

“You don’t have to say that, Satoru,” Suguru replies, his grin melting away, “I know part of the reason was the business with our families companies, but I also know that it was personal,” and Satoru follows his eyes to you, as you laugh at something your mother said, “how has married life been treating you both?”

And Satoru glares, his grip tight around his glass, “Is your interest personal?”

“It’s not, but I see that you still haven’t been honest with each other,” he smiles over the lip of his drink, “was this marriage arranged by your families?” and Satoru’s silence was enough to confirm it, “well you should be careful, a marriage is a fragile thing, especially without love,”

“Is that a threat?” and Suguru’s dark irises meet his, full of mirth.

“No, just an observation, Satoru,” and you make your re-appearance, looking between the pair, sensing the tension, as your hand curls around Satoru’s, “It was lovely seeing you both. I hope to see more of you.”

And with that he’s gone, “What was that about?” you ask slowly, and Satoru can’t meet your gaze, only sipping his soda, “Satoru?”

“It’s nothing, princess, don’t worry about it,” and you tilt your head, your brow furrowed.

“That’s it,” you sigh, as you glance between the two of them, Suguru’s gaze still lingering on the two of you, “I know what this is about,” you declare, stepping ever closer to Satoru, your fingers brushing at his shoulder, sending his heart into a gallop.

“Princess—” your hand is sliding up his neck, brushing at his undercut, and your lips curl.

“I didn’t know you had an undercut,” and he can’t form words to respond to you, as you tug him closer, your lips were so close now, “it’s kind of hot,” and his mouth is so dry, his eyes can’t help but flicker down to your lips again, as you lean forward, pulling his head closer, closer, closer—

And you kiss him, it's barely a brush at first, but then you pull him in again, and he can taste the wine on your lips now, as your lips meet, his eyes fluttering shut as his hand slides to cup your face, the other around your waist. And finally you part, small pants leaving your lips, as your fingers toy with the hair resting on the back of his neck, smiling at him, as if you had done this a million times before.

And he wanted to do it a million times more. His fingers trace the length of your jaw, delighting in the shiver you give as he touches you, and wondering what other noises he could pull from you.

“Is he still watching?” you whisper, as you smooth over his collar, and he blinks, his eyes following yours to Suguru, who glances at the two of you before looking away, “think we convinced him?”

And his heart sinks just as high as it had soared, “what?” he murmurs, confused.

“He suspected us, right?” you continue with the phony smile on your lips, the heated lust in your gaze, and your soft touches — and it was all enough to break him.

But he doesn’t. He’s Satoru Gojo — he can’t be allowed to break.

So he gives a smile instead, “Yeah, I think we convinced him.”

He can’t help be quiet on the drive home, and he senses your unease, fidgeting in the seat beside him, your attempts to fill the silence falling on deaf ears, and you eventually stop trying, settling to look out of the window instead, until the two of you pull inside your driveway.

You both head inside, and the door shuts behind you, and he watches you struggle to take off your heels, the buckle not cooperating, as you lift your leg to undo it.

But then he’s kneeling before you, undoing your heels for you, as you stammer, “No, Gojo, you don’t have to—”

But his touch is gentle as he helps you out of your heels, one by one, his fingers brushing against your ankles, and then he rises, and for a split second, you forgot how tall he really was.

“No, I want to, because you’re my wife,” and his fingers brush against your jaw. “And I want your thoughts to be of me when I touch you, and not of someone else,” and he tilts your chin up, thumb dragging against your lips before he kisses you.

It was gentle but insistent — and far, far too fleeting, as he pulls away, “and I’ve told you before — I’m your husband, call me Satoru.”

And with that he’s gone, leaving you speechless and alone in your entryway.

You can’t sleep. For several nights.

You replay the moment over and over, the kiss, his words, and all of it.

What the fuck. Were you really up all night because of Satoru Gojo? You lay on your stomach, kicking your feet in frustration as you bury your hot face in your pillow. Your husband was going to be the death of you.

And especially with tomorrow.

Satoru’s family was hosting an event to announce the merger, and you stood in your bathroom, getting ready. You had opted for a baby blue dress that Satoru had picked for you when he had insisted on taking you shopping. He had winked and said you could wear his gaze this way. And you had only rolled your eyes at the time, but now it felt you could feel his eyes upon you.

“You look beautiful,” and you whirl around to find him standing in your doorway, a small smile on your lips, and you flush. It doesn’t go unnoticed, “is that all it takes to embarrass you now, Princess? I used to have to work a lot harder,”

You glare at him, “Shut up,” and your eyes flick to his untied tie, and it’s unspoken, as you walk over to tie his tie for him, “how did you even tie this the day of the formal if you don’t know how to?”

“I didn’t wear one,” he shrugs, his attention making you mess up the knot twice, “I only went to make you jealous anyway,”

Your fingers pause, as your eyes meet, “What?”

“I don’t want to play games anymore, Princess,” the back of his fingers brush against your cheek, “or at least, if I’m going to play, I’m going to play to win,” and you continue tying his tie, if only to distract yourself from your stomach doing flips, “do you know how it feels to want someone for so long only to end up married, but it’s not either of your choice?” And you swallow, not daring to look at him, “because I do.”

“Satoru,” your hands are shaking now, “I-“

“I don’t expect an answer, I don’t expect anything to change,” he adjusts his tie as you finish, turning his collar down, his blue button up matching your dress perfectly, “but I wanted you to know where I stood, and know wherever you are,” his gaze rakes over your form, the same color as the dress than clung to your skin, “I’ll always be here for you,”

“Satoru—“ but he gets a call — as always with impeccable timing, his parents were asking when they would be arriving. He hangs up shortly after, offering his arm with a smile.

“Shall we?” And you take his arm, ignoring the flip your heart does when his arm curls around yours.

The drive over is uneventful, but not the same can be said for the event itself. The merger event was being held at Satoru’s childhood home — the home Satoru had grown up in and around — and never wanted to be at.

“Are you okay?” you ask, your arm still curled around Satoru’s arm, as you glance at him, his shoulders tense and lips tight, before your concern makes the tension melt away a moment, rolling off his shoulders like snow on a spring day.

“I’m fine,” and you’re unconvinced, “just this place is like time has stood still,” he chuckles, his eyes finding the place where the two of you had cracked the chandelier fucking around with a ball inside, “look, still there,”

You snort, “I’m surprised your mother never noticed,”

“She did, she gave me hell for it,” he sips his drink, “I just didn’t tell you,”

“Why?”

“There was a lot I didn’t tell you,” his eyes snap to yours, his pain almost too visceral as he glances around the room he had grown up in — and you could feel him in this room, the ghost of his past roaming the halls, “why do you think I spent so much time at your house?”

“Because of my incredible company?” you half-joke, lips forced into a small smile, but he laughs, rolling his eyes.

“That too,” he hums, his fingers tracing up and down against your wrist sending a wave of heat down your spine.

“Well, you always have an escape now, don’t you?” you intertwine your fingers, “our home is always graced with the presence of your wife,”

He grins, the first actual smile you had seen all evening, “How lucky for you that it’s also graced with the presence of your incredibly handsome husband,”

And you open your mouth to respond, before Satoru’s father interrupts, his hand on Satoru’s shoulder, making him stiffen, “Son,” and his icy blue eyes slide to you, “and my daughter, would you mind if I steal my son for a moment?” it always struck you how different his eyes were from Satoru — the coldness as opposed to the warmth.

You glance at Satoru, and he gives a slight nod, “No, of course not,” you step away, as he pulls Satoru into a side room, and you linger nearby for him, mingling as best you can, when Satoru emerges, eyes downcast and fists clenched, “Satoru-“

“I’m okay,” he plasters on an easy smile, “it’s fine—“

“We’re leaving,” you grab his hand, “let’s go,” and he’s staring at you, as you drag him from the party, wordless.

“But your parents, my parents—”

“Have done enough for us already,” you say, and the two of you walk to the car in silence, “I can drive—”

“It’s ok, I got it,” and you both shut the doors, as he begins to drive. The ride home is quiet, and you glance at him here and there, but you hold your tongue, “you’re not going to ask?”

“It’s your dad - do I need to ask?” You scoff, “It may has been years but I know he’s nothing but a bully — especially to you,”

You may have been young, but you remembered the phone calls Satoru would get, the lectures about his potential and responsibilities as the next heir, the scoldings he’d get for anything less than perfect. And you remembered the look he had the next day — the same one he had when he had come out of that room.

And you couldn’t protect him then, but you could do it now.

He sighs as he pulls the car into the driveway, “You don’t deserve that, Toru,”

“Then what do I deserve?” And he meets your gaze with glassy eyes, and you give a small smile, your fingers reaching for him, brushing along his jaw.

“Love,” and you lean across the gap of the console, across the line you had drawn, across the misunderstandings you had, and you chose him. Your fingers cup his cheek, drawing him close, as you hear his breathe hitch, “can I—”

“You don’t need to ask me even once, Princess,” and you kiss him, your lips grazing his again and again, until your lips finally slide against each other, deepening it as he presses himself against you, hand bearing against the armrest between the two of you. And you can taste the sweet taste of the strawberry dessert that he all but inhaled at the party, the hint of the soda he drank instead of wine, and something that tasted utterly and perfectly of him.

“Toru,” you murmur, but his lips keep finding yours, and you can’t breathe much less think, “I—”

He silences you with another kiss, his fingers finding purchase on the back of your neck as he tugs you impossibly closer, before his lips are tracing a path down your jaw.

“What was that, sweetheart?” he smiles against your skin, “you what?”

“You’re insufferable, you’re endlessly frustrating, and I swear I want to murder you at least twice a day,” and he smiles, as you gasp as his teeth graze your pulse, “but you’re also my best friend, and I—“ you make him meet your eyes, fingers cupping his chin, ocean blue eyes drowning you with their gaze, “I love you,”

And he blinks ever so slowly, before his lips curl into the most beautiful smile you had seen, before he’s kissing you again, as you gasp, “Toru—”

“I’m never going to stop now, Princess,” he grins endlessly, as he presses his forehead to yours, dragging a thumb down your kiss ruined lips, “waited too long for you, but I’d wait a million years to do that again,”

“So should I make you wait?” you tease, and he’s looking like a kicked puppy, pouting and wide eyed, before he’s pressing butterfly kisses to your face, and you’re laughing, “I’m just kidding, baby—”

And he pauses, “‘Baby?’” and his grin is a million watt, as he kisses you again, “never thought I’d see the day you’d call me a pet name,”

Your noses brush as you both laugh, “Well, you are a big baby,” and he pouts again, and you kiss them, “but you’re my baby,”

And you barely remember how you manage to stumble into your home. Frantic touches and hurried kisses and fumbling keys. As soon as the door slams shut, he has you pressed against it, fingers busy with undoing your buttons, as he grins against your mouth.

“Know how long I wanted you? How long I dreamt of this?” he bites your bottom lip, “had to call you my wife before i could call you mine — thought about you dating Suguru, about all the times I wanted to lean over during our movie nights as kids and just kiss you — and how much I regretted it,”

“So you admit you’ve been pining for me,” you gasp as his teeth drag against your neck now, biting and sucking, as your fingers thread through his white locks, “Satoru,” you moan, biting your lip.

“Judging by that moan, I’m not the only one,” he smiles cheekily, his hands sliding down your back to rest at the back of your thighs, large palms and thick fingers pressing through the all too thin tulle of your dress, “can’t wait to see how fuckin’ wet you are for me, Princess.”

You gasp at his vulgar words, a rush of heat that leaves your legs shaking under his touch, “Now whose mind is the gutter?” You tease, your fingers tugging at his tie, unfurling the knot.

“Always has been when it’s come to you, want to make this perfect princess filthy,” he coos, and he’s pulling you up against the door, your hands wrapped around his neck, “wanna make my beautiful little wife scream my name, don’t I?”

“Toru—“ you gasp as his teeth graze along your chest, tugging the neckline of your dress impossibly low, “you’re going to rip it—“ and he does, pulling the fabric apart with ease, “what the fu—“ and he’s swallowing your swears with his tongue.

“I’ll buy you another,” he grins, “in fact I’ll buy you any amount you want, as long as you keep letting me do this,”

And he’s peeling the dress off of you, dress falling to the floor in a shamble of tulle, and your skin flushes at the air hitting your bare skin, and shivers at the feeling of his sharp breath against your neck.

“How are you so fucking perfect?” he sighs, burying his face in the nape of your neck, pressing butterfly kisses down your collarbone, “I should get an award for patience — not being able to touch you, to kiss you, but living with you?”

His fingers are skimming down your underwear now, snapping the waistband against your skin, you gasp, “Fuck, Toru,” you whimper, “thought you’d talk less during this,” your fingers are undoing his shirt now.

“Oh I can think of a few things that could shut me up,” his lips curl deviously, and you’re slipping his shirt off his shoulders, your lips pressing to his collarbone.

“I don’t think you’d even shut up from that,” as he shivers when your teeth graze his soft skin, “I think you’ll only whine more,”

And his gaze is hot as his eyes meet yours again, as he grasps at your thighs and picks you up, “let’s see who’s the one whining at the end of this,” you squeal, grasping into his shoulders, as he carries you into his bedroom, as he settles you down on his bed. His eyes raking over you, panting and disheveled, he drags his thumb down your bottom lip, “can’t believe you’re all mine, Princess,”

“Satoru,” you’re reaching for him, but he pins your hand to the bed, “wha—“

“Patience, baby,” he purrs, as he presses his lips to your wrist, “let me enjoy you,”

He’s so pretty it’s unfair - the way his breath hits your skin steals yours, pretty pink lips parted as he runs his tongue over them, the same ache between your legs longing for that tongue between them. But it leaves you with so little of the patience he asks you to have — especially after over a decade of this in the making.

And your impatience is evident, you suppose, by the pout on your lips, and he laughs, “Want a kiss, baby?”

You don’t have the time to say you want much more than a kiss, as he humors you with a kiss, lips teasing you with their sweet taste, and you don’t fail to notice his smile as you lean up into his touch. And suddenly his hands brush down your bare sides, squeezing your hips, and you’re gasping, “Feel good, Princess? We’ve barely started—“

“You keep teasing me and I’ll make you regret it,” you grumble, between breathless kisses, the bite of your words dampened by the soft pants that leave your lips, “Toru, I swear—“

And his thumb presses against the wet patch on your underwear, flimsy layer of soaked fabric barely doing a thing to hide your arousal, “Not acting like a good little girl for me,” he tuts, as you keen against his touch, gasping as you throw your head back as he grinds his fingers against your puffy clit, “all it took was one touch to have you so pliant, huh? Should’ve done this a long time ago,”

“Stop,” you whine, and his grin only grows larger with such self satisfaction, you don’t know if your lust addled brain wants you to strangle his neck or his cock, “please, just—“

“Just what?” And his fingers are breaching past your underwear, just barely touching the outer lips of your cunt, “come on, Princess, use your big girl words, or are you already fucked stupid before I’ve barely touched you?”

“Motherfuck—“

“I will be one once I get my needy little wife pregnant, won’t I?” And his long fingers finally tug down your underwear — the wet schlick of the sticky fabric hitting the floor make him drag his teeth over those beautiful lips, “but we got plenty of time for that, after all,” his fingers tease the outer lips of your throbbing pussy, “practice makes perfect,”

And he sinks a long finger knuckle deep — and a whine crawls its way out of your throat, his fingers were thicker than yours were — and so much better. His thumb teases your clit in tight circles as he begins to tease your walls, reaching deep, deep, deeper, your slick starting to drip onto his palm, “God, you’re soaking me, Princess,” and your hips can’t resist the urge to grind against his touch, “oh, and where’s that mouth now?” you can barely see much less talk, words failing as he begins to stretch you out - his other large palm rested against your thigh, keeping your legs nice and spread for him.

He’s grinning, he sinks another finger into you, teasing your walls apart, beginning to finger fuck you in earnest, “my mouthy girl just needed to be fucked right? Didn’t she?” And all you can hear are the filthy sounds of your cunt, as his fingers piston in and out, “nothing to say, Princess?” And he spanks your pussy, making you yelp, a whine leaving your throat, “and you thought I’d be whiny, look at you now, baby,” his fingers cup your chin to force your glassy eyes to meet his darkened blues, “such a good fucked out wife for me,”

And a third finger joining right as he brushed against a spot that had you seeing stars as his thumb bullied your clit, eyes rolling back as he did, and he’s grinning, “my perfect princess and her perfect little pussy,”

You came with his name on your lips, panting and shaking as he held you steady, his fingers dripping with your release, as he pulled away, watching your cunt twitch around nothing, aching for his fingers.

You're coming down from your high, chest rising and falling, as you watch him gather your release on his fingers, toying with your cunt, before he sucks them clean, “Fuck,” you whimper, as he licks and cleans himself of your cum, “Toru-“

“Fuck, baby, how’ve I resisted tasting you for so long?” And he’s bending down as he noses your thighs, making your hips jolt, still sensitive from your orgasm as he deeply inhaled, tip of his tongue darting out to lick your release from your thighs, “smell as sweet as you taste,” he hums, your legs trying to close, but his palms keep them spread, “can’t keep a man from his vices, can we baby?”

And his tongue teases your cum that pooled from your orgasm, the tip hot and wet as it tastes it, “tastes when better coming from this filthy princess cunt,” he grins against your thigh, teeth grazing your skin, making you lurch.

“T-Toru, please,” fuck you hated how needy you sounded, but you needed more — but he’s leaning away, pressing his cheek against the soft plush of your thigh.

“Need you to do something me first, sweetheart,” and his fingers are drawing teasing infinities on your thighs, “tell me how much you want me,”

“Fuck you,” you groan, “I know what you’re gonna say,” you add, cutting off his snappy retort of “I’m trying to,” “I want you, Satoru, please, I’ve wanted this for too long,” and your voice grows more teasing, “how long is my husband going to keep me waiting?”

And his eyes darken, the slight flush on his cheeks growing deeper, as his mouth presses a wet kiss to your sopping pussy, “good girl, think you deserve a reward,” and he’s manhandling your thighs, spreading them wide, as he buries his face in your cunt, “such a good little wife deserves to be eaten out,”

And eating is exactly what he does - you had only seen Satoru eat sweets with the same voracity he devoured you, pressing his thick fingers into your thighs as he splayed you out as his mouth pressed wet kisses to your dripping lips. His hot tongue drags up the length of your cunt, “best fucking thing I’ll ever taste, know what my last meal will be,” he’s murmuring against you, making you twitch, as he looks up at you with half lidded eyes and saliva and slick covered lips, “awww my pretty pussy begging to be filled? Well I can do that for you, baby,” and he’s burying his tongue in your messy hole.

The moan that leaves your lips leaves his cock harder and hurting, he didn’t know you could make such a lewd noise, and he couldn’t wait to make you make it again and again. He’s making out with your pussy at this mouth, your hips doing their best to grind against him, desperate for more, more, more.

And your fingers find his shoulders first, before sliding up to his hair, pressing him further against you, “you’re so fucking cute,” he murmurs, as he spreads your folds with his thumbs before tongue fucking you. His tongue teases and abuses your walls, deeper and deeper, before he pulls back to flick his tongue over your clit, making you moan even louder, “neighbors are gonna hear you at this rate, baby,” but he only sucks at your clit, harshly, “oh well, they know we’re newlyweds,” he’s humming as his ears hear your broken whines and pants, body tensed up against his.

And you’re so wet now, your slick drips down his jaw, mixed with his spit, “you’re all mine now, baby, can’t live without tasting you now—“ and he groans when your hips buck into his mouth again, feeling your walls twitch, “I know you’re close, Princess, tell me how good it feels,”

“S’good, Toru, I can’t—“ you’re pulling at his soft white locks now, making him grunt, and you fall apart, back arching as you cum as all you can hear are the squelching sounds of his tongue and mouth as he continues to eat you out through your orgasm.

And you’re twitching under him as he sucks up every bit of your cum, “so fucking good for me,” he’s finally pulling himself from your messy pussy, “can’t wait to feel you around me, should’ve known you have a little princess cunt,”

And he’s licking his lips and chin clean, as you watch him with half lidded eyes, still panting, as your eyes skim down his body, his jacket had been thrown aside at some point, but his now wrinkled shirt is only messily untucked from his dress pants, and disheveled was too good of a look on him, but you rather see those clothes on the floor of your bedroom, “you’re still annoyingly dressed,” you manage between breaths, still aching from his ministrations, “strip,”

He’s raising an eyebrow, a wicked grin on his lips, “So demanding for someone who was moaning my name a second ago,” but you pull yourself up, supporting yourself on a shaky arm while you use the other to tug on his tie, smashing his lips to yours.

You unfurl the very tie you tied, fingers flying to unbutton his shirt, “Made me feel so good, baby,” and now you were kneeling in front of him, your release slipping down your thighs, as you slipped his shirt off his shoulders, tossing it aside, heated eyes raking over his bare chest, tongue running over your lips, “only fair if I repay the favor,”

You’re undoing his belt for him, pulling it free from the loops, as your hand grazes his noticeable bulge in his suit pants, “surprised you haven’t ripped through,” you squeeze lightly, making his hips jerk, as he pouts all too cutely — and now you knew why he always teased you, “didn’t you tell me to have patience, love?”

“Your husband is running low on that at the moment, never been one to be patient, sweetheart,” he’s gritting his teeth, as you slip his pants off leaving him only in boxers.

Your eyes are glued to his erection, visible through the damp front of his boxers, wet with his precum, “so fuckin’ big, even better than I thought,” you say almost with reverence, and his lip quivers at the praise, a quiet groan leaving his throat. You raise an eyebrow, “like to be praised, baby boy?”

And he swallows, adam's apple bobbing, sweat on his forehead from his treatment of you, but a red flush deepens on his skin, “Princess,” it’s half a warning and half a plea—and morphs into a whimper as your fingers tease the head of his cock through his boxers, rubbing his precum into the fabric, “f-fuck, s’good with those hands, sweetheart,”

“Imagine how much better it’d be with your boxers out of the way,” you say leaning down and licking at the tip through the sticky fabric, as his head falls back with a soft moan, “can’t wait to feel this between my legs,” as you kiss the clothed tip, two fingers slipping in only to snap the waistband of the boxers against his skin, and he’s biting back a moan, a pout on his kiss ruined lips, “god, you’re so pretty,”

Another noise in the back of his throat, “Fuck, Princess,” he hissed, as you finally spare him, pulling his boxers off, his erection slapping against his too fucking incredible abs — how was he so unfairly perfect? He was so gorgeous — more long than girthy, but he was so thick still, and flushed red with pearly pre-cum at the tip. Each vein and curve felt as if he was made for you.

“All this for me, baby?” You tease, as his mouth opens and then closes as your fingers tease the head of his cock, a sharp inhale that keeps echoing in your ears, “all turned on from eating me out, huh?” You move close, nearly straddling him, but you don’t let your cunt brush against his cock — not yet.

And his dick twitches in your hand, “Sweetheart,” he whimpers, eyes nearly glassy with need, “such a fucking tease,”

And your lips curl, “Match made in heaven, baby,” you rub your thumb against his flushed tip, spreading the pre-cum along his shaft, “can’t wait to taste you, wonder if you taste as sweet as what you eat,” licking your lips, and he’s biting his lip, “tell me what you want, Toru,”

“Y’know what I want, Princess,” he’s panting as you lean forward to kiss him, lips sliding against his, just as your palm starts to stroke him, his moan is nearly pornographic, words spilling from his mouth, “want your pretty pussy around my cock, sweetheart, plesse,”

“Not so fast, baby,” you hum, your other hand moving to tease his balls, achingly full, judging by the gasp that left his throat, “wanna take my time with you, like you did with me, right?” And he breaks your kiss with a whine, “you feel so good in my hands, Toru, been thinking about this cock for too long,” and he’s grunting, lips parted as he pants, burying his face in your shoulder.

“How good?” he mumbles, and you’re grinning even wider — the great Satoru Gojo fell to pieces with only your touch and some praise, his face beautifully flushed as you tug him by the back of his hair, thumb running over his undercut as you do.

“So good that I wanna make you fall apart over and over until my name is the only thing on your lips,” you squeeze the base of his dick, making his hips jump, “gonna be a good boy for me and let me do it?”

And he’s nodding, utterly fucked out even before you’ve even started. And you guide him to the end of the bed, as you get on your knees for him, his gaze darkening as he watches you lean down to press your lips to the tip of his weeping erection, making him groan your name. And you trace his slit with the tip of your tongue, tasting his salty release, “How long you gonna tease me baby? I’m being so good for you,” he’s whining, his baby blues fluttering with lust as he looks down at you, choking as he sees how his precum paints your lips, “please, fuck, just—“

And you finally guide his cock into your mouth, and he’s jerking at the sensation and groaning as he watches your pretty little mouth take his length — those same smart lips that always had a reply for everything, the ones he’d jerked off to the thought of this very situation — you on your knees for him, the ones he’d wanted around him for so long — it was too much.

He almost blew his load all too fast, your warm mouth all too accommodating to his cock, as your wet walls and tongue swirl around him, tasting and sucking, your fingers grasping his thighs. And you bob up and down his length, the weight of his cock making the ache between your legs worse, and your eyes flicker up, and moan as you watch him.

He’s so fucking gorgeous — panting and so fucked out, as his lips part for you, your name leaving his kissed red lips, teeth baring down on his bottom lip, “Fuck, my little wife is so pretty on her knees,” as his hands settle on your head, watching you sink your mouth down on his cock, pleasure running up his spine, as his thick fingers dig into your scalp, “so nasty, baby, fuuuuck, gonna fuck your throat at this rate,” he groans, “how’d you get so good at this baby? Don’t answer that,” he adds, a growl in his words, and you almost giggle around his dick.

“Learned so I could blow you, husband, after all, this mouth is yours,” you grin, and his lips curl too and then they part as he grunts, as you press teasing kisses along his length before sliding it back into your mouth, beginning to let the tip hit the back of your throat. You gag on him, making him moan, as he helps you deepthroat him, his hips thrusting against you lightly, his white pubes brushing against your face.

And he’s moaning even louder, as he watches you, drool slipping down your chin as he fucks your mouth, tongue massaging him as he did, “Made just to fuck me, huh? Want my load that bad, Princess?” And his words have your eyes rolling back as he’s moving against you, his cock twitching telling you that he’s close, “shiiit, fuck, my wife’s a slut for me, gonna swallow my cum baby?”

“Only for you,” you pull away a moment, a string of spit connecting your lips to his dick, smiling, before you slip him back into your too eager mouth, and you hollow your cheeks, the lewd noises of your tongue and mouth sending him over the edge.

“Fuck, fuck, gonna cum, baby, can I cum in—“ and you make his tip brush your throat again as you suck, looking at him with half lidded, dilated eyes. And he spills into your mouth, hot cum down your throat, as he holds your head gently in place, “shit Princess,” his hips jumping at the sight of you, cum and spit slipping from the corner of your mouth as you pull his cock from you, “s’good for me,”

He’s still panting, as you climb into his lap properly, his cock sliding against your cunt, making his face twist in pleasure, as you lick your mouth clean of him, wiping your chin, “Taste so good, Toru,” you hum, his eyes half lidded with pleasure, chest still heaving, as he leans back on shaky arms, “you may be my favorite meal, but I think I rather,” you grind on his lap teasingly dragging his tip against your messy cunt, “have you cum inside me,”

And he gives a delicious gasp, “baby, too sensitive,” but you’re tilting his chin back as you meet his lips, both of you moaning as you taste yourselves on the other’s lips, “you’re gonna be the death of me, Princess,” he’s chuckling, as he starts to grab your thighs, putting you properly into his lap, “you gonna ride me like a good little princess? Fuck yourself on my cock?”

How does he have the upper hand when you’re the one on top?

As you feel yourself clench around nothing at his words, and he’s sliding your body back and forth, his cock slapping and sliding against your wrecked cunt, so close to sinking in. His hand bears down on your ass, slapping it, before his fingers squeeze it, making you jump against him, your chest brushing against his, “you like that huh?” he’s grinning, as he kisses you again, his lips sliding against you, swallowing your moans eagerly, “what do you want, baby? Remember to say please,” he adds, and you want to roll your eyes, but his fingers rub your clit, and any protest you had fled your mind.

“Please,” and you’re using your fingers to part yourself above him, making his eyes roll back, as you grasp his cock, teasing your dripping cunt with the head of his dick, “fuck me,”

And you sink onto him, inch by inch, as your head looks back, your walls squeezing as he parted your folds, “You’re drenching me, sweetheart, fucking perfect princess cunt is gonna wring me dry,” he grunts, as his fingers splay over your hips, grasping but not pushing, letting you go at your pace, “s’good, might just have to fill you up, again and again,” and your pussy twitches at that thought drawing a laugh from him lips, “you want that? My wife wants to be full of my cum,” he’s groaning when you finally fit all of his cock in you, cunt clamping down on him, “trying to break my cock? Don’t have to go that far to keep me, I’m living in this sweet cunt from now on,”

You’re a mess — whining and moaning, your chest bouncing as you begin to move against him, “Toru, so full, s’good,” his own hips jumping against yours, a low growl in his throat, as his hands begin to guide your hips, snapping his own hips as he fucks you onto his own cock, reaching new depths, as your eyes squeeze shut, “fuckfuckfuuuck, Toru,” you’re babbling and moaning his name, again and again — and he just needs more.

And he’s spanking you, hands coming down on your ass, as he grunts, your warm walls twitching and squeezing him, brushing against sweet spots that have both of you groaning, “such a fucking good girl, taking my cock — I know you can take more, baby, my perfect wife,” and he’s capturing your nipple in his mouth, teeth grazing it before he sucks, his hips growing even faster, until his cock finds your special spot.

“Toru, g’nna cum, I—“ And your orgasm hits you, head thrown back as your lips part in a silent scream, toes curling as you wrap your legs around his waist, and he’s fucking you right through — fucking relentless, almost limitless, with his pace, groaning as he watches his the base of his cock covered in your release, a pool of white that almost has him cumming then and there.

“S’ fuckinh pretty, Princess, and all mine,” he says, as you moan, as he slows his pace, your face buried in his shoulder, as you come down from your high, and he’s tilting your head.

But he isn’t done yet.

In a moment, he’s pulling his cock out — a whine parting your mouth — as he manhandles you so that you’re flat on your back, your ankles thrown over his shoulders, and spread wide for him. You’re the picture of filth — lips in a kiss ruined pout, chest rising and falling as you gaze up at him with needy eyes, and your perfect cunt leaking and drenched for him — he could see everything — all of you, the way your cum slid down your hole, the way it clenched around nothing, the pretty pink insides he was desperate to make his.

He licks his lips, “soaking my lap and sheets with your cum, baby, such a dirty girl,” and he’s spreading your lips, letting your release trickle out.

“Satoru,” you whine as he runs a finger over your still twitching pussy, as if begging for his cock back, “please, too sensitive,”

“Please what, sweetheart? Because your cunt seems to disagree,” his chuckle is a deep noise that reverberates through his chest as he leans down to press your lips to yours in a languid kiss, “such a nerdy princess, imagine how’d your family would feel — seeing you beg for my cock, huh? Not the chaste little princess anymore? Nah, you’re my filthy baby,” and you’re whimpering, “tell me baby, I know you’re not nearly fucked dumb yet, you’re too smart for that,” he coos, a grin on his lips as he stares with that damn crystalline gaze.

And finally he’s sinking into you again, cock sliding back into your soaked cunt, “God, I love you,” he murmurs, as he’s somehow deeper inside you, pussy pressed against all of him, “so fucking perfect, baby, better than I imagined,” he’s pussydrunk now as he rails into you, and you’re grasping at him, the only sound in your ears is the squelch of him as he filled you again and again as his chest presses against yours, fucking you long and hard, “you’re all mine now, baby. My wife, my body, my love, my soul — all of it,” he growls his last words, grunting as his hips begin to stutter as he kisses your sweet spot again and again, “you want me to cum in this sweet princess pussy, baby? Wanna make me a daddy?”

Your cunt twitches at that, and he laughs, “did you just get wetter, baby? Didn’t think you could do that,”

But you’re only moaning, you’re so fuckin’ close but you want him to cum with you - wanna feel him sink into as he does. And so you’re meeting his lips in a searing kiss, his hips thrusting harder and longer, “give me your baby, Toru, breed me,” you whisper, words slurring as you pant and stutter, all sense had left your mind - and all you wanted was him.

“Fuck, Princess,” he’s grunting as he pistons in and out of you, bed groaning under his thrusts, until your walls clamp down again and again on him as you cum, throbbing and needy as you moan his name, back arching, “g’nna cum,”

And he does, his cock hitting the deepest part of you as he does, his warm seed filling you up, as his hips continue to fuck it deeper into you, making you whimper, as he just keeps on cumming ropes, “oh, f-fuck, Princess,” he rasps as he kisses you, sloppy and wet, as he pants, watching your face come down him your high, eyelashes fluttering as you look up at him, “so beautiful,” he murmurs, as he rubs his thumb down your lips.

He pulls out slowly, groaning as he watches your mixed releases leak out of you, dragging the tip of his weeping erection down your cunt, a whine leaving your throat again, “So fucking filthy, baby,” he hums, a shiteating grin on his lips, as he collects his cum on his fingers, and pushes it back inside of you, as you jump, a small pout on your lips making him laugh, “gotta make good on my promise, baby,” and he’s kissing you silly again, “gotta get you pregnant and full for me,”

His body is sticky with sweat, as he eases your aching legs down, as he kisses up your body, nosing your neck, “So perfect for me, Princess, I love you,” he says so earnestly that it makes you melt, as you pull him into a kiss, “suppose we consummated our marriage now, does this mean we get to have a honeymoon now?” he’s grinning, as you roll your eyes, “come on, don’t you want to travel?”

And you laugh, “I don’t think we would even leave the hotel room if you had your way,” and he’s pressing his thumb against your bottom lip and dragging down, before kissing you, sliding his tongue into your mouth to taste you.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” And your breath catches a moment, before you sigh, and he grins again, “so?”

You roll over to grab your phone, kissing his lips, pulling up possible destinations, “where are we going?”

“Satoru, we’re at the office, uhmph—“ Satoru’s kissing you even before the elevator doors shut, and you can’t help but not care if anyone saw either of you making out, his talented tongue stealing your logic from under you, before he’s pulling away, your lipstick nearly smeared all over his face. You bite back a laugh, before using your thumb to wipe away the evidence of your kiss, “we’ve been here less than a minute, and you’re already making a mess,”

And his lips catch your thumb between them, kissing it sweetly, “What do I do better than make a mess of you, princess?” and he’s pressing sweet kisses to your fingertips, before you’re pulling him back for another kiss, right before you hear the elevator ding, and you scramble apart.

Your cheeks flushed, as you stepped onto the floor of the newly merged company that was formerly your families’ individual companies, now united as one — just as you and Satoru were now — which was why he couldn’t seem to keep his hands off of you. The two of you had come into the office to finalize the transition for your staff, each of you dealing with formalities on either side, but Satoru did little to help your focus on the process with his blatant stares and sneaky touches.

Twice already he had pulled you into his office, only to have you either pressed against his door, or bent over his desk. And god, you sat in your office, biting your lip as you thought about paying him another visit — and fuck, this is what he wanted.

You pull your phone out and text him: You suck.

And his reply is instant. If I recall from last night, you’re the one who sucks ;)

You’ve left me high and dry, Satoru, and I shouldn’t be thinking about fucking you in the office. Especially with both of our parents around in meetings all day.

He replies, Nah, that’s exactly why you should be thinking about it.

And then another text.

Imagine our parents walking in while you’re under my desk doing what you do best, you’d be quiet for me, Princess? Wouldn’t let us get caught when I fuck your pretty mouth?

You’re biting your lip — Fucker, I hate you.

Nah, you love me, a little too much, Princess. Another text — especially the way you were moaning my name last night.

And there’s a knock at your door in that moment — “Come in,” you intone, and you were ninety-nine percent sure that was Satoru — ready to make good on his promise — and then white hair visible as the door swings open, “Father,”

It was a Gojo, but not the one you expected — your father in law, instead of his son.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he says, lips curling in a smile that was all too the same as his son — but missing the same charm, the distinct softness that made you adore Satoru was not present in his father — nor was his father very present at all — except to chastise his son on how he thought his son should live his life.

And he was interrupting — interrupting you about to sext his son and your husband from the confines of your office, but you only offered a smile, “Not at all, can I help you with something, Father?”

He’s shutting the door behind him, before taking a seat across from you, “I just wanted to have a chat with you — it’s been so long since we’ve been able to see the two of you — we still haven’t had you over since you’ve returned from your honeymoon,”

“It’s been very busy,” and it had been, but not too busy to see Satoru’s family. Since the launch party, you and Satoru had agreed to steer clear of his father for some time, until Satoru could develop some more healthy boundaries with him. And so you could get through a conversation without strangling him (although Satoru wasn’t opposed to seeing that), “with the merger and Satoru and I trying to spend time to get know each other again,”

“Of course,” but his smile told you he was unconvinced, “I wanted to talk to you about something important, I’ve seen how close you and Satoru have gotten since the engagement and the wedding, and I was happy to see you pushing him in the right direction,”

“”Pushing him?’” you repeat, raising an eyebrow.

“With the merger, I haven’t seen him so focused, so determined, and I knew my suggestion to my wife to have you marry him was the right choice,” and you stare at him, mouth agape, as anger slowly melts from your stomach into every vein of his body, fingers curling into fists.

“Excuse me?”

He leans back in his chair, “When the idea of the merger was floated by me, I knew I wanted a condition to be your marriage to Satoru,” his eyes glance over the things on your desk — the stacked folders, the paperwork, and the pictures of your family and of Satoru, “you’re driven, you’re focused, you’re perfect — I knew you could change him, and I was right,” his lips curl, and you can’t hold your tongue anymore.

“Maybe what your son needed was someone to support him,” your words are even, but your body is tense, “he needed someone not to scold him, to put him down, to whisper doubts in his ear when he needed help,” you rise from your chair slowly, “I respect you as my father-in-law and as my family’s old friend and co-owner of this company, but,” you glare at him, “no one insults my husband’s capabilities, and makes me takes credit for his achievements,”

The old man’s teeth grit, and he opens to respond, when there’s a curt knock at the door, and Satoru enters, “Old man, how about you go chat with the other old farts in the room? Pretty sure you’re bleeding investors by the second the longer you talk with my wife,” he slides a small smile to you that tells you he heard everything.

Satoru’s father shoots a glare at both of you, before leaving the room in a huff, door shutting behind him, and you sigh, rubbing your temples, “I’m sorry if I made things worse—”

And he’s pulling you into a hug, arms snaking around your waist and pulling you against him, “Thank you, Princess,” he murmurs into your ear, making you tense, “oh you like that, huh?” and you roll your eyes, laughing.

“Even in a moment like this, huh?” you lean up and whisper in his ear, “I don’t just like it, I love it,” and it’s his turn to shiver, his cheeks burning, “you’re so cute,” you grin, before leaning up and kissing him. He melts into the kiss, his fingers cupping your cheek to deepen the kiss, pulling your waist against his, and you feel his arousal pressed against your thigh.

You pull away, tilting your head, you snort, “Already?”

And he bites his lip, “Take some responsibility, baby, it’s your fault,” and he leans down and grazes your ear with his teeth, “not my fault my hot wife defended my honor and then decided to whisper sweet nothings in my ear,”

You hum, guiding his lips to yours, your teeth graze over his bottom lip, “And how should I take responsibility, baby?” and he shudders, crystalline eyes glazed over with lust, “we’re in the office, not very professional,” his fingers unbutton your blouse, so he can lean down and kiss your collarbone.

“I was never very professional to begin with,” he smirks, his teeth grazing over the soft skin, sucking and biting, making you gasp, “don’t be so loud, someone will hear us, what will they think?” he murmurs, with a grin against your skin, as he continues to undo your blouse, as he turns you around so your back is against your chest, he tilts your head to look at your door, “look it’s unlocked, anyone could walk in,” and his fingers sneak down the front of your skirt, fingers teasing your panties, “fuuuck, princess, you’re soaked through — are you more turned on by the idea of getting caught?” and you whimper, only making him grin wickedly against your neck, “my filthy girl, imagine your father walking in, seeing your husband’s fingers down your skirt, legs spread wide like a slut,”

“Satoru,” you’re biting your lip so hard that you wouldn’t be surprised it would bleed, your knees buckling, as his fingers part your dripping folds, “we can’t—”

“We can,” he shushes you, guiding your lips to his, fingers cupping your throat, but he leans back to get confirmation that you were okay, and you lean in again to kiss him, “such a good girl,” You whimper, and he laughs, “gotta break in the new office don’t we?”

And his fingers slip your panties aside, two fingers parting your folds, and you gasp, as he stuffs two fingers into your mouth as well, “Not so loud, Princess, can’t give the office gossip mill something really juicy, now can we?” And his digits start to really fuck you, in and out, the wet squelch ringing in your ears, as his fingers bully and stretch your walls, until they find what they are looking for — your g-spot.

You fall apart, but it’s gushing all over his hand, soaking his hand, as your hand grasps at the fingers in his mouth trying to stifle your noises, “Fuck, Princess, did you just squirt for me?” He’s grinning, “such a sloppy little Princess, look you’re staining the carpet with your cum,” he guides your head to look, seeing the spot on the carpet, as you lean against him, “gotta do this again,”

He kisses you as you moan. Tangled limbs and eager touches, as you guide him over to the desk, as you settle him into the chair, lips still parting as your tongue slips in, “Your turn,” and before he can even react, you’re slipping down to your knees, unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants, slipping his aching dick out, nearly slapping your face with it, you drag it along your lips, “Like you said, I’m the one who sucks right?” you wink, before you finally lick the length of his cock, tracing the veins to the slit, “you always taste so good, Toru,” and he’s hissing now.

“Fuck, baby, you always so pretty on your knees for me,” and you have to disagree — he’s the one who looks pretty — shirt disheveled, chest rising and falling far too fast, as he looked down at you with his snowy white eyelashes half lidded with a lust ridden gaze — “your pretty mouth is s’fucking perfect, can’t wait to cum down that lovely throat,” he hisses, as his fingers dig into your scalp, urging his cock deeper, his tip brushing against your throat, making you gag.

He opens his mouth to apologize, but you only shake your head, as you do it again, making his hips buck against you, tip hitting your throat again, his composure quickly falling to shreds, as he’s fucking your throat now, biting his lip so hard to keep his groans in, you wouldn’t be surprised if he was bleeding afterwards.

“I-I’m close,” he’s gritting his teeth, but you only redouble your efforts, “so fuckin’ perfect, made to suck this dick—”

And that’s when there’s a knock on the door, making you both freeze. You panic silently — before Satoru is shepherding you under your desk, while he adjusts himself, scooting your chair in more, so his weeping cock is hidden along with you.

“Come in,” Satoru says, as even toned as someone who was just fucking their wife’s throat can manage, “Dad—what a nice surprise,”

And you cover your mouth — fuck it was your dad — Satoru called his dad, “old man” — what the fuck.

“I should be saying that to you son,” you bite your lip, listening to their conversation, “where’s my daughter? And why are you in her office?” and you covered your mouth, shit — you were hiding under your own desk, while Satoru sat in your chair.

Shit, shit, shit.

“I was just waiting for her to come back with lunch,” he manages, and you can almost see the dependable smile on his lips, “she volunteered to get us lunch and she told me to wait here so we could eat together,”

Your father was seemingly convinced after that, but to both of your dismay, sat down to speak with Satoru about business matters. You crouched, utterly bored as you listened to them talk, his erection beginning to wane, and you got an idea in your pretty little head — you grinned — well, Satoru should be careful what he wishes for, or he might just get you blowing him in front of your father.

You start slow — teasing the head with a brush of your fingers, easily could have been an accident, but it nearly makes him jump, as he gives a warning nudge with his foot gently. But then your hand begins to rub him in earnest, fingers using your spit as lube, as you heard your husband stammer over his words to your father. But it was nothing compared to when you closed your mouth over his cock, and began to deepthroat him again.

“Satoru, are you okay?’ you hear your father ask, as you discreetly suck your husband’s cock under his desk, and you can only imagine the delightful shade of red your Toru is turning.

“Sorry, I’m not feeling like myself,” he mumbles, as he grits his teeth in an attempt not to moan, and you can feel his thighs tense as he forces himself not to fuck your mouth as he wants to right now. He’s so close — as much as you like the idea of getting caught, you think Satoru likes it as much or maybe even more — his cock is twitching in your mouth as you suck and swirl your tongue around it, as your fingers dig into your thighs, “I apologize, I’m getting a call. Could you excuse me?”

And your father is oblivious, and excuses himself from the room, door shutting behind him, and Satoru groans, “Fuck, princess, you almost made me cum in front of your dad in this nasty fucking mouth,” and you suck harder, fingers fondling his balls, as his fingers find your locks again, and his hips jerk into your mouth, his white pubes tickling your nose, “thaaat’s it, fuck, so fuckin’ good, i’m close, sweetheart,” he groans, “you want me to cum—“ and you bury his cock deeper into your mouth as an answer, your hands pumping what you couldn’t fit, until he cums down your throat.

You meet his half lidded gaze, swallowing his cum, as you ease off his cock, a mix of cum and saliva connected your lips, “You taste so good,” you lick your lips, as you push the chair a little back and climb out, as you tug his boxers and pants back up, tucking his cock back in, “my favorite treat,”

He smiles, chest still rising and falling fast, “I love you, princess,” so genuinely as he pulls you into a deep kiss.

You giggle, humming against his lips, “So heartfelt after getting your soul sucked out of your dick,” you glance at the door, “do you think anyone heard us?”

He shrugs, as he pulls you into his lap, “I hope they did,” he grins against your neck, as you roll your eyes.

“You’re terrible,” and his lips curl.

“And you love me,” you kiss those same lips you would each day.

“I do.”

~~~~

“What do you wanna do today?” Satoru asks, your legs thrown over his lap, as you read a book you had picked up the other day out on a date with him, and he eats the kikufuku he had insisted on picking up the same day.

“Hmm, I have some ideas,” you hum, hiding your smile with a book, and you don’t need to see his face to know he’s grinning.

“And what’s that, Princess?” he leans forward, plucking the book from your fingers, as you tut at his sugar covered fingers, “shouldn’t you share your feelings with your husband?” And his lips brush against your neck, nose brushing against the soft skin of your nape, inhaling your scent.

“Well I have a surprise for you,” you weren’t planning on giving it to him now, but you pulled a wrapped box from behind the couch cushions, “should I make you wait?”

He’s reaching for the box already, as you laugh, and he’s snatching it from your fingers before you can tease him, “can I open it?” He was so eager, as always.

“Go ahead, baby,” you bite your lip, a small smile on your lips.

He lifts the lid of the wrapped box off, and the first thing his eyes flit across is the word “positive.”

His mouth parts, as he stares at the pregnancy test carefully nestled into the box, “is this—“ his cerulean eyes meet yours, a soft gaze with wonder, “are we—“

“We’re having a baby, Toru,” you nod, and he’s sweeping you into his arms, as you squeak, his body sweeping you up in his, as he buries his face in your neck, “Toru—“

“Is this real?” He murmurs, into your skin, all soft words and soft kisses, “I feel like I’m dreaming,”

“Well I am your dream girl, so maybe don’t be surprised when I pinch you and you wake up,” you pinch his cheek lightly, making his pale skin cutely flushed, pink dusting his cheeks, “no dream here, all real — so I guess you’re just lucky,”

“The luckiest,” he hums, a quiet noise that soothes you, “a beautiful wife, and now,” his fingers graze over your stomach, before lifting the hem of your shirt, to press his lips to it, “and now we’re going to be a family,”

Your lips curl, tilting his chin up so his watery gaze meets your own, thumb rubbing the length of his cheek, “We already were a family,

He raises his eyebrows in mock surprise, “I thought we were mortal enemies,” and you laugh, before shrugging.

“That too,” and he pulls you into his lap, smiling, “but you’re actually pretty cute,”

He gasps mockingly, “Princess, do you have a crush on me? A mere commoner?”

You roll your eyes, pressing a languid kiss to his lips, tasting the lingering sweetness of the kikufuku, “I hate you,” you say, when he knows you mean quite the opposite.

And he only smiles the same way he always did — and the same way he always would — “love you too, Princess."

✩ a/n: so this was also inspired by a character AI made by @/fairybaby that has been living in my mind rent free for far too long. thank you to @/laneymusings for being the best emotional support from writing to formatting to everything in between

✩ tag list: @ryliobrow, @getosho3cakes, @delaneyyyy, @soukokufan, @purplscnerie, @solarlunarsstuff, @growingupnrealizing, @forest-fruits-jam, @achipstea1ingseagull, @fruitscall, @starplasma-cujoh, @crashing-a-jeep, @mwah-chia, @vorschlaghannah, @xrysakts, @emonaculate

#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo fanfiction #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sab [mlist]#gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk au

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me-writes-prompts · 7 months

Text

:-“What are we?” Prompts-:

Cw: suggestive

By @me-writes-prompts

“Whatever you want us to be.”

“Good old pals who don’t want to admit their feelings for each other. That’s what we are.”

“Enemies. I mean, what else could we be?”

“Young and dumb.”

“Hmmm. You tell me.”

“Not this question again.”

“Coffee lovers.” “Lovers?”

“Work colleagues. What else?”

“Interesting. What exactly are we?”

“Childhood best friends.” “I mean, yes. But, what about something more?”

“Rivals, is my guess.”

“Two awkward nerds who can’t communicate about their feelings?”

“Whatever the fuck they call people that are not-yet-lovers-but-still-kiss-and-have-sex-sometimes. Friends with benefits, is it?”

“I mean…we’re friends, right?”

“Jeez, the last time you asked this question, we ended up arguing about it for hours.”

“Nah uh, we’re not going there today.”

“I know you’re not asking this question after we’ve been married for 7 years. Goodness.”

“Ummm, I don’t know. What do you think we are?”

“Idiots in love.”

“We are confused. That’s what we are right now, and that’s okay.”

“No, the right question is “what could we be?”

“We’re gay.”

1K notes · View notes

m1ckeyb3rry · 3 months

Text

── THE GLASS PRINCESS // ONE

Series Synopsis: You wake up in a strange room with no memories, broken glass at your bedside, and a prince named Zuko as your only chance at figuring out who you really are.

Chapter Synopsis: You meet Mai, Ty Lee, and Prince Zuko.

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Zuko x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 5.6k

Content Warnings: complicated relationships (strangers to friends to lovers to enemies to strangers to lovers to enemies to lovers), amnesia, alternate universe, lots of secrets and lying and mystery

A/N: this is my first ever attempt at writing for atla despite how long ago i watched it and how much i’ve written since then HAHAH. tbh i don’t expect much to come of it but oh well we’ll see how it goes!! also this is an alternate universe — the extent of which things have been changed will become more apparent as we go along. also apologies in advance if anyone is ooc, i haven’t watched atla in forever so idk if i’ll get it right!

There was a pile of glass on the nightstand when you woke up. It glimmered in the light, the fire refracting on the shards and forming tiny little rainbows on the wooden floor. Rusty streaks stained the faceted tips, though, and you winced as you tried to imagine how that quantity of blood could’ve made its way there.

“It’s yours,” a girl said. You startled, for you hadn’t noticed her presence, but it seemed like that had been her plan. She stood in the corner, her clothes a dull maroon, her hair glossy black and eyes a sharp, dark shade. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she regarded you, but her face was otherwise smooth, betraying nothing.

“Mine?” you said, voice cracking from disuse. “What do you mean? The — the blood?”

“And the glass,” she affirmed. “In some sense, anyways. Some of the pieces, we had to pull out of you, and others were apparently just lying around where you were found. At least, that’s what Zuko said. I’m still not quite sure why he went and collected it all to bring back, though…”

You squinted at the glass, trying to find some familiarity in it, but there was none. You had no idea why you would be surrounded by it, nor why it would be embedded in you. The girl waited for a second, but when you did not speak, she scoffed.

“Sorry,” you said automatically.

“We’ve been waiting for you to wake up for so long,” she said, an accusatory note entering her voice. “Zuko refuses to say anything, and it’s not like we can bully the crown prince himself into telling us what happened, so you’ve been our only chance at figuring everything out.”

“Oh,” you said, a migraine building behind your forehead as you tried to go through the events that had led to your presence here, in this austere room, on this plush mattress. “I — I don’t know.”

“You don’t know,” she repeated drearily. “Wow.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “I really don’t. I’m telling the truth.”

In fact, you were rapidly coming to the conclusion that you didn’t know anything. Your childhood, your family, your home…there was nothing. Where your memories ought to be was a bleak stretch like night, barely interrupted by flashes of blue. You reached for that blue, for that lovely shade like sapphire, but it was always just out of your grasp, something you could never quite touch no matter how much you wanted to.

“How about I tell you what I know, and we go from there?” she said. You nodded, though you were only half paying attention to her. The rest of you was fighting back a panic that threatened to twist your insides, a dread that was rotting through you, both sensations borne from the fear that you would never remember anything again.

“Prince Zuko was banished from the Fire Nation and told only to return once he found the Avatar,” she said. “He found him eventually, found him many times in fact, but he wasn’t able to capture him. It’s irrelevant, though — he did do something just as impossible. That is to say, he infiltrated Ba Sing Se.”

You thought that you were probably supposed to be awed by this, but considering you had zero idea what any of it meant, you just felt further confused. Still, you smiled at her, hoping she would keep talking until something or another made sense.

“Fire Lord Ozai couldn’t ignore the opportunity. He sent an army to the prince’s aid, and under his command, they managed to destroy the Earth Palace and depose the royal family. The Earth Kingdom’s in shambles, and all but the most secretive resistance efforts have vanished,” the girl, who had still not introduced herself, continued.

“I don’t see what this has to do with me,” you said, ducking your head.

“Neither do the rest of us,” she said. “That’s what you were supposed to know. For some reason, the fact is that upon returning from Ba Sing Se, the prince had your body in tow. You were wrapped in so many bandages we couldn’t tell what you were at first, and then we thought you must be closer to a corpse than anything, but he insisted you were alive, and that we had to heal you.”

“The prince himself did such a thing?” you said. Even you understood what the magnitude of that title meant, what kind of person a prince was bound to be. And if that was the case, if this mysterious Zuko really was the prince of an entire nation, then why would he have sullied his victory with care for the brutalized body of a random girl?

“He did,” the girl said. “It was the first thing he saw to. Not the reclamation of his crown, but that you were being treated with the best technologies the Fire Nation has to offer. Don’t you think it’s strange? Worthy of investigation? Don’t you agree that we should be curious about what significance you have?”

“Yes, um, naturally,” you said, taken aback by the rapid-fire line of questioning. Despite her initially bland facade, she was surprisingly intense, relentless, even, the stark contrast between the two personalities enough to make you curl inwards.

“Maybe he loves you,” she said, narrowing her eyes at you, inspecting you critically. “I suppose it’d certainly be an explanation, though it wouldn’t give us any clues about who you are or why he might love you in the first place.”

“I wouldn’t know,” you said, shifting in your seat uncomfortably. “I don’t even know my own name, let alone whether I was in love with someone.”

“Don’t even know your own name?” the girl said, raising her eyebrows. “You really are pathetic. I’m impressed.”

“I can’t remember anything specific about my life. I know general things, of course. The color of the sky. The way the moon looks. But the history of the world, my own existence…these are things I cannot recall,” you said.

She appraised you with the beginnings of something like sympathy flickering in her irises. Clenching her jaw and deciding upon something, she straightened her back and turned to the door.

“I should tell Zuko you’re awake,” she said. “That’s what he told us to do, the instant you regained consciousness. I’ve put it off long enough.”

“Wait!” you said. “What’s your name?”

She glanced at you over her shoulder. You blinked at her, willing her to understand — that before you could meet this prince, you had to know something. Even if it was only as small as this girl’s name, you wanted to have at least one thing in your head, a word or other such piece of knowledge that you could cling to, that you could form a barrier around your mind with.

“Mai,” she said. She did not elaborate before slamming the door shut behind her, but it was enough for you. There was this one constant now — you knew a girl, and her name was Mai.

As you waited for Mai to return with the prince, you busied yourself with inspecting the room you were quartered in. You had mistakenly called it austere due to the lack of decorations hung up, but now that you had the chance to look closely, you noticed that the wall itself was covered with intricate, swirling designs engraved by a firm, steady hand. The blanket that had been drawn up around your shoulders and was now puddled around your hips was made of silk and stuffed with feathers, and its quality was such that it all but shimmered. This was not the kind of room that just anybody stayed in; it was a room fit for someone of high rank. A lady. And a lady you were not, yet here you sat, in this room that made you feel entirely out of place.

Only a few minutes had passed before the door slammed open, but it was not Mai nor any sort of prince who entered. It was another girl, as bubbly and cheery as Mai had been cool and collected. She beamed when she saw you sitting up and looking around, bounding over to place her hands on your shoulders.

“Hi! Hi, hi, I’m so glad you’re awake!” she said. You tried to smile back at her, but the exuberance was so jarring that you could not do anything but brace yourself against it.

“Thank you,” you managed to say as she shook you. “Who are you?”

“Ty Lee!” she said. You noticed that she had a habit of ending every sentence with her voice ticking up in delight, like she was perpetually thrilled with the world. It was even more of a contrast to Mai than you had anticipated, and you felt your head spinning as you tried to keep up with the differences.

“Did I know you before?” you said. She cocked her head.

“Huh? No, I have no idea who you are, just like you have no idea who I am. You sure are pretty, though! Even prettier when you’re not all passed out,” she said, miming fainting before beaming at you expectantly. You tried to laugh, but it was an awkward sound, clearly unconvincing.

“The same to you,” you said. “Er. Obviously, aside from the part about passing out.”

“Obviously!” she said. “Now, just stay very still, okay?”

You froze in place immediately, wondering what she was going to do but trusting that it would not be anything harmful. Or, perhaps trusting wasn’t quite the right word for it — you just had no choice but to obey, because you had no other metric for what was correct. Whether Ty Lee wanted to help or harm you, you couldn’t know for sure, but either way she would do something, and since she was only the second person whose face you had seen, you had to let her do it.

She jabbed her pointer fingers into your neck, side, and wrists, all in a quick, precise succession. You waited for something to happen, but there was nothing, and when she raised her eyebrows at you, you could only furrow your own in a non-answer.

“Felt nothing?” she said. You nodded in the affirmative. “Interesting.”

“Was I supposed to?” you said.

“I dunno!” she said. “I guess we’ll see once the others get here.”

“What do the others have to do with it?” you said. At this, she winked and raised her fingers to her lips, as if you two were sharing some silly secret.

“If I tell you, then that’ll ruin things! We can discuss it later, but for now, you have to keep it to yourself, okay?” she said.

“Why?” you said. It wasn’t accusatory; you were genuinely curious.

“Let’s just say that certain parties would not be pleased if they found out what I was doing,” she said, giggling nervously and glancing at the door. “And those parties aren’t the kind you really want to offend, so please just keep your mouth shut!”

“Don’t want to offend? Who, like Prince Zuko?” you said.

Before Ty Lee could respond, there was a knock at the door. She scrambled away from you, so that she was standing in the same corner Mai had been in, looking demure and respectful. It was like she had never spoken to you in the first place, and when she had arranged herself suitably, she motioned towards the door.

“Me?” you said.

“Yes, you!” she said. “It’s your room, isn’t it?”

“I would hardly know,” you reminded her. She considered this before making a face in agreement.

“Right, there is that fact. Anyways, yes. This isn’t a hospital wing or anything, it’s your room, which means that when someone knocks, it’s up to you to tell them if they can come in or not,” she said.

“You didn’t knock,” you said. Ty Lee cleared her throat.

“Ah, well, I’m from a Fire Nation family! People of higher rank are allowed to do things like barging in on others,” she said. “I can’t tell you the amount of times Princess Azula has stormed into my room without warning.”

“I see,” you said, mostly because you didn’t know who Princess Azula was or why she merited mention. “This must be a servant or something, then, considering they’re knocking on even my door.”

“Probably,” Ty Lee said. There was another knock, louder this time, and you swore under your breath as you realized you had forgotten to answer them.

“Come in!” you said, folding your hands in your lap and looking over at the doorway, wondering who it could possibly be.

To your surprise, it was a boy. He was dressed in fine armor, his dark hair tied back in a regal topknot, his features angular and his eyes a sharp gold. His face was set in a frown, but when he saw you, you thought you picked up on the faintest trace of happiness. Almost immediately, though, it was quashed by a scowl, so that you could not be quite sure if you had actually seen it or if you had just been imagining things.

Behind him was Mai, looking as bored as she had earlier, though she seemed marginally more excited to see Ty Lee than she had been when you had woken up. You supposed they must’ve been friends or something.

“You should bow,” Mai said, directing the statement at you.

“No way!” the boy said immediately, waving his hands in dissent before you could even move. “I mean, ah, she doesn’t have to do that. It’s fine.”

“Woah! That’s crazy, Zuko, normally you’re all about honor and tradition and whatnot!” Ty Lee said. “It’s strange to hear something like that coming from you.”

So this was Prince Zuko, the boy who had, for some reason, saved your life. He was the only one who knew anything about your past. Your name, your identity, your origin…if you wanted to know any of these things, then your best chance at finding them stood before you, gazing at you with an inscrutable expression.

“Your royal highness,” you said, not bothering to get out of bed but dipping your head in what you hoped was a sign of respect anyways. He coughed awkwardly.

“Um. Yes,” he said.

“So,” Mai observed from the spot she had taken beside Ty Lee, “she’s awake now.”

“I see that,” Prince Zuko said. Mai rolled her eyes.

“Will you tell us who she is? Or why you insisted on saving her, maybe?” she said.

“Why don’t you ask her?” he said. “She’d know as well as I would. Maybe better.”

“I already tried,” Mai said. The prince’s scowl deepened, the corners of his mouth tugging further downwards at the offhand statement, his eyes flicking to you before returning to Mai.

“Of course you did,” he said. “And what did she say?”

“Nothing,” Mai said.

“She doesn’t remember anything,” Ty Lee said. “Not even her own name. You’re the only one left who can tell us anything about her.”

Something in Prince Zuko’s demeanor shifted at that moment. A despairing anger warred with resignation and defeat, but below the surface, some other emotion was hidden, kept locked tightly away, something that he was suppressing, so that no one could dare to even attempt to comprehend it.

“I see,” he said. “Is that the case?”

He was asking you. You did not look at him when you responded, focusing on the pile of glass still stacked on the nightstand.

“Yes,” you said. “Your royal highness. It’s the case.”

Prince Zuko considered this, and for a moment, there was an eerie silence in the room, as you all waited to hear what he would say. Who were you? Would he finally disclose it, or would you be further stranded in the darkness?

“Ursa,” he said finally.

“Your mother?” Mai said. He shook his head.

“No, not her. It’s — um, it’s her. Her name,” he said, jutting his chin in your direction.

“She has the same name as your mother,” Mai said flatly.

“Yes,” he said.

Ursa. That was your name. You didn’t feel some great reclamation of your identity upon hearing it; in fact, it meant nothing to you, except that at some point, people must have called you that.

“Is that why you saved her?” Ty Lee said. “Because she has the same name as your mother?”

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “That’s exactly why.”

“Really? We thought you might’ve been in love with her or something,” Mai said. “I guess this is in character enough, though.”

“How’d you find someone with a Fire Nation name in Ba Sing Se, though?” Ty Lee said. Prince Zuko gave her an irritated look; she only gazed at him innocently until he sighed and looked away.

“She had been taken prisoner on the front lines and brought to Ba Sing Se to be, er…tortured. For — for Fire Nation secrets,” he said.

“Why would they think an ordinary girl would have Fire Nation secrets?” Mai said.

“It’s not like Fire Nation citizens are easy to kidnap!” he snapped. “She might not know any vital information about the nation, but it was probably better than nothing!”

“Well, sorry for asking,” Mai said, rolling her eyes at him once again. It seemed her fuse was particularly shorter when it came to him, not that it had ever appeared to be particularly long to begin with.

“Do you think they got anything out of her?” Ty Lee said, in a not-so-subtle attempt to change the subject and break the tension. Prince Zuko pinched the bridge of his nose.

“It doesn’t matter, does it?” he said.

“I guess not. Not now that Ba Sing Se is ours and the rest of the Earth Kingdom has all but fallen,” Ty Lee said.

“Right. Even if they found out anything from her, it didn’t help them in the end,” he said.

“What should we do with her?” Ty Lee said. “Poor girl, she doesn’t even know her lefts from her rights!”

“Uh, I do know that much…” you interjected. Ty Lee paid you no mind, continuing to speak to Prince Zuko like you weren’t there.

“She can’t live in the palace like this forever!” she said. “But she’s like a blind little child, alone in the world. Where can she even go?”

Prince Zuko looked at you, and then he exhaled heavily. You swallowed, waiting for his judgment, knowing that he now held your life in his hands, wondering what he would decide, wondering what fate was in store for you. For Ursa. Since you both were one and the same, after all.

“Send her to the Royal Fire Academy for Girls. They’ll teach her what she needs to know to be a proper Fire Nation girl,” he said.

“She’s not a noblewoman, though,” Mai said.

“Do you think the headmistress will argue with me if I say I want her admitted?” Prince Zuko shot back, though there was a tinge of insecurity, a questioning undercurrent, like he really wasn’t sure if he would get away with it or not.

“Nope,” Ty Lee said. “But do you think she — Ursa — can handle it? I mean, we were there, right, Mai? You remember how it was.”

“It’s a tough environment,” Mai agreed. You could tell what she was thinking: what place did a girl who came to the palace covered in bandages and glass, in the arms of a once-banished prince, have in a royal academy? “She’ll be eaten alive there.”

“And what if someone challenges her to an Agni Kai?” Ty Lee said. “Do you think she could win that? Is she that good at bending?”

“She’s not a Firebender,” Prince Zuko said.

“Why was she on the front lines if she’s not even a Firebender?” Mai said before pausing. “Never mind. I don’t feel like listening to your dramatics when you explain. But, you know, she’ll struggle that much more without bending to protect her.”

Prince Zuko’s face settled into a pensive mask of thought before he lit up, brandishing his pointer finger as if he’d come up with the idea of the century. Mai did not look amused, though Ty Lee seemed fascinated by what he might say.

“Ty Lee! You ran away from school to join the circus, right?” he said. Ty Lee went from looking fascinated to nervous, but she nodded.

“Yes, but I’m back now, so I don’t know why you’re bringing that up,” she said.

“My sister doesn’t have any immediate need for you,” he said, eyes gleaming. “Maybe it’s time you finally finish your education for good.”

“You want me to go back to the Royal Fire Academy?” Ty Lee repeated. Prince Zuko nodded.

“Yes, that’s right. You can watch out for her,” he said, jabbing his pointer finger at you.

“What will Azula say?” Ty Lee said.

“It’ll be fine,” Mai said. “If she needs you, you can just take a vacation from school or something. It’s better that you do this than laze around the palace.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you said quietly, speaking up of your own volition for the first time. “To anyone. I’m just grateful that you saved me, Prince Zuko. The rest of it is unnecessary. You don’t need to force the royal academy to accept me, and you don’t need to make Ty Lee come just to watch out for me. It’s enough that I’m alive. I can make my own life from here.”

“You don’t know anything. How can you expect to make a new life when you don’t even remember the one you’ve had until this point?” he said.

“I suppose there might be some benefit to Ursa going to school,” Mai added. “As long as she can survive the academy, it’ll be good for her. She can get caught up on everything she doesn’t remember, and it’ll be in an environment where her classmates are the children of the Fire Nation elite, so she can make further connections with people in high places.”

“Maybe she can find someone who has a brother she can date!” Ty Lee said, swooning.

“No!” Prince Zuko said. You all gave him strange looks; when he noticed, he turned a red as bright as his garb. “It wouldn’t be proper. You know, since you’ll be attending in my name and all; if you date anyone, it’ll reflect on me. So you can only date the people I approve of.”

“Alright. If that’s what you think is best,” you said. The last thing you wanted was to make things difficult for the boy who had, by all accounts, saved your life.

“I do,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” Mai said from the corner. “You know, Ty Lee, this reminds me of when Azula took us to the zoo that one time.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess it does!” Ty Lee said, covering her mouth with her hand as she giggled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Prince Zuko said.

“Is there a zoo nearby?” you said. “I don’t remember ever going to one. I’d like to visit, if it’s possible.”

“I’ll take you!” Ty Lee said. “When we have a break from school and classes and all.”

“So you’ll go with her?” Prince Zuko said. Ty Lee huffed.

“I don’t really have much of a choice, do I? Besides, I’m sure Azula will be happy to hear I’m pursuing my education in my downtime instead of just doing nothing. And you know I’d do anything to make her happy!” she said before cartwheeling over to where you were still situated in your bed, throwing her arms around you affectionately. “We’re going to be classmates, Ursa!”

“I look forward to it,” you said genuinely. Ty Lee tapped you on the forehead.

“Me too!” she said.

“You are?” Mai said. “I don’t remember you ever liking the school, Ty Lee.”

“I don’t,” she said, abruptly wilting. “Everyone was so mean there. But my parents will probably be happy, and at least I’ll get to spend more time with Ursa! Maybe I’ll be the only one around when she regains her memories, and I’ll get to hear her story in her own words first.”

“For the sake of the prince’s mental wellbeing, let’s hope that’s not the case,” Mai said. Prince Zuko did not even respond, too busy inspecting the glass on your bedside to rise to the barb.

“Fine, then,” he said. “Make sure she’ll have everything she needs to attend the academy.”

“Which one of us was that pleasantly worded command directed towards?” Mai said.

“Whichever one of you has the time to do it, I guess,” he said. “This is the glass that came with her?”

“Yes. On the subject, why’d you go and collect so much of it? What a waste of time that must’ve been,” Mai said.

“I don’t know,” Prince Zuko said, sweeping the glass into the small bag lying on the ground by the nightstand. “I thought it might be important in healing her or something. I mean, you know, how could the healers understand what they were pulling out of her unless they saw it?”

Mai did not seem to believe him, but to your surprise, she did not question him further on the topic, only nodding. Maybe she respected him just a bit more than you had thought, though considering your original hypothesis had not exactly been favorable for the prince, this didn’t mean much.

“Where are you taking that?” she said instead, motioning towards the bag. “To dispose of it?”

“Yeah,” Prince Zuko said. “I’ll have it taken to the incinerator.”

You felt a twinge in your stomach. “Do you have to?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” he said.

“That glass is my only link to who I was before. Even if it was a bad memory, at least that memory was mine,” you explained. “I — I know it’s strange, but I feel like if you destroy it, you’ll destroy me, in some sense.”

“Ursa…” Ty Lee said, helplessly sympathetic, grasping your hands in her own. “It’s just glass. It can’t tell you anything about yourself, besides the fact that you were hurt during the fall of Ba Sing Se.”

“Your royal highness,” you beseeched Prince Zuko, who shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably at the title. “I know you have already done so much for me, so it is in bad taste for me to ask you for another favor, but please do not send that glass to be burnt away. Please save it. At least until I remember why it was there in the first place.”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. “It’s waste material. Nothing good will come of you keeping it. Nothing at all will.”

“I just—” you began before breaking off. “Never mind. I’m sorry for asking.”

“Zuko, maybe you should just do it,” Mai said.

“Leave it, Mai,” Ty Lee said. “He’s made up his mind. Even we can’t change it once he’s like this.”

Both of them looked at him, but he only picked up the bag and tucked it under his arm.

“I’m leaving now,” he said. “Don’t come after me.”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving you alone in the room with Mai and Ty Lee. Both of them seemed sorry, and actually, unlike what you had expected, Mai was the first to speak up.

“I’m sorry, Ursa,” she said. “He’s always been the temperamental sort.”

“It’s okay,” you said, still unused to being referred to as Ursa, even if it was the name you had supposedly bore for your entire life. “He and Ty Lee are right, after all. It’s just glass. Trash. What use could I really derive from something like that? If that’s all that’s left of my old life, then maybe I’m better off not remembering at all.”

“You don’t really believe that,” Mai said. “But if it makes you feel better, we won’t argue, right, Ty Lee?”

“Hm? No, we won’t,” Ty Lee said.

“What’s gotten you all distracted?” Mai said. Ty Lee shook her head.

“It’s nothing. By the way, can you help me pack for the academy? I’m worried I’ll forget something,” she said.

“That, or you want me to do it all for you,” Mai said.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that!” Ty Lee said.

“I’m just joking,” Mai said, but since her voice remained that same steady deadpan, it was hard to tell. “Yes, I’ll help you, and I’ll get things ready for Ursa, too. That way she can leave as soon as Zuko gets her admitted into the academy. Let’s be honest — the sooner she can get out of here, the better.”

“That’s true,” Ty Lee said, though when she noticed your downcast expression, she rushed to reassure you. “Don’t feel bad!”

“It’s not a problem. I understand; you’ve already wasted so much time and so many resources on taking care of me. It’s only logical that you’d want me gone,” you said.

“It’s not like that,” Mai said. “There’s just people in this palace that you’d be better off never meeting. It’ll be good if you can get out before you have that displeasure. That’s all.”

“I see,” you said. “Then thank you once again for doing your best to look out for me.”

“We’ll leave you alone for a bit,” she said. “I’m sure this has all been a lot to process, so it’ll be good for you to come to terms with it on your own time.”

“Bye, Ursa! See you soon!” Ty Lee said.

“Bye,” you said, though your farewell was lacking much of her cheer. Even if Mai was right, you didn’t really want to sit alone. You had nothing to think about or do in the solitude, so what good would you gain from it? But you could hardly beg them to stay, not when you did not know them and they did not know you, so you only watched as they left you sitting by yourself in silence.

It was only when the moon was high in the sky that your door creaked open once more. You were still awake — you had been having trouble getting to sleep, so you had tentatively begun to walk around your room, testing your legs, familiarizing yourself with the motions of walking once more. When you heard footsteps, though, you immediately grew still, hoping that the visitor would be someone you recognized and not someone with more nefarious intentions.

You had been expecting, or perhaps hoping, that it would be Mai or Ty Lee, but to your surprise, it was Prince Zuko. He was not wearing armor, and his hair was loose and messy around his face, but there was no doubt that it was him.

“How much do you really remember?” he said without formality or even a greeting. “Hey. Tell me the truth, at least.”

“What do you mean?” you said. He crossed his arms over his chest.

“I mean, have you really forgotten everything?” he said.

“Yes,” you said. “There’s nothing but a vast darkness whenever I try to look back at the time before I woke up here. I don’t remember a single thing about myself. I didn’t even know my name until you said it.”

He cocked his head at you, trying to discern if you were being truthful, and eventually he must’ve come to some conclusion, because he just buried his face in his hands.

“Okay,” he said.

“Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?” you said.

“It depends on who you’re asking,” he said. “And if you’re telling the truth.”

“I am!” you said.

“I believe you,” he said.

“Well…” you said. “There is one thing. Sometimes, in between the darkness, I’ll see something blue. I don’t know what it might represent, but I know that it’s there. It’s the only other thing I can recall — that precise shade like jewel-paint.”

“That could be anything,” he said.

“Yes, I know that,” you said. “That’s why I wouldn’t have even mentioned it ordinarily. Maybe something important to me was that color, or maybe there was just a blue tapestry on the wall where I was injured. There’s no concrete explanation, but I wanted you to know the full truth.”

“So that’s it, then,” he said.

“I suppose it is. On another subject, do you really mean to have me attend the Royal Fire Academy for Girls?” you said.

“You’ve already been accepted,” he said. “You’ll go. It’ll be alright.”

“Mai and Ty Lee didn’t seem to think so,” you said.

“You’re stronger than both of them, by far,” he said. “If they survived, you will, too.”

“Yet I’m the one that was captured,” you reminded him. “I don’t see how that makes me the stronger between us.”

A ghost of a smile flashed over his face. “You may not believe it, but at least to me, you are.”

“Did you know me very well, then, to be saying that with such confidence?” you said. “Before you found me that day? Were — were we friends?”

You didn’t want to say anything else, for it seemed presumptuous, but friends was close enough to what you were really asking that you figured the prince would understand.

It seemed that he did, but he did not appreciate the implication, for his face closed off and his posture grew withdrawn. Turning away from you, he pursed his lips.

“No,” he said. “We weren’t anything. You didn’t know me, and I didn’t know you. I only saved you because — because you and my mother share a name. That’s all.”

“It’s strange,” you said. “That name doesn’t even feel like it’s my own. Is it the amnesia that causes such a phenomenon?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But you shouldn’t overthink it. Have fun at the Royal Fire Academy, Ursa. I’ll give you a messenger hawk; write to me frequently. And — and if you remember anything…”

“If I remember anything?” you prodded.

“Tell me first,” he said. “Not Ty Lee. Not anyone else. Me.”

#zuko x reader #zuko x y/n #zuko x you #zuko #avatar the last airbender #atla #reader insert #the glass princess #canon au #m1ckeyb3rry writes

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jungkookschin · 2 months

Text

demigod trials: icarus falls | three

synopsis: you met jungkook at camp half-blood when you were 10 years old. since then, your fates have been infinitely intertwined.

word count: 7k

pairing: son of ares!jungkook x daughter of hephaestus!reader

genre: camp half blood au, percy jackson au, demigod au, childhood friends to lovers, exes to lovers , enemies to lovers, jungkook is sooo in love

warnings: multiple mentions of deaths, dangerous quests, QUESTS TO TARTARUS, violence, killing, monsters, ANGST, this chapter is fluffy tho, nct mark as a son of hephaestus, enhypen jungwon as son of ares, broken friendships

demigod trials masterlist

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter 3.5 | chapter four

With a gulp, Jennie addresses the assembly through the microphone. “Hades, my father, has lost his reign over the Underworld. The primordial god Tartarus has plunged the Underworld into chaos and is plotting to ascend to the surface, aiming to annihilate both demigods and gods.”

Her gaze shifts towards you and Jungkook. "He has somehow taken control of my body, sending me vivid and disturbing dreams. He's furious and demands a sacrifice – a sacrifice of the demigods who once intruded into Tartarus six years ago. If we don't comply, he threatens to rise to Earth through the surface of Camp Jupiter, annihilating Camp Jupiter completely upon his return."

Every single eye in the room flickers towards you and Jungkook.

At that moment, incomprehensible dread permeates your system. Like a broken cassette player, memories of your little vacation to Tartarus rewind in your head: drinking from the river of fire, the child eating demon Lamia, Damasen the friendly giant, and so much sheer terror you wouldn’t have survived without Jungkook’s protection.

However, the anxiety, the dread- it’s bearable.

Your window of tolerance has extended to Mount Olympus after narrowly escaping the clutches of death multiple times.

“So what?” Jungkook responds, “You gathered the whole assembly here to announce that you’re sacrificing Y/N and I? A heads up would’ve been nice,” His features are hardened, and the glare he sends Mina and Mingyu, the Praetors of the Roman Legion, is terrifying, resembling his father Ares.

“Jungkook,” Mina seethes, “Do you know how many people live here in Camp Jupiter? There are thousands of children, elderly, and innocent people who live on these grounds. We must publicize the threat and ensure that it is taken care of, for the safety of the camp.”

“And how do you think Camp Half-Blood will feel?” Namjoon intervenes, “You think they’re going to be happy that you sacrificed two of their head counselors? I guarantee you. You don’t want to fuck with us.”

Mina narrows her eyes at Namjoon. “Is that a threat?”

“It’s a warning,” Taehyung immediately steps in, rigidly serious aura clouding his eyes, “We’re not letting you touch Y/N or Jungkook. Camp Half-Blood will go to war over this.”

“Okay everyone chill,” Mingyu arbitrates, his booming voice echoing off the walls, “If there’s a way we can resolve this without sacrificing Y/N and Jungkook, we’ll take that way. 1000%. That’s why we’ve gathered: to discuss.”

Eunwoo, son of the Roman god Mars, clears his throat. “My wife is pregnant. We need to do everything we can to negate this threat. Look, I’m not comfortable putting lives on the line so what about evacuation? We can evacuate the entire city and rebuild somewhere else.”

“No,” Jennie cuts in, a tremor running through her body. “He’ll follow us- wherever we go- he’ll ascend to the surface and kill us all.”

Mina tilts her head, “Any other ideas?”

“Oh fuck you,” Rose scoffs, “You’ve lost yourself. Completely. Being Praetor doesn’t mean rejecting all your morals. You called an entire assembly here to announce you were going to kill two of your best friends? You sure Venus is your parent and not Narcissus?” Rose cocks her head to the left, raising her eyebrows in anticipation for Mina’s response.

“You-”

Mina doesn’t get a word in because Jennie’s body falls onto the concrete with a thud. Immediately, her eyes and mouth emit a red glow. The glow rapidly intensifies, transforming into a blazing red glow from her eyes and mouth.

Like a possessed spirit she ascends into the air and to middle of the Senate House. Her mouth begins to move, and Tartarus himself begins speaking through Jennie.

“Demigods, behold," the resounding voice sends shivers down your spine.

"I have at last arisen from my slumber, seizing dominion over the Underworld," an ominous cackle reverberates through the walls. "The offspring of Hades have been severely weakened, now feeble and enfeebled. You are next. Offer the children of Ares and Hephaestus, who dared encroach upon my realm, as sacrifices, and I shall spare your lives, permitting you to become my slaves after I claim dominion over the world. Refuse, and face your demise."

The red glow disappears from Jennie’s face and she plummets back to the ground before Mingyu catches her.

Mina’s features harden. “Jungkook, Y/N! You have the rest of the day to bid goodbye to your families and friends. At midnight, we will personally arrest you to prepare a sacrifice to Tartarus. That is the best we can do for now. Meeting dismissed!” She roars, before marching out the Senate House.

Mingyu shoots you an empathetic look before following Mina’s lead.

Annd to think, you didn’t get one word in before it was decided that you were to be thrown on the altar as a sacrifice.

Immediately proceeding the meeting, you take the portal from Camp Jupiter to Camp Half-Blood.

You, Taehyung, Namjoon, Rose, and Jungkook skirt through the sides of strawberry fields, past the pegasi stables, until you reach the cabins. The sun sets beyond the horizon and the sky is arrayed with hues of purple, orange, and pink.

Your fingers are intertwined with Rose’s, and she is seething in disdain over Mina’s behavior. You’re the one who wields fire manipulation, but you’re a little scared she’ll burst into flames.

“Gods, when did she turn into such a bitch?” Rose seethes, squeezing your hand hard enough for your bones to crack.

“Rosie, it’s okay,” you offer, “I died once. Who cares if I die again, right?”

At that, the three men in front of you stop in their tracks, whirling around to blink at you incredulously.

“Y/N, you’re not funny,” Taehyung frowns.

“I’m not trying to be funny,” you deadpan in return, “Isn’t it true? It’s not like I’m going to the Fields of Punishment. I’ll be in Elysium and we’ll eventually reunite there-“

“Okay,” Jungkook intervenes, “Then kill yourself right now.”

“What-“

“If your life doesn’t matter, then kill yourself right now,” Jungkook repeats, unsheathing his Celestial Bronze knife- the very knife you forged when you were ten- before offering it to you.

You remain still, and Jungkook re-sheathes his knife. “Exactly.” His voice is stern, but delicately infused with the right amount of warmth. “Y/N, there are people who love you. There are people who need you here, so don’t take your life so lightly. Okay?” His features soften and he turns back around, “Now let’s head to the Hades cabin.”

Jungkook surges forward and Rosie has to tug you in his direction to get your feet moving.

She side eyes you, verbal communication not necessary when her eyes tell all, full of pure skepticism. You shake your head, following Jungkook’s lead towards the Hades cabin.

Upon arrival, Namjoon knocks on the door to no avail. The Hades cabin has an eerie and somber appearance, constructed completely from dark stone. Skulls adorn the door frame, and an even larger skull embellishes the cabin above the entrance.

After its initial construction, the cabin’s somber presence sent chills down your spine. Now, everyone seems largely unfazed as Namjoon persistently bangs on the entrance, impervious to its eerie aura.

“Okay, fuck it,” Namjoon grumbles before kicking down the door. You and Rosie yelp, flinching at the thud before entering the cabin.

To your surprise, an eerie emptiness greets you — not a single soul is there.

The cabin’s interior directly mirrors its exterior. It’s characterized by dim lighting, dark décor, and symbols associated with the Underworld.

While the Hades cabin is one of the least populated cabins in Camp Half-Blood, it’s unusual for none of the members to be present.

The five of you conduct a thorough investigation of the cabin, flipping over mattresses, looking under shelves- just to realize that there are no traces of anybody ever living in it. It’s like a ghost cabin.

You repeat the process with the 18+ Hades cabin to no avail. Both cabins are completely inhabited.

Taehyung settles on one of the mattresses and rests his head in his hands. “Fuck guys- these are kids we’re talking about- where did they go?”

As far as you know, there are only six kids in the Hades cabin: two in the 18+ cabin and four in the cabin for minors. Jennie and Soobin are the only adults, whereas Hyein, Ni-ki, Danielle, and Ricky inhabit the cabin for minors.

Tartarus said it himself: “The offspring of Hades have been severely weakened, now feeble and enfeebled”

Where could they possibly be? Without a shred of doubt, you know that there must be a quest: a quest to locate the children of Hades. Jennie’s current state- deteriorating weakness that rendered her unable to stand or exist without exasperating herself- was already a bad sign.

It hurts to think about what may have happened to the others.

The five of you exchange ominous looks before breaking to the Big House to discuss the present situation with Chiron.

“Chiron,” Taehyung cuts in, “Mina and Mingyu didn’t have any qualms about sacrificing Y/N and Jungkook. I think that’s enough to cut ties.”

You shrug, “I don’t know. Mingyu looked like he kinda felt bad.”

All eyes in the room flicker towards you incredulously. “Y/N. This is serious,” Namjoon scolds. “We lost you once and we’re not about to lose you again. Chiron, we must employ every defense mechanism to keep Y/N and Jungkook safe,” he implores.

“What matters more is finding those kids!” Rose interrupts, “How old is Hyein? She’s like 13. It’s our responsibility as older demigods to look out for them. We have to do whatever we can to find them.”

“Even if that means sacrificing Y/N and Jungkook?” Taehyung questions, “We have to find the sweet spot: saving the kids, preserving Camp Jupiter, and keeping Jungkook and Y/N safe,” he enunciates.

“Which is why we need to employ defense mechanisms,” Namjoon argues, “to at least buy us time so we can figure out where the Hades kids are. Then we can spring into action.”

“But that’ll just lead us to war,” you argue, “For the first time in a millenia, the Greeks and Romans have peaceful relations. We can’t do anything to jeopardize that-”

“Yea, well I care about you more,” Taehyung intercedes, “I care about you more than the Romans and more than the Hades kids, so I choose you. Fuck everybody else,” he shrugs, and you meet eyes with Namjoon, turning red at Taehyung’s words.

Greek heroes were known to have fatal flaws: a fundamental imperfection , vulnerability, or moral weakness that, despite the hero’s strength, ultimately contributed to their tragic fate. Jungkook already confessed to you that his fatal flaw is love.

With Taehyung, you already knew. His fatal flaw is his blind loyalty to his friends. He’d watch the world burn if it meant keeping his friends safe.

“While the chivalry is appreciated,” Chiron adds, “It is imperative to do the right thing, objectively. Ask yourself, is it moral to declare war on the Romans? Is it moral to abandon the children of Hades? Is it moral to sacrifice Y/N and Jungkook? Child of Apollo, what do you think? You are of Roman descent and are able to offer a unique perspective.”

All eyes flicker towards Rose, who accepts the challenge. “We can’t declare war on the Romans,” she argues, “Y/N is right. We all know what happens when Greeks and Romans go to war. People will die and the world will probably go up in flames. But that doesn’t mean we can’t trick the Romans,” a mischievous smile creeps onto her face and she bites her lip.

Jungkook speaks up. “I have a plan.”

You tilt your head at Jungkook. His features are hardened- rigidly serious at the prospect of what could be going on.

His brows are furrowed in angry little Nike swooshes and all you wanna do is run your thumb over his brow to ease its arch.

He turns his head to you, his right hand man, and his features soften, like he’s signaling to you that everything will be okay.

WIth a deep breath, he explains the plan definitively. The way he speaks, the way he commands the attention and obedience of everyone in the room makes it seem like you don’t have a choice but to follow this plan.

At that moment, Jungkook’s little brother Jungwon and your little brother Mark step into the Big House.

Within the past year, Jungwon seems to have skyrocketed in height. He looks so big, for lack of a better word- nearly the same stature and height as Jungkook.

Mark grins at you, his cute features beaming with a sense of readiness- to accept any and every challenge. “Hey sis, welcome back. How was Olympus?”

He envelopes you in a hug, and as happy as you are to see your brother, you can’t help but eye him with a hint of skepticism.

Suddenly you connect the dots and your face falls. “No,” you express grimly.

“Yes,” Jungwon cheekily responds, throwing an arm around you.

The kid is lightyears taller than you now, and you hate it.

What Jungkook proposed- you also hate it. It’s the worst plan in the history of the universe and you want to sew his pretty lips shut so he’ll never speak again.

Jungkook’s plan involves offering a sacrifice to Tartarus- and it won’t be either you or Jungkook.

He professes to sacrifice decoys- and at first you’re on board because you’re confident that you can engineer mechanical versions of yourselves- but when Mark and Jungwon make their entrance, the gears in your brain begin churning.

“Does it make sense for us to send our siblings as sacrifices? We ourselves might as well go to Tartarus. What difference does it make?” you argue, frowning deeply and glaring spathas into Jungkook’s face.

When it comes to you, Jungkook’s mind always automatically masks your anger in a dewy haze. All he sees is a pretty girl pouting at him, and he has to choke a smirk back so you don’t actually stab him with a spatha.

Jungwon smirks, “It makes all the difference. We all know that you and my brother are the best duo Camp Half-Blood’s seen. We need you to figure shit out while Mark and I distract Tartarus.”

Your jaw drops. There was no way the sweet, kind, polite Jungwon just cursed in front of Chiron.

You whip your head towards Mark. “I don’t feel comfortable with that,” you state, “I’m not sacrificing my little brother so I can be free. That’s pure cowardice.”

Mark shakes his head.

“It’s not,” he declares, “I wouldn’t be willing to sacrifice myself like this if I wasn’t capable of being a good distraction.”

With that, he fishes for something in his pocket before pulling out a remote. He presses a bright red button, causing mechanical wings to erect from his backpack as Mark starts flying around the Big House.

“See? I’m a pretty good distraction! And I’ve got plenty of tricks up my sleeve!” he grins.

Jungwon points to a flying Mark before shrugging smugly. “So Y/N, what do you think?”

“Guys, this isn’t a fucking joke,” you scold, turning more rigid by the second. “Tartarus.. it’s a horrifying place. And quite frankly, I don’t think either of you are capable of surviving his domain.”

Mark lands on the ground next to Jungwon, expression now shrouded with concern.

“Y/N,” Mark argues, “We’re prepared,” he claims.

“Since you came back from the dead- like Jesus or something- I’ve been studying your journals on Tartarus, and Y/N, we’re prepared. Jungwon is the strongest warrior of our generation- he and I are a good team. We can do it,” he finishes his declaration with a sweet smile, but you still shake your head.

“Y/N, what did you say to me when you first handed me this sword?” Jungwon asks, partially unsheathing Cataclysm. “You said I was the only demigod from my generation you deemed capable of wielding an enchanted weapon- and didn’t I prove myself? I soul linked with my weapon in days and slaughtered so many giants with this baby,” he animatedly offers, patting the scabbard of his sword.

You soften a bit but still shake your head.

“I just- look- I-” you trail off, rubbing your bicep as you shift your gaze apprehensively, “I strongly believe that Jungkook and I only survived Tartarus for a single reason,” you inhale deeply, momentarily shifting your gaze towards Jungkook who is observing you with furrowed brows. You inhale. “Love.”

“If he didn’t love me or if I didn’t love him, I really don’t think we would have made it,” you elaborate, “I mean- Tartarus sucks the soul out of you.”

You redirect your gaze towards Jungkook, whose jaw is clenched whilst he leans against the ping pong table. “Jungkook… what do you think?”

Your declaration is bold, and you can’t help but think you might be crossing the line- but it’s true. Simply being in Tartarus drains one’s celestial energy, and the only reason you and Jungkook survived was because you desperately wanted the other to live.

“You’re right,” he offers, lifting his gaze from the ground. “But that’s the thing: we were the first to do it and now we can share our knowledge with the next generation- so they can do it without love,” he explains, motioning towards Mark and Jungon.

“You and I, we need to figure things out above Tartarus. And we can only do that with love,” he smiles, and it sparks a flint hope within your system. You soften infinitely at his proclamation.

He looks at you with soft eyes, their warmth mirrored in the tender curve of his lips. In that moment, it feels as if the fates have conspired to weave this moment into their tapestries. The outside seems to fade into the background, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

“Besides,” Taehyung cuts in, “It’s not like these two don’t have a bromance going on, right?” At that, Jungwon and Mark fist bump each other.

Namjoon intervenes, pushing up his glasses. “Y/N, this plan makes sense. Jungwon and Jungkook emit the same energy. So do you and Mark. We can fool Tartarus with this,” he claims.

“I just- I don’t know I feel comfortable with sending my little brothers down there,” you sigh, rubbing your biceps like you can still feel Cheimarrhus’s frigid winds freezing you to the death..

“Oh? Am I a little brother too?” Jungwon teases, pulling you in for a side hug.

“We’ll be alright, sis. We can handle it. Just worry about figuring out how we’re going to kill another primordial god,” Mark offers, tweaking with the little remote in his hands.

Jungwon and Mark are like sunshine, and suddenly you’re warm.

“Okay.. fine,” you acquiesce “But that doesn’t mean that suddenly you look exactly like me,” you point out, “I mean- Jungkook and Jungwon look kinda similar, but Mina will know that it’s clearly not me,” you state, gesturing towards Mark.

Rose smiles, stepping in. Between her palms, specks of magical energy whirl from her fingertips, emitting a celestial pink glow.

So as it turns out, Rose has developed the ability to alter the Mist.

Mist is a magical veil that conceals the true nature of the world from mortal eyes. It is a form of magical manipulation that alters the perception of regular humans, making them see things differently from what they truly are.

A minotaur wreaking havoc downtown? The mortals will see a wild giraffe on the loose.

That’s the power of the Mist- and sometimes, if the wielder is powerful enough, it can coerce gods and demigods into perceiving illusions rather than reality.

And that’s what exactly Rose does. With a snap of her fingers, Mark and Jungwon turn into identical replications of you and Jungkook, perfectly resembling your features, statures, and movements.

The transformation is uncanny, making it nearly impossible to distinguish Mark and Jungwon from you and Jungkook

“Hi?” Mark giggles (mocking you), twirling a strand of hair around his pointer finger.

You blink at your brother Mark, who looks and sounds exactly like you. It’s like looking in a mirror.

Taehyung shakes his head. “No, you gotta do more of a-“ He pouts his lips into a duck face, theatrically tucking a strand of hair behind his hair.

You smack his arm before you hear Jugkook’s voice.

“That’s fucking crazy,” Jungkook murmurs in awe.

Jungwon and Jungkook stand side by side, and it’s like there’s a pair of identical twins standing together.

“Okay, now practice trying to be them,” Rose muses, and after a brief moment of silence, Mark and Jungwon pull out all the acting cards.

“Oh, Jungkook, kiss me!” Mark mocks in a high pitched voice (which wasn’t necessary because he already adopted your voice), facing Jungwon and jumping on him.

“Oh Y/N!” Jungwon mocks back, making his voice obnoxiously deep and baritone. “I still love you! I’m just too emotionally constipated to express my feelings!”

After pretending to make out with each other, Mark (you) pulls himself from Jungwon (Jungkook). He clears his throat.

“And scene.”

“That was perfect!” Rose squeals, clapping her hands as she jumps up and down in excitement.

Jungkook smiles to himself, shaking his head in disbelief while he rubs his palms over his face- but you certainly don’t miss the way his ears turn red.

You feel the same way, unable to control the crimson spreading through your cheeks.

After establishing that Mark and Jungwon would be sacrificed to Tartarus as decoys, you gather everyone at the 18+ Hephaestus cabin for further preparations.

As the cabin doors gracefully slide open, Mark steps inside, greeted by the hum of machinery. The automated system, recognizing him through a full-body scan, seamlessly grants access to the demigod.

The Hephaestus cabin is reminiscent of a palace, where celestial bronze embellishes every architectural detail, providing extra protection against monsters.Each room is the epitome of celestial innovation, featuring amenities catering to yours and Mark’s individual preferences.

The training arena, for example, has a chamber of fire, adjustable at temperatures above 300 degrees.

You sometimes just sit in there and build up your immunity to heat. It’s like your personal sauna.

You and your friends whiz past the lounge/entertainment area, which is equipped with the comfiest red sofa that can morph into a loveseat, lounge chair, or bed.

With a scan of your finger, a 127-inch flat screen TV can unfold from the walls, running entirely on celestial wi-fi.If you or Mark weren’t in the mood to watch TV, the holographic displays can project immersive gaming environments that respond to the player’s movements and actions.

Your robot on wheels, Reginald, whirs past your friends, holding champagne and water on a tray.

Taehyung and Namjoon stare at Reginald in awe, eyes following him as he rolls around and occasionally tidies up the cabin.

“Would you care for a drink?” Reginald asks, to which Jungkook (Jungwon), attempts to grab a glass of champagne.

You swat his hand. “Jungwon! You’re not of age.”

“How’d you know it was me and not Jungkook?” Jungwon questions in return.

You purse your lips, not answering his question. You know Jungkook so well that you can just tell- but some things don’t need to be verbally expressed.

“So when I asked for a pool in my cabin, you bitched about it for weeks-“ Taehyung begins.

Namjoon continues looking around the cabin. “Gods, this is crazy. Leave it to you guys to make your two-person cabin the most luxurious in camp.”

Mark shrugs, “It’s what we deserve after building all your cabins.”

It’s so weird watching Mark talk. He looks and talks exactly like you. A smile graces your lips as you walk past the arcade room, moving on to scan your finger on a fingerprint sensor.

The bookshelf rotates 180 degrees, unveiling an elevator as it completes a full 360-degree turn.

"Come on in, everyone," you invite, pressing the down button on the elevator.

As the elevator descends, the sound of muzak plays through space. Namjoon shoots you a glance that seems to question the necessity of the muzak. You shrug.

The elevator doors part, revealing Bunker 9, a secretive location known only to you and Mark.

Upon entry, dim lighting unveils a colossal workshop adorned with celestial bronze schematics and intricate blueprints. Automated crafting stations hum with activity, surrounded by shelves of rare materials and celestial artifacts.

Holographic displays flicker to life, projecting encrypted messages and strategic maps. The bunker features a secure communication hub, allowing demigods to coordinate covert missions and exchange vital information without detection.

“Welcome to Bunker 9,” Mark muses.

“Gods,” Rose expresses with awe, “Do you guys even need all this space? This place is huge.”

Mark shrugs, “Yea, but here’s where we do all our top secret Hephaestus kid work. We need space.”

From the end of the bunker, a mechanical murmur fills the air.

"Pulchra!" you exclaim joyfully, hurrying over to affectionately nuzzle your forehead against your mechanical dragon. She responds with a comforting purr, clearly missing you during your year on Mount Olympus.

Jungkook joins in, offering the dragon a warm hug as she continues to purr and emit contented mewls. “How’ve you been girl?” Jungkook teases, to which Pulchra mewls affectionately.

Namjoon toys with a gaming controller directly connected to a holographic display of Camp Half-Blood. Mark approaches him from behind.

"This," Mark explains, "controls a simulation for various emergency scenarios. Chimera attacks, minotaur invasions, even war with a god— it replicates the emergency plans we'd need to implement."

As Namjoon maneuvers the controller, the holographic display responds in real-time, projecting dynamic scenarios that demand strategic thinking and swift decision-making. “You guys should have called me down here years ago,” he expresses, “We could have accomplished so much together.”

In the lull that follows, you delve into an industrial cabinet, rummaging for something before retrieving two rings.

Hurrying to join the rest of the crew, you share, "These rings are equipped with sensors— not ordinary ones. They use a new prototype technology Mark and I are working on,” you exchange a somewhat embarrassed glance with Mark before continuing.

“We call it WhisperTech. They'll capture every sound in your vicinity and transmit it to us in text format. The rings use a discreet audio-sensing system that captures and transmits environmental sounds in text form while monitoring physiological indicators such as heart rate and nerve levels. Make sure to keep them on."

You slide the rings onto the fingers of Mark and Jungwon.

“Let’s test it out,” Mark suggests.

On the holographic display in front of you, Mark’s dialogue appears on the screen.

Mark:

Let's try it out.

Biometric Analysis:

Heart Rate: 78 bpm

Mood: Eager

Thoughts: “I’m hungry”

Stress Levels: Low

Location Data:

Current Location: Bunker 9

Longitude: 155.789° E

Latitude: 36.432° N

Environmental Analysis:

Ambient Temperature: 22°C

Oxygen Levels: Normal

Light Intensity: Dim

Activity Insights:

System Status:WhisperSyncRings: Online

Connectivity: Stable

Encryption Level: Secure

Recommendations:

Continue monitoring for real-time data.

Encourage interaction to gauge response.

Await further commands or inquiries.

“Holy Hera,” Jungkook muses, “There’s no way- so this thing can read someone’s mind?”

On cue, the ring catches onto the dialogue and updates in real time

Jungkook: Holy Hera! There's no way—so this thing can read someone's mind!

Mark's Thoughts: I'm hungry

Biometric Analysis:

Heart Rate: 82 bpm

Moods: Intrigued

Thoughts: Curious about the technology

Stress Levels: Moderate

Location Data:

Current Location: Bunker 9

Longitude: 155.789° E

Latitude: 36.432° N

Environmental Analysis:

Ambient Temperature: 22°C

Oxygen Levels: Normal

Light Intensity: Dim

Activity Insights:

Recent Movement: Stationary (within Bunker 9)

System Status:

WhisperSync Rings: Online

Connectivity: Stable

Encryption Level: Secure

Recommendations:

Continue monitoring for real-time data.

Address Mark's hunger to maintain optimal conditions.

Anticipate further inquiries or commands.

Namjoon tilts his head. “I wonder what the location data will read from Tartarus.”

“As long as I’ve programmed it right, it should read Tartarus as the location. I’m not sure about longitude and latitude, though.”

Taehyung reads the screen. “Address Mark’s hunger to maintain optimal conditions- that’s funny,” he laughs, to which you nod.

“See? The rings will be helpful. We’ll know everything that’s going on, and if something happens, we’ll run in after you,” you exclaim.

Jungwon cocks his head, somewhat unsure. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with you guys knowing my thoughts all the time.”

“Yea,” Namjoon concurs, “but what if you guys are in a situation where you can’t speak or talk? We need to know what’s going on somehow.”

“Swear we won’t tell anyone all your little secrets,” Taehyung jokes.

Rose places a comforting hand on Jungwon’s shoulder and you nod your head, “I swear we won’t pry into your personal life. I can design an algorithm to immediately delete all your personal thoughts and keep records of thoughts related to the quest,.”

Jungwon seems more assured. “If it’s for the mission, it’s fine. It’s not like I have any explicit thoughts anyway.”

You meet eyes with Jungwon, and you kinda wish that you didn’t because he seems unreasonably paranoid.

“Y/N, make an extra one for me,” Taehyung asserts, “If I ever get married I’m gonna put one on my wife’s finger to make sure she’s not thinking about any other men.”

Namjoon scoffs amusedly at that, “I’ll be praying for her in advance.”

You pout at Taehyung and give him an oh so platonic pat on the back. “You’ll find her soon.”

Taehyung smiles. “Thanks inferno princess,” he teases, using Jungkook’s nickname for you, “Just make sure you take of your inferno prince for me.”

Jungkook lifts his head and wraps an arm around you, giving you a side squeeze. “Yea inferno princess, take care of me.”

After bidding goodbye to your friends at the portal to Camp Jupiter, Jungkook suggests that you indulge in something you both rarely have time to do: sleep.

The anxiety of sending Mark and Jungwon as your decoys is killing you, and you can’t help but to pace around Bunker 9 while Jungkook blinks at you from the sofa.

“Y/N, it’ll be okay,” he offers but you shake your head in disbelief.

The dim lighting of the bunker shines eerily above you, and you don’t even realize where you’re going until you walk right into an industrial filing cabinet.

“Ow!” you yelp, to which Jungkook sighs.

He gets up from his seat on the couch and wraps his arms around your waist, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “Inferno princess, calm down. Everything will be fine. Just look at the screen,” he offers, pointing to the holographic display project Mark and Jungwon’s thoughts.

Taehyung: I’m thinking of going for a swim after they sacrifice you two.

Mark: Gee, thanks. That’s super comforting

Mark’s thoughts: I need to pee

“See?” Jungkook offers, “There’s nothing wrong. The kid needs to take a piss is all.”

You laugh, your shoulders relaxing a bit as you wrap your palms around Jungkook’s wrists. You stand there for a moment, reveling in the safety of Jungkook’s embrace.

Jungkook is your calm before the storm. He’s always there before you go on a potentially life ending quest , comforting you to reassure you that things will be okay.

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?” he whispers into your ear.

“Don’t know. ‘s been a while,” you mutter.

“Think you need to rest first. A nice long ten hours of rest before we do anything else,” he offers.

You hate the prospect of sleeping while your little brothers plummet into Tartarus because of you, but Jungkook’s right. You’re exhausted.

You wiggle out of his embrace and face him, placing your hands on his shoulders. Your eyes glaze over his face before you impulsively ask him a question. His eyes, nose, mouth- there’s a scar on his left cheek acquired during the two years where you were dead. You never had the chance to ask him what happened.

It’s been six years since your fiery dalliance, and the flame of your affections refuses to be extinguished.

You purse your lips.

“Jungkook, what are we?” you ask, features morphing into confusion as your eyes scan over his face.

He looks taken aback at that revelation. His pretty brown eyes widen, coupled with a slight parting of his lips. He doesn’t say anything so you take the chance to elaborate.

“Why are you wrapping your arms around me? Why are you entertaining our friends’ teasing? Are we- are we back again?”

A fleeting pause ensues- like a suspension in time- before he gathers his thoughts to respond.

“Y/N, you know how I feel about you,” is all he says, and his voice wraps around you like a familiar embrace, offering a comfort that no other sound can match. It's so familiar, and the sweetest things he says to you create a flutter of butterflies in your chest.

Warmth spreads through your veins and you suddenly feel like Icarus- the same Icarus who got high on the intoxication of flying and flew too close to the sun, plummeting to his demise when the sun’s rays melted the glue on his feathers.

Jungkook’s kinda like the sun. Last time you flew too close, you literally died.

Luckily, you’re immune to fire.

Jungkook continues, toying with his lip ring. “I’ve been holding back all this time, y’know. But if we’re going to die, do I really have to hold back? I want to be with you, Y/N.”

You face crumbles into disappointment before you actually laugh at the irony. The fates are cruel. “So is that how our stories go? We only get together when facing impending death?”

Jungkook says nothing.

This time, you’ll take the initiative.

Your features morph into desperation. “Jungkook, if we survive this, marry me. If we get rid of Tartarus for good and everything is okay, marry me. I’m sick of pretending that this isn’t real, like I don’t still love you. I want you, and I want you forever.”

Jungkook says nothing, just presses his lips against yours for a sweet and brief kiss- the first kiss you’ve shared since you were 19.

He withdraws, fingers playing with a bolt he had picked up from a nearby shelf. Then, lowering himself to one knee, he presents you with the bolt. “It’s whatever you want, inferno princess. Marry me.”

He slides the bolt on your ring finger before rising, strong arms around your waist before he kisses you again- for the second time in six years. You snake your arms around his neck, letting him take the lead as you literally have not kissed anyone since kissing Jungkook before you died.

In the trenches of your heart, you hate knowing that Jungkook has been with other people besides you. Nonetheless, you like letting him take the lead so you can be his pliant little inferno princess.

He pulls back a bit, his tattooed hand creeping up to smush your cheeks so your lips pout out. He laughs. “Gods, you’re cute. Now let’s get some rest, baby. We have more gods to kill.”

Finger intertwined and full of unnecessary giggles, Jungkook leads you to none other than the Hypnos cabin.

Hypnos is the god of sleep, a gentle and soothing presence in the realm of Greek mythology.He holds the unique responsibility of overseeing the tranquil moments when both gods and mortals find respite in the embrace of slumber.

Jungkook raps on the door several times, his fingers securely interlaced with yours as you both patiently wait.

No response.

Jungkook knocks again, and you can faintly hear the sounds of the locks turning before a very sleepy Sana opens the door.

Sana is the daughter of Hypnos and the head counselor of the Hypnos cabin. She rubs at her eyes, eyes barely open.

“Hello? Mommy?”

Jungkook purses his lips. “No Sana, it’s me and Y/N.”

At that, she forces one eye open. “Oh! Jungkook and Y/N! Long time no see! How was Olympus?” Though extremely groggy, she gets her words out before sleepily pulling you in for a hug.

You smile and return the hug. “It was great Sana. Is it okay if Jungkook and I come in to get some sleep?”

At that moment, a sudden surge of energy seems to rejuvenate Sana, and she perks up with newfound vitality. “Oh wow! You guys have never asked me to help you sleep! Come right in!”

You walk into the Hypnos cabin, where you’re greeted by two dozen more Hypnos kids dozing off in their beds.

Cabin #15 is often occupied by demigods with the ability to manipulate dreams and induce sleep. It’s a quiet place with dreamy, soothing colors.

The walls are adorned with calming murals depicting various dreamscapes. The beds are comfortable, and there’s a subtle scent of lavender in the air to enhance relaxation.

Sana leads you to a pair of guest beds before rumbling in a mini fridge for Hyponos’ Sleepy Milk. It’s a unique concoction made by the cabin members to help everyone relax and ease into a peaceful sleep.

She throws you and Jungkook baby bottles of milk. “This will put you right to sleep. I’m so happy you two finally came for a visit!”

“Thanks Sana,” Jungkook smiles, before trailing off, rubbing his bicep, “but could we actually share one larger bed?”

Sana beams at that. “Oh absolutely! There’s the couple’s suite down the hall and to the right. Does that finally mean you two are together?-“ Sana cuts herself off, collapsing onto a nearby bed and drifting into a deep sleep the moment her head hits the pillow.

You and Jungkook look at each other, shrugging before going down the hall and to the right where the couples suite resides.

The couples' suite in the Hypnos cabin has a more intimate setting within the tranquil atmosphere. The color scheme includes soft hues like lavender and indigo, creating a soothing and romantic ambiance.

The bed is larger and adorned with dream-themed decor, such as elegant drapes and dreamcatchers. Subtle lighting in the form of fairy lights and dim lamps add to the dreamy atmosphere.

A large, cozy white comforter adorns the bed, and Jungkook pulls it over, throwing his shirt off and at you.

It hits you in the face.

“Aren’t those jeans tight? Just take off your clothes and wear my shirt. It’ll be more comfortable that way,” he suggests, sliding into the bed.

You owlishly blink at Jungkook.

Gods, there’s no way this man is real and that he chose you.

Jungkook is the epitome of a Greek god. The lines of his eight-pack are so clearly defined, and you instinctively turn away, mentally and physically weak.

And Jungkook- the man has the audacity to laugh. “What, inferno princess? Never seen a shirtless man before?” A teasing lip graces his lips.

Your mood does a complete 180, and your features morph into pure petulance and displeasure.

“Just because you’re used to being naked around women doesn’t mean that I am,” you enunciate, pointing your finger in his face before you whirl around, blazing into the restroom.

“Oh c’mon Y/N, it’s not like that,” you hear Jungkook’s unserious voice reverberate through the wooden door.

You know it’s irrational to suddenly care about Jungkook’s activities after asking him to marry you- but peering into the mirror, you realize that your eyes are glossy.

It's not that Jungkook explicitly shared everything he was up to during your time apart; rather, you only became privy to the truth when Taehyung inadvertently spilled the beans during a drunken night.

His hookups, one night stands, friends with benefits- you’re aware of it all.

That evening, you joined in the laughter, feigning nonchalance. But an overwhelming sense of dread seeped into your system whenever the thought of Jungkook with another woman crossed your mind. It’s nearly unfathomable.

You hurriedly wipe your eyes, undressing yourself before sloppily throwing on Jungkook’s shirt.

You swing the door open to find Jungkook propped up on his elbow, lying on his side, patiently awaiting your return to bed. He raises his brows inquisitively at you. “Jealous, inferno princess?”

He’s such an ass.

You scoff at him, casually settling your left knee on the bed. “Jeon Jungkook, you’re a slut,” you seethe through your teeth.

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ve heard worse, now come lay with me, baby.”

Your features harden, and you stoically grab a pillow before placing it in between you and Jungkook.

Your father Hephaestus crafted an actual net to physically catch his wife Aphrodite and her lover in the act. Of course you’re petty enough to pull the makeshift pillow barrier move.

“Oh c’mon Y/N,” Jungkook scoffs in amusement.

You narrow your eyes at him, sliding under the covers and turning on your side with your back facing Jungkook.

Slyly, Jungkook removes the pillow barrier and closes in on you, enveloping you in his arms. He sighs into your hair.

“Since we were ten, you’ve owned me,” he confesses, “every part of me belongs to you. No other woman will ever compare.”

A heaviness settles in your heart. You and Jungkook have endured so much, suffered through so much. Jungkook has done well.

Sensing your body slightly tremble and hearing a sniffle, he tenderly cups your cheeks and gently cranes your head towards him. “Got it?” he confirms,a smile playing on his lips as he notices the tip of your nose turning pink.

You exhale, and he uses his large palms to force a nod out of you. “Got it,” you respond softly, “It’s just- I haven’t been with anybody but you. I guess it makes me insecure knowing how many women you’ve been with.”

Jungkook’s eyes soften, and his eyes become so clear that you can perceive your reflection in his irises. “That’s my fault, baby. I guess I did anything I could to fill the void,” he explains, “But being here with you, our first time- nothing compares.”

You pout, lifting your gaze towards him. “Do you mean it?”

He places a kiss on your nose. “I’ve been in love with you this entire time. Of course I mean it.”

You soften, fluttering your eyes shut as you revel in the feeling of Jungkook peppering kisses all over your face.

“See how natural it is with us?” he continues, “The gods made you for me.”

You pout, throwing your arm around his torso as he pulls you closer. He lets you rest your head on his bicep, and you look into his eyes.

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel more secure with me, baby?” he offers with a kiss to your eyelid.

To Jungkook, it’s like your mind has gone blank, observing the contemplative pause as you search for an answer to his question.

“Hmmm… maybe just tell me you love me from time to time?” you suggest, to which Jungkook bursts into laughter at how adorable he thinks you are.

“Alright, I’ll do that,” he instantly agrees, entertaining your suggestions.

“What’s funny?” you ask, to which Jungkook dismisses it with a nonchalant wave.

He raises the arm that you're resting on, causing your head to gently nestle into the crook of his armpit. “Drink up,” he offers, placing the baby bottle of Hypnos Milk to your lips.

Pliantly, you sip on the bottle and seconds later, you’re out like a light.

That night, you don’t have any unusual dreams, granting you the best fourteen hours of sleep you've ever experienced. When you wake up, a sense of rejuvenation washes over you, but a quick scan of the room reveals that your man is not beside you. Your eyes rapidly dart around the room in search of his presence.

At that moment, Jungkook walks out of the restroom with a toothbrush in his mouth.

His eyes glaze over you, admiring how you look in his shirt, still beautiful with boogers in your eyes. He casually saunters over to you, extending a hand with an invitation card gracefully held between his fingers.

You are invited to our 2000th year anniversary party in Mount Olympus!

A +H

author’s note: aphrodite and hephaestus are a and h

ALSO TJE NEXT CHAPTER WILL BE A DRABBLE FOR EITHER jungwon x reader or mark x reader,

and the fourth chapter will be a son of poseidon!taehyung x reader 😌😌 jk and y/n’s story will resume in chapter five when they go to aphrodite and hephaestus’s anniversary party

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenarios #bts scenarios #jungkook fluff #jungkook imagines #jungkook x reader #jk fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook fic #demigod!enhypen #demigod!jungkook #demigod!bts #demigod au #camp half blood au

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beom1e · 9 months

Text

jerk! reunion from hell

you and your friends had started a band in your teen years, as you all shared a deep love for music. as serious as you wanted to be about the band, you put your education first and moved away during the summer after graduation. years later, you were expecting a warm welcome back from your childhood friends.

pairing choi beomgyu x fem! reader

genre angst, humour, fluff, childhood best friend! yeonjun, enemies to lovers, band! txt

warning cursing, bickering, alcohol

masterlist | next

‘yeonjun!?’ your voice echoed throughout the hallway. you let the large glass door close softly behind you, before you began lugging your suitcase down the unnecessarily long hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. ‘is anybody home!?’

clearly, the boys were no longer spending day and night in soobin’s garage hoping to make it big. by the looks of things, their musical talent had actually paid off and gotten them somewhere. still, your confusion began to grow as you approached the only door that seemed to be in the stupidly-long and pointless hallway. you’d gotten the address from kai’s sister after explaining that you were planning on surprising them, but now you were rethinking it. maybe you’d just broken into a stranger’s home, or maybe the boys weren’t around and you’d just have to try again later.

you reached for the handle with shaky hands and pushed open the door. five heads whipped around to get a look at the intruder, and a million thoughts began to cloud your mind.

weren’t they happy to see you? they didn’t look happy. nobody was excitedly jumping around or running to hug you like they had the last time you’d visited, two years ago. they were all staring blankly at you as if you were a stranger. had they forgotten who you were? was the fame that brought along the riches too great that they’d already forgotten who had been there from the beginning? it was just five pairs of eyes staring you down and… wait, five?

‘are you some crazed fan?’ the unfamiliar face spoke, somehow snapping your friends out of their daze.

‘uhm no, i’m—’ you began, narrowing your eyes in annoyance.

‘she’s y/n,’ kai interrupted. ‘that’s y/n.’

‘oh, y/n,’ the new, fifth boy placed his guitar down and began to walk towards you. ‘i’m beomgyu, your replacement.’

‘my what?’ you grimaced. ‘what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘y/n, can i talk to you outside?’ yeonjun came speeding towards you, grabbed your arm and then brought you back into the headache-inducing hallway. ‘i’m sorry, we had no idea that you were coming.’

‘well, yeah, that was the whole point,’ you scoffed. ‘and who the fuck is beomgyu?’

‘he plays the guitar for us now,’ he audibly gulped. ‘and he sings, too. writes… produces… all that fun stuff.’

‘so… what?’ you pursed your lips. ‘i leave and you go and find my replacement? and you just never thought to tell me that there was a new member of the band you and i set up?’

‘we wanted to,’ he sighed. ‘it’s just been a very busy year. we’ve had signings and concerts and then we bought this place, and our album sales have just been—’

‘wait, wait, wait, slow down,’ you waved your hands out in front of you to cut yeonjun off. ‘he’s been here for a year? and you couldn’t think to shoot me a text or give me a call?’

‘like i said, we’ve been busy,’ he defended.

‘that’s bullshit,’ you folded your arms across your chest and gave yeonjun your nastiest stare. ‘so i guess now i better go back home and get caught up on your discography? should i just go buy a t-shirt with that asshole’s face on it and beg him to sign it for me since i’m merely an outsider now?’

‘woah, there,’ beomgyu forced his way into the conversation, after standing around and listening for way too long. he had his hands placed in his pockets and one foot resting back against the wall just beside the door. ‘what have i ever done to you, y/n? except turn your awful music into something that doesn’t make people’s ears bleed?’

‘excuse me?’ you practically growled.

‘beomgyu, don’t,’ yeonjun exhaled.

‘oh, she doesn’t know yet?’ clearly, he found the whole situation amusing. he was almost giggling away to himself.

‘what don’t i know?’ you raised a brow. ‘tell me, jun.’

‘just that beomgyu tweaked your songs before official release and they did better than they had before,’ the words felt like a stab to the heart. ‘but you’re not to blame, i mean you were like seventeen last time you wrote a song for us.’

‘i’m leaving,’ you felt your eyes water and your voice grow weaker. ‘i don’t belong here anymore… obviously.’

walking out of their very nice house was the first of your mistakes. you had just enough money to book a room at a cheap hotel, but not enough for a decently good meal. you ignored the calls from yeonjun and soobin, and sat down on your creaky hotel bed with your laptop to do some research. what you found only seemed to break your heart worse than the initial shock had.

beomgyu had been added over a year ago now. they made an announcement to the public and hundreds of teenage girls gushed over his good looks under their posts. then they released their first hit, a song you had originally written for them. of course, your name was listed in the credits section for participating in the lyrics, but they failed to mention you anywhere else on their social media profiles. they advertised themselves as ‘tomorrow by together’, but shortened it to ‘txt’ in most cases. it was a band of five men, like you had never even existed. their career kicked off very quickly and they began to sell albums in the millions, with their follower count increasing by hundreds of thousands every day. profit came fast, and they all moved out of their family homes to live together in the modern — slightly ugly in your opinion — house you’d visited.

you cried yourself to sleep shortly after, feeling utterly sorry for yourself. it hurt more knowing that your friends had been behind the whole thing, and your lack of credit in their band was nothing when compared with the betrayal.

after a cheap breakfast the next day, you took a cab to your local bus station and found a seat outside the building. there were calls missed and messages left unread on your phone, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

it was humiliating. you’d travelled hours alone to see the boys you had grown up with in hopes that they would happily welcome you back into your hometown. instead, they had started a new life that you weren’t a part of. they’d replaced you, given your songs away and moved into a new place without ever informing you.

with your headphones in and your gaze turned to the floor, you failed to notice the two boys trying to hail your attention.

‘seriously, y/n?’ you heard, as your right earphone was ripped out of your ear. it was yeonjun, you could tell without even lifting your eyes.

‘we should just go,’ beomgyu’s voice chimed in from behind yeonjun. your head snapped up at the sound and you turned your gaze towards yeonjun. ‘you’ve wasted my time.’

‘shut it, beomgyu,’ yeonjun warned. ‘y/n, you can’t leave.’

‘why not?’ you snatched the headphone out of his hands. ‘there’s nothing left for me here.’

‘i’m here,’ he reminded. of course. ‘there’s a spare room for you to stay in for however long you want, and i promise we’re going to make it up to you.’

yeonjun was your everything. or he had been, a long time ago. he was the sweet boy that helped you up after you tripped and fell face first into the park’s wood-chip floor. he was older and taller, and cared for you deeply, and despite his popularity throughout his teenage years, he never let anything get in the way of your friendship. it was yours and his idea to start the band, because you loved music just as much as each other. and when you met kai and taehyun, and he befriended soobin, the band just fell into place.

but when puberty struck, your hormones were an indestructible force that made you fall head-over-heels for him. from the way that he sang so beautifully, to the gentle brush of his fingers against yours as he taught you piano. the gentleness of his lyrics, the sound of his laughter, the late nights you spent giggling over lyrics and stories, the way he would put you before anyone and anything else.

your first heartbreak was the night of his prom, when he took an older, more mature girl to the dance. but you tried not to think of your fizzled-out crush anymore, having had a fair share of lovers during your years at university. yeonjun was clueless, and he’d never done a thing to suggest that your friendship was anything more than platonic.

‘no, thank you,’ you turned to face the space in front of you, your eyes squinting naturally from the sun. ‘i don’t need a pity invite back into your lives again.’

‘you’re being way dramatic,’ beomgyu laughed. ‘you were the one that left and hadn’t returned in over two years now.’

‘this has nothing to do with you, you jerk!’ you spun around as you stood, glaring at the man in front of you. ‘i don’t care that you think my friends’ entire success is based off your little editing skills! you’re barely an artist if you think switching a few words in my lyrics suggests that you have any form of talent. the world would be much better off without your constant, snarky little comments!’

‘y/n, let’s go,’ yeonjun grabbed your arm in the same way he had the day before, at his house. with his free hand, he grabbed the handle of your suitcase and began pulling it along. ‘and please don’t cause a scene.’

‘i’m not going,’ you turned yourself into an anchor, using all of your strength to keep yourself grounded. of course, yeonjun was much stronger than you would ever be and easily dragged you along. ‘seriously, yeonjun, stop! there’s no way i’m going back to that house to make awkward small talk with people that i used to know!’

the room was pretty silent. you could hear soobin chewing beside you, and the clinking of metal spoons against ceramic bowls as everybody ate their lunch. then a chair scraping that caught your attention, and beomgyu was standing. he placed his bowl on the counter and kicked the chair back into place, before heading up the stairs into his room.

‘so… y/n,’ kai began. you directed your gaze towards him, as he was sitting directly in front of you. ‘are you moving back home permanently?’

‘i’m not sure,’ you answered simply. ‘i graduate in a month, and then i need to start looking for a job.’

‘are we invited to your graduation?’ taehyun pressed, your head whipping around to face him. ‘is that why you came?’

‘i only have enough tickets to take one of you,’ you sighed. ‘i came because i missed you guys and i missed being here.’

‘who are you going to take?’ soobin asked, shooting you an innocent look.

‘obviously me,’ yeonjun interrupted. ‘who else?’

‘yeah… sorry guys,’ you cleared your throat. ‘i’ve just known yeonjun longer, so it makes sense.’

‘no hard feelings, y/n,’ kai smiled.

‘okay… can somebody show me to my room?’ you dropped your spoon into the bowl, sick of the tense feeling in the room.

beomgyu had been fiddling with his guitar for the past fifteen minutes, as you sat picking at your fingernails. it was just you and him left behind at the house, whilst the other four boys were off running personal errands. you’d claimed the living space first, as you were waiting on yeonjun — who promised to be back by now to take you out for dinner — and beomgyu just seemed to want to annoy you with his presence.

‘you’re playing that wrong, you know,’ you spoke. ‘it’s supposed to be soft.’

‘lovesong, right?’ he asked, still strumming quietly. yes, technically, that was the song he was referring to — the one you had named ‘0x1=lovesong’ — except he was playing it more intensely and more angry than intended. ‘beautiful lyrics, but the demo was way too sappy and boring to release.’

‘excuse me?’ you scoffed. ‘that was my favourite song i ever wrote, and the last song i ever wrote.’

‘i can see why,’ he was smirking. ‘have you listened to the official release? there’s a music video too.’

‘no, obviously,’ rolling your eyes, you tried not to get upset. ‘what did you do to it?’

‘made it angsty,’ he shrugged. ‘you know, like an angry, heartbroken kind of sound. changed the title too, because yours was a little lame. we were actually going to ask you to be a feature in the chorus, but we went with an already established artist instead.’

‘i don’t even want to know,’ you closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat. ‘i already feel sick from this whole situation, and you’re just going out of your way to make me feel worse. i’m going up to my room.’

‘the spare room,’ beomgyu corrected. ‘it’s not your room.’

‘what is your problem?’ you snapped. ‘is it your life’s mission to make me feel terrible? you came in here, took my place and the fame that i could have had, and i’m getting punished for it? why, because you feel threatened?’

‘because i don’t like you, y/n,’ he stood, placing his guitar on the couch and towering over you as you were still sitting on the opposite couch. ‘as i recall, you rudely asked yeonjun who ‘the fuck’ i was, and then proceeded to call me an asshole simply because i joined your friends’ band.’

right, you did do that. but it was a heat of the moment thing, and you didn’t actually mean anything by it. still, he only proved your point with his behaviour following your meeting.

‘you provoked me,’ you defended. ‘asking if i was a crazed fan and introducing yourself as my replacement.’

‘geez, it was a joke,’ he rolled his eyes as he stepped away from you and into the kitchen. ‘but your reaction said a lot.’

‘and then he had the audacity to tell me that it was my reaction that caused him to be a huge jerk to me,’ you groaned, lifting your wine glass to your lips and taking another sip. yeonjun nodded between chews. ‘seriously, i can’t stand to even be in the same room as him.’

‘you’ve only known each other for a day,’ he interjected after swallowing. ‘you need to give him a chance.’

‘no, thank you,’ you placed the glass down rather loudly. ‘there’s no way in hell that i’ll ever get close to him… it’s just going to be a long month before i never have to share a living space with him ever again.’

‘that’s true,’ yeonjun stated, although you could tell he had more to say from the way that he leaned over the perfectly white table cloth between you. ‘but it’s not like he’s going to up and leave for your sake. he’s our friend — my friend — and he’s a vital part of our band— a great guitarist and he has a very unique voice that leaves the fans swooning, plus—!’

‘’jun, please,’ you held your hand up to stop him. ‘talking about him like a used car you’re selling on the facebook marketplace isn’t going to make me like him more. sure, he can play guitar, but does he even have the capacity to feel sympathy?’

yeonjun just laughed out loud, reaching for his glass as he fell back into the comfort of his chair, and you smiled. you’ve missed him.

an hour later, beomgyu stopped strumming upon hearing the sound of your laughter. as the door swung open into the common area, he caught sight of you holding onto yeonjun’s bicep for support.

‘and then he just got up and left— oh, hey, beomgyu,’ you straightened up, letting go. ‘uh, goodnight, yeonjun.’

‘who got up and left?’ beomgyu inquired.

‘oh, it’s hilarious,’ yeonjun grinned. ‘this guy who y/n dated— basically, she rejected him but he would not give up— what?’

you were not impressed, and yeonjun caught on quickly. he waved his hand in the air as a dismissal and turned towards the stairs, wishing beomgyu a short goodnight. you shot the latter a tight-lipped smile and followed yeonjun upstairs.

‘goodnight, y/n,’ yeonjun spoke, turned back to face you with his hand reaching for the handle. you smiled and watched him disappear behind the door, to which your smile grew wider and you silently screamed into your hands.

you would have been skipping had everyone else been awake, but you held yourself back and opted for walking calmly down the hallway to your bedroom. the sleep you had turned out to be a lot more peaceful than you had expected, being able to rest easy knowing that you were home, and with yeonjun.

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taglist @stellz581 @fairyofshampgyu @woncheecks @shycreationdreamland @wonioml @baekberrie @wayhome2gyu @strawbrinkofdeath

#txt #tomorrow x together #txt x reader #beomgyu #beomgyu angst #beomgyu fluff #beomgyu oneshots #beomgyu au #txt angst #txt fluff #txt oneshots #txt au #choi beomgyu #choi beomgyu angst #choi beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu oneshots #choi beomgyu au

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outerbankies · 1 year

Text

new light: head over heels — rafe cameron

new light masterlist

summary: You and Rafe make your first return to the Outer Banks after moving away for good, and it doesn't take either of you long to remember all of the reasons you left.

warnings: alcohol and swearing might be it?

a/n: HI HI HI!!! it's happening!!! posting this behemoth (22k-ish last i checked) and dipping immediately, because i'm still not done with season 3 and don't want to get spoiled on here. thank you SO MUCH for holding on for this one - and congratulations to everyone who voted on season 3 arriving before the thanksgiving fic lol. see u soon!!! (this takes place in new light present day)

“Are we really doing this?”

You roll your eyes, albeit fondly, as this is at least the fifth time Rafe has asked you the same question in the last two weeks. The first time was immediately after the flights were booked, the second before he formally requested the vacation time at work. He asked you for the third time when you requested his help in dragging your suitcases out of the closet, which he did begrudgingly. The next time, the fourth, was as you both waited tired and bleary-eyed at your plane’s gate, bright and early this morning at the airport.

Now he asks you again, as the ferry between Chapel Hill and the Outer Banks starts pulling up to the dock. Passengers have already begun their descent down to the lower levels, to get their cars and queue up to disembark. But you and your boyfriend remain on the upper deck, observing your hometown as the ferry flushes itself to the dock.

“How many times do I have to tell you?” you ask, arms crossing over your chest.

“As many times as it takes for me to believe this was the right choice,” Rafe sighs, turning to look out at the coastline, back the way you came.

“We’re here now,” you point out unhelpfully. “We’re doing this. It’s only four days, baby. We’ve got this.”

“Four nights,” he corrects you, with a furrow in his brows. “Five days, if you count today.”

“Rafe, I’m not your enemy.”

He looks down at you, and you hate that you can already see all the signs of his stress. The missed signals, the tightness in his face and in his shoulders. It was an instant physical reaction to being back in town for Thanksgiving, a few measly months after you’d both left it behind.

“I know,” Rafe says softly. He places a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you into his hold, the beer he’d bought at concessions placed on a hightop table behind you. “Hey, c’mere. I know.”

As much as you know it’s your turn to be the strong one, you let him comfort you selfishly, just for a moment. You weren’t near the state Rafe was in, but you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the nerves as soon as you boarded the ferry, too. It didn’t help that you’d just discovered the airline had left your bag in California, which Rafe swore was a bad omen. You don’t care what he thought it was, as long as he understood you’d be living in a combination of his clothes and whatever you left behind in your childhood bedroom until the airline could fix it.

At least you both have Captain for emotional support, sitting patiently between your legs, where he usually seems to fit himself. You’d become those people you’d always made fun of in your head, the ones that couldn’t leave their house without their dog. Sending him to the cargo hold in his crate was about as much distance as either of you could handle.

“Holy shit,” Rafe suddenly says, the hand he’d been rubbing your back with slowing to a stop.

“What?”

“Don’t look now, but our friends are fucking insane,” he chuckles.

Of course you look immediately—and sure enough, Kelce and Topper (plus Blythe), and Gretchen and Margot are all grouped together on the dock. You feel yourself smile involuntarily at them, tucking your face into Rafe’s chest bashfully. “They’re so embarrassing.”

He’s still laughing in disbelief, the sound resonating in your chest. “Why did they all come?”

“‘Cause they love us,” you say simply. You have no idea how you’ll all fit in however many cars, or who’s even supposed to be driving you home, but you can’t find it in you to care as you finally disembark from the ferry with your dog, Rafe on your heels with his bag.

“Finally,” Kelce says dramatically, once you approach the group. “I was starting to think you two were finally rain-checking my party.”

“We’d never,” you say, just as dramatically, before you’re letting yourself get crushed in a group hug from your girlfriends.

“Can confirm,” Margot whispers conspiratorially to the group. “No baby bump.”

“You guys,” you laugh, pushing her wandering hand away from your middle. “Come on.”

“It’s a valid fear!” Gretchen cries incredulously, pressing kisses to both of your cheeks.

Then you trade spots with Rafe, to squish Topper and Blythe in your arms as well, and they squish you back just as hard. “We missed you guys so much. Please come visit.”

“You come visit,” Topper counters.

“Tried a New England winter once, and I’m good for life, man,” Rafe says, before bringing Margot and Gretchen into his arms. “You guys have to come out.”

“Kelso,” you sigh, surprised to feel a lump in your throat when your best friend hugs you for the first time in you don’t know how long. Kelce’s career took him to Texas after college, and you’d definitely seen him the least out of all of them in the past year or so. “I missed you.”

“Missed you even more. How are you guys?” he asks, words coming out garbled through the squished cheeks you’re currently giving him. “How’s Rafe? Or do we talk later?”

“He’s good,” you tell him honestly. “On edge, you know. But good.”

“And how are you?” he says quieter, and you have to roll your eyes at his earnestness, if even just to prevent yourself from actually crying.

“I’m good, too,” you say, linking a pinky with his quickly.

Kelce breaks out into a grin, squeezing your pinky back before bringing you into another hug. “You look a hell of a lot better than the last time I picked you up here.”

You detangle your hand from his in order to smack him on the back of his head while he just howls with laughter. It’s easy to look back on it—two years ago now—and laugh. But Kelce had been there for you and your broken heart, and sometimes you think his tough love was half the reason you and Rafe even made it back to each other.

“Very clever,” you concede, before remembering something with a spark of excitement. “But tell me about you! When does she get here?”

Kelce’s cool demeanor fades when he becomes embarrassed immediately, reaching down to find solace in petting Captain, who seems to be just as excited about the reunion. “Wednesday morning. I’m driving out to the airport to get her.”

Therese was the first girl Kelce had actually told you about since high school, let alone brought home to meet everyone. You were so excited when he called to tell you that Rafe made you promise to manage your expectations, but you couldn’t help it.

“So she’ll make the party,” you realize excitedly. “Gosh, I can’t wait to meet her.”

“I’m nervous. Nervous, but excited,” he admits. “I don’t wanna overwhelm her. She’s meeting my parents, and then all of you idiots. All in one day.”

“Hey,” Rafe protests, suddenly slotting back into your side once he’s done fake boxing with Topper. “We are not.”

“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Kelce says, rolling his eyes. “Come on, you guys are riding with me. We have a table at the Island Club an hour from now, think you can manage that?”

You cut your eyes to Rafe, and he already looks a little loosened up after seeing everyone, and he just nods, shrugging his shoulders as if to say why not. “We can say hi to your parents and freshen up. Wheeze has school and Sarah won’t be in until tonight anyway.”

It seems Rafe has no such plans to see his father any sooner than he has to, possibly not before Thanksgiving at all, you realize. You didn’t even bother to ask Rafe if he’d prefer to stay in his old room at Tannyhill or with you, knowing the answer already. But you’d naively hoped he’d feel comfortable enough to not avoid his father like the plague after some time away.

“Yeah, we can do that,” you answer, looking back at Kelce with a smile to confirm. You let Captain into the backseat while Kelce takes Rafe’s bag, squealing in surprise when your boyfriend’s hands grip your waist firmly before you get in the car.

“Hey,” he says quietly, just for you. The sea breeze has already mussed up his hair, and there’s something so comforting about coming back here with him, knowing you’ve always got someone in your corner. Rafe must agree, because he presses his forehead to yours quickly. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you say, giving him a peck modest enough that it won’t tick off Kelce or the rest of your friends piling into Topper’s Jeep beside you. “You can do this.”

“We can do this,” he corrects. “You know. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

—

“I still can’t believe they put me up in the guest house,” Rafe whines, three Bloody Mary’s in, as you both exit the Island Club a few hours later.

Kelce had given you the ride there, but you both opted for the walk back home, rather than wrangling any younger siblings for a ride. Dylan landed yesterday, but he wanted to have a talk with your parents alone and you needed to stop in at the store anyway.

Rafe reminded you on the flight that Rose had asked you to make a pie again this year, and Captain was antsy from all of the travel; giving him a second to trot around in the fresh air seemed like a good idea.

You maybe should’ve mentioned it to Rafe sooner, that your mom had been planning to have the guest house—not even one of the guest rooms, but the actual house, which was an entire backyard away from the main property—made up when you asked to have him stay with you for the holiday. But he was already hanging on by a thread about this trip, and you knew he’d beg even harder to cancel if he found out he wouldn’t be crashing with you.

But the shocked look on his face that he quickly tried to hide as he watched your mom tell Dylan to take his bags to the house had absolutely been a little bit worth it.

The displeased grumbling all throughout lunch, maybe not so much.

“She knows we’ve lived together for almost two years now, right? And that before that, we were visiting each other in college all the time?” he prattles on, words growing soft around the edges, not yet to the point of syrupy slow. “And that before that, I was in your bedroom every other night?”

“Everything but that last one,” you wince.

“So it’s about the house,” he realizes, the two of you now standing outside of the grocery store. “Her house,” you correct. “Not until we’re married. Maybe she’ll let it go when we’re engaged.”

Rafe’s face turns mischievous, and you wish that second round of mimosas hadn’t let you let that slip.

“Noted.”

You roll your eyes, feeling heat flush your cheeks. “Stop. Are you coming in, too? I only need a few things.”

“You go,” he says, not not grinning at your flustered state. He raises your intertwined hands between you, pressing a kiss to the back of yours. Your eyes catch on his notably bare left hand. “Captain’s gonna get snatched up if we leave him tied up out here.”

“I’m still so sad you lost that ring,” you tell him, pouting.

Rafe didn’t seem to mind much at all when the gold cigar band went missing after a morning surf, but you were really gonna miss seeing the trademark piece glinting on his hand in the sunlight, or pressing cold into your skin. You’d been looking for replacements ever since, but he was in no rush.

“It really wasn’t that big of a deal,” he promises, eyes leaving yours.

“It was to me. You’ve worn it forever. I loved that one,” you say, tugging on his bare finger, tracing where the indent was slowly releasing from his skin; the tan-line was pretty horrendous too.

“I know you did,” Rafe teases. “You ripped it off my hand to try on all the time. Maybe you took it.”

“Did not!” you gasp, offended.

Rafe just rolls his eyes, finally kissing the pout off of your lips. “Go, c’mon. Pie won’t bake itself.”

You hand over Captain’s leash and walk in, still feeling flustered, like you do every time Rafe starts to talk about rings. The way you just barely dodge his ass slap—outside of the local health food store, for god’s sake—doesn’t do anything to help.

Thanksgiving wasn’t for a few days, but Rose had raved and raved about the pumpkin pie you’d brought last year, and you were feeling the pressure—you knew you needed to get a jump on the shopping, so you’d have time to fuck it up at least three or four times before deeming one acceptable.

There’s only so many options for pumpkin puree, but you discriminate over them tirelessly, half because you’re never not set on impressing Rose, and half because your mind is still distracted by Rafe and his “noted.” Things were serious between you about as soon as you started dating, but he’d really been pushing the marriage thing lately.

“Y/n?”

You drop whatever can of pumpkin you’d most recently scrutinized into your basket in near shock, thankful it lands there and not on the floor, all over the shoes of you and Rafe’s ex-girlfriend.

“Chloe,” you say, forcing a smile amid the shock. “Wow, hi.”

“Hey,” she says, pushing her cart toward you. “What a trip.”

It’s the holidays and your town is small, you were bound to see some familiar faces this week whether you wanted to or not, but you’re still in disbelief. “Yeah, um, wow. How are you?”

“Great,” she says, her voice resonating so clearly that you believe her. “I live in New York now, I don’t know if you heard.”

You don’t make a habit of keeping tabs on Rafe’s exes these days, and you and Chloe were hardly ever friends to begin with, so you can answer this truthfully. “No, I hadn’t, actually. But that’s great. Do you like it?”

“Love it,” she corrects, stepping forward to gather a few cans of the puree you’d just been eyeing. She picks them out without a second thought, mixing brands and haphazardly throwing them into her cart, lacking a care in the world, oozing self-assuredness. “I just needed that quick pace, you know? Don’t take this the wrong way, but I always felt like life was too slow around here for me. I wasn’t made for the Stepford life.”

You scratch the back of your neck awkwardly, finally deciding on a couple of cans that look like they’d pass the test to sit in Rose’s pantry that’s always oscillating between the newest diet. “Uh, yeah. No, I get it. It’s always nice to be back for the holidays though. We just got in today.”

That seems to pique her interest, and your head falls forward slightly when you realize your mistake. “You and Rafe? Last I heard you still lived in town.”

“We did,” you nod. “For a year after grad. But we moved to California at the end of the summer, so.”

“Wow,” she says, and a small part of you is satisfied that she looks off-balance. Chloe Merrick was never like that. Maybe your teenage mind had exaggerated it at the time in some twisted game of self-comparison, but it looks like it still rang true as she stands before you. Her heels make her stand taller than you, allowing her to look directly down her nose. Her full face of makeup and shiny hair makes you regret letting Kelce rush you out of the house with minimal primping. It’s like she reads your mind, her eyes flicking over your outfit. “Ah, now the outfit makes sense.”

You blink, looking down at your leggings and back to her in silence.

“Well, the traveling and all,” she says awkwardly, like she expected you to agree. “But California, that’s fun. I never thought I’d see Rafe leave the OBX. And it’s nice that Ward lets him work remotely.”

You can’t hide your discontent at that, because Chloe doesn’t know Rafe well enough at all anymore—and probably never really did, for that matter—to make assumptions about where he’d end up in life, or insinuate that he’d be under Ward forever. “He doesn’t work for his dad, actually.”

When she fish-mouths, you have to look away to not let it get to your head, focusing on the rest of your grocery list on your phone.

But she clears her throat, and that perfect smile slots back into its rightful place. “Well, we can see how long that lasts.”

The last thing you want is for Chloe to think she’d made it under your skin, or that she’s in anyway correct about you or Rafe, or that you’d care at all what she’d think about either of you. So you cock your head to the side innocently, steeling your expression as best you can. “How do you mean?”

“Oh, be serious, Y/n,” she says, pretenses officially dropped. “Rafe got the perfect, cookie-cutter Figure 8 life he always wanted. And he got it with you. I doubt he even knows how to want anything else.”

Chloe and Rafe dated for six months. Six months of avoiding him, avoiding both of them, toiling over your feelings alone, and associating way too many soundtracks to your teenage angst with the entire situation that there’s still a few songs you won’t touch to this day.

You’ve loved him for years, and she really thinks she knows him better.

“It’s a good thing you weren’t made for that life, then, isn’t it?” you say, slowly backing away.

She falters, again, and you know thats your cue. “Nice seeing you, Chloe.”

—

Spring Break, 6 years ago

“Can I sit here?”

Topper’s eyebrows lift in surprise, but he gestures to the seat across from him readily, tucking his outstretched legs in. “Of course you can.”

You cast one last look at the rest of the small, private plane—Gretchen and Margot, occupying the credenza, looking at you in utter confusion when you give them a half-assed shrug, Kelce looking similarly confused in the club seat opposite the aisle from Topper when you decline a seat near him too, and Rafe and Chloe toward the back, right across from the girls.

You meant to get to the tarmac the earliest of all of your friends to pick your seat first. But you couldn’t get to bed early enough the night before and slept through almost all of your alarms, and somehow arrived last.

“What, didn’t wanna watch them play footsie all flight?” Topper quips, following your gaze, and you’re reminded exactly why you chose to sit next to him.

For the last three months that Rafe had been dating Chloe, everyone in your friend group had been treating you with kid gloves. Everyone except Topper Thornton. To be completely fair, Kelce knows you best of them all, and Gretchen and Margot may or may not have witnessed a drunken breakdown at a girls’ night two weeks ago (that they swore they’d never speak of).

But there were still the sad eyes, the wayward glances whenever Chloe walked into the room, the less than discrete subject changes and conversation redirectors. You knew it came from a good place but you were sick of them assuming they knew your feelings. And you knew Topper would never dare assume your feelings, let alone act on it.

He was a constant, the one you’d known longest out of all of them. But that didn’t mean you were the closest, and maybe that’s what made it perfect. Maybe Topper couldn’t read through your bullshit, or maybe he just didn’t feel the need to. Either way was fine with you, if you were going to survive this week. Kelce’s parents had offered up their rental property in the Hamptons to your friends, and after just narrowly convincing Gretchen’s dad to let her go this year, the friendship group had remained in tact, even welcoming one new member.

“Not my cup of tea,” you finally answer, settling into your seat, which was perfectly facing away from the rest of your friends. You pull your hoodie up over your head anyway, tucking your legs under you and opening the window shade.

“I’m probably going to be a boring seat buddy. I got zero sleep last night,” Topper tells you around a yawn.

You can feel your eyes begging to flutter closed after the lack of sleep you got last night, when you were already toiling over the week that lie ahead. So you settle into your seat more, resting your head against the back of your seat. “Perfect.”

—

It made sense to cling to Topper a little bit after that.

At first, you merely opted to ride in the Uber he requested from the airport, ignoring Kelce’s second betrayed look of the morning when you didn’t pile in with him. But then you also sat next to him when you stopped at the seafood shack on the way home.

You loved Topper for his obliviousness, but later that night, he still picked up on enough to move the decorative pillow hogging the spot next to him on the loveseat when everyone was gathering around for a movie night.

Topper was quiet, calm and safe—a breath of air among the suffocation you were feeling lately, and that’s all it was.

And when he’d gone to the gym with Kelce in the morning, you figured you could find solace in a book out on the back porch instead. Rafe and Chloe were unaccounted for, their PDA and softened tones not to be missed by you any time soon, and Margot and Gretchen were still asleep when you left your shared room that morning.

You obviously hadn’t gone as far as bunking with Topper for the week, but you pulled a pretty good “gosh, I’m so tired” act when you finally slipped into your bottom bunk below Gretchen, turning away from Margot across the room to face the wall. Prying eyes easily ignored.

You don’t possess an ordered list of who you’d most like to be opening the screen door only two chapters into your book that morning, but Chloe Merrick was decidedly not very high on it.

Before Rafe started bringing her around, you never knew enough about Chloe to make anything of her. She wasn’t in any of your classes, but Kildare Academy was small enough that you’d heard of her here and there. She ran in other circles from what you could tell, and she was always nice. You hadn’t heard it from Rafe’s mouth first, but Kelce’s.

He’d lobbed it out into the open during a study session, and you’d brushed it off to move to the next question, not opting to face it until you had to at the next Boneyard party, when Rafe officially brought her into the group. You aren’t proud of the decisions that you made that night, between getting over-served on beer you didn’t even like and almost macking on a pogue who was cute enough before going home and making yourself very familiar with Chloe’s Vsco account. Pictures of Rafe in the sunset, holding ice cream cones, sitting in the cab of his truck—it’s a miracle your drunken thumb didn’t slip and blow your cover.

“Hey Y/n. Mind if I join you?” she asks. You’d never say no, but the thumb holding your book open twitches when you hear the door shut again immediately. Followed by her footsteps—she didn’t wait for an answer.

“Of course. Are you having fun so far?” you ask her, when she settles into the chair beside you.

“So much,” Chloe says. “Kelce’s place is sick. I feel silly that I was nervous when Rafe asked me here.”

“Nervous?” you ask. “Why?”

“I guess I just always thought you and Margot and Gretchen were so… cliquey?” she says without preamble. “I mean, me—I’ll make friends with anyone.”

“We’re not really a clique,” you say, laughing lightly to mask your discomfort. “We’re close, but there are no initiation ceremonies here.”

If she could tell you were joking, she doesn’t show that she picked up on it, shrugging instead. “I don’t know, you’ve always seemed so… reserved, the group of you. Especially you. I swear, I hardly ever see you without one of the crew inside.”

“They’re my best friends,” you say, matching her shrug. “I’ve known most of them since we were kids. It’s just always been like this.”

“I’ll take your word for it that there wasn’t a group vote on bringing me here,” she says, letting you off even if she doesn’t believe you. And you don’t think she does.

An incredibly awkward silence ensues after that, and you blurt the first thing that comes to mind to eliminate it. “How are things with Rafe?”

“Good,” she says, her eyes suddenly lighting up, your stomach twisting into the knot that had made its home there recently. “Really good. I like him a lot.”

“I can tell he likes you a lot, too. You guys are great together,” you tell her. “I’ve never seen him… well, he’s never really been very serious with anyone, I don’t think.”

“Yeah, that’s what he said,” she says. “And I was surprised, honestly, I thought… well, can I be straight up with you?”

“Yes?” you say, maybe against your better judgment.

Chloe’s eyes shift away from you, and she shakes her head at the thought. “I kind of always thought you guys had a thing for each other. If not dating, at least hooking up. Like, I honestly thought Rafe was lying to me when he denied it.”

You blink slowly, waiting for a punchline to hit, waiting for her to laugh in your face. To revel in the fact that she tricked you into ever thinking anyone would think you had a chance with Rafe. That he cared about you in that way at all, to the point where other people would pick up on it. But that never comes, and Chloe finally looks at you again, prompting you to speak.

“U-us?“ you ask, picking at the spine of your book. “Rafe and me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, no,” you counter, catching up to the purpose of this conversation, getting past the confusing mixture of guilt, surprise, and maybe even giddiness that someone could make that mistake. Someone who likes Rafe enough to pursue him could mistake your friendship for anything beyond that. “No, we’re just friends.”

“Well, yeah, but…” she trails off. “I don’t know. I sensed a vibe, like most people at school I think.”

“Most people?” you ask, feeling your eyes bug out of your head.

“Yeah, when I told my friend Riley—you know her?”

“I… think so?” you say, hoping not to feed into the cliquey thing, but ultimately failing. Chloe seems unsurprised, but you can’t focus on that right now.

“I dunno, I had a crush on Rafe for a while but could never really get a read on it. She told me I was crazy, that you two have basically been dating since you could walk,” she explains. The tips of your ears start burning.

“We haven’t,” you clarify. “We really, really haven’t.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she says, a touch dramatically, almost leading you to believe that this isn’t something she’d put to rest after talking with Rafe about it.

That thought—that realization that she’d talked with Rafe about it, about you—sends you into a quick spiral. You imagine how he must have reacted—did he laugh? Would Rafe laugh about something like that?

You realize you’ve let the silence drag again, and as you trip over your next question, you wish you would’ve never come to read out here this morning.

“So did he—did Rafe… Rafe must have made the first move then, right?”

Chloe scoffs, smiling like you’re naive as she places her hands behind her head. “Why? Because he’s the guy?”

“No, no,” you say in a rush. “Of course not. You can totally make the first move. I just meant, if you thought we were together…”

“Oh. Yeah,” she says, now carrying your embarrassment. “Well, I guess it doesn’t matter now, since things changed and we’re official and whatever. At first, I kind of just wanted to hook up with him.”

“Ah,” you say quietly, your book twitching in your grasp, your thumbnail digging into the hard cover.

“We were at a party. And I think you were gone, which is probably why I even got his attention in the first place. At least in my mind, at the time,” she explains, but you don’t believe it, not entirely. How Chloe could ever feel threatened by you is beyond you, so you assume it’s something else. “And I don’t know, I just decided ‘what the heck, he’s so cute. He can tell me to fuck off if he wants to.’”

You can’t imagine Rafe talking to her like that, or you like that. Or any girl like that. But you nod along, wondering how much more of this you even want to hear.

“But he didn’t. And he didn’t even want to hook up,” she says, shifting herself to gain a sliver more of sun. “I mean, yeah, we kissed at that party. But considering everything… I don’t know, I was confused. Like why stop there?”

“Right,” you say, finally deciding to shoot it straight. “I’m not trying to judge, Chloe. But just to clarify, when did you find out we weren’t actually dating?”

“After macking, you know I kinda asked him… like, what’s going on here? Everyone who was there saw us. And your entire group was there besides you,” she reminds you. And then she laughs. “And he was so confused.”

You fake a chuckle, your worst fear all but confirmed, feeling white-hot shame creeping up your throat. “I bet.”

“He’s like ‘I’m not with her. I wouldn’t be kissing you if I was with her,’” she imitates, making Rafe seem stoic and serious, which wasn’t very familiar to you. “‘She’s just a buddy.’”

It stings but it isn’t as horrible as you’d thought it’d be—not that Chloe would be keen to offer up anything else of interest. But you’re itching to cut your losses, pretend this conversation never happened, because Rafe is just your friend.

“Well, he’s right,” you say, opening your book again, finding that your place on the page was lost.

“That’s when I knew I wanted more with him. I could tell from the way he talked about you that he was a good guy, and that he’d be really good to me,” Chloe says.

“Yeah, Rafe’s a great guy,” you agree, the loose wicker material on the couch beneath you suddenly of interest.

“He is,” she agrees again. “It’s weird the way things worked out, but I’m happy. And sorry I thought you two were a thing all this time.”

“It happens,” you shrug, going back to pretending to read. “I think it’s just common when girls and guys are friends. People mistake Kelce and I, too. Even my mom asked me if I had a thing with Topper.”

You were joking, attempting to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory, but when her eyes light up you know you’re anything but home free.

“That’d be sweet,” she says, and you’re surprised by the earnestness in her voice. “You and Thornton. I’ve seen y’all attached at the hip lately.”

“Oh, no… I don’t think so,” you say, embarrassed. “Top’s just a friend, too. Our parents go way back.”

You return to your book again, still feeling thrown off by the entire conversation, especially Chloe’s admission, your mind in overdrive trying to fill in the missing pieces of that conversation she must have had with Rafe—conversations, plural? How many times had they even talked about you? The thought alone makes you want to book a flight home tonight, and hide from Rafe until you could leave for the airport.

“If not Topper, then who?”

Your thoughts momentarily clear again, and you look back at Chloe. “What do you mean?”

“Rafe’s mine,” she reminds you, like it’s something you’d ever forget. “Kelce has that waitress at the Island Club.”

“Sidney,” you say.

“Sidney, right,” she nods. “But is there anyone for you?”

“There you are.”

Rafe appears on the deck just then, suited up in what looks like hiking gear. You never let your eyes linger long, but you especially don’t in the presence of his girlfriend, even if you’re rather interested in the way his sky blue shirt probably accentuates his eyes.

“You ready, Chlo?”

“Hey, almost,” she answers, standing up.

“Oh, hey, Y/n/n,” Rafe says, like he’s noticing you for the first time. “You wanna come hike with us?”

“No,” you say easily. “I’ve got my book.”

“We’re talking about who we’re gonna set Y/n up with,” Chloe says, and her arms snake around Rafe’s waist. He places a hand on her back, but he looks over at you with mirth in his eyes.

“Oh yeah? Who?”

Chloe smiles at you. “Well, I suggested Topper.”

You cringe when Rafe laughs. “Yeah, okay.”

“Why not?” Chloe says, pouting at him. You turn away, but you can still hear the smack of their lips.

“She’s too smart for him. She’s too smart for all the guys at our school,” he says.

“And I’m not?” Chloe says, and her tone gives you goosebumps.

You stand abruptly, gathering your book and the towel you’d come out here with.

“Have fun on your hike,” you say. “I’m gonna go read down on the sand.”

“See you when we get back,” Rafe says. “You’re playing poker tomorrow night, right?”

“Maybe,” you shrug.

“Oh, c’mon,” Rafe goads.

“She probably just wants to read her book,” Chloe says.

You say nothing to that, waving them off as you turn and make your way down the path to the beach to do exactly that.

—

The truth is, you do end up spending much of that weekend with your nose buried in books, thankful you’d had the foresight to pack extra on top of the one you’d been in the middle of when you left. And the time you don’t spend reading, avoiding rooms that both Chloe and Rafe are in, or sometimes even just one of them at a time, you spend with Topper.

“What are you gonna get?”

“You know, I’m not really that into coffee, Y/n/n,” he tells you regretfully, wincing when you give him a shocked expression.

“What? Why did you let me drag you here?” you ask, your hands fluttering around you, motioning to the coffee shop you’d found yourselves in. The coffee shop, newly opened not even a mile down the road from Kelce’s parent’s house, had been under construction last spring break. You’d driven by it every time you all went in and out of town, bummed you’d just barely miss the grand opening over that summer, but all the more excited to come back and try it next year. Rafe had been excited too, when he promised the two of you could hit it up first thing this year. But things had changed since then, and it was hard not to notice the plastic cup dangling from Chloe’s hand when she and Rafe got back from their hike.

“You didn’t drag me here,” Topper rolls his eyes, motioning for you to move forward in line. “It’s nice out. We’ll probably be stuck inside the rest of the trip when that storm rolls in, and I already feel all cooped up in the house.”

“Tell me about it,” you sigh, your eyes scouring the menu for anything without coffee or espresso for him. “You could get a matcha?”

Topper grimaces. “Get your coffee. Don’t feel bad. We can hit that ice cream shop down the street after this if you’re not in a rush to get back to the house.”

“Fine with me. Do you know what we’re doing today?”

“Kelce is probably gonna FaceTime Sidney. Margot and Gretch are probably…” he trails off, checking his watch “…at Soul Cycle right now, and are gonna come home and nap until it’s dark. Who knows with Rafe and Chloe. I think we’re on our own until poker.”

“Mm,” you hum noncommittally. “You gonna play?”

“I’m stealing everyone’s fuckin’ money,” Topper claims. “You?”

“I don’t really know how,” you shrug.

“There’s not much to it. Once you learn the rules, you just can’t let anyone know your hand,” he explains. “You’ll have fun. And I’m sure Rafe’ll give you a crash course.”

Your smile dims, and you’re lucky that it’s your turn to order your drink. Topper waits with you, holding the door to the shop open while you take your first sip.

“Is it everything you ever dreamed?”

“S’okay,” you shrug, swilling the milky drink around, falling into step beside him on the crowded sidewalk.

You don’t mean to spend the entire day out of the house—honestly. But it’s easy to after you get Topper his ice cream, you take it down to the beach together, talking about your families, college, and Topper’s last surf competition and betting on when Kelce is going to give this Sidney thing an actual try. You tease Topper about Emily but he just pushes you over on the beach towel you’re sharing, and you return the favor when he commends you for your away game at the Boneyard.

And it gets even easier when Topper convinces you to finally test your newly minted fake ID at some beach club that’s just down the shore, promising to buy the first round (of whatever “frilly rosé” you want) if you’ll just stand up straight and try your luck with the bouncer.

“Be fucking cool, Y/n/n—act like you’ve done this before,” he laughs, ushering you toward the outdoor bar to deliver on his promise.

You make sure to return the favor by batting your eyelashes at a group of college boys that feel inclined to buy you a drink. They must not be able to tell you aren’t old enough to have a true drink order yet, or maybe they just don’t care when they start talking about inviting you out to to their boat. That’s when you decide to give Topper the signal, where he’d already been watching you from across the beach anyway. He quickly peels you away, finding two straws for whatever god awful concoction thee boys had ended up ordered you at the bar.

And after Topper picks up the tab for a couple more rounds of frilly rosé—which might have turned into full bottles at some point—because, go figure, he starts to get nervous about one of the bottle girls eyeing you both suspiciously, a sunset swim in the ocean before the storm settles in somehow seems like the best idea you’ve had in your drunken lives.

The French fries and onion rings you share on your walk home are an even better one though, all the way up until the sky cracks open in the down pour you’d been outrunning all day when you’re hardly a block away from the house.

After the lack of worrying you’ve done all day, you don’t think twice about drunkenly stumbling into the house with your friend. It can’t be any bigger of a deal than whatever flack you’ll get from Margot and Gretchen over it later, but you realize your tipsy giggles and wet feet slipping against the floor is so incredibly loud because the house is silent, the rest of your friends looking at you from the dining table with a variety of looks on their faces.

“Oh. Hey guys. Poker time?” Topper asks, still mowing through the rest of the food you’d picked up, the way the paper bag had gone soggy doing nothing to deter him.

“Try an hour ago,” Kelce says, eyes flicking between the two of you. “You’re dripping all over my mom’s floor."

“Is it that late?” you wonder, leaning back to peer at Topper’s phone when he takes it out of his pocket, thankful for his hand on your back when you stumble.

“We tried texting you, Y/n/n,” Margot says, her eyes cutting to Gretchen, who nods, a nervous smile on her face.

“Sorry,” you say sincerely, but a hiccup gets you toward the end, and you hear Topper chuckle behind you.

“Are you guys… drunk?” Rafe asks, his tone of voice not exactly accusatory, but definitely confused. And the way he’s asking isn’t funny, because if you had a clear head you might think he’s genuinely concerned. The way Chloe’s sitting in a separate chair and still somehow practically in his lap, looking like a dog with a bone not because of that, but because of the way you and Topper are touching, is also nowhere near humorous.

But Topper’s suddenly got the giggles, and maybe it’s how uncomfortable this entire situation is that makes them so contagious, but you can’t control your own when he finally answers, “why would you think that?”

“Jesus Christ,” Margot mutters at the two of you, placing her cards on the table to rub at her temples.

“Are we dealing you in or not?” Kelce says, and you can’t believe your ears when you detect disappointment.

“Next round?” you try, already heading for the stairs, unsure of who’s eyes you even want to avoid anymore, but deciding it’s probably safest to choose all of them. “I really need to shower.”

“Same,” Topper says, already following you up.

“Kelce,” Chloe stage whispers. “Don’t interrupt them.”

Rafe doesn’t stage whisper, because you catch what he says even when you and Topper go your separate ways at the top of the staircase. “He’s not interrupting anything, Chlo.”

—

You don’t know if Topper rallied to join the poker game last night, because the rosé and the sun and the swimming and the running had really caught up to you in the shower, and it was all you could do to brush your teeth before climbing into bed before even drying your hair.

Getting to bed earlier than everyone, you thought you’d enjoy the downstairs of the house to yourself the next morning, the sound of the rain against the large window panes actually soothing to your impending headache—but you have no such luck.

Rafe is already at the coffee pot, back turned, sans any semblance of a shirt, and you stop so suddenly that your foot catches on the floor loudly, accidentally alerting him to your presence.

He twists around, assessing your pillow messy hair while rocking his own, awarding you just the tiniest smile. “She lives.”

“Can you brew a pot?” you say in greeting, already foraging for a mug and the creamer, peeling your eyes away from golden skin.

“I got you,” he says, adding more grounds. Your head aches with every jilted step you take, and you're suddenly reminded why you should always abide by ‘wine before liquor, never been sicker.’

You’re at a loss, surveying the kitchen for some sort of medicine stash when Rafe opens a drawer, tossing you a bottle of Advil.

“Thanks,” you mumble, taking it with you when you slump into a seat at the breakfast bar, pressing your head into the cool tile of the kitchen counter. The only sound in the kitchen after that is the drip of the coffee into the pot, and you suddenly realize this is the first time you’ve been alone with Rafe this entire trip.

“Here.”

Rafe sets a glass of water in front of you, and then to your absolute horror, leans over the counter in front of you, muscles in his arms straining. You toss back a few tablets and a gulp of water so huge your eyes sting, setting it back down before another wave of nausea hits you.

“Thanks,” you repeat.

“This place is nuts,” Rafe says. “Can’t even imagine it in the summer.”

“Probably looks a lot like Kildare,” you mumble. “But bougier.”

“True enough. You good?” he asks, not looking appeased when you nod. “What’d you and Top get up to anyway?”

“Coffee at that place. Top wanted ice cream. Went to this beach club,” you mutter, hiding your face in your hands, stomach turning at the thought of alcohol. “He peer pressured me into that one.”

“I’m sure he did.”

“He can be very convincing. I can see why he’s thinking of law school,” you sigh, rubbing at your eyes as you recall the rest of the day. “Then, um—oh yeah, went swimming. Got dinner.”

“Where?” Rafe asks, and you shrug, wondering when you’ll be able to take this coffee up to your room and crawl back into bed with it.

“It gets patchy after that.”

“Right,” Rafe sighs, and you hear him shifting around, fidgeting against the counter so aggressively that you can feel it. “He should know better.”

Your hands fall from your face, your elbows holding you up as you scrutinize him. “What?”

Rafe shrugs, head dipping. “You guys were out alone, not picking up your phones while he’s getting you drunk—probably around a bunch of dickhead frat boys at whatever stupid beach club. There was a storm coming in off the coast, we had no idea where you were and you’re drunk and swimming in the ocean. He know should better. You should, too.”

Your eyes narrow. “I told Gretchen and Margot when I left, and they have my location. Also, I know how to swim.”

He turns to face you. “I’m just saying—”

“No,” you say, surprising yourself when you don’t let him talk. “Top’s one of my best friends, yours, too. We wanted to get out of the house and got caught up, but we were fine. We were at a bar, not jumping off of the lighthouse or at some random house party.”

Rafe smiles like you’re being ridiculous, a look you aren’t used to receiving unless it’s in jest, and it makes you feel so much smaller than you’ve already felt all week. “Just looking out, Y/n/n. People were worried.”

“People?” you ask incredulously, pushing your palms into the counter to stand-up. “Like who?”

You tear your eyes away from where Rafe has fish-mouthed, sensing someone else’s presence in the kitchen.

“Hey, you,” Chloe singsongs, strolling into the kitchen in a shirt you recognize.

The pressure behind your eyes is building, the voice in your head screaming at you to get out of here now, coffee already forgotten.

“Have fun with Topper?” she asks.

“Chloe,” Rafe says pointedly.

“Tons,” you answer, not waiting for either of them to respond before booking it out of there.

—

The storm in Montauk that week was nothing a couple of Outer Banks kids weren’t used to, but the same couldn’t be said for the power lines on the street where Kelce’s parents’ house sat.

You’re reading, holed up in your room when the power flickers off, all of the appliances that had been humming suddenly silent, making the sound of the rain even clearer.

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, realizing you probably can’t hide out anymore.

You turn your phone flashlight on and make your way downstairs, where you’d left everyone after dinner. Things had loosened up in the group as the day wore one, but you hadn’t said a word to Rafe, and the eyes his girlfriend kept giving you and Topper were only making matters worse.

There’s already a couple of candles lit when you make your way downstairs, shining your phone flashlight on the path in front of you so you don’t trip.

“Can I help with anything?” you ask Kelce, who’s sitting at the kitchen table on his phone.

“My dad says there’s more flashlights in the closet by the laundry room, could you grab a few?” he asks.

“On it,” you say, putting aside whatever silent battle the two of you had been fighting since you got on the plane to come here.

Kelce’s face looks grateful, illuminated by the candles Gretchen was setting up all over the lower level. “Thanks, Y/n/n.”

It doesn’t take you long to find the closet, right by the laundry room as Kelce had said. You swing the door open to begin investigating, sighing heavily when you see a row of flashlights on the top shelf. “Mother—”

“Fuck.”

The door nearly smacks you in the face, a force pushing it back toward you suddenly where you stand in front of the closet. “What the fuck?”

“Ow,” Rafe groans. “There was a door there.”

“Oh shit, Rafe,” you whisper. “Are you okay?”

You try to find your phone where you’d left it on one of the shelves so you can shine the light, but he grabs your arm suddenly, trying to get his bearings.

“Shit, sorry—it’s dark as fuck in here,” he says, still sounding like he’s in pain. “Kelce sent me over here to get flashlights.”

“They’re here,” you say. “In the closet.”

“Right. The closet with the door I just introduced myself to.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?” you ask. You couldn’t even tell how close Rafe is to you right now, that’s how dark it is, but his grip on your arm and the way you’re sure you can feel his body heat is enough to have you forgetting all about the conversation you’d had earlier, until he brings it up.

“Are you okay?”

“I didn’t just smack my head on a door,” you laugh lightly, using the arm he’s holding to guide him out of the way, the two of you standing in the laundry room.

“I know—fuck. I’m gonna have a mark,” he says. His touch leaves your arm suddenly, and then you see the flick of a lighter meeting the wick of a small votive candle, which he sets on the washer.

The two of you are modestly illuminated then, and you see no mark, but you do see the regretful look he’s sporting.

“I’m sorry. About this morning.”

“Oh, it was no big deal,” you shrug.

“No, it wasn’t, and I shouldn’t have acted like it was.”

“S’fine,” you say. “I’ve been in a bad mood. Probably shouldn’t have even come out here this week.”

“No, what? Don’t say that—everyone wants you here.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Bad mood or not, Y/n/n—this trip wouldn’t have been the same without you. Top would be lost at sea, most likely.”

You can’t help but laugh at that, even if Topper is the strongest ocean swimmer out of all of you. Rafe would have him beat in a pool, and he loves to remind everyone of that.

“I was being… dumb, I don’t know—it’s…” Rafe sighs, his eyes focused on the candle flame flickering between you as he pauses. “Chloe really seems to think you and him have a thing for each other.”

“I told her we don’t,” you groan, ready to try your luck at getting those flashlights on your own, or even returning to Kelce empty handed.

“I did too,” Rafe assures you. “But last night, I don’t know. I can tell her to cool it, if you want me to.”

You don’t know what possesses you to lean forward, your hand pushing up the hair that had fallen over Rafe’s forehead to investigate the mark forming. You underestimate how close your bodies are in the dim lighting, your midsection brushing against his.

“Am I bleeding?” he asks, his voice hushed.

“No,” you say, retracting your touch, backing into the washer, mindful of not knocking over the candle and sending the house up in flames. “Um, top shelf. Can you reach them?”

“Can I reach them?” Rafe says haughtily, passing them to you as he swipes them off of the top shelf with ease. You hope it’s bright enough in there for him to see you roll your eyes.

“Come on,” you say, clicking one of the flashlights on.

“Wait, Y/n/n,” he says, his touch soft on your elbow when he tugs you back toward him.

“What?” you ask, turning to face him again, the way the candle flame lights up his face no less endearing.

“We’re okay, right?” he asks, his tone almost pleading.

He sounds so earnest, you want to drop the flashlights you’re holding and throw your arms around him, assure him that you’re always okay, always, and that you could never be angry with him for anything. You don’t though, because you almost forgot he has a girlfriend just around a corner somewhere, and you sincerely Rafe Cameron never discovers he can have you just about anyway he wants.

“Yeah,” you say, turning to keep walking back toward the living room. “We’re okay.”

—

Present day

Your parents didn’t open their home to the Outer Banks’ bustling social order often, but your mother really went all out when they did. That might be why you grew up accustomed to peers awkwardly asking you if your mom had mentioned anything about a guest list to you—like she ever would—sent to you to do their parents’ bidding around the holidays.

Tonight was such an occasion, where you’re expected to have every hair in place, exacerbating the missing suitcase issue.

Rafe is already splayed across your bed in his shirt and slacks, cuddled into your old throw pillows like he never left, nursing a glass of some sort of dark liquor your dad had dragged him into the study for on his way up here. “There has to be something in here you can wear.”

“Right now,” you observe, angrily sifting through your closet in just your undergarments. “We’re down to my old school uniform or my prom dress.”

“They’re basically tied in my head,” Rafe calls.

“Neither of them fit.”

“Even better,” he goads.

You roll your eyes, wanting to be annoyed but failing to fully get there. You’d been distracted all day, ever since your run-in at the grocery store. Finding something wearable from the remains of your adolescent wardrobe ought to be the best distraction, but it’s nothing compared to the one taking up your bed.

The distraction walks into your closet then, setting his drink on one of the built-in shelves and taking your hips into his hands, tucking himself in firmly behind you. “Come on. There’s gotta be something.”

The door bell goes off again in the distance, and you huff in frustration. “I can’t believe she kept my deb dress.”

“She did?” he asks, reaching around you to hold the tulle in his hands. “She did. Wear this one. I was your date in this one.”

“I was also eight years younger,” you quip, unceremoniously flicking past it. “And I’m not wearing my deb dress to a cocktail party.”

“What gives, Y/l/n?”

You whirl on Rafe, who sips lackadaisically at his drink, eyebrows raised. “What?”

“You’re being weird. You have a hundred dresses in here,” he says, shrugging. “And you don’t care what anyone downstairs thinks.”

“My mom does,” you remind him, a feeble attempt at an excuse.

“Hey,” he says softly, finger bumping your chin upward. “What is it? Really.”

“Ugh,” you groan, pushing him aside so you can cross your closet, finding a dress that might be an actual contender. “It’s so fucking stupid, Rafe.”

“What is?” he says, slightly amused as you take it off the hanger.

“I ran into Chloe at the store,” you say, not checking for his reaction in the full-length mirror as you slip your dress on. It wouldn’t be the most flattering fit, once you zip it up.

“Today?” Rafe asks, and you hear him set his drink down again.

“Yes, today,” you answer, turning to check your figure from the side, then dropping the dress in a huff, stepping out of it and kicking it to the side.

“Okay,” your boyfriend says, seemingly unperturbed. “How did that go?”

“Nothing, it was nothing. It was fine,” you say, attempting flippancy as you move past him. But he grabs your elbow, pulling you to a stop. He’s a vision in his simple but handsome get-up, and you realize it’s been a while since you’ve seen him all dressed up. Lucky you, you think, scanning him from the ground up.

“Y/n. It doesn’t sound like nothing, or that it was fine,” he says. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

“It’s not like it’s a big deal,” you say, twisting your fingers around each other. “You guys—well, it was forever ago, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” he says. “Quite a forever ago. A couple. I feel like we’ve lived a couple since then.”

Much like this conversation, there’s a dress hanging in the corner that you’d been tip-toeing around all night. You know it’d be perfect—maybe a little snug but just in all of the right places. You had it stashed here in case something like this were to ever happen. You overthought everything, and it was finally coming in handy.

You smile up at him briefly before you move past him to take it off the hanger. It slips right over your shoulders and falls exactly how you knew it would.

“I just got in my head about it,” you say, shifting your hair to one side once you’re standing in front of the mirror once again. Rafe takes the hint, working at the zipper dexterously. “She was always kind of a bitch, wasn’t she?”

“Babe,” Rafe laughs, shocked. You turn to look at him.

“What?”

“Nothing. You’ve just never spoken ill of her before,” he says, pushing your hair behind your shoulders. “It’s kind of refreshing.”

“Why?”

A blush dusts the high points of his cheeks, and he’s swirling his glass again before taking a long pull. “I mean, I nearly laid your ex out at family dinner.”

You bite your bottom lip, recalling that moment in the wine cellar as clearly as if it happened yesterday. You hadn’t seen or heard from Theo since then.

“We don’t have talk about it,” Rafe quickly adds.

You nod gratefully, letting the moment pass without an answer.

“But forgive me if it’s nice to see a little jealousy from you every once in a while,” he says, pressing a kiss to your head.

“Jealousy?” you say, your eyebrows furrowing. “I… that’s not…”

Rafe looks at you expectantly, smile slowly growing as you fail to vocalize what you’d actually been getting at. That seeing her again had stirred up a deep hurt in you, a hurt he was responsible for whether he knew it or not. And that no matter how much you had healed from it—or how deep you’d buried it—all it took was one run-in with her to bring it all back, memories of Kelce’s Hamptons house occupying your mind all afternoon.

“Sweetheart, it’s alright,” Rafe assures you, eyes searching your face. “I know you love it when I’m jealous, but I kinda just want to keep you up here all night.”

A knock sounds at your bedroom door, muted from where you two stand in the closet still.

“Come on,” comes Dylan’s voice. “Mom told me to drag you out of here, and I’d rather die.”

You huff, turning off your closet light and waiting for Rafe to follow. Your jewelry is already on—you’d kept it simple with your R necklace and a tennis bracelet from your college graduation. Your shoe selection had also been bleak, and you reluctantly slip into some old wedges. It was hardly attire you’d usually wear to one of your mom’s soirées, but it would have to do for both of you.

“You look beautiful.”

Your shoulders drop slightly, and you don’t fight your smile. “Thanks, baby.”

Rafe waves a hand as if to tell you not to even mention it as he guides you through your bedroom door. Thankfully, Dylan is nowhere to be found.

“And I’m just saying, I’m so not opposed to seeing the Academy skirt later.”

“You perv. It was standard issue.”

“You rolled it up. I know you did.”

“Everyone did,” you tell him, making your way down the stairs with your boyfriend on your heels.

“I wasn’t looking at everyone.”

“You make me sick,” you jab, elbowing him softly in the ribs even as you feel your cheeks fill with warmth.

“You make me sick. Lovesick.”

“Rafe.”

Rafe’s smile drops at the sound of your father’s voice, his hand moving from where it had slipped dangerously low on your back up to the middle, before falling away entirely. “Hi Mr. Y/l/n.”

“Would you help my wife with the trash in the kitchen?”

You jump in immediately, hand finding Rafe’s arm. “Rafe’s a guest. Can you ask Dylan to do it?”

“I’ve got it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, before leaving your side at the bottom of the stairs.

“Thanks, son,” your dad says, patting him on the back as he goes. Rafe turns back to you briefly, a prideful look on his face, eyebrows raised in a way that makes your heart speed up faster.

—

I’m so cold

my mom should’ve put extra blankets out?

She did. Still

suck it up buttercup

Pretty sure Cap misses you too. Whining at the door

noooooo my baby :(

What about me?

Your simple reply is a shrugging emoji, and Rafe smiles as he tosses his phone to the side on the bed. It really is cold in here, but Rafe might have exaggerated it a little. He could definitely throw some sweat pants on, but he’d rather complain until you ask him to come up. That way there’s no guilt on his part if he gets caught.

But you don’t appear immediately interested in that, so Rafe does opt for pulling a pair of pants on. Which was a big mistake, because his dog immediately stands where he actually had been whining at the door, ever since Captain realized he wouldn’t be going back to the main house with you.

“I know, bud,” Rafe sighs, leaning down to scratch behind his ear. “I miss her, too.”

Captain whimpers, louder this time, and Rafe realizes he won’t get much sleep tonight if he keeps him out here. It’s late enough, right? Your parents must be asleep after that party, and it’s not like Dylan would rat him out. He takes one last look at his cold bed, then looks back at his dog, who’s still swishing his tail in anticipation.

“Alright. Let’s go.”

The pair walk through the dewy grass and back to the main house, and the back door that sits just below your room is miraculously unlocked. And it’s easy enough to keep Captain quiet, even though his excitement builds the more he’s able to realize what’s going on, far and away the noisiest thing in an otherwise dark and quiet house.

“You’re gonna blow our cover dude,” he whispers, closing the back door as softly as possible. He can see through the house to the base of the stairs, they’re almost home free. He can figure out his escape plan in the morning if needed.

“Rafe, how nice of you to drop in.”

Rafe cringes inwardly, feeling his shoulders drop a couple of inches as he turns toward the study, where your father leans in the doorway. “Hey, Mr. Y/l/n.”

“A little late though, isn’t it?” Will teases, checking his wrist watch.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, I just wanted to let Captain up. He’s been whining,” Rafe says, willing the blush to fade on his cheeks, and hopeful the late night light won’t catch it anyway.

“Right,” your father says, nodding his head with a slight air of condescension, eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you five minutes.”

“That’s perfect,” Rafe lies, deflating further. “I’ll be back in no time.”

“I know,” your dad says, turning to head back into his office.

Rafe feels himself going out on a limb before his brain can even process if that’s the best idea. But he’s cold, and he feels a little weird about things with you, and if he were a dog he’d probably be whining ten times as loud as Captain was. “Mr. Y/l/n, with all due respect—”

“This better be good.”

“We live together. We have for over a year now,” Rafe points out.

“I know.”

“And I mean,” Rafe ventures, slightly embarrassed but still willing to go the lengths. “It wouldn’t be my first time spending the night in her room.”

“As far as my wife is concerned, it would,” your dad says, raising his eyebrows significantly.

“Okay, but—”

“Five minutes,” Will says, with finality.

“Yes, sir,” Rafe says.

He leads Captain up the stairs—well, Captain leads him, really, right to your door. He knocks softly, hoping you hadn’t fallen asleep in the last ten minutes.

“Jail break,” you gasp, once Rafe pushes the door open. You smile when Captain runs to greet you, who collects the attention he desired before finding the bed in the corner of the room, curling around Wilbur.

“Unbelievable,” Rafe says, walking toward the bed. He leans over you, not letting himself get in because he knows he won’t be able to get out. “Hi."

Your giggle settles something that had been anxious in his stomach all evening, sending you looks across the room when you were out of his reach, talking to your dad or any one of your mom’s friends. Your arms lock around his neck for a quick second, and he tucks his face into your neck.

“Hi. Thought I heard the back door.”

“The warden downstairs gave me five minutes,” Rafe says, unable to keep himself from smiling when you laugh too.

“How generous of him,” you say, shuffling to the side the make room. But Rafe doesn’t let you, because that’s dangerous territory.

“No, I can’t. You’re too warm and you smell too good and I’ll never make it back downstairs in time,” he explains, burrowing his face back into your neck. He feels goosebumps form, and he fails at his only goal of not getting lost in you, pressing his lips into a spot that’s been known to drive you wild.

“Rafe,” you warn, your voice already gone slightly breathy.

He pauses after a minute, planting one last kiss. “Question for you.”

“Mm.”

“What’s the waiting period here?” he says, propping himself up over you again. You blink slowly, and he loves witnessing the daze he put you in start to evaporate. “Like, if I proposed to you right now, would I be allowed to sleep over tonight?”

You narrow your eyes, and the moment is over, Rafe chuckling as you push him off forcefully. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” he says. “Not even a little.”

“I hope you freeze to death in the guest house,” you tell him, already rolling over onto your side to face away from him, the little huffs only endearing him more. “Please unplug my lights on your way out.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he says, leaning over you again. “That’s a real possibility.”

“There should be a space heater in one of the closets. Or maybe you can call Chloe. I’m sure she’d love to warm you right up,” you quip. Rafe falters for a moment, until he leans over just enough and sees your wry grin.

“I have to go before your dad calls Shoupe back over to arrest me, but we’ll unpack that tomorrow morning. Bagels?”

“Nothing to unpack,” you say. “But yes to bagels. Good night.”

He heads back down, after unplugging your lights as he was asked to do. You flip him off when he says good night at the doorway, but still answer his ‘love you.’

Rafe already detests the cold that awaits him back at the guest house, can almost feel it settling into his bones again. Maybe he should’ve toughed it out with Captain in the end, because he could’ve produced some extra body heat and Rafe wouldn’t have had a chance to remind himself what he was missing in the main house.

He makes no attempt to tip-toe past Will’s office, wanting his loud footsteps to echo just so your father knows he kept his promise.

“Rafe, a word?” Will calls.

Fuck. Rafe checks his watch, wondering if it had been longer than he thought. He pops his head inside. “Sorry. On my way out now.”

“No, I don’t care about that,” he says, waving a hand. He gestures to one of the chairs in front of him. “Have a seat.”

“Yes, sir,” Rafe agrees, dropping into the seat closest to the door. He sits quietly while Will continues working on his computer, a deep furrow in his brow.

“How was the birthday trip? To uh…” Will asks, doing the snapping thing he always does when he’s thinking out loud. “Aspen? No, that’s not right.”

“Telluride,” Rafe corrects, nodding at Will’s ‘ah.’ “It was amazing. Y/n flew my sisters out and everything. They can’t ski to save their lives, and I’m hardly better, but we all had a great time. Y/n was very patient with them.”

Your dad smiles, and Rafe lets the silence hang there until it’s clear enough that he’s waiting to find out what this is about.

“I know it’s late. I find it so hard to corner you when you’re over here. She hardly lets you out of her sight,” Will says after a while, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped over his middle.

Rafe feels his spine straighten immediately, but he tries to disguise at his readjusting his position in the cushioned chair as he fumbles for a response. “Yeah, Y/n… um. You know.”

“Mm,” Will hums noncommittally.

“Why would you need to corner me?”

Your dad smiles; he loves to freak Rafe out and he always succeeds. Rafe wishes he wouldn’t make it so easy for him, but he never wants to be caught out of step. “How’s the new job?”

Rafe clears his throat before he chokes on his own spit. “Did… Y/n mention something?”

“Well, obviously that’d be between my daughter and me.”

“Right, of course,” Rafe says, feeling his right leg start to jump up and down softly. That was by far your least favorite habit of his, and he wishes you weren’t upstairs right now so you could tell him to cut it out.

“But she said you were thinking about getting out of development,” your dad clarifies. “Are you?”

“More like thinking about thinking about it,” he says, laughing awkwardly. “Um, no, yeah. Things are fine at the new place; it’s a lot of what I’m used to. Just a different market, completely different. So it’s a change of pace, and it’s good.”

“Is it fine or is it good?” Will asks, tilting his head in consideration. Rafe hasn’t had a proper job interview since his college internships, but this is beginning to remind him of that in an eerie way.

“It’s good, for now,” he says, daring to be honest. Although he almost feels hurt that your dad even knows any of this. Rafe had merely been spitballing—merely—when he’d mentioned this to you in the past. Development was what he was good at it, it was what he knew. It was all he ever knew, but he didn’t love it. Rafe had been suspicious of that to some extent for a while, and he figured it might go away once he moved companies. But even without his dad breathing down his neck, his heart wasn’t in it. Not like yours was when it came to publishing, not like Topper’s when it came to medicine. Kelce pulled 60 hour weeks often, and Graham was entry-level at some newspaper that underpaid him criminally, to the point he walked dogs on the weekend. And you were all happier than Rafe was.

He knew it was temporary for him, but he hadn’t made any concrete plans of when or how to get out, and where he was going to go from there. And that apparently hadn’t stopped you from divulging all of this to maybe the second person he’d rather you not, after his own father.

“But not forever,” Will finishes for him. “So what’s next?”

“I don’t know how much she told you…” Rafe tries. Will doesn’t budge. “But I guess she had some friends over, and she—well, I make furniture, you know? Uh, woodturning was just a hobby I had in college at first.”

“Right, I knew that.”

Rafe nods, because it shouldn’t surprise him but it still kind of does—he doesn’t even know if his own dad knows that, but he can make an educated guess.

“And then I started doing it for Y/n/n. With our porch swing we left at the old house, and then our bed frame, her bookshelf, I made both of us desks, plus a couple of side tables—”

“I get it, Rafe.”

“Sorry, yeah,” Rafe says, message received. “But anyway, a couple of her friends were over once, and some of them asked about a few pieces.”

“To buy?” Will asks.

“Yeah, to buy,” Rafe says proudly. “And they’re friends of hers, so I’d have done it free after materials. But they all insisted. So I had to work out some pricing scales and all of that pretty quickly.”

Will nods, and the unease at being thrown into this conversation before he’d even realized he’d have to have it one day—because of course your father is going to wonder about Rafe’s career and finances—is slightly eased by the thought he might be impressing him.

“Good money?”

“Listen,” Rafe sighs. “I don’t want to give you the wrong idea about anything, because I don’t know the first thing about freelancing or maybe owning a business? It’s not anywhere near that yet.”

“You could figure all of that out, and I could help you,” Will says, clasping his hands together. “But would it be something you want?”

“I’m realistic, sir. It’s not something I’d consider as anything other than a side gig,” Rafe says carefully.

“Okay,” your dad says, nodding in consideration. He leans over his desk, elbows pressing into the wood. “So that leaves your actual career… where?”

“Well—you know, uh. I’m fine working where I am,” Rafe says, before being prompted to add more by Will’s expectant stare. “But not forever. I think the goal is to move more into the contracting side one day.”

“Hm,” your father says. “Get out from behind the desk.”

“Exactly,” Rafe breathes, relieved he seems to be understanding him now. “Maybe do things on my own, or with a couple of partners. I used to work with my hands a lot in the summers, travel to sites all the time. I don't know... I miss that.”

“I see.”

Will doesn’t give him much more than that, which leaves Rafe to fill the pause with his nerve-y internal monologue. “Mr. Y/l/n, I hope it doesn’t come as a surprise to you that I intend to be in your daughter’s life forever. And if you’re worried that one day I won’t be able to take care of her—”

“I’m not worried about that,” Will says, waving the thought away. “I won’t pretend to know the financial situation your parents have left you in, nor do I want you to feel like you should tell me. But I know hers, and she’ll never have to depend on a boyfriend for anything. Ever. That was intentional.”

Rafe nods, because he know Sarah and Wheezie will probably receive the same treatment when that day comes. He never expected it for himself, but especially not now.

“And to be honest, Rafe, we’re only having this conversation because I believe you when you say that’s your intention. To be in her life,” Will continues. “But you aren’t exactly… on the same playing field as her, are you?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Rafe says quietly, looking down at his hands, fidgeting with the newly empty spot on his finger.

“Which is perfectly alright,” your father rushes to say. “Don’t get me wrong. But that’s why I like to know these things. it’s important to me that she isn’t in a situation where she could be taken advantage of.”

Rafe looks up at that. “You have to know I’d never do that to her.”

“But I want her to be with someone who will hold their own,” Will clarifies. “It’s only fair.”

“All of this would be settled before I made anything official,” Rafe says. Truthfully, he’d never thought this far into it, in his own head or even talking it out with you. But it’s a no-brainer that Rafe would want to feel stable before you officially joined your lives together, and especially before you brought children into it. “She doesn’t need to count on me, but I want her to be able to."

“I’m just being a father, Rafe,” Will reminds him. “If you have a daughter, or any kids one day, I hope you’ll see where I’m coming from.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Will flicks a hand toward the door, which Rafe takes as his cue to leave, the adrenaline draining from his body in a seconds. “Do what you need to do.”

Rafe shakes his hand before he leaves, stopping by to look at the landing that would take him back up the stairs to your room, wondering if he should risk the wrath of your mother so he can ask you what the hell that was about.

—

The grass crunches softly underneath your boots the next morning, and you feel a twinge of sympathy for Rafe, wondering if he hadn’t been exaggerating about the temperature out in the guest house after all. You know it can be drafty out there, but Rafe ran warm. Even still, you dig your hands even further into the pockets of the vest Rafe had loaned you as you make your way to the guest house, dogs left in the main house while the two of you just went into town to grab breakfast for your family.

Rafe texted you that he’d come to the main house to collect you, but you opted to come out for him early, just because you wanted to and you missed him.

You make it to the door step before the front door sweeps open, Rafe’s shoulders dropping when he sees you. “I thought I was coming to get you.”

“I missed you too much,” you joke. Rafe’s lips twinge interestingly, like he might have smiled any other time but somehow wouldn’t this morning. He already has his sunglasses on so his eyes can’t give you any indication of his mood, but you still feel comforted by the easy way he slips his hand into yours, kissing the side of your head.

“You ready?”

“Let’s go,” you say, trying to muster your own smile. Rafe must not notice, because he looks like he’s a million miles from here with you as he leads you to the car.

It isn’t like you to bring things up first usually, but with Kelce’s party tonight and Thanksgiving with both of your families tomorrow, you need to be on solid ground with Rafe. And more than that, you want to be. You want to be able to lock eyes with him across any room, nudge his foot under any table or squeeze his hand in any secluded hallway, and know that you’ll make it out alive.

“Did you want to talk about the Chloe thing?” you ask, the silence too much to handle after only five minutes in the car.

“Chloe?” Rafe murmurs, sounding lost. “What?”

“You said you wanted to talk about it today, so,” you shrug, grasping for nonchalance and feeling like it’s far from your reach. “We can talk about it.”

“Oh, right,” he breathes, adjusting his grip on the steering wheel. “Alright, yeah. What did she say again?”

“I hadn’t told you what she said yet,” you remind him. “And it wasn’t really even about what she said, honestly. Maybe a little, because she seems to think about you a lot still and definitely had something to say about it—but anyway, like I said, it was more about, like—”

“Babe,” he cuts in. “If it’s important, I need you to spit it out.”

You recoil. “It’s important, Rafe. I wouldn’t bring it up if it wasn’t.”

“Then what was it?” he asks, no remorse in his tone, only frustration. “If she didn’t say anything, did she look at you wrong or something?”

You never expected Rafe to trivialize you or your feelings, no matter how many times you’d done it to yourself in the past few days, and the world outside of the car suddenly seems colder.

“No,” you snap. “It was more about the fact that she tried to hook up with you even when she thought we were dating, and you knew and still went out with her after the fact.”

Rafe seems caught off-guard. “What are you—do you mean when we were kids? When we were 17?”

“I was 16,” you add pettily. “And I didn’t say it was rational. I told you yesterday, it’s stupid.”

“Then why are we talking about it right now?” he asks, exasperated.

You can’t help but reciprocate his frustration, even if you don’t find his warranted. “Because yesterday, you said—”

“It was years ago, Y/n/n,” he interrupts.

“I’m not an idiot, I know it was,” you say. You’ve had enough at this point, and you’re more than suspicious of his suddenly rude behavior—a world of difference from the guy who snuck up to your room just last night just to tell you he loved you. “Why are you being like this?”

A muscle in Rafe’s jaw ticks, and that’s when you know he’s really upset about something. He pulls into the parking lot outside of the cafe, turning to look at you as soon as the car is in park. “Because I’m a little concerned that we’re spending so much time on bullshit that happened in high school when last night you were apparently telling your dad I’m about to quit my job so I can freeload off of you.”

You pull back, mind reeling at the abrupt topic change. “What? I didn’t tell him that.”

“Really?” he says, and you get the sense he isn’t waiting for an answer. “Then where did he get the idea that he needed to lecture me about not taking advantage of your trust fund?”

Rafe gets out of the car, leaving you speechless and scrambling to follow him. But he comes around before you can even get that far, waiting for you to get out of the passenger’s side with agitation radiating off of him in waves.

“Rafe, I never—”

He shuts the door. “When I told you I was thinking about doing something different—literally just thinking about it, Y/n—I didn’t think you’d run and tell Will.”

“We—no, Rafe,” you say, still scrambling to find your footing on the defensive. “No, we were just talking at their party. He asked about you.”

It’s hard for you to remember on the spot, and because until now it was so incredibly insignificant to you. You had a spare moment with your dad in the midst of your mom’s soiree—he asked about Rafe and his new job, so you told him.

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, his tongue in his cheek. “So you told him I might need you to bankroll my pipe dream. Got it.”

Rafe turns to enter the restaurant, and the stubborn way he holds the door open for you just angers you even more—like he knows he’s being ridiculous. The two of you join the queue, a few inches separating you. “We’re talking about this at home. We’re not gonna be that couple fighting at the bagel shop.”

“Oh, good. Maybe we can ask your dad to join,” he bites sarcastically. “Fuck it, Dylan can come too. Might as well hear what everyone thinks.”

“Rafe,” you warn, weary of anyone within earshot. It’s early enough that there aren’t many people around, but you can’t believe his behavior.

“We’ll talk at home,” he concedes.

You stand beside him in silence while the line inches forward, wracking your thoughts for anything you could’ve said that would sic your dad on Rafe like that. You were close to your dad and you shared a lot with him, but you’d never share something that would make Rafe uncomfortable; you knew how important that relationship was to him. You’d honestly just been proud to share something so exciting with him, that Rafe had recently turned a hobby into something more. That people saw what he was capable of and wanted to pay him for it—that he was starting to see himself outside of Ward’s web.

“Y/n,” he calls, and he’s standing at the register, grasping a single take-out cup. “Dylan wanted almond milk, right?”

You nod affirmatively, and he turns back to the cashier to hand it over. The rest of the order you’d called in is on the counter before him, he’d been checking it over just to make sure all of your family’s orders were correct.

“I’m sorry about that,” he apologizes, but the employee waves him off, leaving temporarily to fix it.

Rafe reaches for his wallet, and a thought occurs to you. Before you can think of it you’re reaching into your jacket pocket. “My dad gave me his card.”

Rafe scoffs gently, a disbelieving smile pulling at his lips. “I can pay for it.”

“Rafe, it’s all of my family’s stuff.”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to go get it if I wasn’t fine paying for it,” he insists, teeth nearly gritted. “Drop it.”

“That’s ridiculous—”

The cashier giving the total interrupts your bickering, and the precarious glance he casts between the two of you as he puts Dylan’s coffee back into the drink carrier makes you want to crawl out of your skin. You do the next best thing, grabbing the drinks and leaving Rafe to get the food as you stomp outside.

You’ve been pouting for a full 30 seconds before Rafe even joins you, putting the food in the back seat, and you can tell he takes one look at you and decides not to press it, not saying anything at all until you’re back in your parents’ driveway.

“I know we were gonna spend the day together,” he says quietly. “But I think we should split up after breakfast. Cool off.”

“But your sisters…”

“Will understand,” he finishes. A sad, little smile graces his lips. “And be even more excited to see you tomorrow.”

“What about Kelce’s party?” you say, grasping at anything.

“I’ll come get you,” Rafe sighs, tugging his hat off to run a hand through his hair. “Or I can meet you there, if you wanted. I just need to clear my head, baby.”

You pull out your last defense, out of desperation but also genuine worry for him. “And you’re fine to go to your dad’s alone?”

“Mhm,” he quickly answers, twirling your keys in his grip. “Did it for like 20 years, so…”

“Yeah,” you agree, swallowing your hurt when you realize he’s really serious—that even facing Ward alone isn’t enough to deter him from leaving you right now. “That’s fine. I should get to baking. Without distractions.”

“Good,” he says, finally stepping out of the car. You use the time it takes Rafe to come around to the passenger’s side to suck in a sharp, deep breath, bottling up tears so instinctual you hardly even realize they were coming before he opens your door for you.

“Good,” you agree, stepping out to follow him without meeting eyes.

—

“What’s with all the pies?”

Dylan plops unceremoniously onto the kitchen counter, almost as unceremoniously as he had strolled into the kitchen. You’d made four pies in an attempt to recreate the one Rose had loved last year, but at least you were down from your grand total of nine last year.

“Don’t ask,” you groan, rinsing the last of the dishes in the sink. Dylan sits with his side profile to you. “But take as many as you want. Just don’t touch the one in the garage fridge.”

He points at the one next to him. “What’s wrong with this one?”

“Too sweet.”

“I can live with that,” he decides fishing two forks out of the drawer beside him, passing one off to you.

“What’s up?” you ask, the two of you picking at the rejected pie.

“Nothing’s up. Why does something have to be up?”

“You don’t usually go out of your way to occupy the same space as me unless Rafe’s here. Or if I fucked up,” you add.

“Well did you? Fuck up?”

You shake your head silently, shrugging with innocence when your younger brother gives you a look. “Promise.”

He narrows his eyes, but shakes his head, too. “Your luggage came. I didn’t haul it upstairs. Rafe can get it.”

“Mm,” you murmur, distracted. “Sounds good. That it?”

He sighs roughly, a loud rush of air, tossing his fork into the pie tine. “I told Mom and Dad. About Everett.”

Your ears immediately perk up at the mention of Dylan’s new boyfriend, but you try to contain your emotions as not to spook him. “You did?”

“Yeah,” he breathes, smiling so unabashed it makes your heart melt, your own woes temporarily forgotten.

“And?” you push gently.

“You were right,” Dylan admits, rolling his eyes. “They were all over me about when they can meet him and what he’s like and what his parents do and… yeah, all of it.”

“Dyl,” you say. “I told you.”

“I know,” he sighs, scratching at Wilbur’s ear. “I know.”

“Does this mean he’s gonna come here? And we can double date?”

“You’re joking, right? He’s never coming here,” Dylan laughs at you, like it’s a dumb idea.

“Why not?” you pout.

“They’re gonna run him off,” he says. “With bloodlines and prenups and just bullshit.”

You roll your eyes, even though he’s correct. “You’ve been dating for, what, three months?”

“It’ll be four in a few days,” Dylan admits quietly, only letting you hug him for a record three seconds before he’s pushing you away.

“Look at you. They can be a lot, though,” you admit. “I probably would’ve waited until my wedding day if Rafe wasn’t from here.”

“Where’s the Rafester anyway?” Dylan says, suddenly peeking around the kitchen, like Rafe’s going to pop out of the pantry suddenly.

“Thankfully not around to hear you call him that,” you quip. “He fled.”

“Smart guy,” Dylan laughs, then looks at you in consideration. “You guys okay?”

“We’ll be alright,” you sigh, shrugging.

“Ev’s gonna have his work cut out for him. They already love Rafe so much,” your younger brother sighs, cringing lightly.

“Yeah, they do,” you say softly. “But they’ll love Everett, too. As long as he treats you right. And doesn’t have any tattoos.”

Dylan winces and your eyes widen. “They’re not visible. Easily. They’re not… easily visible.”

“Oh my god,” you cry, closing your hands over your ears. “Not my baby brother.”

“Oh, grow up,” Dylan says.

Your chuckle is cut off when a couple of texts comes through on your phone, two curt messages that make your heart speed up slightly. “Fuck.”

“What is it?” your brother asks.

“Nothing—um, nothing bad,” you amend, mind racing—any thoughts of Chloe or your dad or Dylan’s boyfriend suddenly forgotten. “I just have to get ready. Will you pretty please go get my bag?”

Dylan groans, heaving himself off of the counter anyway. “Fine.”

—

It was foolish of Rafe to think Tannyhill would offer him any kind of solace.

It was great to see his sisters, to hear about school and their friends and Sarah’s new internship and Wheezie’s college choices for the half hour alone he had with them before Ward came home, even if it had been permeated by their disappointment and worry at your absence. Which was of no bother to Ward, who seemed more cheery than normal to have Rafe alone, to get under his skin and ask about California without you around to take over, jump in, or just hold his hand under the goddamn table so he know’s he’ll be alright when all is said and done.

So it’s no wonder he ends up at the Lodge eventually. Topper wasn’t leaving Blythe’s side and Kelce was off to pick up his girl, and Rafe felt a little too raw to invite anyone else along.

So he’s alone at his hometown bar on the afternoon before Thanksgiving, because in the last 24 hours he’d transformed back into the scared little boy he always felt like he was on this island, running from everything and everyone. Running from you.

And it’s foolish of Rafe to think he ever could.

Because he’s on his third round from his favorite bartender—the one who’s been serving him since he was seventeen, who took look one look at Rafe as he’d pushed open the door at this dive and poured him his calling card—when the door swings open, spilling sunlight and a breath of fresh air into the otherwise dark space.

Your suitcase clearly made it to you at some point today, if the houndstooth mini skirt is anything to go by. It’s hidden by the long coat you’re wearing, but Rafe can tell the black turtleneck you’re wearing looks just as good on you as the sheer black tights and knee-high boots you’re wearing do. The literal definition of a tall drink of water stands before him, and every sorry soul hiding out in this shithole when they ought to be home with their wives can look, but they can’t touch.

“You found me,” Rafe starts, shifting a toothpick around in his mouth.

“Sarah said you didn’t last an hour at Tannyhill,” you respond flippantly.

“I guess I’m more surprised you came inside,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Charlie makes his way down the bar at this point, glancing at Rafe before focusing his attention on you.

“Can I get you anything?”

You shuck your coat and Rafe bristles—he’d been right about the top—throwing a significant arm over the back of your chair as soon as you seat yourself at the bar next to him.

You lean forward on your elbows, surveying the contents behind the bar before glancing at Rafe’s tumbler unsurely. “Whatever he’s having.”

Charlie raises his eyebrow and Rafe lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. “No. Vodka soda, Smirnoff or better. Anything else, don’t bother. And two limes.”

Charlie nods before he walks off to grab a bucket, and you slouch in your chair, no fight put up. “Probably shouldn’t have anything, honestly. We need to jet.”

“Why’s that?”

You roll your eyes. “Did you check your phone once today?”

He furrows his eyebrows, because he hadn’t. It’d been on do not disturb, but your notifications wouldn’t have been affected by that. “No, why?”

“It’s Kelce.”

“We’re still going to that?” he asks in wonder, because he really wasn’t sure anymore. It’d be smaller than it was in year’s past, your absence definitely more noticeable. But neither of you were one for putting on appearances, and it wasn’t exactly the easiest crowd to conceal things from anyway. He checks his watch, noting the early hour. “He’s not even having people over for a few hours.”

“He called it off,” you say, finally looking at him.

“What?” Rafe asks. Charlie comes back with your drink, and you thank him with a a sweet smile, only taking a small sip before you swirl the straw around and try to cover up a nose scrunch once his back is turned. Rafe feels something loosen in his chest, observing you sitting here in a bar you have no problem telling anyone who asks that you detest. All for him.

“Therese isn’t coming.”

Rafe leans toward you, retraining his focus on the task at hand. “To his party?”

“To the Outer Banks at all,” you say, your eyes full of emotions, ever the empath. “She cancelled her flight this morning.”

“Oh fuck,” Rafe breathes, sliding a hand over his face once it clicks. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, taking another sip, probably just to be polite. “He’s screening my calls, but I doubt he’s taking it well. Topper and Blythe are already over there.”

“We need to get out of here,” he decides, already looking for his wallet. He throws way too many bills down between both of your unfinished drinks, checking his phone for missed texts from Kelce. From Topper too, plus a few calls. None from you. “Who’s car?”

“Dylan dropped me off,” you tell him, slipping your arms into your coat when he holds it out for you. “So mine, since you took it this morning.”

Rafe winces. “Your car’s still at my dad’s. I drove my truck here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Didn’t really plan for this scenario,” he says sheepishly.

“So, what? You were gonna drink all day and then drive yourself back to Tannyhill? And then come back over and let me get in the car with you?” you huff, turning to exit with an eye roll. Rafe races to catch up, barely catching the door when you fling it open. You stand with your arms crossed, stilling on the sidewalk, and Rafe realizes you don’t know where he parked.

Your questioning is logical, and leads Rafe to realize this is probably the only way this day would’ve ended, with you somehow making everything alright. But that’s what he’s supposed to do.

“Baby, I’m sorry,” Rafe begins, not even sure what he’s apologizing for yet. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“God, Rafe, it’s fine—I know you wouldn’t—ugh,” you sigh, aggravated. But then you reach out and take his hand. “I know we have shit going on right now, but I want to put it aside for tonight. For Kelce’s sake.”

Rafe swallows, nodding, suddenly very sober. He strokes a thumb along yours, reveling in your touch when you don’t reject him. Rafe squeezes back. “Yeah, of course.”

—

It’s a scene all too familiar to him—Kelce’s backyard, where he's sharing a short, glass-top table with Topper, the two of them lounging in a pair of matching Adirondack chairs. A few years ago, Rafe might be rolling up a joint in his lap, trying and succeeding at peer pressuring Topper into partaking with him. But things have changed, and all that sits between them is two tumblers of dark liquor, more expensive than they’d have ever spent their own money on back in the day. But both of their dads’ liquor cabinets were always fair game in both of their eyes.

And instead of perusing the backyard—discussing anyone who caught their eyes—Topper has a lapful of longterm girlfriend, while Rafe’s is just inside.

Kelce had been in a state once you two arrived tonight—weird, quiet, shutdown. Far from his usual, especially tonight, his self-proclaimed favorite day of the year. You’d taken one look and pulled him into his parents’ living room to talk it out. That was your forte, so Rafe had quietly slipped out to the yard to find solace. Besides, he wasn’t feeling too inclined to dole out relationship advice right now.

“He wouldn’t want us to feel bad for him,” Topper says, and Rafe nods along in agreement. “But I can’t help it. This shit sucks.”

“Yeah,” Rafe sighs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees.

“She didn’t have to wait until the last second,” Blythe says, and Rafe looks over to see her shrug. “Well, it’s true. If she decided not to come today, she’d probably been hesitant for a while. She didn’t have to let him get his hopes up.”

Rafe can’t argue with that, and he wonders if this could be the end for Kelce and this girl. Because he might have a hard time moving past this one, should he ever get the chance to meet her. He knows you will.

“People get weird around the holidays,” Topper explains. “Families and whatever. It’s hard.”

“How can I forget your first time meeting my parents?” she teases. Topper’s cheeks blush red, and Rafe would push for more details if he had the emotional energy to feel invested enough.

“Babe,” Topper groans.

“Rafe, you should’ve seen him on the plane, he was—”

“Babe,” Topper insists, but with a chuckle, and his arms tightening around her, not an ounce of an edge to his tone. Rafe averts his eyes and grabs his drink, swilling it around half-heartedly before taking another longish pull.

“And what about you?”

He looks over when he realizes the question had been meant for him. “Me?”

“Yeah,” Blythe smiles timidly. “How is it being back home?”

Rafe doesn’t cut his eyes to his friend, but he’s sure Topper is panicking. Blythe had always been a little bolder than him, and in a balancing way. “S’fine. I’m staying with Y/n/n’s parents, but I saw my sisters today.”

“That’s fun,” she says, and her eyes find Topper’s. “How’s Y/n?”

Rafe smiles, sensing where this is going. “She’s just inside, if you’d like to ask her yourself.”

“Well, we just…” she trails off, looking to Topper. He looks to Rafe, his lips tucked into his teeth.

Rafe sighs, feeling his shoulder drop a few inches.

“I can leave,” Blythe offers. Rafe waves her off quickly as he downs the rest of his drink, knowing anything shared with Topper is as good as said right in front of her anyway.

“Let it out, bud,” Topper implores, and Rafe sinks further into his chair.

“Oh, fuck off. Her dad riled me up,” Rafe says, condensing his story as best he can. “About work stuff. Money stuff.”

“Yeesh,” Blythe cringes.

“You’d think I’m trying to put a ring on her finger, tomorrow, dude,” Rafe rants.

“Aren’t you?” Topper laughs, taking a sip of his own drink.

Rafe feels his eyes roll at that. “Not tomorrow.”

“Oh, sorry, next week,” he amends.

“Dude,” Rafe laughs, feeling himself start to relax slightly, wondering if his problems might not be as big as he’d made them out to be in his head. After all, Topper’s jabs were based in truth, and maybe Rafe needed to act like he was asking you to marry him tomorrow. There probably would be a ring on your finger right now, if you asked Rafe when you first started going out. But that was before quitting Cameron Development, before California, before you helped Rafe realize he had a lot of work to do on himself if he ever wanted to be half the man you or any of your future kids deserved. You were his real deal, and maybe your dad had finally called him out for not acting like it. He already knew that’s how your mom felt.

“Y/n says her dad loves you,” Blythe says, confused.

“He does,” Topper says. “So really? That’s what all of that tension in there was?”

Rafe flushes at the implication that everyone could pick up on the jilted greetings you both gave upon arrival, becoming briefly concerned of any flack he might get from Kelce later, especially given the heart-to-heart taking place inside right now. He cranes his neck, trying to spot you through a kitchen window without any luck. “Most of it. And also, super random, she ran into Chloe, I guess?”

“Chloe Merrick? From high school?”

“Mm,” Rafe murmurs, distracted and already thinking about how he can smooth things over with you later tonight. The skirt will make things difficult if he lets it, so he needs to be on point.

“Well, bud—why didn’t you lead with that?” Topper laughs.

“With what?” Rafe asks.

“With Chloe.”

“Wait, who’s Chloe?” Blythe says, her words coming out whiny.

“Rafe’s ex,” Topper supplies. “Which literally explains everything.”

Rafe furrows his eyebrows, feeling not drunk but definitely tipsy enough to render him unable to understand Topper’s reasoning. “How’s that?”

“Dude, she hates Chloe.”

“Y/n doesn’t hate anyone,” Rafe says easily, pointing at Blythe when she nods, as if to tell Topper ‘see?’

Topper scoffs. “Sometimes I forget how fucking dumb you are when it comes to Y/n/n.”

“Baby,” Blythe chides, but Rafe feels himself a disbelieving smile pulling at his own lips.

“You think I don’t know my girlfriend?” Rafe asks.

“Not all the time. Not back then,” Topper amends. “Junior year? The Hamptons?”

“Oh, don’t even fucking—”

“The Hamptons?” Blythe muses, scandalized. “What happened in the Hamptons?”

“You really wanna talk about the Hamptons?” Rafe says, taking delight in the way Topper’s cheeks burn red, like he wishes he could put the words back in his mouth.

“No, we don’t have to.”

“You brought it up, bud,” Rafe reminds him, pushing himself into a standing position. He starts winding his arms around, throwing in a stretch for the effect. “And I’ve always meant to beat the shit out of you for taking my girlfriend to dinner.”

Topper sputters momentarily. “We did not—it was not—”

“Dinner!” Blythe gasps, before smiling wickedly. “You took Y/n/n to dinner? Did you kiss her? Did you date? Did you—”

Rafe slips away silently, taking the cue he perfectly set up for himself, but not before receiving what he hopes is a good-natured glare from his best friend. The mouthed ‘I hate you’ from over the top of Blythe’s head really seals the deal.

But Topper’s implications sit funnily in his stomach, and he doesn’t like the feeling at all. He heads back inside, hoping to a higher power you’re done talking with Kelce so he doesn’t have to rip you away, because he can’t stand another minute with so much unresolved.

—

“I really thought… Y/n/n, I don’t know what I thought,” Kelce says dejectedly, his fingers interlaced, head bowed between his knees. “But I didn’t think this.”

You watch sadly as he swipes his beer off of the table, not even interested in drinking anymore, just needing something to hold. “I’m so sorry, Kelso.”

“I don’t know why this always happens to me. Like I finally find someone I like and who understands me and loves me—I thought. But she just runs.”

It’s difficult to give someone you don’t know the benefit of the doubt when they’ve put your friend—someone who you’ve already seen go through so much heartache, who’s seen you through your own—through something like this, but you try for his benefit anyway. “Maybe when you get back to Austin she’ll be able to explain, Kelce. Right? Didn’t she say she wanted to talk?”

“Does that sound like a good talk to you?” he deadpans. “‘I’m not coming to meet your family and friends, and I think we should talk when you get home?’”

“Kelce…” you say morosely, leaning into his side. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I just wish—I wish she’d told me, or that she’d come anyway. We could’ve talked, just us. Would’ve cancelled the whole fucking party and locked you all out if it was too much for her, seriously,” he says. “We could’ve worked it out.”

You hear Rafe’s soft laughter filter in through the open screen door, and something tugs in your stomach. “Even when you really love someone, Kelce, sometimes it’s just easier to run.”

He looks at you, unamused.

“I’m serious,” you say, lowering your voice. “Look at Rafe and I.”

Kelce scoffs. “Okay.”

“I mean it,” you answer, becoming impassioned. “It took us forever, and sometimes… sometimes we still fuck it up.”

“Yeah, but,” he says, actually sipping at his beer this time. “You always work it out.”

“Not always,” you murmur.

He seems surprised. “What? You talking about Rafe’s little storm cloud?”

“His what?”

“He gets like this every time he comes home, Y/n/n. Come on,” Kelce says, like you should know what he means.

“I don’t follow,” you say, leaning back into the couch, crossing your arms over your chest.

“You know what? Of course you don’t. Because you’ve never been subjected to it,” Kelce laughs. “He’s like an angsty teenager again as soon as he steps foot on this island, especially before y’all got together.”

You think back to what Rafe had said in the car this morning, how he’d casted you off and walked right into Ward’s house without you. “Think it’s more than that this time around.”

“How so?”

There’s a knock at the entryway into the living room, and then your sheepish boyfriend stepping into the frame, leaning up against it while you both gaze upon him. “Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Never,” Kelce says, moving to stand. “I was wondering when you’d come get her. Actually starting to worry.”

You roll your eyes but you stand to, looking for your bag and your keys because you could tell Rafe was ready to head out from one look at his face.

“Kelce, man,” you hear him say. “You good? We’ll stay.”

“I’ll be alright,” Kelce sighs. “And I’ve got my hands full with Top, Blythe. Girls should be here soon, too. Wouldn’t be the first time you two left my party early.”

“Kelce,” you chastise.

“I’ll probably invite whoever didn’t make the original guest list,” he continues, returning from the kitchen with a fresh beer. “Full house. Gonna invite Sarah and John B and his friend who has a thing for Y/n. Griffin might even sniff it out. Chloe, too, since I heard she’s int own.”

“Alright,” Rafe cuts in. “We get it, Jesus.”

“You’re sure?” you say.

“Oh my god,” Kelce sighs, leaning into press a kiss to the top of your head. “Go. Both of you.”

You walk away to wait awkwardly in the entryway as they say their own goodbyes, wondering a second too late if you should’ve strained your ears harder to hear once it takes a little longer than a normal parting for the two of them.

Just as Rafe emerges into the entryway, Gretchen and Margot both pop through the front door, giggling and holding an impressive number of pink bottles in between them. They both startle when they see you, their faces transforming from glee to the opposite once they look at you for a little longer.

“Why are you wearing your coat? Take off your coat,” Gretchen demands, stomping her foot.

“We’re heading out,” you say sadly. “Kelce is in the living room.”

“Nooo,” they chorus, leaning into fuss over you.

Margot notices Rafe standing behind you then, narrowing her eyes. “Cameron.”

“Not tonight, Margot. And take it easy on Kelce, yeah?” he warns.

She looks called out, and you can practically hear the argument forming in her head. “Buddy—”

“For the love of god please take her,” you whisper to Gretchen.

“We better see you guys tomorrow night. After dessert, at mine?” she pleads, smiling when you nod. “Good. Oh—let me get a picture.”

“Gretch—”

“Rafe, get over here,” she demands, interrupting whatever quiet squabble Margot has taken up with Rafe, who looks more than relieved to take your side.

Gretchen picks up the film camera you hadn’t noticed hanging around her neck, backing up a few steps and pointing it at you both. “Pretend like you like each other, at least.”

Rafe’s arm settles around your shoulders, pulling you back into his frame, and you try your best to put a believable smile on, recalling Kelce’s words.

The flash goes off and Rafe presses a kiss into the back of your head before moving away from you, his hand falling to your back.

“That’ll work,” Gretchen says, turning to follow Margot where she stomped off, no doubt in a beeline to a grieving Kelce. “Love you guys.”

“Let’s go home?” Rafe finally asks, his voice quiet even though nobody is around to overhear him.

“Home,” you confirm, grabbing onto his hand and leading him out the door.

—

Rafe’s done a few dumb things in the last day or so, but this might be the dumbest.

The trellis below your window hadn’t changed at all, but Rafe’s ability to navigate it might. He hasn’t gone up this way in years, and it’s not as romantic as he remembers it being. Maybe it’s because now he’s groveling instead of trying to woo you, or maybe it’s because you’re not aware of his sojourn, not sticking your head out the window and looking down at him sweetly, hair flitting around you and ready to tug him over at the last step. Not tonight though, not after Rafe had sent you off to your room with nothing but a kiss to your forehead and loose promise to talk tomorrow before Thanksgiving dinner at Tannyhill.

And maybe Rafe’s just not as young as he used to be. Which is why he’s surprised to find the window open at all, allowing him to tug himself over and in, miscalculating the footing and landing on his ass, the box in his pocket stuffed under his hip awkwardly as he makes contact with the floor. “Ow.”

“Oh, thank god.”

“Babe—ow,” Rafe winces, realizing he’s probably gonna bruise as he gets to his feet. “I—you said—thought we were gonna talk in the morning.”

“Yeah,” you say weakly, from where you stand in the doorway of your bathroom, your hands twisting together. “I did.”

“But you left your window open for me?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, wrapping your arms around your midsection.

“Because you—baby, baby, don’t cry, no,” he says in surprise, heart breaking as he crosses the room to you and your wobbling bottom lip and big, sad eyes. “Hey, come here, pretty.”

“Rafe,” you cry, muffled in his shirt when he takes you into his arms. “I’m so tired of this shit. I don’t—I don’t wanna be mad at you anymore.”

“I don’t want you to be mad at me either,” he says, leading you to the chair that sits at your vanity table, helping you sit while he crouches down in front of you. “I don’t like it.”

“You usually don’t know,” you laugh, hiccuping slightly.

“Can’t argue with that,” Rafe says, using the cuff of his long sleeve to pat under your eyes softly, stroking your thigh with his other hand while you calm down. “Baby girl, you’re breakin’ my heart.”

“It’s so stupid—with Chloe, and just—I’ll talk to my dad, I promise I will,” you ramble. “Because he can’t just—he can’t. Why the fuck did we even come home?”

“Hold on, hold on. Breathe for a sec,” Rafe reminds you, pleased when you follow his lead, taking in a long, shaky breath. “Good. There you go, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly, still fielding stray tears but on the whole looking better.

“You’re good, you’re good. Do you want water?”

When you shake your head, Rafe feels good to stand, leaning up against your table, still within arms length as he strokes your back through your sleep shirt of his.

“What’s going on with Chloe?” he finally asks after a beat of silence.

You huff, but start talking when Rafe bumps your chin with his knuckle in encouragement. “I never liked her.”

“I see that now.”

“I’m glad I did such a good job of hiding it when I was younger,” you laugh dejectedly. “Thought I was so obvious.”

“Apparently I’m the only one who didn’t catch on. Even with Topper dangling you in front of me like a carrot at the Hamptons house,” Rafe says, rolling his eyes.

“He did not,” you defend.

“Oh, he did so, baby girl,” he counters, scoffing. “Are you kidding?”

“Rafe. You had a girlfriend on that trip,” you point out. “And Topper didn’t even know…”

“He knew.”

You shake your head. “No, no that can’t be right. Topper? Topper Thornton? He’s like the least likely to meddle out of all of them.”

Rafe gives you a look. “That isn’t saying much when it comes to our friends.”

You nod in consideration, your eyebrows still furrowed as you prop your head up on one of your hands.

“But, baby…” Rafe says, stroking a hand over the top of your head, his fingers digging into the hair at the nape of your neck. “You can’t still be worried about it. Not after all this time?”

“It isn’t like that anymore, Rafe. I mean, you’re a catch and I’m never gonna take that for granted,” you pause to crack a small smile when Rafe won’t let that one go so easy, tugging at the end of your ponytail, “but I’d like to think you’d never hurt me or leave me.”

“Never ever.”

“She was making comments about our lives and whatever, like she still knows you. Like she knows you better than I do,” you explain, picking at your nails. “And it pissed me off.”

“Okay,” Rafe nods, unsure if he wants to ask what she said specifically, and ultimately deciding against it. “But that wasn’t all?”

“What do you mean?”

Rafes eyes scan your face. “These aren’t angry tears. And I know you can handle stupid island gossip.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands again. “It’s so dumb.”

“It’s not,” Rafe insists, batting them away. “Not dumber than anything I’ve been mad about today.”

“Rafe.”

“What were you talking about in the car this morning? Seriously, baby. Let me in,” he says.

“Are you making me?”

“Yep.”

You sigh one last time, sitting back in your chair with your arms crossed. “We weren’t dating. But you were still like one of my best friends, right?”

“Correct.”

“So it just… I don’t know. It sucked that you dated her, because she was perfectly fine going behind my back before she knew we were nothing.”

“We weren’t nothing, baby.”

Frustrated, you push at his knee. “Don’t be cute, you know what I mean.”

“I’m serious. I think a lot of people thought we were something, Y/n/n. In hindsight, I was pretty obvious at least,” Rafe says sheepishly.

“I know, I know,” you groan. “Which is so embarrassing by the way. That that many people knew.”

“It is, but it worked out. Just a little bit,” Rafe reminds you. You bump your knee into his leg in acknowledgement. “So what gives?”

“I don’t judge you for it anymore. I got it over it so long ago,” you recall. “In probably the worst possible way.”

Rafe hums in disapproval. “So we’re even?”

“There’s no getting even, Rafe. I don’t hold anything against you from when we were like, infants.”

“Clearly you do.”

“I don’t. I was young and emotional and just really, really confused about you,” you promise. “I don’t hold it against you, but I haven’t seen her in forever and she just got under my skin about it.”

The image of a younger you, in anyway hurt by Rafe when he was arrogant and young and stupid and above all else still totally in love with you somewhere deep in his heart before he even knew what love was is always too much for him to bare. Even when he keeps a home with you, shares a dog with you, shares a life and all of his future plans and hopes and aspirations—and shares his heart with you. Even after all of that, it hurts. “I was such a stupid kid.”

“You weren’t,” you tell him, your hand taking a place on his knee again, maroon-painted nails digging into the skin under his shorts. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about it, because it’s just stupid teenage insecurities that I still let get the best of me sometimes. She started talking about how I’m your cookie cutter Figure 8 dream, and your dad, and then when you flipped about my dad—”

Rafe finally digs deep into his pocket, at a loss for his own words but one-thousand-percent sure he can’t sit here and listen to you doubt him or yourself anymore, setting the velvet box down on your vanity with authority.

Your words die in your throat, and you take one glance at the box before closing your eyes. “I know you’re not doing this while we’re talking about Chloe Merrick.”

“I’m not doing that,” he says, hoping you don’t actually ever think he’d propose marriage while standing taller than you, while standing at all. “Jesus, baby.”

“Then what—” you reach your hand out, then retract it, doe eyes staring up at him timidly. “Can I?”

“Open it.”

You gently pry it open, setting it back on the desk once you can see inside, recognition crossing your features. “You found your ring?”

“I found your ring,” he says as he plucks the gold band out of the box, grabbing your hand. “Actually never lost it.”

“What are you… wait, why does it fit me?” you wonder, once Rafe can stronghold your fidgeting enough to get it down your ring finger. On the right hand, he’s not psychotic. “Rafe, why does it fit me?”

“You know Wren’s friend Stephen?”

“Yeah,” you answer, flexing your hand, marveling at the ring’s new size.

“Well, he’s a blacksmith, right? And your birthday was coming up…” he shrugs, bashful now, after all of his brevity. “We melted it down. I thought I knew your size, but I swiped that little silver twisty one you always wear when you were sleeping—just to be sure.”

“Rafe.”

“And then it really wasn’t that hard—but it was so cool, baby, he like let me hold it and everything while he worked the metal, and I have pictures, if you want—”

“You melted your gold band.”

“Yes.”

“So I could wear it.”

“Correct.”

“The one you’ve been wearing since we were teenagers.”

“The very one.”

You twist the ring around on your finger, sliding it right up to your knuckle and seeing how it doesn’t give easily, how it was made to fit your finger. You work it off anyway, sliding it to the ring finger on your other hand. Your left hand. “Rafe.”

“You like it?”

“You know you can’t take this back, right? Like you can’t just—”

“I know, sweet girl, kinda the point—there’s even a seam if you really look. But it’s yours now.”

Rafe can forgive himself for the way your eyes well up, because he surmises that this time they’re happy tears—even though he’ll always hate making you cry. “I swear I was gonna save it for your birthday. Or Valentine’s.”

You sniffle. “I love it. I’m glad you didn’t save it. You’ve just been carrying it around?”

He shrugs. “Wanted it close. I felt so bad when you were as upset as you were it was missing.”

“I should’ve known you didn’t lose it in the ocean,” you grumble.

“And now you won’t either,” he quips. “I love you. Don’t worry about the bullshit. Seriously, baby.”

You stand up then, and you two fit perfectly when your arms wrap around his waist, and his fall around your shoulders. “What about my dad?”

Rafe sighs, stroking a hand up and down your back, fingers catching on your tank top. “Let’s head to bed.”

You narrow your eyes, pulling out of his hold.

“Okay,” you agree, reaching for a tub of lotion on your bedside table, before leaning in for a quick kiss. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I scaled the wall,” Rafe explains, watching you rub lotion into your arms lackadaisically, barely paying him mind anymore. “And it's one a.m.”

“Hm, better be careful on your way back down,” you say, moving onto your legs, tantalizing him. “You always said that one rung at the bottom is getting faulty.”

Worse and worse every time he uses it, and he won’t make it any worse tonight. “You don’t want me to stay?”

“This bed is for people who express their feelings,” you say, burrowing yourself under the covers. Rafe sighs, finally kicking off his shoes, moving them to the corner so you won’t claim a tripping hazard.

“Shove over,” he grunts, slipping in behind you once he unplugs your lights and makes sure your window is shut.

When you remain stubborn, Rafe uses an arm around your waist to move you over himself, grinning when you squeal in delight. “Rafe.”

“I told you to shove over. You’re gonna wake up your brother,” he chastises.

“He’s probably up late. Talking to Ev,” you say, sounding swoony. “I think he’s two hours behind, maybe three? Young love.”

Rafe presses a kiss into the back of your head, using his free hand to trace the shell of your ear, tucking a few wayward strands behind it. “We used to be like that.”

“You were so cute, pretending you weren’t falling asleep on FaceTime,” you say wistfully. “Miss that.”

“I don’t,” Rafe says.

“No? The window entrance was a little nostalgic tonight.”

“You really didn’t think I was coming?”

Your shrug moves your body against his, and Rafe laces his free hand through yours. “I mean, I put the dogs with Dylan so they wouldn’t bark, but I dunno. This is one of those things that just makes you shut down.”

He hides his head between your shoulder blades. “I don’t mean to.”

“I know,” you say, struggling to turn around in his grip, getting a hand under his chin once you do. “But I hate when you push me away.”

“I don’t mean to,” he repeats.

“I know.”

“I think your dad was right.”

The understanding immediately leaves your face, and you pause your petting. “What?”

He kisses your forehead slowly, buying himself time before looking back down at you. “He was. Kinda. I need to get my shit together.”

“Rafe, no…” you shake your head. “No. You don’t have to listen to him.”

To Rafe, it’s as simple as the fact that he does have to. But you wouldn’t stand to hear any of that. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. You had your entire life mapped out until a few months ago,” you say. “You don’t need to have everything figured out right now.”

“Sooner the better,” he mumbles, mind reeling as he thinks back to Topper’s sentiments from earlier, about how he pictured a different ring on your finger at this point. It makes him feel better that you’re currently tracing it with your thumb anyway, knowing you normally take your jewelry off before bed but you didn’t tonight. “He’s never gonna let me get serious with you until I do.”

“Did you discuss my dowry with him, too?”

“Y/n/n,” he sighs.

“I’m gonna wear this to dinner tomorrow,” you decide, turning to face away from him again. “Give him a fucking heart attack.”

“Just let me know so I can go to my dad’s first.”

It’s quiet between you two after that, until you clear your throat. “How was that today?”

“You found me at the Lodge.”

He can practically hear you pouting as you pull his arm tighter around you. “I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” Rafe reminds you. “He just… you know how he is. I shouldn’t have gone at all, ‘cause I know he’s probably thinking a million different things about us right now.”

“Who cares what he thinks? Or what my dad thinks?”

Rafe does, and he knows you do, too. Maybe not as much, so he just lets the question hang there, suspended in the air.

“I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have a home here babes,” you say quietly. “You do. My dad just… I think he really cares about you. He’s probably had the same conversation with Dylan.”

Rafe squirms. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

“For the love of god, no,” Rafe says, smiling a little when your laugh shakes your whole body against his. Rafe left a company for you, but he doesn’t ever want you to be in a situation like his. Because some fathers didn’t love their kids, but yours loved you. “I will.”

“Good enough for me,” you murmur, angling your chin just so to ask for a kiss. Rafe meets you halfway, but lets his head hit the pillow beneath him when you posture your own body over him, your leg slotting between his.

“Mm, baby,” Rafe murmurs in surprise, accepting a trail of neck kisses while he guides your leg over his lap completely, your knees bracketing his hips. “Baby.”

“Hm,” you hum, pushing yourself up on your hands, gazing upon him in a way that makes his heart seize.

“We’re in your parents’ house,” Rafe practically whispers.

You shrug, making to move off. But that’s not what Rafe wanted, not at all, so his hands flex on your hips to keep you firmly in place. “You gonna let me off?”

“Well I didn’t say that.”

—

“I could get my CPA.”

You cut your eyes to Rafe where he’s walking beside you, both of your breath visible in the early morning chill. “Do you want your CPA?”

“Good money.”

“Insane hours,” you point out.

“Used to that,” he grunts.

“True. Well, if you want to…”

He shrugs, gripping Captain’s leash a bit harder when he almost gets tangled with Wilbur for the umpteenth time that morning. “Or I could get my MBA, too. I originally wanted to go right into it after undergrad.”

“Really?” you ask, coming to a stop when Wilbur wants to wander off and sniff for a while, Captain following behind him. “Since when?”

“Freshman year. Decided against it senior year.”

“Really?” you reaffirm, continuing when he nods. “Why? Not because of us.”

It isn’t a question, because Rafe knows you’d never let him do something so rash.

“I didn’t wanna be away from you anymore,” Rafe says, to your surprise. “It would’ve factored into where I went, for sure. Just like it would now.”

“Rafe,” you say, confused. “Why have you never… you could’ve gone anywhere you wanted. You should, still. But why… oh.”

“You’re right though,” Rafe says, ignoring the Ward of it all completely. It’s a dead horse to him, the way Ward controlled his life for so long. Forcing him back home after graduation is child’s play. “I should still. I could.”

“Do you wanna?” you ask, shifting Wilbur’s leash behind your back when he walks further off, and eventually following after him to the bush he’s intent on investigating, still glancing back at Rafe when he speaks.

“Not right now,” he says. “I knew what I wanted to do back then. I knew why I wanted to be in school.”

“Right, no, yeah,” you assure him. “But if we ever needed to move… way ahead of myself?”

“Miles. Lightyears,” Rafe smiles, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head, eyes still bleary from a night of not enough sleep for either of you, followed by a prompt exit the minute you heard movement in the house. “But I appreciate the sentiment.”

“College Rafe was such a vibe,” you sigh wistfully, reminiscing. “Bring him back.”

“Chill,” he laughs. “I could work finance anywhere. Get a job in tech on some 55th floor in the city. 401k match, stock options.”

You furrow your eyebrows at the second time he brings up money. “Do you want a job in tech?”

Another shrug. “Your dad does pretty well.”

“Rafe…”

“I don’t have the same safety net I used to, baby. I walked away from all of this,” he says softly, almost under his breath, the old build homes you’re surrounded by suddenly feeling bigger and taller, the lawns more manicured and the cars shinier, the eyes in the windows more prying. “And I’m so happy I did. But I wanna give you everything you deserve. I wanna give it to our kids.”

“Rafe,” you tut, stuffing Wilbur’s leash into his hand so you can wrap him in your arms, your cheek smushed into his jacket. “You’re going to. I’m gonna be here while you figure it out.”

“I hate not having everything figured out,” he whispers. “I felt like I always did.”

“Even before you had me?” you venture, tilting your head back to look up at him.

He smirks, looking down at you, ignoring the tug on his arm coming from the leashes. “Maybe not everything.”

“S’what I thought,” you murmur, calves stretching with the strain to reach up and kiss him. He meets you halfway.

“A year ago, I was telling you to quit your job,” Rafe says. “Remember that? That’s how sure everything was.”

You fake wretch, and Rafe hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you into him so he can press kisses wherever possible.

“You’ve come so far,” you tease, batting him away half-heartedly.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket between you and Rafe groans, knowing you have to pull away in case it’s family. You do so reluctantly, reaching to tug it out of your pocket.

“How much time do we have?” Rafe sighs, assuming it’s Dylan or your parents wondering when you’ll be back. But it isn’t.

“No, it’s—Gretchen sent me our picture. From last night,” you say, eyes trailing over your faces. Rafe’s arm sits around your shoulders, where he’d half-heartedly pulled you into his body at her command. His head rests against yours, but the smiles on both of your faces don’t reach your eyes.

Rafe cranes his neck to look at it, humming a short noise before looking away. “We look…”

“A little bit miserable,” you finish, laughing lightly.

“Very,” he agrees.

You groan, your head falling to his chest as you feel the dog leashes start to tangle around you, effectively cementing you to your boyfriend. “M’so glad we moved.”

“I kind of suck here,” Rafe admits, laughing when look up at him incredulously. “I do!”

“You better figure out how to not suck here, Rafe Leopold.”

“It’s a miracle we ever found the time to fall in love on this island,” he marvels. “We’re doing Friendsgiving in California next year, by the way."

“I know you want our kids to have OBX summers one day,” you accuse.

“They will. And we’ll pick ‘em back up from the airport in September,” he jokes.

You push at his chest and almost send yourself falling back into the grass as you do so, forgetting your current predicament. He clutches you to him, a hand wrapped around your wrist.

“Careful, baby, Jesus,” Rafe laughs, holding your hand for balance while you attempt to untangle you both from the leashes. “You got it?”

“Think so,” you huff, sighing in relief when you’re finally freestanding, one of two separate leashes clutched in your free hand.

“Still wearing it?” Rafe says.

“Hm?”

He tugs on your ring finger, fingers catching on the gold band you have no plan to take off soon.

“I told you, no take-backs,” you joke, falling into step with him again while he clutches your left hand. “By the way, you know you only get one more ring, right?”

His neck flushes pink, from the parts left uncovered by his jacket. “I think I know which one you’re talking about.”

“You do,” you tell him, bumping into him sideways. “And if the next time you pull out a velvet box, it’s not that one—”

“Oh, come on,” he says. “You didn’t actually think—in your childhood bedroom with Dylan next door—I was wearing basketball shorts.”

You giggle. “No, no. I didn’t for more than a second.”

“Really?”

Now you get to feel embarrassed, ducking away from his mischievous eyes when you feel heat creep up your own neck. “No. I don’t know, Rafe. It’s a little velvet box. We’ve been dating for years.”

“Sweetheart,” he coos, throwing an arm around your shoulders, pressing a kiss into the side of your head.

“Shut up,” you mumble.

“I wasn’t even kneeling.”

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