Your Best Friend Rafe Holding You Because You Needed It

your best friend rafe holding you because you needed it <3 a bsf!rafe cameron x gn!reader blurb <3 extremely self indulgent cause my touch starvation has been acting up because of my period I think 🥰 <3 part two to this <3 cw: talks of bottling up emotions, venting, reader breaks down in rafe’s arms, reader is hyper independent, super comforting, lower case is intentional <3

rafe always knew that you had a knack to start putting others before yourself. with the way you made sure everyone else around you was doing okay, but simultaneously forgetting to check in with yourself the same way was becoming a habit for you, and when rafe found about it, he was determined to help you break that habit.

he also knew you weren’t the best at voicing what you needed, let it be just a helping hand for a simple task. he knew you preferred to do everything on your own; but he wanted to change that. he wanted you to ask for help when you needed it, he wanted you to talk about what’s been bothering you instead of attempting to solve it on your own, and he wanted to be that person for you.

he wanted you to trust him irrevocably, just the way he could always trust you.

everytime he ever saw you all alone, he could see you were deep in thought. even from a far distance he could see the gears working overtime in your brain, and all he ever wanted was to provide you a safe space where you can spill out every single thought in your head and begin feeling better. he knew he had begun cracking the hard shell of your mind that protected all your thoughts, but that was the bare minimum. he still hadn’t learnt what he wished he could.

you both were at a party, but you were quick to make your way out of the large, tight crowds without anyone noticing (but rafe did) to the garden of the huge party mansion, where you sat all alone, in that familiar way of your knees hugged to your chest as you just… thought.

“hey,” rafe said softly as he sat down next to you on the lush grass. he had followed you out the moment he saw you left.

usually, you were one to respond with a quick smile and sweet words, because that’s how you were: you had mastered hiding your true feelings behind a facade.

but right now, no words came out. you were silent, your gaze fixed on your knees, and rafe could feel the tension radiating from you.

“drink?” he asked gently, gesturing the red cup in his hand towards you. you just shook your head, mumbled a soft ‘no, thank you’, and let yourself drift in your thoughts.

a silence fell over you two as you heard the thumping bass and the blurry music from inside the party, the indistinct chatter of people inside floating outside to the garden.

you suddenly let out a loud huff, burying your face in your hands. it looked as if you were overwhelmed, completely tired out, and you had way too much on your mind.

he saw you slowly lift your head up from your hands, a shuddering breath escaping you as you rubbed your palms on your thighs, looking around everywhere but at him. he caught a glint in your eye as one of the lights in the garden reflected in your eye; a glint of tears.

“hey hey,” he said softly, keeping the cup in his hand on the side and wrapping his arms firmly around you. he felt you tense at the sudden contact, but you were quick to relax. he figured you were on the edge of breaking down, and the moment he took you in his arms, you tipped off the edge, and the tears began to flow down.

your hands fisted his shirt tightly, as if he’s the only thing keeping you grounded in this overwhelming, confusing moment. your head felt like a mesh of thoughts, not knowing what they all entailed or meant, but what you did know was that it hurt.

rafe tightened his hold around you and let you bury your face in his chest, allowing you to let out as much as you felt like. he didn’t know how many days, weeks, months, years of stress you were carrying with yourself at that moment, things that bothered you immensely but you just kept on burying them in your overfilled heart. he felt his heart shatter at the sight of you breaking down, but he also knew he wanted to get to the bottom of this, and to help you.

“shh… you’re okay, I’m here, I’m here for you,” he whispered softly in your ear, rubbing his hands up and down his back to soothe you.

he felt you tighten your hold on him and squeeze closer to him, your quiet sobs muffled by his chest.

what he didn’t know was how much you craved to hear the words he just told you.

NETFLIX SPECIAL | h. lewis

summary: an episode of the sidemen documentary follows harry around his day to day life with you. [12.3k words.]

pairing: reader x bog (W2S.)

notes: longly anticipated!! i’m so happy it’s done and i’m excited to share it with you!! (i’m so nervous and feel like it’s going to disappoint 😃) hopefully it lives up to your expectations!!!! it was so cute to write and soo long to edit i got a bit lazy so hopefully there isn’t too many mistakes. mentions breakup era. pleaseeee let me know what you think and let me know your favourite moments! much love, don’t forget to reblog! <333

TWO MONTHS.

Two months of lights, cameras, and lack of privacy, eight whole weeks of cameras following you, or in particular, your boyfriend, around.

The Sidemen documentary was coming . . . and you knew your boyfriend was dreading it.

“I don’t like this . . never catch a break from these . . bastard cameras,” you made eye-contact as he was mic’d up, your first official day of filming playing in front of you.

You laughed at his attitude, getting mic’d up yourself with cameras already rolling, you snapped the film clapper closed making him jump, “smile! you’re on camera baby!”

As far as you were aware, each of the boys were getting an episode each containing an hour and a half long of footage of them in their natural habitats, showing what they got up to off-camera, how they behaved off-camera, their home life with loved ones, hanging with friends, staying with family, and sometimes, getting up to no good.

Harry was someone who of course cherished his privacy greatly, dropping social media and cameras whenever he could outside work, he was a live-in-the-moment man with no desire to post everywhere he went and everything he did — so the boys agreeing to this idea was against his own will, and he had no choice but to agree to it when the other six signed the agreement, loving the idea of getting their own reality show, different from the last which just showed the making of the group.

For eight weeks, the boys all had their own camera crew, nothing too OTT as a big professional team most likely took away from the moment and made the whole ordeal less natural, so most camera footage came from ones placed around their homes, with just a couple days a week, a pair following them around if the occasion required them too. They’d then have extra footage to throw all together, jumping from one boy to the other to see what they got up to, already one episode complete with the amount of footage they’d gathered from them all working and hanging together in London.

You couldn’t lie, you were pretty stoked.

You felt like the Kardashians, hoping to get your moment and show everyone just how loveable you were, how you, dare say, could be funnier than your man, and more importantly, were not the heartless cow the little boys following them made you out to be.

You supposed you were excited because you got to show everyone why Harry picked you, why he liked you, and just how well you went together. You wanted to show them how much you loved him, and effortlessly.

Harry and the boys had spoken on how far they agreed to get into it, how deep they would dive into areas and share even more of their lives with the world, and according to him, they were willing to spill most, taking in the fact they didn’t have much . . dirty areas of their lives to uncover. Ethan may have some younger day recollections he may sugar coat, and JJ might not go too overboard on those first paycheck days but Harry felt like his was different than the rest – stuff he wasn’t sure about sharing fully that people probably knew about anyway, most revolving around you . . and the timeframe you split ways.

On one hand, he wanted to say fuck off, it’s nothing to do with anyone, but on the other, he felt like it was a dirty secret he’d have to live with forever, not knowing if telling everyone would make him feel lighter, and he felt like he owed it to you.

You did feel bad for him, but he was in control of what he wanted to share, and you wouldn’t dare say anything he didn’t want you sharing, so you didn’t get the point in it, “it’s your show, you show what you want to show,” you’d told him the day before, “you know I don’t care.”

Not that it mattered, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be in it much, it was Harry’s episode afterall, not yours.

“Do I share these?” he pulled out the massive photobook thrown carelessly in a box under his bed, busting with photos of just the two of you from 2014 to 2018.

The documentary was based around these boys from YouTube, from social media, of course there was gonna be hundreds of clips and photos imported. Just last night, JJ had sent in a snapchat from 2017 he’d said he’d sent to the crew to include on his episode, sending the boys into hysterics of laughter.

You also had the fun job of getting to pick what songs you wanted over some footage, Harry allowing you to do that job as he said you were best at picking songs that fit the moment, so you’d started a list already of 30 songs they could put over your fun, chill moments to add to the carefree vibe. You didn’t think there’d be much heavy songs for Harry’s segment. “Yeah . . just do it.”

I suppose you didn’t have issue with sharing those moments because they only worked in your favor, and it just showed Harry’s . . humane side, I suppose.

Plus, they were still only seeing a fraction of the memories you created together, but it was Harry’s call, and you just wanted to reassure him it wasn’t the biggest deal.

“Why? ‘Cause you look good in them and I don’t?”

“Shut up, man,” you’d rolled your eyes playfully, “you were the internet’s crush back then.”

A lot of footage had been captured back in London and although you appeared in scenes, mostly around the house, it was casual conversation and moments between you, nothing personal or intimate.

Today, you were back in Guernsey and Harry’s family were in the middle of saying their piece in the series:

“As his mother, can you tell us what he was like in school?”

“Did you ever think he’d end up in this type of career?”

“Do you think he’s good at what he does?”

Talking about his upbringing, what he was like as a kid, how he is as a brother, what they thought he’d grow up to be, they liked getting to have their say without Harry interjecting, sitting in a room without him barging in to tell them not to do him dirty with their stories. Big things that played a great part in his life, that made him . . him, of course they had to be discussed.

“Can you tell us what he’s like as a boyfriend, do you think he’s a good partner to y/n?”

Harry’s mum looked around to make sure he wasn’t about before continuing to speak, “—dying about her,” she breathed exaggeratedly, shaking her head, “absolutely dying about her.”

Cameras followed you a lot more than usual that week, capturing clips of you doing the most normal of things, standing by the sink, making a cup of tea, playing with Herb on the floor. It cut to you leaning on the counter, arms folded as you watched Harry faff about for something in his suitcase alongside his mother, watching him get worked up while you stood and watched humorously.

“He . .” she couldn’t explain it, “he honestly — i can’t imagine him with anyone else . . . i can’t visualise them with anyone other than each other, they just fit, I just . . .” she shook her head again, “i just can't imagine another girl sticking him that long - putting up with him the way she does. Nobody will compliment him as well as she does - in the way that she does.”

Everywhere began to play as your photos began to pop up, a small edit of a stack appearing on top of the other, photos from the year you got together until the most recent ones of this year, ones of you in different countries, different events, dressed casually on vacation or smart for a wedding.

“Think they began dating in 2014?” she guessed, “not that he was telling anybody, he was very hush hush as you can imagine . .” she rolled her eyes, more old pictures appearing of the two of you from that year, a fluffy-haired teenage Harry smiling in multiple pics with a fresh-faced girl, full of youth with her full rosy cheeks and bright eyes, wrinkle-free with her signature messy ponytail and frizzy flyaways. A lot of your photos were taken in secret places, from cars when you used to only go out at nights or his room during the day when no-one was home in his house, your aesthetics and styles extremely different from how they were now.

You’d forgotten Jack Wills existed until you saw those photos.

“Never used to let anyone even look at her, you weren’t allowed to speak to her when he brought her home,” Rosie said her bit from the seat in the sofa, “just used to rush up the stairs before we could get the chance to. And I hated him for that ‘cause I was the most excited, I was waiting for the day I got a girl in the family, you know?I wasn’t even 15, I was buzzing at the idea of this person being able to . . be like a big sister to me? I think most girls have that dream of being besties with your brother’s girlfriend, them treating you like you’re older than you are and treating you like a friend rather than a kid.”

It cut to a clip of you curling Rosie’s hair, then another taking pictures of her at the front door, and another of you laughing about something on your phone with glasses of rosé. You could say she got that sister dynamic she always wanted.

“ ♪ Feel the rain on your skin! No one else can feel it for you, only you can let it in! No one else! No one else can speak the words on your lips!—”

You were driving and she was next to you, belting out the words alongside each other while the sun blazed down, dancing with your arms and hands. She was a friend for life.

“Your brother is being a massive dickhead right now, I’m going to kill him when I see him,” it cut to another of you being able to vent to her, biting your knuckle in the passenger seat as she drove you both in her car, nodding whilst checking her blind spot, “yeah, he’s a prick,” she agreed, not even knowing what wrong he’d done.

“—she’s known me since I was 14, she came into my life when I was at that age you kind of distance yourself from your family, you think you’re more grown up that you are and you’re going through changes and you feel alone - she is exactly what every young girl needs at that time, she was a very . . safe space for me and she’ll always be a safe place for me.”

Few images appeared of you both, a lot when Rosie was just a girl when you tagged along on their family holidays and she somehow managed to get Harry out of his room for you two to bond and mess about, taking pictures and helping her with her hair and makeup to take selfies on your phone that was much cooler than hers - not forgetting the trendy filters at the time.

“Harry is very . . .” Rosie struggled to explain her thought process, “he’s a good boyfriend to sum it up, he is very good to her as she is to him, they’re very settled together, but like . .” she was leaning back in the chair, playing with her ponytail in thought, considering she didn’t know a lot of sides of her brother, she could only base her knowledge on her experience around them, and him at certain points in his life, “I think if you knew Harry before y/n . . and when they weren’t together, you wouldn’t expect him to be the boyfriend type? Not in that sense, but like, my brother is so laid back and careless about . . a lot of things, including people.”

It cut to him walking around the kitchen, eating something from his hand as her voice played over, “he’s a dickhead a lot of the time. He can’t do dating. He can’t do high maintenance, granted - he does if y/n requires it,” she giggled, “but he hates people, hates socialisation and meeting new people, he can’t do it,” she almost laughed, not painting her brother the best, “he doesn’t care about stuff like that, he doesn’t have an opinion on marriage, he doesn’t care to have kids ‘til he’s like 40. I think he can be viewed as a very selfish person which I do get, like he wants to live his life and that’s it, which is why I think if you didn’t see him with y/n you would think . . he’d be awful to a girlfriend? Very self-absorbed, not very attentive . . doesn’t care what she gets up to . . . really only cares about himself, like, wouldn’t take a great lot of pride in an other half, like they’d kind of just be someone for him to have when he comes home like . . a convenience I guess?”

Him walking around his kitchen panned out to him approaching you by the island, looking down at the recipe you and his mum were going to make, he appeared behind you, violating your personal space, head almost in your neck as he peered down, still chewing on whatever, and your hand subconsciously slipped into his to take a bit of whatever he was eating as you both observed the page below you, chewing obnoxiously.

“But he worships her. He is a very different person when he’s not with her.”

“—What are you doing you donny?! ‘Av just - what you doin’!!!”

“What?!!!”

“Stop!!!” He pushed you away from the sink.

“I’m putting it in the sink!!!”

“No!! Don’t!!!”

“They are . . a very secure couple.”

It cut to you both standing amongst your friend group, standing the same, swaying side to side, and then smirking at the comment made by a friend before looking at each other knowingly.

“They just make it work.”

You both sat on the sofa, one at each end, your legs over him, his hand massaging your socked foot, your eyes glued to the movie on the TV while his stuck to his phone he had propped up on the arm of the chair to watch the football game. “Effortlessly.”

And then it was Harry in the chair, that look on his face that showed he was not nervous or angry to be doing this bit but . . had been putting it off. “So how did it start?”

He slowly broke out into a smile, eyes closing at the famous question.

The date ran back to 2014, footage showing the old school building and other places around Guernsey you could always be caught at growing up. “Basically we knew each other from school . . that’s where we knew of each other, nothing major. We didn’t speak or anything, just had classes or whatever . .” he sat with his fingers hooked, head low in thought as he sat with his legs spread, trying to think, “she didn’t even like me, she’ll tell you.”

Photos and videos of Harry in his school uniform appeared, of him in class and with friends and of course, that god-annoying video of him trying to be funny by running headfirst at a wall in a changing room. “I was an annoying kid. I was as I am today, probably worse,” he evidently cringed. “Y/n hated school as it was, all her friends left, she didn’t enjoy it very much, she was pretty . . Wednesday Adams coded,” he laughed taking the piss out of you and your heartless youth, “didn’t give a fuck if the person sat beside her in maths died, y’know—”

A pair of socks hit him as he shielded himself with his arms, laughing at your attack and scolding, “now take that back! That’s not true!—”

Photos of you appeared on the screen, taken by old friends who helped get you through the rest of school at the time, sat in class with always a nonchalant judgmental look on your face, an expressionless one in your shirt and tie or one of you sticking your middle fingers up by the front desk as your teacher had their back turnt, taking wayyy too long to find their glasses to read your paper. You were as pretty back then as you were now, having the flex of not having horrifically ugly photos from school, you’d always had your bold features and a natural face, hair always in a messy ponytail. Anyone who saw you knew you wouldn't have been the popular it girl at school, but you were unofficially crowned the prettiest girl in the school by everybody, you were just too . . scary to be the obvious highschool crush . . and as effeminate as her, I guess.

“So we did know of each other beforehand, never interacted though—”

“Did you fancy her?”

Harry dramatically sighed and groaned, rolling his eyes as he fell back in his chair, feeling like the piss was being taken out of him but he didn’t say no to the question. It cut to him sitting up and whispering after you’d gone, rushing a little, “i feel like everyone had this unspoken crush on y/n but we never acted on it ‘cause she had this weird vibe she didn’t give a shit about you, so . .” he quickly explained, “not that you’d tell her that ‘cause she could do without the ego boost, y’know?”

He explained how it basically started over a text he’d sent, not even officially shooting his shot but something that required you to come to his house after you’d spotted each other in a shop a year after you’d both left school. “I saw her when I was out with my mum . . and I think I text her on Instagram or Facebook for something — ‘cause I’d never text her on my own accord, I wasn’t that ballsy,” he cringed again, explaining smoothly, “was I what? Seventeen? NO! Wait! Y/n, weren't I 17?” He asked off camera.

“—16? Think we were 17 that year, no?”

“16?” He questioned, leaning back in his chair. “Fucking hell, was I 16?” He began to laugh, waiting for the crew to work it out, which was right, he wasn’t 17 until that November. “Fuck me, any wonder my mates thought I was a fuckin’ weirdo.”

Jeez.

“Anyway, shoppin’ – we got to talk for a bit and then . . I dunno, we just bumped into each other after that, we always saw each other on nights out and then . . I dunno, I somehow did get the balls to–to ask her to go out with me,” he looked oddly at the camera, “something like that, there’s no proper timeline, it just . . just felt like it happened. It did just happen,” he licked his lip in thought, “one minute she was this girl from school who hated everyone and definitely hated me . . and the next I–I was sat across from her at dinner and going to festivals over the summer and,” he scratched his nose, “ . . . and now I can’t get fucking rid of her!” he threw himself into the sofa in a fake cry, covering his eyes in a distressed manner.

Clips appeared, captured by friends and camera crew, of you both in your unusual couple state of hidden moments of affection and intimacy, like Faith who’d zoomed in on you both talking to each other in your tipsy manners, dressed elegantly for Vik’s wedding, Harry’s hand pulling you into him and not so discreetly dropping to your ass, his evidently drunk smile on his face, eyes creasing as you both snickered together over something funny — not forgetting the caption ‘GET OFF MY WIFE!!!!!!’

Another was a video from your snap memories, the pair of you in bed, Harry’s head under your arm while the other curled under his neck, cradling him at your chest with your thumb stroking downwards from his cheekbone while he, was evidently, rough from his night out, but clearly not suffering too bad with your touch.

And another was from Freezy when it was 2:00AM in Ibiza one year, and an 18-year-old Harry carried you up 5 flights of stairs bridal style in your bikini, after you’d conked out at an after-after-party.

“Most people at that age don’t really want a relationship but . .” he shrugged, “i did. With her.”

A snapchat of you both at 16, running down the paths of Guernsey to his house at 12:00AM in the dark featured, the camera flying around you could hardly hear anything, just laughing ‘cause you were partly scared, and he made it worse by screaming behind you to scare you, which did, ‘cause you screamed back.

And then another of you in his room at his first house, baby faces talking to the camera in his bed, the caption saying something about getting him to watch love island with you.

“—he surprised me, getting into a relationship that young and I did have my doubts . . you know, he’s your average lad, he’s young and he’s making more money than . . anyone at that age for a start,” his dad laughed from his seat, “but . . you know, these boys trips, parties, moving to a different city — they never changed his mind. He’s never been — I don’t even think he had a—a celebrity crush or . . .”

Videos from Christmas of you all sitting at the kitchen table at night, sipping over glasses of Bailey’s and munching on crisps and pretzels with a board game played on the screen. You and Harry were in partnership, and you were tucked right into his side, chewing on your crisps whilst you both drunkly observed the cards in your hands, and then you moved to the left to show his Nan, who hadn’t been playing the game but was helping you out more than Josh and his dad agreed with.

And then the next was another video in the club, quite a suffocating club you could remember, and in the world of the prettiest of girls with their killer bodies, dazzling wardrobes and sexy dance moves they were currently showing off - you were being filmed with your dweeb boyfriend and his chicken-neck dance moves with sunglasses on, your friends laughs, but you too, in your sexy little two piece were mimicking his dance moves, smiling idiotically at each other like you were the only two in the club, ignorant to everyone around you trying to intervene.

“Did you ever think you’d last this long?”

And then it was your turn.

You sat on the sofa, smiling at the lens and thought about your answer.

First, you had to introduce yourself in his story.

“I’ve been with Harry for almost 10 years, we went to the same school although I didn’t like him as much as I would have, had I got to know him . .”

“—perfect example of don’t judge a book by its cover,” the camera zoomed out on you to fling to Harry interrupting, waving his finger at you.

“—well no because you were still really annoying,” you looked at him, fighting to roll your eyes. “We didn’t start going out until we’d left, I was seventeen? I think?”

My girl played over old pictures of a 16-year-old you, your old instagram selfies and school pics taken just before Harry entered your life - before London took over your feed and your social life went from 0 to 100.

The clip cut to you in your house, standing with Harry in the living room with your mum around the corner in the kitchen. Two suitcases lay on the floor, open and overflowing with clothes that needed sorting, trying to sacrifice what was coming home with you and what was staying.

“I’m getting flashbacks,” the woman started, circling the mess on her floor.

You snickered a little, knowing what she was getting at, and found it the perfect subject to focus on whilst the film crew were in your home. “What was that like, like did you not want to kill me.”

“Kill you?! I could’ve trailed you around this whole island and broke my frying pan across you head when you told me!”

Harry secretly laughed too, sharing a glance with you leaning on the fireplace. “I—to be fair, I’d have killed me too.”

“You didn’t get it at the time and you said you knew where I was coming from but you’ll never get where i’m coming from ‘til one day your teenage daughter tells you she’s moving to London —LONDON— with her boyfriend –BOYFRIEND OF BLOODY FIVE MONTHS!—”

“—six months.”

“–shut up,” she threw a t-shirt carelessly behind her to hit the boy, “either way, don’t come crying to me when your child pulls a stunt like that, goodness sake. The balls you had to tell me, not even ask, to tell me—”

You laughed at her, and she laughed too telling the story, but you knew at the time she did probably want to kill you all jokes aside. Call it your biggest rebellion move but hey . . it paid off.

“Were you just scared for me?”

“Of course I was scared but . . I was more scared you were,” she let out a huff, folding a pair of jeans, “diving head first, it was so fast. What if you were dropped sooner than expected and . . I don’t know. You just think of these things when your parent, you always assume the worst! I love you Harry but I had to be prepared incase you broke up with her and I had to fly over and beat you up for making a fool of her and embarrassing her like that!”

“— ♪ heartbreak is one thing, my ego’s another, I beg you don’t embarrass me, motherfucker,” you danced in the kitchen to the song, hand gripping your boy’s arm while the other hung around his neck, waving your finger warningly and poking his chest like there was some truth in the lyrics.

You sister stood in the back too, half-smirking at the discreet telling off you were giving although it seemed like a cutesy little joke.

No, there was truth in the lyrics.

“I wanted to kill you because you aren’t usually that stupid and thick, but you thought this was the brightest idea ever and your little plan sounded clever . . . you didn’t think ahead or take in any ‘what-ifs’, your mind was made up already! No point in arguing with you, you were going whether I said yes or no,” she ranted. “Can’t keep you apart for five minutes!”

“Did you think you’d ever last this long?”

You swayed on your chair, facing the lens in your face and made a face, “. . not at all, no.”

Videos of your first apartment in London began to play and it brought all the nostalgic feels: regular videos of you and Harry appearing in the back of Freezy’s recording or you giving a haul of clothes in your first bedroom; videos that Lux had taken of you passed out on the sofa by 9:00PM after a night out made you laugh but it was the view of the city lit up that stole the show. “Since I was young, I used to hate people my age getting into relationships because I knew it was a waste of time and they got really dramatic about it. When they were together barely a year and acting like a married couple it used to bore me. How do you not realise you are both 17 and are not going to end up together? It just doesn’t work, it’s a normal thing like you’re still so immature at that age and you shouldn’t really settle — so I didn’t count myself any different,” you explained. “I knew I loved Harry and I really did want it to last a long time but mentally I did give it a year in my head ‘til he fucked off and left me for someone else,” you shrugged, “th—that’s just how I thought, I knew he had money, he was young, he was good-looking and girls really fucking fancied him - I wouldn’t have blamed him for tapping out I mean yeah, I would have been heartbroken and I’d probably hate him but as well like, I was being honest with myself, I was 17, I knew it wasn’t that deep. I knew he might not be the one for me.”

Harry playing with Herb took the screen and you sat in the back, watching the dog get hyper, wagging his tail and scraping the floor with his nails.

“Especially with the friend group, like, they used to joke and say he was getting girls and all that in front of me to wind me up but deep down I genuinely expected something to come from them. I think 8 months into dating Harry it must have been like . . . Ayia Napa or Ibiza? He was on a proper lad’s holiday, and I had like, fully accepted my fate. He was going to cheat on me, he was going to break it off - I was fully prepared – I was ready. I was like ‘this is where it ends ‘cause if he’s going to cheat on me, it’s going to be on that holiday, in Ayia Napa, surrounded by his mates who will be egging him on—’”

“Are you home my darlin’?!” keys slid across the counter as Harry kicked the door closed, making eye-contact with the camera in their kitchen and immediately cringed, regretting the pet name.

“—yep! I’m in the room!”

“But he was the one,” you sighed dreamily, visibly warmed, but you did bang your head on the wall, leaning too far back and grabbed your head.

“Ok, see you later, love you.”

“See ya.”

“Love you.”

You continued to the door.

“LOVE YOU!”

“See you later?!”

“LOVE YOU!!!”

You opened the door and proceeded to close it, biting your tongue as you heard a thump of footsteps before Harry’s head poked out from the living room and look at you like you’d grown 20 heads. “Did you not hear me?!”

“What?!” You played dumb.

“I’VE SAID ‘LOVE YOU’ ABOUT 80 FUCKING TIMES!”

“Love you?!” You said back passive-aggressively, trying not to break, and it was even harder when his face fell and formed into a genuine offended and slightly irritated look.

“Are you fucking serious?”

You laughed then, not able to to stay serious as he walked over in his socks and messy hair, phone in hand, you had to lean on the door frame as you cackled. This was exactly how you expected him to go. “I’m joking!” you walked back to him.

“Are you?!” He sassed.

“Yes!” you chuckled, wrapping an arm around his neck, “I heard you, I was just doing it for the cameras,” you laughed, pointing to the one filming you in the hallway, “i’m sorry, i’m sorry,i love you,” you kissed him and his bitchy face, “i’ll see you later.”

“Yeah, just as well,” he grumbled.

“I’ve known Harry since he was a literal kid, bro. Just before he turned 18, we were hanging out, agreed to be roommates, ready to be his brother over in London town,” Calfreezy crossed his leg over the other in the sitting room of the apartment, fingers crossed in concentration, “I brought that guy to his first big nightclub, lads holiday, showed him all the big boy places he could spend his money – y/n if you’re watching, i am not to blame for his gambling habits,” he ruled out, “and he loves it man, it’s Harry bro, he loves a night out and a drink and a good time with friends — but my guy has no interest in girls. Not one inkling and I know it sounds silly ‘cause he’s been cuffed since forever but genuinely like — any other guy that age with that kinda money and attention from girls — he just had this thing – he’s — I mean he doesn’t fucking like anybody! Let us not forget! He doesn’t like people to begin with but . . I think as a longtime friend of his, I’ve seen him go through a lot of phases but the loyalty and . . I think the pure dedication and commitment — I mean this guy - the guy would almost make you think he’s disgusted in women who isn’t his mrs, you know?” he actually laughed, “and he’s always been like that. Any other guy would more than likely give that up and go through girls like a fuckin’ . . pack of cigs. We used to think he was a right twat like we wanted to shake him, he was like a 16-year-old acting like he was married, we were like be young bro! Enjoy life!! We just didn’t want him settling for the first one - no disrespect to y/n but at this time, we y’know, we didn’t know how great she was, we just assumed she was gonna take him from us, deprive us of a fun time with our boy. But I think he always knew it was special . . I think he just knew he found a best friend in it and would never, y’know, dick it up, so big up him for not listening to us.”

Videos of you three in the apartment played, laughing over something in the kitchen, hitting them on the arm. “I have seen the many different versions of that guy but he’s himself most when they’re together. He’s very chilled,” he noted. “I love y/n. I know exactly why Harry’s with her and why it’s worked for so long. She’s a part of our friend group, she’s good with the boys. She has a very loveable soul and they stay the best match I’ve ever encountered.”

Right Here played over a combination of funny snaps of you and the group, the funniest drunk memories caught between you both in clubs, on holiday, random streets of towns being the most unwise pairing, a right pair of dickheads. Falling off chairs, spilling drinks, dancing weirdly or running and swinging from things - there was no time for a backstory to all of them, but the clips alone were enough for viewers to rewind and replay, wishing they could be apart of your friendgroups.

“I’ve never seen two people so suited. It’s disgusting, man,” he finished.

“Don’t freak out . . but we have to get our bloods done next Thursday.”

“NO.”

“Yeah.”

“NO Y/N.”

“Harry, yeah, we have to—”

“NOOOOO—” his fingers gripped his hair before he shoved his face in a pillow, crumbling up into the sofa with a groan, “no, no y/n, I’m not—”

“Listen,” you held up the letter.

“GET THAT AWAY FROM ME, NO!”

“Harry—”

“I’M NOT GOING! YOU KNOW—”

“It’s just a needle, Harry, it takes 10 seconds—”

“NO!”

Cut to you both in the car on your way, Harry’s head leaning on the window, hand stressfully on his temple, silently hyperventilating in his seat while you were driving with a hand patting his thigh every now and then, holding in laughter whilst steering the wheel. “S’okay, don’t worry about it—”

“Please shut up.”

“Does your partner support your career?”

Harry pulled a confused face, itching his ankle in the chair. “Eh?”

“Right, bye, love you,” you kissed cheeks at the drop-off, watching him hop out for the building before indicating back onto the road, singing to yourself, “back home I go, lonely two hours ahead.”

“Oh man, she’s like . . it’s not even in question, obviously she does. It’s something I’ve taken for granted and still probably do at times,” he scratched his beard. “She just took to it as I sort of expected her to and . . yeah. I mean I-I don’t think my ‘lifestyle’” he air-quoted “involves much adaptation I mean, I’m not a fucking footballer, I’m not gone every day, left her with three kids to deal with, embarrass her with cheating rumours in a paper every week, y’know–” he grinned playfully, picking at the armrest, “but I-I understand it’s still not normal. These last couple years more than ever, I see it more as the channel grows and evolves into bigger things: it’s not just filming once a week on a fuckin’ – football pitch or at home in your bedroom anymore, we’re doing what we been doing: big videos, all the side channels, SidePlus now, products and just– fuckin’ everything – it’s a lot. I am gone more but I–I like to think I’ve done pretty well at – working things around us, though. No-one will understand that but trust–trust me! Arguments have been had! I have refused point blank at times ‘cause I’ve felt like I haven’t seen my mrs!” He awkwardly laughed, waving his finger. He felt like he didn’t see his front door sometimes, let alone his girl.

“Do you really want to bring that?” You screwed your face up slightly at a shirt in your hand he was just not going to wear - you knew he wasn’t, and as he stood in front of you, glancing between you both, he realised too because his smile began to grow, inching closer. You threw it in the case anyway with an eye roll, keeping him happy.

“Does it ever get in the way?”

He scratched his chin again, shaking his head, “nah, not that I can think of. We’ve never had an argument over it, I don’t think – which I think just proves her support and . . understanding. I mean I know it’s time consuming, it bores me at times so God knows how she really feels!”

“Has anything ever got in the way of you two?”

Harry’s expression slowly faltered and he paused, glancing to the camera tight-lipped, he visibly bit his tongue in his mouth as music faded.

Silence, and then a black cut.

A mix of old clips, snapchats, videos and vlogs that had since then been deleted began to play, all of which highlighting the bits that may have been small and unnoticeable, actually were part of a bigger, ongoing problem.

The first was a clip from Freezy’s deleted vlog, you and Harry both sat in the booth opposite him but a foot apart, drinks flowing at a bar in the airport, the boys already tipsy, but you’d been too focused on your phone while Cal was egging your man on with some joke. Cal said something, and anyone watching knew he shouldn’t have said it, because the way Harry’s eyes shot to the left to look at you from his seat, yours shot right to look at him, and silent stare down filled the air before Freezy’s laughter cut in. It was the kind of joke you didn’t make around your mrs, but there was more to it that only you and Harry knew about, and anyone watching could tell there was a warning in your eyes.

‘That why you didn’t want me helping with your suitcase’ you’d started a ‘petty’ argument with him just before your flight, your fault that already put a downer on the trip.

You remembered the comments bashed you for that one 10 second clip, how you were a ‘classic woman’, a bitch-faced spoilsport for leaving the table and unable to take a joke — not that it bothered you.

Another was a snap from one for the boys accounts, videoing Harry so far gone, he was unrecognizable with how outward he was being - the center of attention, sunglasses on, ‘dancing’ obnoxiously but it had the group in hysterics, accidentally knocking glasses down and bumping into people just asking for a fight. Joe had recorded your reaction which was funniest of all, standing there clearly not pleased, not enjoying yourself, arms folded with an untouched drink, you forced a smile so you didn’t get slaughtered again online.

You were pretty sure you tried to take Harry to A&E that night because he’d completely fucked up his face with his antics, scared he’d hit his head a certain way, you remembered the blood everywhere, you’d spent ages washing it out of his hair the next morning.

But he wouldn’t let you, warning you not to, that it wasn’t an option and you weren’t allowed to take him. You didn’t understand at first but Freezy had tried to reassure him, telling him ‘it’s fine! It’s fine! Just say you were spiked?!’ — and then it made sense – and Harry wished he’d hit his head harder to knock himself out instead of having to deal with you when you dropped his hand and walked off.

That clip was also there, the boys laughing around Harry on the ground while you walked off, again, painting you as the joykill you were.

The rest were taken from youtube videos, any drug-related comment or innuendo made about him or from him montaging for a minute, finishing with your clip on a podcast about your attitude towards it, “i don’t find any of those . . drug joke as funny moments, funny, I really don’t. You won’t catch me laughing.”

“Get them the fuck—” you threw the mini weighing scales out of your kitchen drawer to fish for the scissors, wondering why you hadn’t thrown them out yet. Actually, you did know why: Harry refused to because they were Supreme, and it was a funny gag gift.

Harry currently sat in the armchair clueless as what to say, scratching his head as he debated where to go with it.

He didn’t want to touch on the topic but . . he felt like he kind of owed it to you . .

“Weee . . . did . . break up for a bit.”

“VIK! FUCK OFF!”

“You’re all fucking me off, I’m actually quitting tomorrow – Simon shUT THE FUCK UP!”

“Ay— HARRY! You just fucking broke that throwing it at the wall you fucking moron! Get fucked! Move! You’re not even fucking funny!”

Videos of his rotten attitude montaged, his foul behavior seeming different this time around when viewers would now realise he was being genuine and not just messing about.

“I was a massive knob.”

He shared his memories he’d sent to friends of him ripping any photos of you off the walls and facing photo frames down, done as a laugh. Other clips of him throwing your things in the bin when he was moving apartments, makeup wipes and bottles of tan, saluting a good riddance for the camera when really he’d get all deep in his head when he’d first found them and taken an hour to make a move.

“I literally was insufferable, wasn’t I?” He watched his mum who had joined him, squeezing in beside him.

“Oh yes. Oh Jesus Christ,” she mumbled the more she began to think about it.

“Nobody wanted him near, he was a — a literal monster,” she got to say when he left. “Genuinely. The fights in this house — there’s no arguing in any of my kids, they all get along; don’t get me wrong, they’re brothers and sister, they have their moments, but all in all they’re close. They back each other and they get on. At that time—”

Rosie had the most videos from those years when she’d secretly film her brother being a spoiled little twat who argued with anyone going. It was the funniest thing in the world for them to watch back, seeing his bitchy self start an argument with the dog at that point.

She’d zoom in on his oh-so-punchable face and record him have a hissy fit in his dressing gown with their younger brother, Josh, who turned to shoot a look at Rosie at the time to see if she was witnessing that moment then.

“I was kept out of that whole thing, I never got any details but Harry was open and did say it was more so on his part or he he was a dick or something, which, personally, to me sounds about right if it’s between him and y/n,” she shrugged, not wanting to get into it too much either. “I did have my suspicions but to be honest, i’ve never really wanted to know, and even then, there was no asking anyway or you got blown up in your fuckin’ face,” she made a face at the camera.

“When we broke up, my life genuinely flipped, I was so lost on what to do, I literally did not know where I went from there. I forgot who I was for a moment,” you sat in the chair all cozy. “I think I went through multiple identity crises, became an alcoholic, gave my whole family PTSD and spent a million pound on holidays and holiday insurance,” you listed with your fingers. “I transformed into a different person.”

And then Escapism played, and your photos and videos began to play, your hot pics on one of many vacations and recorded memories from friends capturing you in your single era, singing, dancing, living life up as a freed woman.

“If you look at my socials, you’ll think I look like I’m living my best life - like I escaped a horrendous marriage. My media is the definition of a hot girl summer all year around. I made amazing memories and reconnected with so many friends and saw so many different places together and it was the best time, I did find the light at that time, but . . I’m given more credit that I’m due because I was really not that girl all the time. I was really weak and struggled to adjust to my new normal for a long time. I cried a lot,” the camera panned in on your face for your blunt fact, likely to become a relatable meme, “‘n yeah, I was not as I appeared after those holidays ended, I was sad and I missed him. A lot.”

Your own personal videos began to play, ones from your saves, some from your sister as she had hellaaa videos of you during this time as she’d seen it as the biggest pisstake ever. She was like Rosie, secretly recording you starting arguments but more likely - crying to your mum in the midst of an argument ‘cause you were easily set off.

Most were the ones from home as you’d moved back, and everywhere you went, no matter what you were doing, your aura was negative. Always looking lonely. Dress fittings for your cousin's wedding or sitting at your Nan’s 75th birthday, you could tell you were trying to not dampen the mood but you could tell even surrounded by your loving family members, you were still blue and missing a piece of yourself. When you pointed out you were going through a breakup, it was easy to spot in photos and videos.

The funny ones were when you picked your sister up from school, and she always filmed herself singing your breakup bangers together.

“It was a hard timeframe . . and I didn’t ever think we’d ever get back together. like, if we did, it’d fizzle out quickly after, probably worse. It’s a tricky thing to explain because it didn’t end on bad terms but it did in some ways . . and it wasn’t immediate either but it was . . ? I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It was a little messy and it still doesn’t make sense in some areas but . . we got over it and that’s what matters, but it was a big grey area in my life. It’s like falling out with your best mate. I really had to like, rebrand my life,” you raised your brows at the camera. “But there was no . . bad blood between us. I was angry for reasons but I never ever hated him. I never talked bad about him or the boys in general, my side of the street was kept clean. I still cared about him and worried a lot about him, actually.”

Much happier songs played over memories from when you got back to your London life, enjoying the bottomless brunches on balconies and going on runs with your girls under the bridge, you did show the brighter side to it. “Eventually I did get over it, I guess. Still, I thought about him the odd time but I was done being sad. I think we were broke up like . . almost 2 years or som—”

“–were like a year and a half, not even—”

“Ok, a year and a half,” you rolled your eyes back.

Jamming to more songs in the car, more girls holidays, more clubs, more drinking and more new people. “I think it was good to have that time apart and see what life was like when living it entirely for yourself. A lot of issues can come from getting into a relationship quite young and people often forget who they are but I think it was more just finding that again and taking that leap whilst you have no restrictions or responsibilities, y’know? I had no rent to pay for a bit, was out of work for a while, I took that time to spend money and make memories and be on my own for a bit, just as Harry did. We can laugh about it now . . I think.”

When you’re drunk and soppy, maybe it’s the latter.

It cut to a snapchat of the very blond laid on his sofa, hungover and hanging out his arse, contemplating his life choices with his hand on his head whilst Freezy sat and recorded him from the other sofa, laughing his head off at his mate’s contemplation. “I hate being single, I hate hate HATE it. I fucking hate drinking, i’m not going out again, ever in my fucking life . . . what am I even doing? Why did I do that? You can — please fucking shoot me the next time I suggest that, I want you to kill me before that. Never bring me outdoors again, I’m never leaving this room again.”

“Doesn’t matter what we did in that timeframe apart, I think we’ve filled each other in on every little second we lived apart, there’s no secrets, no bitterness — we know all the girls holidays, lads holidays, the stories just get told naturally.”

“AH! Don’t add that photo!” You squealed, unplugging your phone from the laptop downloading your data.

“How did you guys end up talking again?”

“I used to play this when I was broke up with your brother,” you and Rosie jammed to I’ll Be Thinking Bout You on your way back from the store, dancing like that banger like it was just released.

“We basically got to talking and . . met up. Talked. A lot of talking,” Harry explained with his leg crossed, “it wasn’t like we got straight back together, it was a longgg process. I didn’t even think it would happen, as much as I wanted that to happen — I didn’t actually think it would. I didn’t even think she’d agree to meet up.”

About You played over the scenery of London around the area you and Harry had met up at a little over four years ago, after you, did in fact, hold on and hope that you found your way back in the end. “I realllly didn’t want to go, I was a bundle of ner— I actually— this is funny, because I thought at the time, right, I was just gonna run into him and talk and be very mature and hear him out and then . . go home and get on with life and be normal like it was nothing. I was thinking it was gonna be like a job interview,” you were really laughing at this point, “mate, when I tell you,” you were crying from laughter but also maybe because of the bittersweet memory that pulled at your heart, “I had game face on, ready to be all professional and then — it’s like you’re just sucked back to the beginning like the walls come crumbling down . . I was 17 again. Literally lovestruck. I literally got a kick in the face of these feelings I thought I’d never have again. It was like everything was erased and I was just looking at him like . .”

“♪ And the love kickstarts again,” Harry sang from the kitchen.

Little photos from your rekindling era played next and it was sweet to see. Taken in 2020, just before Lockdown, when you started talking again and going for coffees . . and then it was games and activities . . and then it was games and activities with dinner and drinks — and then you were back to square one.

The photos were mostly selfies of you both in dark places as you were still keeping things on the DL and the thought do your friends or family coming across them was terrifying. “I enjoyed Lockdown given the circumstances, it feels like it was yesterday but I feel like we got back together . . 10 years ago,” he chuckled, “it feels like we were never even apart, we spent Lockdown together and . .” he shrugged, “mate I fuckin’ loved Lockdown,” he chuckled, “it was perfect like -not perfect obviously- but I mean we got to be young again, living at home, no work to do – I know I shouldn’t say it so much but I really did love Lockdown.”

“Our normal came back while the rest of the world was all over the place,” you itched your ankle.

“Right, bend over,” you instructed, holding up a belt from your suitcase, “you know the drill.” He laughed, a clip of you both talking about the competition you had over who could take a whip better on a podcast playing afterward, giving context.

“She keeps you humbled, doesn’t she!” Harry’s Mum called.

He just looked at the camera without needing to say anything.

“I’ve never been so grateful for someone like that, she is very important to him and important to his . . growth? He moved out quite young as you know and we haven't always been there to maybe keep an eye on him, per say, ‘n keep him grounded but she has,” his mum ranted, “I’ve always loved the fact she’s kept a normal life and normal jobs and strived to keep that normality y'know? I admire her for that and her independence because she could have easily dropped and been a . . stay-at-home girlfriend,” she laughed, “he has no hold over her that way and it shows she doesn’t care what what he does and how much he makes, and I think it also subconsciously keeps Harry grounded, y’know, he always thinks twice about things he might do or say. . .”

“Yeah she influences my perspective,” Harry rubbed his eye, not really paying attention, “you can’t impress her with money, you can’t bribe her with anything, she’s–she’s someone I need around, yeah.”

“How do you think things would be if she maybe didn’t get along with your career / lifestyle?”

“Pffft,” Harry let out a breath, scratching behind his ear. “There’s–there’s a funny answer and there is the honest answer.”

It was a simple answer. It was the same one he’d had since before his first big cheque and the same since his latest one. He probably had it before he’d even joined the Sidemen.

“Oh he would.” His mum answered.

“Yes. Definitely,” Rosie agreed. “He’ll pretend he wouldn’t but definitely. Absolutely.”

“I think he’d pretend he wouldn’t but I think he would,” Josh fixed his hair.

Nobody would understand the depths to your relationship, how you’d been there for each other during the highs and lows, as a safety net and shoulder to cry on, stuff that would never hear the light of day on the internet. They’d never hear about getting through those hard days together when a loved one passed or when you were in the most manic meltdown over life in general - you had each other and that was all you needed. You’d sensed that pretty early on, but it showed the most on those long days, whether holding each other during a loved ones funeral or stroking their hair from a hospital bed - which most of the time had always been you lying in the bed, the last time being when your appendix had burst.

You never knew something like that could be life-threatening as it was until it happened to you.

The day before, you’d felt like shit, blaming it on the bug, you felt like you’d had a fever while also shaking with the cold; you felt sick and your stomach was in knots, hurting even when you coughed.

You’d brushed it off and gone to bed with painkillers, only to wake up the next morning in 10 times worse agony. You couldn’t even sit up, your stomach ached like never before, especially on the right side.

You had no clue what was wrong, but Harry remembered how you looked, how you trembled and had sweat dripping down your face, how you were breathless and burning up. He had to trail you to sit and stand from bed. When he watched you almost faint he wasted no time picking you up and driving you to the hospital, not trusting an ambulance to be able to find the house in time.

To cut a long story short, your appendix had burst, and as most know, a burst appendix left untreated can cause infection (like Peritonitis) and cause serious complications, and you can even die.

Your issue was . . you had caught Peritonitis.

It was slightly complicated because you had left it later than ideally and although complications were being dealt with, you were frightened for yourself in the long run - what if you got organ failure? What if your fertility was fucked? What if your life expectancy had 20 years chopped off?

You had surgery and it was all well and good now, but at the time - it was really fucking scary.

You felt out of the loop and confused what was happening. You were terrified, but if there was one person who managed to make your biggest worries sound stupidly minuscule - it was your Harry.

You were in pain days after your surgery and just wanted to cry all the time - you did cry all the time, and the many what if’s just made you stress more.

Harry had said he wanted to punch the doctor for running you through all the precautions and possibilities while you were sobbing tears as it was, but you knew he just had to tell you even if they didn’t all apply to you - he was just going over the depth of your situation and why he’d need to check up on your for the coming weeks after.

Really, it was more worries to fill your head with.

You remembered him saying about internal organs being damaged, organ failure being a thing, life expectancy wouldn’t be impacted, pain and bruising, fertility potentially being impacted if blocked fallopian tubes appear and a bunch of other stuff that just made you want to roll off that hospital bed.

“It’s so sore,” your eyes were painfully heavy from crying and your stomach only hurt more with the subtle jumps you gave between breaths.

You clung to Harry’s arm, wrapped around, cuddling it as he sat next to your bed, also tired, his anxiety just as bad as yours.

He’d never seen you in this state and he absolutely hated it. Your parents were on holiday, your mum not able to come comfort you, and you didn’t want anyone else to see you anyway. His heart broke the entire time and he begged he got the pain instead of you, physically and emotionally. “My head is so sore,” you whined more, hand covered your eyes. That was from the crying.

“I know, darlin’, I know, you need to calm down and just breathe, you’re alright now, you can’t do anymore, we just have to wait and see,” he used his other hand to stroke your head, swiping the hair from your face and soothe your thumping head.

“It’s so sore,” you felt disgusting in your body anyway at the thought of a dirty infection creeping through your system, but the pain in your abdomen was still fresh.

“Y/n, it’s only been a few hours, it is going to be sore,” Harry tried not to seem inattentive, tickling his thumb over your forehead and beginning to stroke your eyebrow. You tried to relax.

He passed you water, hoping it’d help with the headache, and took it back as you cuddled more into his arm, your sad frown not budging.

He didn’t want you to cry, but he didn’t like when you went quiet, either. “Stop thinking.”

“What if my tubes are impacted?”

His heart crushed at your tone, broken and hopeless, like you’d already accepted your fate.

“Y/n, as long as he didn’t say you have 10 days to live, I don’t really give a fuck about the rest.”

You knew Harry had an underlining of anger, whether it was because he was scared or for not going to hospital sooner. He’d told you to go the moment he saw you discolored and you refused, reassuring you’d be fine the next day. You’d always brushed off things like that, refused to phone in sick to work or get something checked out, although in fairness, you usually were always fine the next day or so, this time just had to do you wrong.

You didn’t mean to be annoying, but now you felt like you were putting your future at risk being so careless. “But what if they are . .”

The doctors told you they couldn’t see any issue with any of your organs during check-ups, including your reproductive system, but you always had that fear and what-if moments, although you never went to fully look into it to make sure.

It didn’t matter to Harry anyway, and overtime he effortlessly made you not care either - not in a careless manner but he’d proved to you that even if it was just the two of you forever - you’d be fine with that; that it was appealing anyway.

“You need to stop thinking there’s something wrong with you. I told you as long as you’re ok, that’s all that matters. That’s my priority. I’m not leaving you if they had to take away all your toes, your eyes, if you had to be in a wheelchair for fuck sake. I told you if we can’t have them naturally then we’ll adopt but I’m not thinking about that right now, y/n. You should just be focusing on getting better and stop waiting for the worst. You’re just stressing yourself out for no reason.”

He was tough with you and you needed it. You’d be the same with him.

“You’re lucky you didn’t faint and hit your bloody head,” he breathed, replaying you losing your footing in the house and scraping the counter with your hand to try and catch yourself. He didn’t know what he’d do in that situation. He’d probably collapse right after you. “You’re so fucking lucky.”

You could feel your lip wobbling as he spoke to you, realising just how much you worried him.

And how much he loved you.

You squeezed his hand. “You make me sound like an ungrateful cow.”

“You are an ungrateful cow,” he said seriously, but then you felt his lips on your cheek, kissing you affectionately over and over again ‘til you gave a small giggle. You could feel his smile on your face too. “Never scare me again like that, you witch,” he’d said, before continuing.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You wrapped your arm around his head, pulling him as close as the bed allowed you, holding your boy who squeezed you (gently) back. “I love you so much Harry.”

“Not as much as I love you, girl,” he muffled in your hair, kissing you again and again.

“This was me just over a week after my appendix burst,” you held up your phone for the camera focus on, a stunning image of you standing at the stairwell of a club, dressed beautifully for the event in your shimmering short skirt and top, looking like a model posing for a magazine cover with your long crossed legs on display, “–when I nearly died. Well, I didn’t really nearly die but it was serious,” you scrolled through the next couple images, showing the one of you and Harry posing together at the bottom of the staircase, noses an inch apart and smiling wholeheartedly at each other. “Oop, this one’s too lovey dovey,” you said just as he threw himself down next to you on the sofa, throwing an arm over your shoulder, you laughed, “that’s our rule, if it’s too lovey dovey, it doesn’t get posted,” you snorted, leaning into his embrace.

And he’d been with you through recovery, just as he he’d been by your side when you had your wisdom teeth removed, broken your leg, broken your arm, had your kidney removed, gotten spiked, caught covid - he was always there to pick you up. Help you walk if you needed to, help cut your food up, to shower, drive you around or stop you from saying the craziest shit when you were doped up.

He had your back, and you had his, although, in this sense, he seemed to sound the more sensible one, which if you know Harry, is very fucking hard to believe.

Harry sighed in thought as he tried to tiptoe around the previously asked question, bouncing his leg annoyingly high, “i-it’s hard because I know I always sound like I don’t give a fuck about the boys and the channel and I’m overworked and I’m done with making videos – i-i am gratful I’m not gonna get into that but y’know,” great, waffle.

“If we agreed to end it now, I’d have no problem, like, I-I wouldn’t be mad about it. I’m old. I’m ready to, y’know, I’d move back here and think about what I want to do next with my life,” he scruffied his hair, “you can only do it for so long.”

“If you had to choose between the two though—”

“—fuuck sakee,” he groaned.

Why did they want him to be a simp so bad?

“I think . . if I knew . . my lady was getting fed up with my work, and feeling like it was getting in the way of things, or impacting my mood too much, because it does sometimes,” he gave a knowing look to the camera, recalling the many times he came home snarky and cold from a video that didn’t go his way or even filming too long, “I—I would agree to stop, yeah. I would know when to stop.”

You making the bed back home aired the screen, tidying it up and placing belongings on your bedside tables fans would be pointing out in fan account. Harry stood talking with you, discussing something about what he would wear to an upcoming wedding as you put your clean laundry in your drawers.

“Maybe that should be my excuse!” He laughed, the idea shining brightly in his head.

Plating your dinner in the kitchen, pouring a small amount of sauce over it, making it look all neat and presentable while steam was still coming off it had viewers wishing they had you to cook for them everyday.

“At the end of the day, an ideal life for me doesn’t involve work. If I missed it, I would go back to it but on my terms. I want to move out of London, move back to Guernsey. I want to raise my family there. I want to travel any time I want, spend time with my family and friends without a camera in my face all the time. I don’t look forward to coming home to work everyday, the channel doesn’t greet me home every day, it’s not gonna grow old with me and-and have a family with me!”

And more wholesome clips played of Harry’s life with you. Videoed moments at festivals, on vacation, riding jet skis and sleeping on planes together. Partying with friends, cheering him on at charity matches and overdoing every birthday, moments when Harry walked into your bedroom with a cake in one hand and Herb in the other, cards and gift bags on his wrist - purposely singing badly. Mauling a kebab after a night out, laughing at how messy you both are but not caring ‘cause you’re in your own house. Ones of you cracking smiles in hospital, shopping together in town and chilling in your family backyard, waiting on the barbecue. Harry trying to open a bottle of champagne over you on Valentines, shoving the last bit of food in your mouths from going out to dinner, being weird in the living room after sharing two bottles of wine and joining each other on Christmas Day after being with your own families.

“I can’t believe he’s getting married.”

“I know! I’m going to cry seeing them together—” you awed at the idea of Simon and Talia on their big day. You were packing for the airport, making sure you had everything, most importantly, your dress and Harry’s fit. You’d do the same 100 times for Vic and Ellie’s, packing back-ups so you didn’t embarrass them with your underdressed attire if accidents happened.

“Then The Big 123 next,” Harry chuckled, grabbing the jacket you tossed him. “WhO nExT?”

“Tell me about it,” you stuffed your makeup bag inside, “I mean a diamond on my finger wouldn’t hurt,” you bit your tongue to hide your snigger, the camera catching Harry’s amused but tired eye roll.

“No, but it’d hurt my wallet,” he threw your bra at your head.

“Well Boggy, clock’s tickin!”

“And what? You gonna piss off if you don’t get what you want?” He smirked, craning his neck in disbelief at you. You’d never been pushy for a ring but maybe it was all weddings going on you were getting FOMO.

You shrugged playfully, folding a shirt, “look, I know ten other guys who’d already have that rock around my finger.”

“Yeah well, I’ll get you both a rock and tie it to your necks and drop you in the ocean, how’s that sound?” He pranced over the piles of clothes to quickly leave you laughing by yourself in the room, no longer interested in the convo.

The next bit had your journey traveling to Italy to the Minter wedding, reunited with the boys and getting ready for the reception. The ceremony wasn’t filmed but the moments after when music was playing and drinks were flowing and laughs between friends were being shared, had been. Quick shots of you sat on Harry’s lap, dancing with Faith, somehow behind the DJ booth and getting loved up on Harry as he tickled your neck with kisses behind you, fingers interlocked over your shoulder.

. . and then ‘serenading’ him with your 7th glass of prosecco in hand . . . and him reciprocating.

“—♪ LISTEN BABY! AIN’T NO MOUNTAIN HIGH! AIN'T NO VALLEY LOW, AIN'T NO RIVER WIIIDE ENOUGH BABY!”

“♪ IF YOU NEED ME, CALL ME! NO MATTER WHERE YOU ARE! NO MATTER HOW FAR!”

“–♪ DON'T WORRY BABY!”

“♪ JUST CALL MY NAME, I’LL BE THERE IN A HURRY, YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY!—”

“—♪ CUS BABY THERE AIN’T NO MOUNTAIN HIGH ENOUGH!”

It was entertainment for the guests, friends laughing and family members of the happy couple witnessing the reason for friendships. “—♪ TO KEEP ME FROM GETTING TO YOU, BABY!”

“I do want to get married . . .” Harry shot a look at the camera from the living room sofa, telling the camera he most definitely did not want to get married. “Y/n wants to get married,” he corrected. “I have no issue getting married, it’s nothing to do with assets or fear of commitment or–or any shit like that, it’s the actual wedding part.”

“Tell your son to propose to me already,” you picked at the dinner as it was to be dished, his mum copying you and smiling at the comment.

“Fuck off y/n!” He responded.

“Get a nice holiday booked and do it, love,” she told him casually.

“We’re just back from Italy and Dubai and doing Amaterdam next week! Give me a minute to breathe!”

“Did my best,” she looked at you.

“Where do you see yourself in five years time?”

“Where do I see myself in five year’s time? Hmph.”

The blond thought, trying not to deep it but it was quite a big question.

“I’m not gonna say about the channel being done ‘cause I’ve said that for ages and if we haven’t stopped after 10 years then I don’t know. I can see it slowing down, and I’d be ok with that. I wouldn’t mind doing the odd one every now and again but definitely slowed down with work.” He tried to calculate his age next. “I think I should be married by then . . maybe a kid, maybe.”

You and Harry at Simon and Talia’s wedding stood at the practice dinner, Olive in your arms, laughing away at you and Harry smothering her in attention. Effortlessly making her laugh and hide under your chin with cackles, Harry couldn’t believe a baby this young could be so pleasant. You both looked at her so lovingly and she was so happy being left with you both while Ethan and Faith got to mingle at the bar.

“Kids are so needy though, man,” he rubbed his eye, “mm, five years, yeah maybe one,” he gave in, “new house, maybe married, maybe a kid - I’m saying maybe in case it doesn’t happen. Would I like it to? I mean,” he looked up, shrugging, “not that i’d rush anything but yeah, I’d be happy. I am excited for that stage but I do still enjoy what’s left of my youth . . but I do want a family and I want to grow old with y/n and our kids on a farm . . with chickens and dogs . . and be done with work. If my life is like that in five years, I would not be complaining.”

Harry’s mum put away the dishes after you had washed them, joining your man on the couch after dinner, you threw yourself under his arm as he focused on the match, instinctively pulling you close as you began flicking on your phone. Your natural habitat.

“I’m happy with how things are at the minute though. I moan a lot but I wouldn’t change a thing for now. I’m happy,” he smiled, sending a genuine look to the lens. “Check-in in five years and see where I’m at.”

　　🐚　⊹　❀　︵　∘　 dark clouds ⟢

pairing rafe cameron x kook! female reader

summary every storm reminds rafe of the worst night of his life. you’re there to help when his thoughts get too loud.

content warning mentions of parent’s death

this is a blurb in the home before dark universe, inspired by this ask!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

You’ve never checked the weather forecast as much as you do now that you’re with Rafe.

Ever since the first night he stayed at your house to keep you safe from your ex, when he admitted to you how much he hated the drumming rain and rolling thunder outside, you’ve been hyperaware of every storm coming your way.

For your own heart’s sake, you try not to imagine him as a boy the night he lost his mother. But every so often, when you meet his eyes or see his smile, you can’t help but think about his lost innocence. And you’d do anything to keep him from having to think about it, too.

When a storm threatens to roll in on a Saturday night late into the summer, you ask your boyfriend if you can get off the island together, book a hotel room and experience what the mainland has to offer.

The hotel room is large, wide windows offering a view of the city skyline, a drastic change from the sleepy beach town you’re both so used to.

Rafe circles his arms around you as he stands behind you, dipping his head to press his lips against your cheek.

You notice the dark clouds settled behind the setting sun and hope he doesn’t notice them, too. You had hoped you’d be far away enough to escape the storm.

“Room service for dinner?” you offer, wondering how you can shut the blinds without rousing suspicion.

“We can go out,” he mumbles.

“I think I want to stay in,” you say.

“What?” he says. “You don’t want to go into the city?”

“No,” you say. You turn in his arms, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Let’s be lazy tonight.”

Rafe’s blue eyes glint with comfort, his lips curling into a smile. He never knew he could smile this much with somebody until you came back into his life.

“Sure,” he says.

You grin, gently tapping a finger against his dimple like you always do, and head to grab the hotel menu.

You’re seated on the bed together, down to your pajamas, eating and watching tv. You purposely turned it up loud in case the thunder starts rumbling.

Eventually, it gets late enough that you both start dozing off. You get ready for bed and turn off the tv. It allows in the sound of raindrops pelting the glass.

Only one of the nightstand lamps are still on, casting a gentle glow into the room, and you stand to pull the blinds closed. When you settle back onto the cushioned bed, you notice Rafe’s gaze on the covered window.

He looks at you, lips thinning, lying across from you.

“Is it gonna get bad?” he asks, a thin edge of anxiety in his tone. You look down, ashamed you didn’t find a place far enough to avoid the passing storm.

“I was hoping it wouldn’t hit here,” you say softly.

Rafe can tell now that this wasn’t a spontaneous date idea.

“Is that why we’re here?” he asks. You give him a sad smile, nodding, silently admitting it.

Rafe has lived through years of neglect, years of fighting for attention any and every way he knew how. But you give him care and love and consideration freely, abundantly. It never ceases to strike his heart with a heat he’s still not used to.

And beneath the ache of anticipating the storm is a sense of hope that he’ll be okay if you’re around, distracting him.

“We can turn the tv back on and I’ll talk until you fall asleep, okay?” you offer.

Rafe’s brows pinch in worry, his head sunk into the pillow. He realizes this is why you didn’t want to go out for dinner, either. You wanted to keep him inside.

His big hand drags down your arm, stopping when he reaches your hand. You watch him lift your hand, kissing your fingers, closing his eyes. He’s still getting accustomed to someone thinking about him, about the pain he carries every day.

“Okay,” he says.

You turn on the tv, the sound of informercials spilling out of the speakers, and settle across from him again.

You stroke his cheek, brushing away his hair, feeling his sun-kissed skin, as you begin to ramble about what you can do tomorrow morning when it’s nice out.

Over the sound of the tv and your voice, a loud crack of thunder booms outside. You watch him wince, his forehead crinkling, and it makes your heart twist in pain.

“It’ll pass,” you promise quietly, recalling the forecast you read on your phone before you got ready for bed. “By midnight, it’s supposed to be over. We only have an hour.”

“I always had to do this alone,” he says, voice wavering.

“You never will again, okay?” you whisper. “Turn around.”

Rafe obeys, and when he feels your body curl against his, your arm tight around his torso, your cheek pressed against his back, he’s sure he’s never felt safer during the flashbacks that storms put him through.

You continue to whisper about anything you can think of, squeezing his firm, warm body tightly.

To Rafe, it’s like he reverts to being the boy who was in the car every time the weather gets this bad, turning into a whimpering mess, but right now, that boy isn’t crying alone in the backseat. He’s being hugged. Protected.

Because that’s what you do. You keep him safe in your own way. You keep the demons at bay. The ugly memories can’t get to him when he’s being held like this.

“I promise it’ll be over soon,” you whisper to him when he starts to tremble. You can feel his heart thumping against your palm. “And we’ll fall asleep and when we wake up, it’ll be sunny. We can go on a walk. We can get something to eat. This will be in the past.”

Rafe raises your hand again to kiss your fingers, and you can feel the wetness from tears on his pillow. You squeeze against him even tighter, feeling guilty that you’re not doing a better job.

Until he speaks.

“You don’t know how glad I am to have you,” he mumbles.

You nod against him, nuzzling against his back.

“So, I’m helping?” you ask quietly. He breathes a chuckle, kissing your fingers again.

“You are,” Rafe says. “Keep talking about tomorrow.”

You do. You talk and talk and talk until he falls asleep, his grip on your hand weakening. As you shut your eyes, you swear to yourself that you won’t ever allow him to be alone when a storm like this comes in.

He protects you in so many ways, so doing this for him is the best way you can show just how much you love him. Because you truly adore him. Every single piece of him, everything that makes him him.

When Rafe wakes up the next morning, still in your arms, he realizes just how crucial you are to him. You’re not just important, but a necessity, an inevitable need. And he can only hope that you depend on him just as much.

Once you stir awake, he kisses your fingers again and again, earning the sounds of your sweet laughter, both of you looking forward to the day.

A bunch of cuties in love | A.H.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader

Content warning: fluff, nicknames (i think that's about it?)

Word Count: 2.2K

Summary: Running late to a meeting with Strauss, Hotch leaves Jack with his favorite person - you. The scene that greets him when he comes back leads to some realizations. 

Request: Hotch request: BAU!Reader is Jack’s favorite and always spends the day with them when he’s brought along to the office. They have a cute bonding moment that Hotch secretly watches. Cue the “oh god I’m in love with them aren’t I”

A/N: it’s been two months today since I made this blog, and it’s been wild, it’s been fun, and it’s been a little teary. thank you for the love and support! Please enjoy this cute little hotch piece, I had a blast writing it! Thank you to the anon who requested this, and I’d love to hear what you think! Also, I miss old Disney😭

9:23.

On the days you weren’t working on a case, and the only thing you really needed to catch up on was paperwork, your usual start time was 8:30. Yet almost an hour had gone by and he wasn’t in his office like he usually would be.

With a punctual Unit Chief like Aaron Hotchner, it was a shock, and a little nerve-wracking that he was late. 

You’d lie if you didn’t say you were getting a little worried, taking into account the last and only time he’d been late - Foyet attacking him in his own home, leaving him with long-lasting trauma, scars, and without his family. 

You'd never forget that day, and every day after where he was left to suffer, laying the blame on himself. No matter how many times you said it, how many times Rossi patted him on the back, reminding him it wasn't his fault, you knew a part of him still didn't believe it.

And the part of you that cared about him, maybe a little more than you should, didn't have the heart to watch him do this to himself - the silent guilt, the long empty looks. 

You’ve known him awhile, seen him through many of his ups, and just as many as his downs. You’d seen him laugh in glee and beam with happiness, you’d seen him lose it in anger and anguish and you’d seen him cry in heartbreak. 

So much of your life spent beside him, so many memories linked with him, and your team. And much of it you knew was friendly love - your love for Emily and Spencer, JJ and Morgan, Penelope and Rossi. But the love you felt for him was just a tiny bit different, deeper, not the friendly kind. 

You’d only recently started to understand what you were really feeling for him, as recent as the last few weeks. Still new and a little unexplainable at times, you were learning to balance that, within your friendship.

You didn’t think you wanted to pursue anything, right now. It had been a little over two years since he’d lost Haley, since he’d needed to start navigating his life as a single dad, a widower. 

You could still see the pain in his eyes, fresh as the day it had happened. You knew he was managing, but it was still apparent, that it was hitting them both hard.

And Jack? He was a little ray of sunshine in the otherwise gruesome life all of you led - the same could be said about Henry. But Henry was Reid's favorite, as his godfather, you knew the bond between them was unbreakable. 

But Jack? You were his favorite, and he was yours. 

He was your little buddy, your partner in all things art, cartoons, and Disney shows. He was your little helper during all things baking - you'd babysat once and he'd requested chocolate chip, peanut butter cookies and you'd been more than happy to help him make them.

He was a natural baker and a little taster. 

Your love for the little cutie ran as deep as your feelings for his dad.

At the end of the day though, you were a friend, a shoulder both could use to lean on and rely on. You were comfortable in your role within their little family and weren't looking to make any changes then.

9:28.

You were playing with your watch, already having decided you’d be giving him a call if he didn't arrive by 9:30.

Worry was making your hands sweat, and just as you went to wipe them on your pants, the door to the bullpen opened, and in walked a very frantic Hotch - his tie was a little crooked, shirt a little wrinkled, and Jack - a little backpack on his back, and a curious look paired with a timid smile.

Aaron's eyes searched the bullpen, as did Jack's, the little Hotchner noticing you seconds before his father did. You stood up, watching as the blond pulled away from his dad, and on a little run, made his way towards you. 

“Cutiee.” He called out, using the nickname you called him, to address you too. You leaned down when he was a few steps away, accepting his hug, his little arms wrapping around your neck. 

“Hi, cutie.” You greeted him, a wide smile on your face. Hotch had made his way over to you by then, giving you a barely-there smile, but his eyes shone.

“You're late.” You started, pulling to your full height.

“Yeah, Jessica was called on an emergency at the last minute, and Liah is away on a hiking trip, so here we are.” Liah was Hotch's neighbor, she looked after Jack for a few hours when Hotch couldn't stay with him, or Jess was busy.

He looked at his watch, running a hand through his hair, messing it up a little.

“I have a meeting with Strauss…well, right now. Can you please watch him until I get done?” 

“Go, don't make her wait. We'll be okay and we're going to have fun. Right, Jack?” You watched him nod at both you and his dad before Hotch exhaled.

“You're a lifesaver. Be good for Y/N, okay buddy.” Another nod from Jack, and he was on his way to Strauss's office.

‘’Okay Jack, let's see if Aunt Penelope can download a few episodes of ‘The Suite Life’ for us, and then we'll go color and draw for a while. Does that sound good to you?” 

“Very good. Can I also have orange juice?” He asked, taking your hand in his small, soft one, fingers wrapping around your own.

“Let's go see if we have any.” You walked towards the small communal kitchen space, checking the fridge and then you checked the pantry…and, “Bingo. Let's go see the lair.” You led him to Penelope's office.

“Knock, knock, may us mortals enter?” You joked, making your little partner giggle. 

“Us?” Her voice rang from the other side of the door.

“I have sir Hotchner with me. The smaller one.”

“Hey,” Jack said in outrage

“My favorite Hotchner.” You added.

Penelope pulled the door open, beaming at both of you, before she made space for you to enter. 

“Jack, my love, hi,” She raised her hand, letting him give her a high five. Even though she was affectionate, Jack wasn’t as much, especially after Haley. He only hugged a few people now - Jess, his dad, and surprisingly, you. 

It really showed how comfortable he was with you.

“What brings you to my tech cave?” She asked. You raised your brows at him, prompting him to do the talking. 

“Can you, please, download a few episodes of Zack and Cody for us?” His voice rang with its usual child calm and sweetness, fingers intertwined in front of him. 

Penelope's smile softened even more, “Sure thing, sweetie,” Her eyes turned towards you then, “Your tablet?”

“Yes, please.” You knew it was a work tablet, but no one had to know.

“Any requests?” She asked the little guy.

“You pick.”

“Okay-dokey. Should have it in about 10 minutes, my loves.”

“Thank you, Aunt Penelope.”

“Thanks Pen.” You gave her air kisses before you led Jack out and towards his father's office. 

His day had started rocky, hell, the whole night had gone that way. 

Jack had woken up from a nightmare - twice at that. After the second time, he’d asked Aaron to sleep in his bed, too scared and sad to stay in his room.

He’d snoozed his alarm, just once, and had a hard time waking his son up too. He’d had 20 minutes to get himself ready, but Jessica had called 10 minutes before she was supposed to arrive - apologizing because she’d been called on an emergency at work. 

Aaron had to rearrange his whole morning then, already aware he’d be late for work. He’d had to get Jack and his backpack ready and cook him breakfast. All of that, and be in the office before his 9:30 meeting with Strauss. 

Breakfast and preparing Jack for a day at the BAU, he’d done successfully. Arriving on time had been a little tricky, with barely 2 minutes to spare. 

But when he’d walked into the bullpen, Jack spotting you just seconds before he did, and he’d watched your smile grow, he’d known all would be okay. 

Watching you with Jack always brought a warm feeling within him, like he was watching something sacred. You were always patient and kind, always interested in listening to him talk, even though he was a quiet kid, who appreciated quality time more. 

You gave him that too, and a lot of it - you watched cartoons and shows with him. Colored and drew, baked cookies, and played with him whenever he wanted. Any time spent with Jack was about what he wanted, what he liked doing, and above all, making him comfortable. 

Even if it meant cleaning flour off your kitchen floor and whatever had gotten in the drawers too. 

He appreciated, even loved the bond you had with his son, every smile, every hug, and every minute you spend with him. He loved hearing about you from Jack - what you’d done together, what you’d told him, the stories, the jokes, the conversations. 

Hearing his son proclaim you as his favorite person in the BAU had made his heart soar. Taking into account all the time you spent with him, it wasn’t really a surprise. He bonded hard, but once he did, he never went back.

He was much like Aaron himself in that regard. His trust had to be earned, as did his friendship, and it required hard work. Jack was much the same. And you’d successfully earned both of theirs with your beautiful and caring personality. 

He exhaled a breath, checking his watch, step fast, and briefcase in hand. 

11:18.

His meeting with Strauss had run longer than he’d anticipated - over an hour and a half. Diplomacy, politics, budgets, and cuts, they’d run through countless things, half of that meeting already fully blacked out from his memory. 

He was tired - every meeting with Strauss left him drained. Worried,  about Jack and his state of mind after last night. All he wanted to do was get to his office and check up on his son. 

Walking into the bullpen for the second time that day, he quickly made his way towards his office, only to stop short at the window. The blinds were open, having forgotten to close them last night, so he had a clear and full view of his office.

You were sat on the couch close to the armrest, Jack cuddled against you, cheek squished against your collarbone, face almost buried in your neck. 

Your work tablet sat propped on the coffee table, and your arm wrapped around his small body, keeping him close. His eyes were almost closed, your thumb running soothingly on his back. 

He watched, mesmerized by the scene. He felt himself soften, all of him. His face, the furrow in his brow, and the tight set of his lips. His whole body, his heart, suddenly at peace. 

For months he'd observed the kindness you showed everyone - the families of victims, heartbroken by the injustice of life. Passersby, people you might never see again. Your team, especially, your work family. Jack, and even Aaron himself. 

And as he watched you with his son, the one person left in this world who truly loved him, no matter his rights or wrongs - he couldn't help but feel himself unravel. 

Every little thought he'd had about you, every feeling he might have somehow suppressed in order to protect himself and his child, they all attacked him, in seconds. 

Because the truth was, you earned his trust, his friendship, and somehow along the way, you'd won his heart as well.

Right at that moment, his heart pounded in need, in adoration, in pure, clear love. Love he hadn't allowed himself to feel since Haley. Love, he'd frankly hadn't felt in years, ever since he’d put his signature down on the dotted line. 

He wanted to get home to see this. He wanted to see you put Jack to bed, and kiss his forehead with a whispered ‘good night’.

He wanted to stroke your cheek tenderly, pull you into a kiss that made you melt, and stroke a fire within you like no one else could. 

He wanted to tell you he loved you - in the car, as he drove you to work. In the kitchen during breakfast and dinner. In his office, a few stolen moments as you worked. And under the sheets, while you made love. 

And even through the fear that gripped him in a vice, of rejection, separation, and even trust - he still wanted to love you, as if he was loving someone for the first time again. 

“Everything okay, Aaron?” David asked, passing on the way to his office. 

Aaron barely spared him a glance, nodding his head a little, “Yeah, it's okay.”

He pushed the door to his office open and walked in, greeted by his new favorite sight, and his two favorite people. 

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

ok the talk of rafe taking care of drunk reader makes me think…what if it’s reversed? u and rafe go out and he gets a little too drunk and it’s like a complete personality shift where he becomes so soft and sweet and just a side of him u never get to see! idk could be cute having to wrangle him for once

“wrangle him” is absolutely the correct way to put it.

please… he’s big ‘n tall and all over the place, giving you beer and whiskey flavored kisses every 5 seconds. he’s like an over excited puppy with attachment issues who can’t let go of you! he needs you in his lap, by his side, holding his hand. just everything— he needs everything.

“you know i love you s’much; right, princess?” the words are slurred and murmured right in your ear, and his lips find your neck shortly after. pressing soft kisses along your skin that make your heart flutter and nearly burst out of your chest.

“i know, rafey…” you whisper back while biting away a cheeky smile.

“and you’re so pretty!” he continues on, “how are you s’pretty? prettiest girl ever— my favorite girl.”

“better be your favorite,” you tease while pinching his warm, alcohol flushed cheeks. his bottom lip is jutted out in a pout and you can’t help but lean forward and kiss him. a quick smooch that he hums happily in response too.

“i don’t even— don’t even hold the door open for other girls,” he squints at you a bit as he speaks, as if it makes him look any more sincere and not completely goofy.

“rafey, that’s kinda mean.”

he scoffs, “so?”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 tipsy kook!sweetheart!reader getting handsy with rafe and even though he likes her sm, he takes her home and makes sure she’s safe 🥺

warnings: alcohol consumption, flirting, reader is v handsy lol (rafe loves it though)

you were such a lightweight, you knew having another drink wasn’t the smartest choice. after one shot and downing a margarita like it was a slushy, you found yourself dancing with your girlfriends in the middle of topper’s living room. rafe watched you from afar, his tongue running across his teeth as your skirt rode up your thighs.

“when are you giving that poor man a chance?” your friend giggled in your ear, making your eyebrows knit in confusion. “who?” you looked around, immediately spotting rafe in the corner. it was like he was trying to tempt you with the way he was manspreading, the thin material of his t-shirt doing nothing to conceal the muscles underneath it.

“i don’t know..” you smiled at him, heart fluttering in your chest when he sent you a wink before bringing his cup up to his lips. “i think i’m gonna go say hi-” your friend attempted to pull you back, but you were already well on your way. “hi, rafe.” you chirped, your skin flushed due to the alcohol in your system.

he gazed up at you, your eyes twinkling underneath the soft lighting. “hey, sweetheart. you look pretty.” you did a spin for him, adjusting the small purse on your shoulder. “is this seat taken?” rafe shook his head, motioning towards the empty spot next to him. instead of sitting on the couch, you got comfortable in his lap, making him curse under his breath.

“well this works too.” he laughed, draping an arm across your waist. you blinked slowly, resting your head on his chest as you stroked the underside of his jaw. “i like your arms,” you whispered, “and your face..” rafe hummed, taking your hand in his own. “yeah? i like your face, too.” he cooed, adjusting your skirt so no one else can see the color of your underwear.

“take me home.” rafe nodded. “of course, i wouldn’t want you getting in an uber like this.” he took a sip from his drink, nearly choking when he felt your fingertips tug at the belt loops of his jeans. “no. take me home, rafe.” at first he didn’t understand, but when he saw you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, it was a look he knew all too well.

“what did you have to drink?” desperate to divert your tipsy mind elsewhere, rafe moved your hand away from his lower half. of course, he failed, only making you peck his cheek instead. rafe’s sanity was hanging on by a thread. your lips were soft against his skin, your perfume smelled so sweet, and worst of all, your ass sat perfectly where he needed you most.

“umm- i can’t really remember..” you trailed off, shrugging before nuzzling your nose into his neck. “fuck.” he said through gritted teeth, deciding he better get you back to your place before anything escalated. “come on, let’s get you home.” he helped you up, holding onto you tightly as he lead you two out of topper’s house.

you were laughing the whole way to rafe’s truck, a squeal leaving your lips when he hoisted you up into the passenger’s seat. somehow during the duration of the ride to your house, you managed to kick your feet up on rafe’s lap, humming sweetly to the most disgusting lyrics playing out of his speakers.

once you two pulled into your driveway, you let him carry you over his shoulder, too tired to protest otherwise. “are your parents home?” he put you down momentarily to grab the key from under the welcome mat. “of course not.” you yawned, sighing in relief once he got the door open. rafe watched you kick your heels off, tiptoeing to the couch before face planting into the cushions.

eyes trailing down your body, he looked away when he got to the bottom of your ass cheeks shamelessly peeking out from underneath your skirt. grabbing the blanket closest to your sleeping figure, he covered you, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. you stirred lightly, melting into his touch. the longer he stayed, the harder it was for him to leave.

“alright.” he groaned quietly, sparing you one more glance before locking the door behind him. he made a mental note to call you and check on you first thing in the morning.