hellooo welcome to my totally baller blog. i've always been a ghost user so this is all very new to me. i just wanna read and write smut and geek over hot people with other like-minded people.
"it doesn't matter if i'm right or wrong about that, it just matters that i feel it."
my name is beka and i'm eighteen. brazilian canadian. barely 5 ft. i've been reading fanfics since 8 years of age. she/her. i like who i like. fav movies are eternal sunshine of the spotless mind & bones and all. twlight saga and the grinch close seconds though. im a music nerd. music theory and all. be able to take a joke. i beg. heavily believe that were all here to experience life and there no fucking point in dictating someones experience. that is unless theyre a brainless ignorant dumbo. hate of ANY KIND is not and will not be tolerated here. this is a safe place for every kind of person and their kinkiness ;)
if you wanna find my other socials, here they are ⤵
pinterest @/bekaslua
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editing account @/l.uavfx
sturniolo editing account @/l.uavids
please expect me to post anything and even on my mind <3
IF I CATCH YOU, I FUCK YOU: M.S.
in which. . .matt makes good on his promise (part 2 to this fic)
warnings: stalking, use of a burner phone, small hints at dubcon, matt (pretend) breaking into your house, smut, unprotected p in v, degradation, dirty talk, hunter x prey dynamics, mask kink, knife kink, creampie, GRAPHIC m*rder depictions/language -> 1.2k
note: this is a dark romance fic that does not end with aftercare and is not for people under 18. don't like it, don't read it!
you closed your book, setting it on the bench beside you. the chilly october air rustled through the trees, scattering fire-colored leaves around the park you sat in. today was your day off, and you had opted to get a chai latte from a local cafe and work on the book you'd been slowly reading through for the past month.
ring ring
your phone vibrated in your tote bag beside you, drawing your attention. you sighed when you saw the unknown caller label, but decided to answer; it could be someone or something important.
"hello?" you answered cheerfully, chewing on your thumbnail as you wondered who it could be.
"hello, y/n y/l/n." a man's voice rasped, deepening your confusion.
"can i help you?"
"i believe you know what i want." the voice replied.
"i think you have the wrong number," you said, voice curt but polite. "have a good day!"
you clicked the line off, setting your phone beside you and taking up your book again. you thought nothing of the call, attributing it to an insurance agent who was completing their daily telemarketing. you had barely gotten five minutes of reading in when your phone rang again. irritation bubbled up in your chest when you saw another unknown number, but you decided to answer, hoping that engaging the person would make them quit calling you.
"i swear to god if you hang up on me again, i'll fuckin' kill you," the man said. "i'll slit your throat. you've seen my knife."
that tips you off. it's matt. you remember the call from last week and his threat about if he were to catch you, he'd fuck you. for some reason, despite knowing who was on the other end of the line, fear bubbled up in your chest and your mouth ran dry. you knew this wasn't matt's cell phone, because you had his number saved. he'd gone as far as to get a burner phone to role play with you.
"i-i'm sorry," you whimpered. "it. . .it won't happen again."
"do you remember a little conversation you had with me last week, sweetheart? it sure would be a shame if you were caught. well, for you, maybe." matt chuckled.
"you're a creep!" you hissed, but that didn't stop the wetness from pooling between your legs.
"awww, baby. don't act like you're not enjoying this, drippin' all over that park bench."
you gulped. he could see you. "i'm not kidding this time! i'll call the cops!"
"and what? you think they'll catch me? you can't even find your own stalker, little dove." he teased.
your body thrummed with a mix of fear and arousal. matt was a little too good at playing this role, to the point you felt genuine terror mixing with your sex drive. you quickly shoved your book into your tote bag, throwing it over your shoulder and dumping your to-go latte in a nearby trash can. all the while, you could hear matt laughing at your fear and the scared little whimpers that left your mouth.
"run, baby. remember. . .if i catch you, i fuck you."
luckily, the walk back to your apartment was less than half a mile, but you couldn't stop yourself from looking over your shoulder now and again, wondering if you would catch matt lurking. you didn't see anything, but you could feel his presence. the sky darkened overhead with the beginnings of an october thunderstorm, making the leaves fall faster and adding to the setting of your "stalker" chasing you.
you hurried into the lobby of your apartment building, racing for the stairs. your body thrummed with the excitement of what matt would do to you when he caught you, knowing he wasn't one to leave a promise empty. sure enough, just when you were about to pull open the door to your floor, you heard footsteps on the stairs below you and matt chuckle darkly.
you fumbled with your keys, hastily unlocking your apartment and shoving the door shut behind you, back pressed against the wood. your "stalker" pounded on the door with the hilt of his knife.
"i know you're in there. . .and i know you're all alone," matt's voice came through. "no big, strong man to protect you from me fucking you into oblivion and then ending you with no one around to witness it."
you crawled away from the door, curling up in a ball by your coffee table. your pussy dripped with excitement, the thought of what matt was about to do to you making your heart race. sure enough, within thirty seconds, matt had let himself into your apartment, dressed in all black and a ghostface mask splattered with fake blood, brandishing a knife that you were sure he had purchased from spirit halloween.
he stalked towards you, gripping your hair in his fist. "well, looks like i caught you, little dove. remember our promise?"
you nodded meekly, voice catching in your throat. your eyes were practically screaming at matt to fuck you as he held the knife to your throat, using the hand that had been in your hair to yank down your skirt.
"you're so pretty like this," he rasped from under the mask, paying no mind to the weak, pretend punches you threw at him. "every night when i pass by your apartment and see you changing with the windows open, it drives me crazy thinking about all the things i could do to you," matt's eyes trailed down your body, pausing when they came to the red, lacy thong you had on. "you have on my favorite color. . .were you waiting for me? wouldn't surprise me that a girl like you would welcome a guy like me."
"that's not tr-" you hissed, but were cut off by the moan that escaped your lips as matt's knife pressed deeper into your neck.
"don't play dumb with me, baby," matt growled as he yanked you up, pressing you against the wall. in an instant, your panties were off, pooling around your ankles. "if it was, you wouldn't be so wet for me."
you blushed, your mouth salivating. the scene was filthy, gruesome, and depraved, but you loved it. "please don't kill me, mr. ghostface!" you squeaked.
the mask was tossed aside, revealing matt's flushed face and eyes gone slightly wild with the thrill of hunting you down like you were some sort of prey. "aww, i won't. how could i ever get rid of my favorite little fleshlight?" he snorted, voice dripping with faux sympathy as he yanked his own pants down.
you didn't get any sort of warning before matt slammed into you, his thick, girthy cock filling you to the brim. "jesus christ, little dove," he cursed. "whatever boyfriend you have isn't fucking you right. you're so fuckin' tight."
whatever role play you and matt had been engaging in fell away as he fucked you relentlessly, your back arching against the wall. you could already feel the knot tightening in your tummy; after all, it had been building since you'd received that first phone call in the park.
"no, please!" you tried to bargain, really not wanting him to stop at all.
"what was that?" matt smirked. "yes please? don't mind if i do."
he slammed into you one last time, which caused you to cry out as you came around him, the walls of your pussy clenching with pleasure. once you had cum, it was over for matt. a loud, throaty groan left his lips as his seed filled you up.
"now," matt said, dropping you to the floor and readjusting his pants. "you don't tell anyone about this and we won't have a problem, yeah? otherwise. . .i might have to hunt you down."
CHLO YAPS: bro what happened to me to make me into this. . .
SO. . .DO YOU HAVE A BOYFRIEND?: M.S.
in which. . .an unknown account knows a little too much about you
warnings: stalking, phone tapping, horror fic, matt lowk being a freak, masturbation (f), semi based off "scream", dirty dirty dirty talk, hunter x prey themes, phone sex, knife kink, mask kink -> 1.1k
note: this is not a fic for anyone under the age of 18. it is quite dark and not for unseasoned readers of dark romance; it is 100% fiction. if anything like this happens to you irl, please please please call authorities and always practice internet safety!!
you stretched, your legs tensing under your friday the 13th blanket as you surveyed the nail polish options you had set on the coffee table in front of you. it had been a long week of work, and you found yourself alone in your apartment on a friday night, opting for self care, ambient lighting, and your favorite summerween slasher movies. for some reason, though, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
you shook your hair out, trying to erase the chill that had inched its way up your spine. you were fine; maybe a bit stressed from work, but nothing was wrong. you picked a silver nail polish up before turning some music on your phone, smiling to yourself when your favorite rob zombie song came on. it might only be june, but you were craving halloween.
"ugh!" you groaned in frustration as your spotify seemingly glitched for what felt like the fifth time.
your frustration was short-lived, though. a soft, male "hello" interrupted the song, an ad-lib that you were sure wasn't part of the song before. now, your annoyance was replaced with fear. the voice had sounded real, like there was someone inside your phone, not a voice note that had been recorded in a studio.
"you're being ridiculous, y/n," you muttered to yourself, tossing your phone onto the table and resuming your nail art. "no one tapped your phone."
"so innocent." the quiet voice came from your phone again, making you drop your nail polish, the silver polish spilling across the rug.
nausea coiled in your gut as you picked up your phone, watching the open spotify app glitch before your eyes in a way that you'd never seen before. despite living in an extremely safe area, you suddenly felt the urge to barricade your apartment. it could've been high schoolers playing a prank, but something about the man's tone felt sinister.
the ringing of your phone practically had you jumping of out your skin, signaling a call from an instagram account reading "user349765". you knew you shouldn't pick it up, but it colliding with the current events had you hoping you'd be able to track down and report whoever this was.
"hello?" you asked, picking up the call.
the call was dark, illuminated only by a few streetlights. the person was masked, showing only the corner of what looked like a ghostface mask that had been purchased from spirit halloween.
"i see you're not too scared, darlin'." the man said, allowing you to hear the smirk in his voice.
"you have the wrong person. . ." you whispered, voice broken and watery.
the man chuckled. "oh, i'm sure i don't. i've seen the things you like to watch and read when you're alone in your room, thinkin' there's no prying eyes. you love a masked man with a knife, sweetheart."
your blood ran cold. your unusual, completely un-vanilla kinks were something you shared with no one, not even your best friend. you only engaged in porn and books that catered to those specifics types of play at night, alone in your room where no one would ever know. this person had been watching you.
"cat got your tongue?" he cooed, voice dripping with faux sympathy.
"i don't know who you are, but you need to stop before i call the police!" you tried to sound confident, like you were ignoring the mix of fear and the heat pooling between your thighs.
"oh, little dove, you're so innocent," the man chuckled, lifting the corner of the mask just enough to reveal dark brown stubble. "who would believe you?"
you fell silent at that. you didn't actually have any proof that these events weren't just a crazy coincidence of some high school jokers messing with you.
"wanna play a game?" he asked. "get to know each other a little better?"
"you don't know me and you never will!" you hissed.
"oh, but i do. i've been inside your house, doll. i've walked past your building at night. you really should close the curtains, you know. it's like you're just begging for someone, perhaps a man in a mask, to come fuck that pretty body."
you froze, staring at the curtains that led to your balcony. sure enough, despite the setting sun, you had thrown them open, not thinking of it as you aimed to seek out the last ray's of the day's sun. "anyone could have their curtains open." you said, trying to be nonchalant.
"hmmm," the man hummed. "that's true, but a pretty girl like you would have a boyfriend who would be against that, no? do you have a boyfriend, sweetheart?"
a wetness pooled in your panties. you should be afraid. you should be locking your doors and calling the police and yet, you weren't. the man's voice was hypnotizing, like you had heard it somewhere before. "why do you care?"
"because if you were my girl, i'd be pretty angry about my woman on a call with a stranger, touching herself to his voice. so, do you have a boyfriend?"
your mouth ran dry as your pussy continued to drip. how did this stranger know that, during his monologue, your hand had snuck lower and lower until you were playing with your aching clit, his voice driving you to touch yourself.
"how do you know what i'm doing?" you whispered.
"well, baby, i can see you." he chuckled, angling the camera so that you could see his sleeve of tattoos and the long, polished knife, reminiscent of scream, that he held.
as soon as you saw the tattoos, you knew. matt had been your on again, off again friend with benefits for years. you hadn't heard from him recently, presumably because his career had taken off, but the fact that he was choosing this way to come back into your life was hot. you couldn't deny it.
you didn't break character, though. matt was the only person you had ever fucked that knew about your unusual kinks. "please don't kill me!" you whimpered.
"and lose watching you play with that wet little pussy? fuck no. you look so beautiful like this, doll. gettin' off to the voice of a strange man in a mask with a knife. keep going."
you did as told, using your arousal as lube to circle your clit, applying a delicious pressure that made your tummy knot. "mmm, please!"
"please what? please slit your throat while i stuff you full of my cock?" matt teased underneath the mask.
you nodded, tears pricking in your eyes as you played with yourself. "need you!"
"you need a stalker in your house, sweetheart? so innocent," matt chuckled. "how about i make a deal with you?"
you couldn't even say anything. you were so close to your climax that matt's voice was sending you over the edge. you simply nodded so hard it felt like your head might fall off, hoping matt could see it, right as you came so hard you were practically seeing stars.
⡴ gojo likes being choked by your thighs (reader has thick thighs, gojo creams his pants) ⡴ 0.7k words
request but i lost the ask </3
his huge ass hands squeeze onto the pudgy flesh of your thighs. the same flesh currently wrapped around his neck as he lies back on the couch and just lets you restrain him. no no no, not ‘let’s you’. he asked pleaded for you to.
he found you sitting on the couch reading silently and, like always, bothered you. he took your nearly bare, save for pajama shorts, legs, lied down and heaved you on top of him till you nearly sat on his face. your legs naturally hooked around the back of his pale neck and he smiled up at you.
“just squeeze, will ya?” he asks, grinning up at you with a dopey wide smile.
you still hold you book in your hand. you stare down at it before satoru promptly snatches it and throws it to the expanse of the living room floor, careless to where it lands. you turn back and gawk at his ever present smile.
“satoru, what the fuck? i’m not gonna choke y—”
he pouts. terribly dramatically. he juts out his bottom lip obscenely far and scrunches his cute bright blue eyes, along with his round cute little nose he loves when you kiss. his stark white eyelashes bat up at you.
“please?” a word you’ve heard too, too many times since starting to date him. and yet him and those stupid entrancing blue eyes convince you ever time.
his hands clench around your legs as you cinch them closer. they wring around his pale neck so delicately, as if you’re scared of hurting him. do you know who he is? he pushes the closer, entrapping his neck. he smiles like a goddamn freak. his tongue glides along his grinning teeth when you frown but ultimately end up choking him further.
you’re actually choking him now—not too hard of course— but hard enough that he can feel the pressure of your meaty thighs along his throat. he thinks he’s in heaven.
he’s humping up into the air while you look down at him. your eyebrows are pinched together like how they always are when you’re confused by whatever antics he’s pulling at the moment. yet seeing you oblige and treat him like this, not even knowing how crazy and fucking animalistic you get him, gets him so very hard.
his bulge jolts out from the fabric of his loose boxers and those sweatpants he always lazes around in. you look back to see it, already knowing he’d be hard from the grin he has plastered on his pretty face with his eyes rolled fully back— wait is he drooling?
you roll your eyes before leaning slightly back and twisting your upper body, far enough that you can reach over to his bulge. it sits, twitching like crazy and practically pulsing awaiting your touch.
you lie your palm flat along the protruding tip of it above his pants. he moans—well as loud as he can with your thighs constricting him like an anaconda. his hips jolt upward, further into your palm. you cup the tip softly and start gliding your hand along it in a circular motion.
“fuuuuck.” you hear, breathless and near pained—though hes getting off on it so maybe ‘pained’ isn’t the best word.
you knead your hand harder against his jerking bulge, still sat upon his chest and half choking him out.
before you even know it he’s gripping on your thighs and bucking up violently. you look back, continuing your movements still, and see his euphoric expression. he’s flushed and he has drool pooled at the side of his face where it’s dripped. tears poke at the waterline of his eyes. and yet he’s still smiling. smiling like he’s already cum.
“fuckin’ weirdo.” you mutter down at him. and that’s when he actually cums. he jerks up so violently he makes you bounce along his chest before you feel the damp spot and lowering tent in his pants.
you pull away, leaning back and staring at him as he catches his breath.
this series contains ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ smut w plot, use of alcohol and drugs, toxicity, softdom!chris, softsub!reader, fingering, light choking, somewhat dry humping, p n v, clit stimulation, praise, degradation, kind of public, mutual masterbation, use of pet names, use of handcuffs (lmk if i missed anything)
word count ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 3k
⌗ lowercase intended
if you were anything, you were a daydreamer. it didn’t matter if you were in a barren desert landscape, you’d conjure up something in your mind to keep you entertained. you liked to think that it made the world interesting, and it’s not like it was doing any harm. except maybe when you got so lost in thought that you didn’t hear someone attempting to talk to you.
“hellooo are you there?” your bestfriend claire was waving at you, her palm inches away from your face.
you shook reality into your eyes and turned to look at her. she sighed in relief. “thought i lost you there”
“i’m here, i’m just…” you paused to look through the window, watching as people strolled on the campus below. “in my own world.”
“always,” claire began, “but let’s get back on track.” she was laying on her stomach in front of you, a notebook crowded with words and highlighted sections on the bed in between you both. she held a mechanical pencil in her hand, and was tapping the eraser on the paper restlessly.
“we’ve been at this for hours. can’t we take a break?” you asked, laying down on your side and propping yourself up with your elbow.
she groaned, shut the notebook, and reached over to place it on the side table.
you smiled in satisfaction, nuzzling to be in a more comfortable position on her bed. you took the silent moment to look around her small dorm room. despite having been in the room a multitude of times since the semester began, each time you found something new to remark on. maybe it was because you were so observant, or maybe it was because claire was the eclectic type, and was always filling her place with more trinkets and tapestries.
claire noticed you zoning out. “what you thinking about?”
“ugh gosh.” you reply. how could you explain that you were thinking about everything, all of the time?
“chris?” she asked, softly shoving your arm and giggling.
you and claire had gone to middle and highschool together. during that time you met matt, who quickly became a good friend to you both. eventually, you found out that matt was a triplet, and were introduced to his matching brothers, chris and nick. the boys graduated together, a year prior to you. they continued their education at a nearby college, to which you and claire also began attending after your own graduation. in spite of all the time you spent with matt, claire had always teased you about your longing stares towards his brother, chris. but chris was out of the picture, completely off limits. besides, you guys weren’t even acquaintances, let alone friends.
“do i have to reiterate myself again?” you scoffed.
“yeah yeah. he's so not your type” she mocked your previously said words playfully.
“he isn’t!” you tried to convince her, and yourself, that you believed what was coming out of your mouth.
“hey, i’m just saying, you take one brother, i’ll take the other. perfect two-man.” she laughed.
you forced a disgusted expression. “you’re sick.”
in reality, the thought was far from sick. it was invigorating, imagining yourself alongside chris. but you knew that it was just your mind being delusional, and that a future him was nonexistent.
“but like…” claire started, “you know chris is hot. why not go for him?”
you hesitated, trying to lasso a single thought. “i don’t know… he doesn't even pay attention to me… and like with matt and everything, i just can’t.” you stammered stupidly.
“is there someone else?”
“you would know if there was.” you spoke honestly. there was no one else. there had never been anyone else. just a longstanding, incessant, unrequited crush on your friends brother. great.
“well speaking of matt.. i invited him over.” she said, staring at you like she was trying to gauge your reaction.
your eyes lit up. “you did?”
“we haven’t seen him in like forever, i thought it would be nice. especially since we're all at the same campus now.”
at that sentence, a knock on the door drummed. claire practically jumped out of her place on the bed. she scurried to the door while you cleared off the remaining pencils and highlighters from the patterned duvet. she reached the handle, turning to you one last time before turning it. when she did, a familiar face stood in the door’s place. actually… two familiar faces. behind matt, a similar, but more brooding figure was leaning his side against the door frame. chris.
your eyes immediately magnetized to his as confusion spiraled in your brain. what was he doing here?
most people were under the impression that the triplets were a packaged deal, never one without the other. but the reality couldn’t be more opposite. in highschool the brothers always ran with different crowds. matt would hang around your group, nick on occasion would join, but chris never payed you guys any mind. he was always the type of kid that sat at the back of the classroom, or never showed up to school at all. it made having any type of interaction with him nearly impossible. there were days where you, with the frequent company of claire, would go to matt’s house to hang out. you three, plus a few other teens, made a decent sized friend group. you would all do the basic basement activities— videogames, eating, sometimes a little drinking if you were all up for it. but no matter what you were doing, no matter how exciting, chris never made himself available. he was always out, god knows where. and if he was home at the same time that you were over, you never so much as made eye contact with eachother. so, he stayed the classic “friends mysterious brother”. but the fact that you didn’t actually know him never stopped your mind from wandering.
“hi.” matt’s voice interrupted your rumination. realizing you had been staring at chris, you forced yourself to avert your gaze.
the saliva in your mouth had spontaneously dried up completely, leaving your mouth stuck closed.
“..matt, hi!” claire spoke, finally. her eyes darted over to the other brother. “and chris…it’s… good to see you!”
“i’m just here for the little caesar's,” chris said, his voice deep and velvety. you scoured your brain to try to remember if you had ever heard a voice as satisfying as his.
wait. little caesar’s?
you were so focused on chris that you hadn’t noticed the box that matt held in front of his chest. god, you hoped you didn’t always look so obscenely oblivious.
chris pushed himself off the frame from his side as claire gestured for the two boys to come inside. you straightened your posture and hopped off the raised dorm bed onto the ground. once matt set down the pizza on the bed, you did your regular routine of hugging him. claire did the same as you stood awkwardly in front of chris. you attempted not to stare at him for too long this time. you tried not to focus on the way his dark hair fell slightly over his eyes—or how his black sleeveless “pirate girl” shirt accentuated the muscles on his arms. shit.
you opened your mouth to speak, but the words caught in your throat. after trying again, you managed to get a broken sentence out. “i.. didn’t know you were coming” you spoke to chris, but when his response was merely forming a straight line with his lips, you turned back to matt. “actually i didn’t know either of you were.”
matt glanced at claire in confusion before responding, “a good surprise i hope?”
you laughed softly. “of course.”
the four of you settled down to eat from the pizza box. claire and matt were seated on the bed, while you and chris sat uncomfortably next to each other on the sofa across from them. well, you should say you assumed it was uncomfortable for chris. you however, were so lost in your own mind that you forgot to be uncomfortable. the space between both of your bodies was palpably small, and you wondered if he sat so close on purpose. you couldn’t help but gawk at chris’s veined hands as he folded a piece of pizza in half. he raised it to his mouth, his jawline perfectly chiseled as he chewed. his legs were spread apart as he sat, his hair was tussled, and every movement he did made you think things that you would never say aloud.
claire must have caught on to your studying of chris, because she cleared her throat. the sound jolted you out of your staring, and you looked at her. she made a not-so-subtle expression, darting her eyes between you and chris. you furrowed your brows and mouthed, “what?” her next words she spoke aloud.
“hey y/n can you come to the bathroom with me for a sec?”
you reluctantly got up and followed claire to her attached bathroom. you could’ve sworn you heard chris mumble something about ‘girls always going to the bathroom together’ as you walked away. once the door was closed, she brought her voice to an erratic whisper. if you could even call it a whisper. it more suited the title of loud breathy voice.
“you so totally want him!”
you cupped her mouth with your hand. “claire! shhhh! your walls are like paper thin!”
her mouth moved incessantly under your palm, so, gingerly, you removed your hand. thankfully she lowered her voice to an actual whisper.
“i saw you staring at him. don’t even deny it.”
“i was not.”
“don’t you lie to me.”
you folded your arms. “i have never hung out with him before! i was just… observing him.”
“no, i’ve seen you observe. you, my friend, were totally checking chris out.”
when you didn’t respond, she kept whispering.
“hey, we all like a bad boy. no shame.” she raised both her hands in front of her bust in surrender.
you scoffed. “he’s not a bad boy.”
claire looked at you like you were the most blind person alive.
you were growing anxious of the boys being left alone. you thought, for a second, that maybe you were anxious being away from chris, but you buried that thought as far away as possible. there was no way you needed to have your knee next to his or needed to be smelling his irresistible cologne. you just wanted another slice of pizza, that’s all.
when you and claire left the bathroom, you stared at the empty seat where chris had been sitting. for some reason unbeknownst to you, your heart dropped.
“yeah he dipped, sorry.” matt said.
you shrugged your shoulders as if chris’s absence meant nothing to you. “that’s cool.”
unfortunately, your body betrayed you and you sighed, frowning ever so softly. you sat on the empty couch, reached for a pizza slice, and bit the end while slouching.
“am i chopped liver?” matt spoke, interrupting your obvious sulking.
you corrected your expression, replacing your frown with a slight smile. “no no, i’m just thinking.”
he looked at you curiously, tilting his head. “about?”
you instinctively looked at the empty spot on the couch next to you but said nothing. you brought your gaze back to matt, who was raising one eyebrow.
he nudged claire and gestured towards you. “do you know what this is about?”
“my lips are sealed” she responded, miming zipping her lips up and throwing an imaginary key. but her knowing smirk somehow gave everything away.
you couldn’t keep it in any longer and let out an exaggerated groan. you melted deeper into the couch, still holding the half eaten piece of pizza.
matt questioned again. “am i missing something?”
“she sure is. or should i say missing someone.” claire hinted.
you shot her an evil look.
matt’s eyes widened in realization. “chris??”
“claire!” your glare still held as you scolded her.
you got up abruptly, desperate for the quickest way to get out of this god awful situation. “im gonna go… take out the trash.” take out the trash? you couldn’t think of a more aroma-friendly way to leave the room?
you clumsily beelined for the door before either of your friends could question your antics.
you were half way down the hall when you realized that you did not, in fact, bring the trash with you. all you had in your hand was the crust of your pizza slice. but there was absolutely no way you were going to go back to the dorm to be interviewed about your non-existent love life. you continued down the hall, your new mission being finding some fresh air. by the time you descended three staircases and made it outside, you were practically wheezing. you leaned your back against the cool brick of the building, bent to hold your knees, and panted. you made a mental note to get a gym membership. when your breathing finally leveled, you raised your head to look around. it was just your luck, the person that you saw.
to your left, chris was also leaning against the brick, but not nearly as desperately as you were. he held a cigarette in between two fingers and was lazily hitting it, staring straight at you.
you attempted to not look so out of breath. “chris! .. hey!”
he didn’t return your enthusiasm, but he did answer you this time.
“and what’re you doing?” god there was that voice again.
“i’m.. uh..” you looked around to find something to make up. you landed on your pizza crust, and held it up in your hand, waving it around stupidly. “i’m just throwing this away.”
“outside?”
“the trash inside was full?” you tried to make it sound like a statement, but it came out a question.
he squinted his eyes skeptically.
to your surprise, he got off the wall and stepped towards you, his cigarette hanging casually by his side. “what, you don’t eat your crust?”
you were confused by the question, despite it being straightforward. your mouth fell open to answer, but his body now next to you distracted you completely.
he outstretched his hand towards you, palm up, and made a beckoning motion with his fingers. the movement caused your knees to involuntarily go weak.
“don’t waste perfectly good food.” he spoke, reaching down to your hand to remove the crust. the feeling of his fingers grazing yours made you stiffen your posture even more. but luckily your grip on the bread loosened, allowing him to take it from you.
you regained your composure once his hand pulled away from your figure. you tried not to fixate too hard on the fact that that was the closest he had ever gotten to you. you also attempted to break the tension by saying the first thing that came to mind. “thank..you?”
chris let out a subtle huff of a laugh as he ripped a piece of the food with his canines. he lowered until he was sitting on the smooth sidewalk. you dragged your back along the wall to plop next to him. you held your knees to your chest before talking.
“cigarette?” you asked like a fool, while staring at what was obviously a cigarette in between his digits.
the side of his lip curled up as he nodded.
“can i take a hit?”
he turned his head towards you, blinking slowly. “absolutely not.”
you were knocked out of your evident admiration of him at his words. “what? why not?”
he blinked twice before answering. “kid, you don’t even eat your crust and you expect me to let you smoke?”
you straightened your legs on the pavement. “i’m a grown adult.”
he scoffed, and his mouth shaped into a perfectly crooked smile.
who was he to act like he was all high and mighty? like he was the adult in the situation and you were a stupid teenager?
“do you cut the crust off of your sandwiches too?” he chuckled mockingly, taking a drag of the tobacco.
you didn’t respond. instead you stared at the way his left hand fell right over his lap, any evidence of the crust gone. you silently traced the veins that snaked up his arms with your eyes. he’d never shared food with you before. did he eat your leftovers because he saw you as a sibling? or was it possible he was overthinking things as much as you were? his lackadaisical nature made it seem like he didn’t do a whole lot of over analyzing.
he caught your gaze, and you tore your eyes away from him, internally cursing yourself. you weren’t able to resist looking straight back at him, and you met contact again. you couldn’t help but admire the way his eyes could look so blue while feeling so piercing and dark. a playful look was plastered on his face, and he seemed to be oozing with confidence.
“you really want a hit?” he asked, still holding his focus on my now flushed face.
you nodded.
he just smiled coyly and brought the cigarette to his own mouth instead. you looked down at your shoes in dejection.
a second past before you felt cold hands touching your chin. chris lifted your head up to look at him, and took your face in his fingers to gently guide you forward towards him. he leaned in likewise, until his lips were close enough to yours that you could feel the heat radiating off his skin. your brain short circuited, unable to even think of doing anything besides exactly what he wanted of you. the intimate position brought about a warmth between your legs, giving you an overwhelming need to clamp your thighs together. you hoped he couldn’t hear the way your heart was hammering in your chest. he softly parted your lips with his fingers, and you weakly obliged, opening your mouth slightly as he did the same. smoke billowed out of his mouth and you inhaled, the vapour burning down your throat in slow motion. the bitter taste coated your tongue until the cloud was gone. he casually retreated backwards to lean in his respected spot, leaving you stunned and craving his touch.
a/n ☕️: this is a warmup. expect the next part to be more smut heavy!
especially when he’s got you pinned beneath him, buried so deep inside your tight, dripping cunt that you can barely think straight.
every brutal thrust has him dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you, slamming right into that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll back and your toes curl so hard they cramp.
his hips is snapping with that cocky, practiced rhythm, stretching you open around his thick cock like he owns every inch of your body.
the wet, filthy sound of him pounding into your soaked pussy fills the room, your juices coating his length and dripping down your ass with every deep stroke.
and he just can’t help himself.
the moment you start clenching and fluttering around him, moaning like a whore, that feral side of him takes over.
he leans down with a wicked grin, his eyes gleaming with pure mischief and hunger, and sinks his teeth into your skin very hard.
he bites down on the junction of your neck and shoulder, teeth digging in so sharply you yelp in pain, your whole body jerking violently beneath him.
“fuck- satoru!” you cry out, but he just moans like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.
he thinks you’re screaming because it feels that good.
“shit, baby… you’re so loud for me..” he groans against your bitten flesh, voice husky and dripping with arrogance.
his tongue laps over the fresh, throbbing mark before he bites down again, harder this time, right above your collarbone.
the sharp sting blooms into burning heat as he sucks hard, leaving a deep purple bruise while his cock keeps bullying that perfect spot inside you without mercy.
you scream again, a raw, broken sound that’s equal parts pain and overwhelming pleasure and it only makes him worse.
satoru chuckles darkly, the vibration traveling through your skin as he grinds his hips in slow, filthy circles, stirring his cock deep in your guts.
“yeah? right there, huh? keep screaming like that, sweetheart. you’re clenching so fucking tight every time i bite you… makes me think you love when i get rough.”
he shifts his angle, folding you nearly in half as he drives even deeper, another harsh bite lands on the swell of your breast, teeth grazing your nipple before clamping down.
the pain shoots straight to your core, making your pussy gush around him.
satoru’s lost in it, he pistons into you faster, harder, the headboard slamming against the wall as he chases his own high.
he bites your neck one more time, right as his fingers find your swollen clit, rubbing tight, mean circles.
the mix of pain and pleasure shoves you violently over the edge.
you shatter around him, screaming loud enough to make your throat raw as your walls spasm and flutter wildly.
satoru groans in satisfaction, hips stuttering as he fucks you through it, chasing his own release while still nibbling and sucking on your abused skin like he can’t get enough.
pairing: steve harrington x female!reader wc- 3.9k
summary: your boyfriend steve helps you masturbate over the phone, but he gets so worked up that he ends up coming over to take care of his need too.
w/c: explicit smut! 18+, masturbation, use of sex toys, dirty talk, p in v, cream pie, oral sex (m receiving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, phone sex, degradation kink, praise kink, big dick steve
you knew who was calling the second you heard the phone ring. steve usually called at the same time every night. you smiled against the receiver that was now pressed to your ear as soon as you heard the familiar charming voice of your boyfriend.
“hey, love. you still awake?”
you could picture him, lounging in some lonely hotel bed with his hair all messy, looking unreasonably sexy. steve always looked the best when he wasn’t trying. some too tight t-shirt probably stretched across his chest that was straining on his biceps. his hair messy from his hands running through it every few minutes.
“hey, babe. yeah, of course im up. wouldn’t miss talking to you.” you loved this time of night, recalling your days to eachother and gushing about how much you missed the other.
“i missed your voice today. have a good day?”
a simple conversation went on for about twenty minutes, discussing your days and telling eachother how much you can’t wait to reunite. steve had been gone for three days now, on some boring business trip his father had dragged him on. he was supposed to return home tomorrow afternoon, you were counting down the hours.
you were talking about your day, telling him about the mall, and the new clothes you just picked out for summer when you heard the tone of his voice shift when he spoke again.
“so.. what are you wearing right now?” it was a suggestive question, and you knew it. it had been three days after all, and steve was a very needy man.
your cheeks flushed slightly “nothing exciting. just the pink pjs, with the floral print.”
he hummed into the phone line “the pink ones with the floral.. i know those. the soft ones.”
you smiled a little, he was so observant.
“but that’s not what i meant. what’s under all the softness, baby? tell me.” it wasn’t really a demand, it sounded like a plea. a needy one.
your cheeks flushed further at the boldness of his question “just.. you know…”
“no, i don’t know. im not there to see for myself, so you gotta tell me. c’mon, don’t be shy”
“just the white lace panties, with the pink bow on the front” you whispered it softly, a little embarrassed.
you heard steve groan, and it sounded like his head fell back on a headboard. he was quiet for a long minute, picturing you all alone in your large bed. the same bed he usually fucks you senseless in. the same bed he’s pried those lace panties off with his teeth more times than he could count.
“those ones…mm. so pretty, baby. you know how much i love those.”
“they’re your favorite, aren’t they?” you asked, already knowing the answer.
“yeah, they are. you put those on just for me?” you couldn’t lie, you had. you’d selected them out of memory of all the times steve hadn’t been able to take his hands off you when he saw you in them.
“maybe i did” you teased.
“yeah? want you to touch yourself f’me.. just slowly, be a good girl and tell me how it feels. okay?” steves voice was low, barely a whisper into the phone receiver.
“touch myself.. where?” you knew where. but you wanted him to tell you. you wanted him to walk through it, talk you through it. you could imagine his reaction, how he was working himself up.
“start with that pretty neck, trace that soft skin right under your ear. tell me how it feels when you drag your nails across it. is it sensitive?”
you traced your fingers down the side of your neck, exactly where he places small kisses “it’s so sensitive..” a shiver went down your spine at the light touch.
“keep going, lower, down your collarbone.. down your sternum. want you to squeeze those tits” steves voice was getting rougher.
you slid your hand down, finding one of your breasts and gathering it into your hand, squeezing. pinching your nipples lightly, making them hard under your touch as you pictured steves rough hands.
“are your nipples hard for me? all pebbled and aching?”
“mhmmm, they’re.. fuck, steve. they’re so hard” you whimpered
your nipples were achingly hard, your fingers digging into the soft flesh and pinching your nipples in the same rhythm that steve would. you gasped into the phone.
“so fucking beautiful when you’re desperate. i want you wet for me. you getting there?”
you breathed out a breathless “yes”, which steve rewarded with “good girl.” the praise sending pleasure through your body, pussy throbbing against the lace in your shorts.
his words felt like a caress, painting the path of your arousal for you. “slide your hand down, slow. down your stomach and over your hips, tell me when your fingers are tracing that pretty white lace”
your hands roamed your body, fingers delicately skimming over your warm and flushed skin. every inch of skin you grazed felt overly sensitive, your body responding to everything. you reached the edge of your panties and you could feel just how badly you were throbbing, needy for any sort of touch. desperate to feel something other than the emptiness.
“slide the tips of your fingers right under that lace, just the tips. tell me how wet you are. make that pretty little clit swell for me” steve instructed
you slid your fingers under, exactly as he said, and grazed over the entrance of your pussy. a moan left your lips when you finally made contact. your thumb went straight to your clit, circling in slow motions.
“so wet.. just want you to c’mere and drink it all up” your stomach was fluttering, desperate for more than what steve was instructing.
“oh, baby, you have no idea..fuck” steve was rock hard, throbbing in his pants, pressing his palm down hard on his erection for any kind of relief. “slide a finger in for me, just one…. now curl it, honey. press up, right where you're most sensitive. can you imagine that it's my cock?” you heard steve let out a whine. “god, im so fucking hard for you, just aching to fill you up.”
your breath was hitching into the phone as your fingers explored your pussy, feeling how you’d clench around yourself just like you clench around steve when he was the one filling your insides.
“yeah? come on and fill me up then.. come stretch me with your cock, stevie” you teased, knowing the reaction would be instantaneous.
steve groaned at that. you knew he couldn’t, he was two hours away for a business trip, but you knew teasing him would cause his thick cock to twitch in his pants. it was turning you on to hear how turned on he was.
you whined, growing wetter and more comfortable as you felt the wetness spread “jus wanna be stretched so good, baby. want you so bad.”
you heard steve go quiet for a minute before his voice cut into the receiver again “you still have that toy? the one i got you?”
you knew exactly what he was talking about. the long and girthy dildo that stretched you wide. he’d gotten it for you a few months ago, for times exactly like this, when he couldn’t do it himself.
you reached over to your nightstand and pulled it out “mhmmm, i do. want me to use it? tonight?”
“yeah, use it. put it in slowly, lemme hear every inch going deep in that pussy” steve could picture you perfectly. pink flush running from your cheeks down your sternum, mouth open in a soundless moan and back arched slightly off the bed as your cunt accommodated the stretch of the dildo.
you whined as it stretched you, sinking it slowly into your cunt inch by inch “st- steve… i want you so bad.. wish you were here.”
“so desperate for me, huh? it’s only been a few days and you’re already all messy for me. my perfect girl who becomes such a slut when im not there to fuck into you properly. you wanna know what id do if i was there? mm?” the image of you was burning into steves mind, making him twitch and press his clothed dick harder into his hand.
heat rushed to your core, your inner walls squeezing around the silicone “yes, yes. tell me. please, baby” you moaned out as it reached deep inside you.
“id flip you over. so you were on your hands and knees for me, make you keep the dildo right where it is. then id get behind you and spread your cheeks, watch how fucking wet you are for me. watch you fuck yourself with the toy.” steves voice was rough, needy.
your eyes were squeezed shut as you listened to the filthy words leaving steves lips, breath shallow as your body trembled in euphoria.
“then i’d lean down and use my tongue. starting right from your clit, all the way down to where you’re being stretched. taste just how bad you want me.”
you were breathlessly moaning into the phone receiver, body extremely full and sensitive, desperate to orgasm. steves voice was tipping you over the edge.
“keep fucking yourself, just like that. keep it deep.”
you nodded even though he couldn’t see you, squeezing your eyes shut as your stomach fluttered and back arched off the bed.
“can’t stop thinking about your legs shaking... how you grip the sheets when you're close. i wanna feel that around me so bad” you were surprised that steve wasn’t getting himself off, you were surprised you hadn’t heard the wet sounds of his hand sliding up and down his thick cock firmly, but steve wasn’t worried about his own desperate need. steve was completely focused on your pleasure, completely enamored with making sure you felt good when he wasn’t there to do it for you.
“i’d grab your hips, baby. hold you tight when i finally replaced the dildo with my cock and fucked into you, hard and deep. make that pretty ass bounce for me.”
you were speeding up your movements, slamming the silicone into your sensitive pussy repeatedly to chase your release. steve could hear the squelching sounds of it going in and out of you. the sound of sheets rustling and muttered curses came from his side of the line. he was getting frantic.
“tell me you want me, tell me you want me filling you up. please, baby. c’mon.”
you whimpered at how desperate he sounded, you imagined his eyes were wild with need. “want you so bad. you.. fuck.. you stretch me so good”
“i know i do, god, i know. now be a good girl and make yourself cum for me. yeah?” steves voice was low and rough.
“ye-yes i can be good, ill be good” you were desperate for his praise, the words that came from his lips were sending chills down your spine as a choked gasp left your lips as your eyes shot open, your body spasming on the bed as your orgasm crashed over you.
steves breath was shaky “listen to you… so fucking beautiful when you cum. so perfect for me.”
your body went limp as you pulled the dildo out, breathing heavily as your cunt fluttered around nothing.
“fuck.. you okay, baby? you sound so beautiful. just wish i was there to hold you.”
you hummed into the phone “mhmmmm that.. was so good. i wish you were here too, i miss you so much.”
“i wanna be there so bad. wanna kiss you all over… feel you shaking against me.” steve said softly. you were quiet for awhile, your body exhausted as you attempted to catch your breath.
“i should let you sleep, love. you sound exhausted.” he sounded reluctant to get off the phone, but he knew you must’ve been tired.
“mmmkay. goodnight, baby”
“i love you” was the last thing steve said before hanging up the phone. you set the phone down back on the hook and fell fast asleep before you could even clean yourself up.
steve was pacing his hotel room, large hands tugging at his beautiful chestnut hair. his hand was still constantly pressing down on his erection, but it offered no relief. steve could lay back down, wrap his hand around his cock and make himself cum in a few minutes. but your voice and your moans were echoing in his head, he knew his hand would be nothing compared to the warmth of you. it wouldn’t even compare.
the image of you all blissed out and sleeping alone, without him, was unbearable. the thought of laying in an empty room and falling asleep with nobody to hold while he ached for you was even worse.
“screw it” was the only thing he said as he slipped on his shoes, grabbed his bag and keys, and slipped out of the motel room to head to his car.
the two hour car ride felt like forever, steves hand was gripping his wheel tightly while he shifted in his seat. he arrived at your place a little after two am and sat in his car for a long minute, looking up at your window and imagined you fast asleep. imagining what you looked like, imagining holding you. he got out of the car and made his way to the door quickly, using his key and slipping inside.
“baby?” he called out softly into the house, worried of frightening you. he continued calling it out as he opened the door to your room. he stopped as soon as it opened just watching you sleep. steve memorized the way the moonlight caught on the curve of your cheek, your hair fanned perfectly out on the pillow.
he kneeled beside the bed and carefully ran a hand through your hair. you stirred. “hey, baby. couldn’t stay away. needed to be near you” he leaned down and kissed your forehead.
“stevie.. you’re here?” you were half asleep but you felt the smile creep onto your face. you reached out weakly to pull him into bed with you.
steve went down easy, desperate for your touch. “drove the whole way just.. thinking about you” you could feel how tense his body was next to you, how he was basically thrumming with need.
you ran your hand up his torso lightly until you made your way to the nape of his neck, threading your hand into his hair. “missed you tonight” you whispered it into the room and you watched his eyes flutter from the touch. he looked starved. he pressed his head further into your hand, then leaned into your lips.
the moment your lips met, a long groan left steves mouth, it sounded like it had been building for hours. his mouth was hot and hungry on yours, his tongue fucking into your mouth immediately. his hand gripped your hip, pulling your body closer to him.
“i’ve been going crazy, out of my mind.” he murmured against your lips in between kisses.
your fingers were already tightening in his hair, pulling him closer with the same desperation that was written all over him. steves fingers started to hook into your waistband of your pjs, brushing over the skin and tugging on them.
you let out a breathy “steve….”
“yeah, baby? gotta tell me what you want. need to hear you ask for it.” he gripped your jaw in his palm, tilting your face up to meet his, tightening his hold just slightly. you could feel him shifting next to you, pressing his erection against your thigh firmly before grinding it against the skin.
“i want you, i want you to fuck me. so bad” you whined, your cunt throbbing and dripping into your panties.
“you remember what i said, don’t you? told you id get you on your knees for me, get yourself ready on that dildo.”
you nodded eagerly, desperate for friction of any kind. desperate for feeling. desperate for release now that steve was real and in front of you. just his kisses made you horny. the way he sucked in your top lip, his nose nudging against your eyelid, his brows furrowing together as he concentrated.
steve ran a hand in your hair, his eyes locked on yours as he whispered “good. so good for me, aren’t you?”
you felt your entire body shudder, your breath hitching as he shifted to pull your soaked panties and pjs down your legs. his hands were everywhere on your bare legs, squeezing your thighs and skimming his palms up and down the back of your legs as you shifted to get onto all fours on the mattress.
he reached over to grab the dildo from the nightstand, large hand wrapping around it tightly. your fingers trembled as you reached for it, taking it from his hand and reaching under you to guide it towards your still slick entrance.
whimpers left your lips the second your pussy made contact with the cold silicone, body twitching at the feeling.
“go on baby, fuck yourself for me. show me how you do it when im not here”
you pushed just the tip inside you, feeling the excruciating stretch as it went deeper and deeper. a low moan came out, eyes rolling back as you rocked your hips back on the toy.
steve watched from behind you, completely mesmerized, before his hand shifted to his sweats and boxer band to yank them down just enough for his cock to spring free. the sight of you fucking yourself combined with the sounds of pleasure pushed him past his limit. the throbbing of his cock was now unbearable to ignore.
he shifted his body to kneel in front of you, his hand stroking his dick as he bit down on his plump lower lip. his cock was eye level with you now, leaking with pre-cum smeared all over the length of him. it was clear he had been ready for hours.
“open up, baby. c’mon. wider” your lips parted immediately as he guided the head of his cock past your lips. the second your lips closed around his tip, his hips involuntarily thrusted forward, forcing himself deeper down your throat as you continued to fuck into your pussy with the silicone.
your throat relaxed, allowing him to continue deeper as saliva seeped out of the corners of your mouth and down your chin. steve was long, and thick, you could feel every inch of him pulsing inside your mouth. steve groaned as soon when you moaned around him, running a hand into your hair to gather it, holding it back for you in his fist.
the sensation of being filled everywhere was almost too much, the fullness of it all made your head spin and your inner walls clamp down while your tongue swirled messily around steves cock.
“you like having your mouth full while you get your pussy stretched, don't you? you just love being used like this, huh, baby?” steve was panting now, you could tell he wanted more. he wanted to be inside you, he wanted to replace the toy that was stretching your pussy. but you knew in order to feel him, you’d have to cum first.
your hand sped up, moving the dildo faster in and out of you to chase your release that you knew was coming any second. a high whine left your lips that were still wrapped around steves cock, your back arching and body buckling on the bed as you clamped down on the silicone and soaked it with your cum.
steve immediately pulled out of your mouth, a thick strand of saliva connecting his glistening cock to your swollen lips.
“on your back, baby. need to be inside you so bad” steve wasn’t even trying to hide it anymore, his voice came out whinier than he wanted it to. he’d been horny for so long, desperate for the feeling of your tight cunt wrapped around him since he got on the phone.
the second you were on your back his hands gripped your thighs, pushing them apart to settle in the space between. “look at you. so wet and open f’me. aren’t you?”
your eyes were locked on his, panting and still shaking from your orgasm. “steve… please, i want you to fill me, please”
you watched as a smirk formed on his face and he reached back to pull his t shirt off, his chest rising and falling rapidly. he knew how hot he was, he always stood there and let you look your fill because he knew how much you loved seeing steve shirtless. he had the perfect amount of chest hair across his chest that trailed all the way down towards his aching cock. your hands reached up to rest on his hips, running your hands over the skin of his soft tummy.
steve leaned forward, hovering over you before the thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance, his fingers now digging into your flesh as he entered you in one movement and began a brutal pace inside of you. slamming his cock into you repeatedly before he replaced it with a slow and deep grinding roll of his hips that pressed him impossibly deep.
it was an exquisite kind of agony, each thrust stretching you in a way the toy could never achieve. you could feel the thickness of him being squeezed by your oversensitive walls. each time he pulled back you felt a desperate emptiness that only lasted a few seconds before he was filling you again. your body always struggled to accommodate steves length, the tip of him nudged at a spongy spot deep inside you that sent jolts all throughout your nerves.
“god, baby…. always taking my cock so good. fuck- barely fucking fits” steve gritted his teeth as his hand moved to press down on your lower stomach, feeling how it’d bulge with every slow grind. the firm pressure of his hand pressing down made you gasp, the feeling amplifying how full you are.
your back arched up, eyes rolling back as you moaned continuously “mmmmmph, feels so good. steve.. fuck, im gonna-“ all your words were dissolving into breathy moans and gasps as your body reached its third orgasm. your legs trembling on the bed, body jolting with each motion of steves hips.
the sensation was immediately too much for steve. the oversensitivity of it all after he denied himself for hours sent him over the edge as he felt you clench around his thick cock.
steve pushed in deep and you felt his body still, then shudder as your pussy milked him, cum coating your insides. his cock pulsed inside of you over and over again before he leaned down on top of you to kiss your sweat dampened cheeks.
both of you were trembling and sensitive as you laid together before he slowly pulled out of you and he shifted to lay beside you, gathering you in his arms and brushing the stray hairs out of your face gently.
“you drive me crazy, you know? can’t even leave for three days without going insane.”
you smiled a little breathlessly against his chest, your fingers toying with the thick hair that rested there. “yeah? guess that means you can’t ever leave me again, hmm?”
steve brought his hand up to your jaw gently, tilting your head back to meet his eyes so he could press his lips to yours, murmuring with a soft smile on his face “oh i don’t plan to, baby”
-
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three years later, you see rafe cameron in a grocery store at 11:42 p.m.
and for one completely insane second, your body still thinks he belongs to you. it happens before your brain catches up. instinct. muscle memory. something old and buried clawing violently back to life.
your stomach drops so hard it physically hurts.
he’s standing near the freezer section in a dark hoodie with his hands shoved into the pockets, staring blankly at a row of frozen dinners like he forgot where he was halfway through choosing one. older now. sharper somehow. exhaustion carved permanently into his face.
his hair is shorter. there’s silver beginning to scar through one of his eyebrows from a fight you’ll never know about.
and he looks sober.
that’s the first thing that really destroys you because for years — even after everything — some terrible hidden part of you kept imagining him dead.
overdose. car crash. somebody finally hitting him back harder. a phone call in the middle of the night.
you used to wake up sweating from dreams where wheezie called crying and all she had to say was: they found him.
and yet, almost as if fate and destiny were doomed to make your life worse, instead, he’s here. alive.
holding a basket with bread and toothpaste in it like a normal person. your chest caves inward so violently you almost turn around immediately.
don’t do this. don’t fucking do this.
but then he looks up, sees you. everything in the world stops moving. you watch recognition hit him in real time. not sudden. worse. slow. his eyes lift to your face and then just stay there.
completely still. you realize with horrible clarity that nobody has looked at you like that in three years. like seeing you hurts.
his mouth parts slightly. you can actually see him forget how to breathe. god. god.
for a second neither of you move.
the fluorescent lights hum softly overhead. somewhere distant, somebody wheels a cart past the end of the aisle. normal life keeps happening around the two of you while your nervous system quietly detonates.
rafe looks thinner. not unhealthy thin. just stripped down. quieter around the edges. like somebody sanded all the violence off him and left only exhaustion behind.
your throat burns immediately. you should say something.
instead you stand there holding a carton of eggs so tightly you think they might crack in your hands.
his eyes flick downward briefly. left hand. ring finger. empty. you hate yourself for noticing. his gaze returns to yours slowly after that and something inside his expression changes. not relief. not hope. something sadder.
“hi,” he says finally.
his voice almost kills you. it’s different now. still deep. still rough around the edges but softer somehow. controlled. you remember nights where that same voice shook with rage so violent it rattled the walls around you. and now he just sounds tired.
your mouth goes dry. “hi.”
silence again. you can feel your heartbeat in your teeth. he looks like he wants to say a thousand things and none of them survive the trip to his mouth. “i didn’t know you were back,” he says quietly.
back. right. you moved to charleston eight months after the breakup. not dramatically. not in a movie-scene way.
you had broken up with him after three whole months since the phone call. since you’d eventually whispered okay into the phone and snuck outside just to sit in his truck while both of you cried quietly and pretended that counted as closure.
three months since he kissed your forehead instead of your mouth and said:
i think if i touch you again i'll never leave.
three months since you walked back inside your house and watched him drive away. your fingers tightened hard around the cart handle because suddenly you were back inside every version of yourself that had ever loved him. the girl waiting for late-night phone calls. the girl memorizing his moods from the sound of his breathing. the girl who once thought loving somebody this intensely meant it had to last forever.
you just slowly stopped being able to breathe properly in outer banks. every street had him on it. every song. every marina. every late-night gas station. you’d left because surviving him from a distance was easier than surviving him nearby.
“just for the summer,” you answer.
he nods once. you notice he still does that thing where he stares too long between sentences. not aggressively anymore and instead like he’s making sure you’re real. “you look good,” he says.
your chest twists painfully because he says it without flirtation. without manipulation, just honest. you laugh softly before you can stop yourself. “you look… alive.”
the second the words leave your mouth, regret floods instantly but rafe just looks down. a tiny smile pulls briefly at one corner of his mouth. “yeah,” he murmurs. “trying.”
trying. there it is again.
that fucking word. for a horrible second you’re back inside that bedroom at figure eight with tears burning behind your eyes while he whispered i’m trying so fucking hard with you. your throat tightens dangerously.
“hey,” he says quietly.
you blink quickly. “sorry.”
“don’t apologize.”
god. you forgot how gentle he could sound when he wanted to. that’s the thing nobody else ever understood about him. they thought loving rafe cameron meant constant chaos. screaming. destruction. slammed doors.
they never saw the quiet parts. the devastatingly soft parts. the versions of him that made leaving impossible. you swallow hard. “how’s wheezie?”
“good,” he says. “she’s at unc now.”
your eyes widen slightly. “seriously?”
he nods, and there’s actual pride there now. uncomplicated pride. it nearly ruins you. once upon a time, every emotion inside him came tangled in barbed wire. now he looks… manageable. human. you hate how badly that hurts.
“sarah said you moved to savannah for a while,” he says carefully.
“yeah.”
“you like it there?”
you open your mouth automatically to say yes. instead: “it’s quiet.”
something flickers across his face at that: he knows what you mean. quiet used to terrify you.
after him, silence felt unnatural. you used to sleep with the television on because your nervous system didn’t know what to do without adrenaline anymore.
he knows that. god, he probably caused that. the realization passes through his eyes too. you see shame darken them briefly. “i’m sorry,” he says suddenly.
your breath catches. “rafe—”
“no, i know it’s been years.” his voice stays calm but you can hear the strain underneath it now. “i just… i never really got to say it right.”
you stare at him. the freezer hum fills the silence between you. he looks older when he’s sad now. less explosive. “i’m sorry for what i turned your life into,” he says quietly.
and there it is.
the thing you spent three years trying not to romanticize. after enough time passed, the sharp edges blurred. you started remembering him warm instead of terrifying. you remembered boat rides and sleepy kisses and the way he held your hand under restaurant tables. you forgot what it felt like to jump every time your phone rang at 2 a.m. you forgot the exhaustion. the fear. the constant waiting for disaster. until now. now he’s standing in front of you apologizing with the same broken sincerity that once kept you trapped for years.
your eyes burn immediately. “you were sick,” you whisper before thinking.
“yeah,” he says. not even defensive, nor angry. just honesty. "i was."
the calm acceptance bothers you because three years ago the rafe cameron you knew would've exploded before admitting something like that aloud. the rafe cameron here just stands there carrying it quietly.
"are you okay now?" you ask before you can stop yourself. and to your surprise, you watch him think about it seriously.
finally: "more than i was."
your throat tightens. "therapy?"
a faint almost-smile. "you would ask that."
"answer me."
"yeah." he rubs the back of his neck once, head dropping. "rehab too."
your heartbeat stumbles. rehab, of course. part of you always knew it would end there eventually. or a funeral.
there was never really another option.
“how long?” you ask softly.
"eighteen months."
you physically stop breathing for a second. eighteen months. eighteen whole months. you remember nights where he couldn’t survive six hours without putting something destructive into his bloodstream.
suddenly — horrifyingly — pride blooms inside your chest.
his eyes lower briefly like he can’t bear seeing that expression on your face after everything he did to you. "dont look proud of mee."
"why not?"
he laughs emptily. "because you paid for it."
you stare at him under fluorescent grocery store lights and realize with terrible clarity that you never stopped loving him. you just learned how to live around it which is different and infinitely worse.
his eyes lift back to yours slowly. “you happy?” he asks.
the question almost feels cruel. happiness stopped feeling simple after him. you learned how to function. how to sleep again. how to exist without panic eating through your bloodstream every night.
but happiness? you don’t know. you think maybe he can tell by your face because his expression softens into something deeply sad. “yeah,” he murmurs. “okay.”
you swallow hard. “what about you?”
he looks down at the basket in his hand. bread. toothpaste. coffee creamer. evidence of a life, small normal things. “some days,” he admits quietly.
you suddenly want to cry right there between frozen pizzas and ice cream. once upon a time, loving each other felt like standing inside a burning building refusing to leave.
and now here he is. alive and sober and against all odds, fucking gentle. a wedding ring glints briefly on the hand reaching into the freezer behind him.
not his. some stranger’s but the sight of it makes something strange pass over rafe’s face. grief, not jealousy. like he suddenly remembered there was a version of life where the two of you might’ve survived long enough for ordinary things.
marriage. groceries. sleeping through the night together. you feel it too. the phantom ache of a future that died before it could happen. he looks back at you slowly. “i used to think if i loved you hard enough,” he says quietly, “it would make me someone safe.”
your eyes fill with tears because you know that as a truth.
"hey," he says softly, the same way he used to. you shake your head and his face falls slightly. "sorry."
“no, i just—” your voice breaks embarrassingly so you look away fast. you hear his breathing change immediately. three years later and he still reacts to your pain like it’s happening inside his own body. that realization terrifies you more than it should.
“are you with someone?” he asks carefully.
you blink quickly. “no.”
his eyes close briefly. like guilt for still wanting the answer.
“you?”
a pause. “tried.”
your stomach twists painfully. tried. you can picture it too easily. some poor girl touching him gently while he stares at the ceiling wondering why it doesn’t feel like you. you hate that the thought still matters.
“didn’t work?” you ask quietly.
“turns out emotionally destroying the love of your life gives you some commitment issues.”
you stare at him because what the fuck do you say to that? i'm sorry?
he immediately shakes his head slightly. “sorry. that was—” rafe looks at you for a long moment before speaking again. “you know what the worst part was?”
your throat tightens. “what?”
his jaw flexes once. “getting better.”
you stare at him. he looks down at the floor briefly before continuing. “because i thought…” he swallows hard. “i thought if i fixed myself enough, eventually i’d stop missing you.”
your eyes burn instantly. “did it work?”
he smiles then. small. “not even a little.” he looks away after that like he regrets saying it out loud.
you stand there staring at him while your entire body remembers things it spent three years trying to forget.
the weight of him asleep against your chest. the sound of his truck outside at impossible hours. his hands shaking during apologies and the unbearable tenderness afterward.
you remember the last time you saw him before tonight. not the phone call. after. the real ending. you hadn’t spoken for almost four months then.
four months of deleting texts before sending them. four months of waking up reaching for him and hating yourself afterward. four months of teaching your body that silence did not automatically mean death.
and then sarah called. 2:11 a.m.
you still remember the exact time because trauma freezes details into your bones forever. you answered half-asleep and heard crying immediately.
not loud. worse. trying-not-to-be-loud crying. “hey,” sarah whispered. “i’m sorry. i didn’t know who else to call.”
your entire body had gone cold before she even said his name. “what happened?”
silence. “he overdosed.”
the grocery store disappears around you for a second at the memory. just gone because suddenly you’re twenty-two again standing barefoot in your dark kitchen unable to breathe correctly while sarah cried through the phone.
you remember dropping the glass in your hand. orange juice and shattered glass across tile. you remember not feeling your feet while you drove. you remember praying which was insane because you didn’t even believe in god anymore after rafe.
but you prayed anyway. please. please not him. please not like this.
the hospital had smelled like antiseptic and coffee and fear. you remember running through automatic doors at 3 a.m. with your heartbeat trying to tear its way out of your chest.
you remember wheezie standing in the hallway crying into kie’s shoulder. you remember ward nowhere in sight. of course. of fucking course.
and then you saw him. through glass. alive. barely. your knees had almost given out from relief so violent it felt like pain. rafe lay unconscious beneath fluorescent hospital lights with bruises under his eyes and tubes down his throat and machines breathing for him.
and all you could think was: i knew it. i knew someday i’d get this phone call. you’d spent years waiting for catastrophe and there it was finally.
quiet. sterile. hooked to monitors. sarah saw you first. her expression collapsed instantly when she realized you came. “he asked for you,” she whispered.
your chest split open. “is he—”
“they don’t know yet.”
you physically stopped breathing. they don’t know yet. those four words still haunt you. because suddenly everything became terrifyingly simple. all the complicated relationship bullshit disappeared instantly.
the fights. the fear. the exhaustion. none of it mattered standing outside a hospital room wondering whether the person you loved most was about to die.
you sat there until sunrise. then noon. then night again. you didn’t leave once. and when he finally woke up twenty-three hours later, the first thing he did was look for you.
not dramatic nor frantic. like he genuinely believed you wouldn’t be there. his eyes found yours across the room and you watched confusion hit him first.
then shame. then something so heartbreakingly relieved you had to look away. “hey,” you whispered.
his throat moved slightly around the breathing tube.
tears filled his eyes immediately. you’d never seen somebody look so devastated to still be alive. later — after the tube came out, after doctors left, after wheezie finally fell asleep curled in a waiting room chair — you sat beside his bed in silence while rain hit the hospital windows softly outside.
rafe couldn’t look at you. he kept staring at his own hands. you noticed then how badly they were shaking. “i’m sorry,” he whispered eventually.
your chest hurt so badly you thought you might actually throw up. “don’t apologise.”
“i didn’t mean to scare you.” that sentence almost made you angry. even half-dead, his first instinct was still your feelings.
not himself. you stared at him under hospital lights and realized he genuinely thought the worst part of almost dying was what it did to you.
“why?” you whispered.
he went still. you hated how weak your voice sounded afterward. “why would you do that to yourself?”
his expression changed immediately. not defensive. “i wasn’t trying to die.” you looked away sharply because somehow that hurt more. “that sounds bad,” he murmured.
“it sounds terrifying.”
silence stretched between you. machines beeped softly nearby. finally he laughed under his breath. “i think i stopped caring what happened to me a long time ago.”
your eyes filled instantly. you knew. every time he drove too fast or drank too much or looked at himself like his body was something disposable.
this hadn’t started with the overdose. this had always been happening slowly. you just hadn’t wanted to name it. “rafe…”
he finally looked at you then. “you know the worst part?” he whispered. your throat tightened. “when i woke up…” his breathing shook slightly. “i was disappointed for like five seconds.”
your heart physically cracked. he started crying immediately afterward. silent and ashamed, turning his face away from you like he couldn’t survive being seen like this. “fuck,” he whispered brokenly. “that sounds horrible.”
you were crying too hard to answer. it didn’t sound horrible it sounded hopeless. there’s a difference. you reached for him automatically snf he flinched.
“don’t,” he whispered.
“why?”
his face twisted painfully. “i ruin everything that touches me.”
your chest caved inward. “that’s not true.”
“look at us.”
silence. what could you even say to that? look at us. a hospital room at dawn. both crying. both exhausted. both too in love to survive it correctly. you sat there for a long time while rain streaked softly down the windows.
then eventually he spoke again. quiet enough you almost missed it. “i really tried.”
tears burned harder behind your eyes. “i know.”
“no, you don’t.” his voice cracked apart. “you met me after everything already got bad.”
you stared at him. he still wouldn’t look at you. “i think…” he swallowed hard. “i think something happened to me when i was a kid and nobody noticed.”
your entire body went still. suddenly he sounded small. not dangerous and not volatile. “what do you mean?”
he shrugged one shoulder weakly. “i don’t know.”
his eyes finally lifted to yours after that and what you saw there nearly destroyed you. grief. not for the overdose. not for the relationship. for himself. for the person he might’ve been if somebody had loved him correctly before all this.
“i don’t think i was born wrong,” he whispered.
you started crying so hard it hurt to breathe. because no. he wasn’t born wrong. that was the tragedy. he was just loved badly for too long. you moved before thinking. crossed the room. wrapped your arms around him carefully around wires and hospital blankets and bruised skin.
he froze instantly. you felt the exact moment he broke apart in your arms. his face buried against your shoulder while his entire body shook with silent sobs.
and god. god. you had held him angry before. held him drunk. held him high. held him after fights and panic attacks and nightmares. raw grief for the life he destroyed with his own hands.
“i’m sorry,” he kept whispering against your shoulder. “i’m so sorry.”
you held him tighter anyway. you still loved him. even then and especially then.
the next morning, he asked you to leave. you’d fallen asleep curled awkwardly beside his hospital bed with your hand still tangled with his when his voice woke you softly. “hey.”
sunlight spilled pale through hospital blinds.
he looked exhausted already but clear-eyed. sober. terrified. “what’s wrong?” you whispered immediately.
his throat bobbed hard. “i can’t do this to you anymore.”
your heart stopped. you stared at him while panic rose violently through your bloodstream. “rafe—”
“no, listen to me.” his voice shook. “if you stay, i’m never gonna learn how to survive without needing you to keep me alive.”
your chest physically hurt. “don’t say that.”
“it’s true.” tears filled his eyes immediately. “i loved you so much i stopped caring whether you survived me.”
you started crying instantly. “that’s not fair.”
“i know.” his fingers tightened around yours desperately. “but i think if i keep loving you like this, one day you’re gonna wake up and realize i took your whole life with me.”
silence. machines humming softly around you. morning light.
the end of everything. he looked at you with tears slipping silently down his face and whispered the sentence that still follows you everywhere. “i want you to have a life that doesn’t feel like an emergency.”
the grocery store rushes back all at once. fluorescent lights. old air. rafe standing in front of you three years later holding a basket full of ordinary things.
alive. you realize suddenly that he’s watching your face carefully. “where’d you go?” he asks softly.
your throat burns. “nowhere.”
his expression says he knows you’re lying. of course he does. you look at him for too long after that. grief hits you so hard you almost can’t stay standing.
because he did it. he actually fucking did it. he survived. he became someone softer. safer.
someone you maybe could’ve stayed with and you don’t get to have him anymore. that’s the punishment. you loved each other at the wrong time and now all that’s left is this horrible ghost of what your lives might’ve been if healing had happened sooner.
rafe swallows hard beneath your silence. “hey,” he says carefully.
your eyes lift to his. he looks scared suddenly. not of you. for you. the same way he always used to when you got too quiet. “talk to me.”
and there it is. the old instinct. the terrifying urge to let him. to tell him everything. how no one has touched you since him without you comparing the gentleness. how sometimes you still wake up convinced your phone is about to ring. how you still know his birthday without trying. how part of you never left that hospital room. instead you whisper the saddest truth of all. “i think i would’ve loved the version of you that exists now forever.”
“don't say things i’m gonna think about for the next ten years.”
you know he means ithe would think about it for ten years. twenty. the rest of his life probably. that was always the problem with rafe. he loved permanently. even when he shouldn’t. especially when he shouldn’t.
you laugh shakily and wipe quickly beneath your eyes before tears can fully fall. “sorry.”
“stop apologizing.”
his expression softens in that unbearable way it used to at three in the morning when the anger finally burned out of him and only tenderness remained.
“you still do that,” he murmurs.
“do what?”
“say sorry every time you feel something.”
you look down at the carton of eggs still clutched against your chest like a shield, exhausted by the unbearable unfairness of becoming healthy too late.
“i used to hate you for getting better after me,” you admit quietly.
“yeah,” he whispers. “i know.”
your throat tightens harder. “for a while i thought maybe if you’d loved me enough, you would’ve changed sooner.”
his eyes close immediately. you regret saying it the second it leaves your mouth. “that’s not fair,” you whisper quickly. “i know that now, i just—”
“no.” his voice is quiet. tired. “you were right.”
“rafe—”
“you know what rehab taught me?” he looks at you then and suddenly you’re back in every terrible honest conversation you ever survived together. “love doesn’t fix people before they’re ready to save themselves.”
once upon a time, you genuinely believed loving him hard enough could drag him back from whatever darkness kept swallowing him whole.
and he believed it too. that was the tragedy. you both confused devotion for salvation. “i wanted it to,” he says softly.
tears slip down your face before you can stop them. “i know.”
“i used to think if i lost you, i’d die. and then i lost you,” he continues, “and i didn’t.” you stare at him silently. “felt worse, honestly.”
“i used to drive by your apartment in charleston sometimes,” he admits suddenly.
your heart stumbles. “what?”
“not in a creepy way,” he says quickly, already looking ashamed. “i never got out. i just…” he swallows hard. “wanted to know you were alive.”
of course even his recovery still carried traces of old obsession softened into something gentler. “i stopped after therapy,” he says quietly. “my sponsor told me loving someone isn’t the same as monitoring them.”
despite everything, you laugh softly through tears.
his mouth twitches slightly at the sound. god. you forgot how beautiful he looked when he smiled without cruelty inside it.
that realization hurts more than almost anything else tonight. this version of him really could’ve been your forever. you mourn him like he died. maybe some version of him did.
“i kept your voicemail,” you confess suddenly.
“which one?”
“the one from outside my house.”
when you look back at him, all the color has drained from his face. “you still have that?”
you nod once.
“i listened to it a lot after rehab,” he admits quietly.
your heartbeat stutters. “why?”
“because it was proof somebody loved me before i learned how to be a person.”
that sentence nearly destroys you. you press your lips together hard because suddenly crying in public feels inevitable.
“hey,” he says softly.
you shake your head quickly. “don’t do that. don't talk to me gently.”
his face falls a little. “why?”
your voice breaks. “because i still love you when you do.”
there it is. the truth. final and ugly and too late. his breathing actually catches. you watch him look away sharply like the confession physically hurt him.
for a second you think he might cry. instead he nods once. slowly. accepting something. “yeah,” he whispers.
you both stand there drowning quietly in all the years between you then his phone buzzes.
the sound slices through the moment brutally. he blinks hard and looks down automatically. a notification lights the screen. wheezie.
you see his entire expression soften instantly. healthy. your chest aches with pride and grief tangled together so tightly they become indistinguishable.
he notices you noticing. “she’s presenting some art thing tomorrow,” he explains softly. “she’s freaking out.”
you smile despite yourself. “you going?”
“wouldn’t miss it.”
you believe him immediately. this version of rafe probably shows up now. (that realization hurts too.) he slides the phone back into his pocket slowly then looks at you again and there it is. the final thing.
you can feel it sitting between you both. the understanding that this is ending. really ending this time.
not with screaming. not with blocked numbers or slammed doors or terrified midnight phone calls. just two people who loved each other too destructively meeting again after surviving it.
rafe swallows once. “i should let you go.”
your throat burns. “yeah.”
neither of you move. of course. his eyes drift over your face one last time. not possessive anymore. just memorizing. the way people look at places they used to live.
“i’m glad you survived me,” he says quietly.
the tears finally spill over completely. somehow, after everything, that’s still how he loves you. with guilt. with relief. with grief.
you laugh shakily through tears. “you too.”
his face crumples slightly at that. for one terrifying second you think he’s going to reach for you. you almost want him to but he doesn’t.
that’s how you know he really changed. instead he just nods once.. then he says the thing that finally kills you.
“you know,” he whispers, “i think we would’ve been really boring together eventually.”
you stare at him through tears. he smiles faintly. sad enough to ruin you forever.
“i think we would’ve had a dog.”
a sob escapes you before you can stop it. suddenly you can see it. some tiny impossible alternate universe. sunday mornings. laundry. grocery stores. his hand warm against your back while dinner burned slightly in the kitchen.
ordinary love. the kind you never got to have.
rafe looks wrecked hearing you cry but he stays where he is. letting you keep the distance. finally learning how. “bye,” you whisper.
his eyes close briefly. like the word physically hurts. when they open again, they’re shining. “bye, baby.”
and then he leaves. just walks away. no dramatic last look. no running after him. no collapse.
he disappears down the aisle carrying bread and toothpaste and eighteen months of sobriety with him.
and you stand there crying silently beside the frozen food section while the automatic doors slide open somewhere in the distance.
later, much later, after you finally make it back to your car, you sit in the driver’s seat staring blindly through the windshield while rain taps softly against the glass.
your phone buzzes once. unknown number.
your heart stops instantly because some parts of you will always belong to him. you open it anyway. one message.
just six words.
thank you for loving me anyway.
you stare at the screen until it blurs. then finally, with shaking hands and tears still slipping silently down your face, you type back the truest thing you ever gave him.
a/n: i listened to paul by big theif while writing this and actually fucking sobbed like a baby. i also wrote this as soon as i got the ask + along with the draft of this that was sitting here like a week ago and was actually fucking crying omg
anyways PLEASE comment i need yalls thoughts
the party was loud enough to make your ribs shake.
bass through the floorboards. bass through the walls. bass through your teeth.
someone had spilled beer across the kitchen island hours ago and nobody cleaned it, so now everything smelled sticky and sour and expensive in that way figure eight parties always did. girls in tiny dresses leaning against marble counters. boys yelling over each other. somebody laughing too hard upstairs.
you stood at the sink pretending to read a text you’d already read six times.
where are you?
sent twenty minutes ago. no name attached. didn’t need one. you could feel him before you saw him: everybody else arrived loudly while rafe arrived like a pressure change.
the noise around you bent strangely. people looked over without meaning to. conversations stuttered. one of the guys near the fridge muttered “shit” under his breath.
and then — “there you are.”
his voice landed right behind you. you closed your eyes for exactly one second before turning around.
Rafe Cameron stood too close immediately, smelling like cigarettes and ocean water and whatever liquor he’d drowned himself in tonight. his hair was damp like he’d shoved his hands through it a hundred times. pupils blown wide already.
angry. or high. or both. usually both.
“you ignored me,” he said.
“i was busy.”
“doing what?”
“living a full and meaningful life, rafe.”
that almost made him smile. instead he stared at you in that horrible focused way he had, like he was trying to peel your skin back and look directly at the thing underneath.
“you left without telling me.”
“i’m pretty sure i’m legally allowed to leave buildings.”
“not mine.”
your jaw tightened because there it was. that thing he did. the subtle ownership. like every room belonged to him. every person inside it too. you should’ve moved away then. you didn’t. that was the problem with the two of you. nobody ever left when they should.
“you said you weren’t coming tonight,” you said quietly.
“changed my mind.”
“obviously.”
his eyes dragged slowly over your face. not sexual. not even affectionate. worse. possessive like he was checking whether you’d changed while he wasn’t looking.
“who drove you?” he asked.
“what?”
“who. drove. you.”
“why?”
“answer the question.”
you laughed once under your breath, exhausted already. “god, you’re insane.”
“yeah,” he said softly. “little bit.”
you hated when he admitted things. it took all the fight out of you.
for a second neither of you spoke. around you the party swelled louder, bodies pushing through the kitchen, music changing songs. somebody bumped into rafe’s shoulder and immediately apologized after recognizing him.
he didn’t even look at them. still staring at you. you remembered once — months ago maybe — asking him why he did that.
what?
look at me like that.
and he’d smiled without humor and said: because if i stop, you disappear.
you should have run then too. instead you’d kissed him which turned out to be the beginning of the end. or maybe the middle. with rafe, it was impossible to tell.
“you’re shaking,” he said suddenly.
you crossed your arms tighter. “i’m cold.”
“bullshit.”
“okay.”
his jaw ticked and he stepped closer. you stepped back automatically and hit the counter. there was the smallest pause after that. you watched the exact moment it happened — the exact moment he realized you’d moved away from him instinctively like you were scared which maybe you were.
sometimes, especially when his eyes got too empty, especially when he was using too much again, especially when he grabbed too hard without realizing it.
the silence stretched. then he laughed quietly, looking down at the floor.
“right,” he murmured. “forgot.”
your stomach twisted. “rafe —”
“nah, it’s okay.”
it very clearly was not okay.
he shoved a hand through his hair hard enough to pull at the roots. restless energy radiated off him violently tonight. he looked strung too tight beneath his skin.
“you been avoiding me all week,” he said.
“i’ve been working.”
“you didn’t answer my calls.”
“you called me fourteen times in one night.”
“because you hung up.”
“because you were screaming at me.”
“i said i was sorry.”
“after you punched your dashboard.”
“didn’t hit you, did i?”
the second the words left his mouth, everything froze. even him. your face changed. very slightly. but enough because suddenly he looked sick. actually sick like he wanted to climb out of his own body.
“that’s not —” he started.
“i know.”
“i didn’t mean —”
“i know.”
but your voice sounded far away now. flat and gone and that scared him more than if you’d yelled.
“hey,” he said immediately, stepping forward again. “hey, look at me.”
you looked somewhere over his shoulder instead. people were still moving around you. laughing. drinking. existing normally. it felt unreal.
rafe’s breathing got sharper. “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“shut down.”
“i’m not —”
“yes you are.”
he knew you too well. that was another problem. his hand wrapped around your wrist before you could think about it. your eyes dropped to it instantly and his did too. again, that horrible silence because rafe always realized things too late.
always after, never before. his fingers loosened immediately like he’d touched a hot stove. “shit,” he muttered quietly.
you swallowed. “i should go home.”
his head snapped up. “no.”
“rafe —”
“don’t.” there was panic underneath it now. real panic. you could hear it clawing under his voice. you hated that too because you knew him well enough to understand what panic turned into with him. rage. recklessness. destruction.
anything to avoid being abandoned first.
“i’m tired,” you said carefully.
“you’re leaving because of what i said.”
“i’m leaving because i’m tired.”
“don’t lie to me.”
you laughed softly then, but there was no humor in it. “that’s funny coming from you.”
you watched it land. to your immense satisfaction, he looked away first this time. tongue pressing into his cheek. breathing uneven. “i’m trying,” he said eventually.
and god. that was the worst thing he could’ve said. because he was. in his own horrifying way, he was trying all the time. trying not to explode. trying not to spiral. trying not to ruin every good thing that touched him.
the problem was that trying for rafe looked violent compared to normal people. trying looked like fists through walls instead of into faces. trying looked like screaming into pillows at three in the morning because he knew if he called you he’d say something unforgivable. trying looked like showing up outside your house just to make sure your car was there, then leaving before you noticed. trying looked obsessive and ugly and desperate.
and you kept loving him anyway which probably said something terrible about you too. his eyes lifted back to yours, red-rimmed now. you felt your chest cave in a little at the sight.
“don’t look at me like you already left.”
you didn’t realize he was holding his breath until you touched him. just your hand against his jaw. immediate relief flooded his face so fast it made you feel ill. there it was again. that unbearable dependence.
he leaned into your palm instinctively, eyes closing for half a second. and you thought, with sudden terrifying clarity: this is going to kill both of us.
not metaphorically. not poetically. actually.
someday there’d be blood on something expensive. a hospital waiting room. a slammed door. a phone call at 2 a.m. something final because nothing between you and rafe had ever known how to be small.
his hand covered yours. “come upstairs with me,” he said quietly.
you should’ve said no. you knew what he meant. but instead: “okay.”
the hallway upstairs was quieter.
not actually quiet — the bass still throbbed through the walls, people still shouted somewhere distant, a girl was laughing too loudly behind one of the closed bedroom doors — but quieter enough that you could hear rafe breathing in front of you.
fast and uneven. he kept looking back to make sure you were still following him like you might disappear halfway down the hall. like you’d change your mind. you almost did. twice.
but then he’d glance over his shoulder with that wrecked look in his eyes and your feet kept moving anyway. that was how it always happened.
you knew better. and then you loved him harder than your own self-preservation. rafe pushed open the guest room door at the end of the hallway and immediately locked it behind you.
the click echoed and your stomach tightened.
“it’s so nobody comes in,” he said quickly.
“i didn’t say anything.”
“you looked at the lock.”
“because you locked it.”
his jaw flexed.
there was a bruise blooming along it tonight. dark purple under tan skin. probably from some fight. with rafe it was impossible to tell anymore whether injuries came from other people or himself.
the room smelled faintly like cologne and smoke and the ocean drifting in through the cracked balcony door.
he paced once, twice, clearly restless. you stayed near the door. watching him unravel in real time. “say something,” he muttered finally.
“about what?”
“anything.”
“you brought me up here.”
“yeah, and now you’re standing over there like i’m gonna fucking hurt you.”
the words cracked out of him harsher than he intended. you saw regret hit immediately afterward. he turned away before you could answer, pressing both hands against the back of his neck.
“fuck,” he whispered to himself.
you looked down at the carpet. “i never said that.”
“you didn’t have to.”
silence. you hated this version of him. not the cruel one. not the screaming one. this one. the one that knew exactly what he was because that version made you stay. you could survive his anger easier than you could survive his honesty.
“come here,” he said eventually, quieter this time.
you hesitated: there it was again. that tiny pause but this time you watched it destroy him. his face shut down instantly. not dramatically. not loudly. just — gone like somebody turned the lights off behind his eyes.
“right,” he said with a short nod. “okay.”
“rafe —”
“don’t pity me.”
“i’m not pitying you.”
“then what are you doing?”
you opened your mouth and closed it again because you didn’t know anymore. you didn’t know what this was. you just knew every time you tried to leave him for real, something inside you started tearing at the seams.
and he looked worse. thinner lately. more exhausted, more unstable. you wondered sometimes if loving rafe was less like being in a relationship and more like standing in front of a collapsing building trying to hold the walls up with your bare hands.
eventually your arms were going to give out. the scary part was that his probably would first. he laughed suddenly, bitter and low. “you know what topper said to me yesterday?”
your chest tightened immediately. “why were you talking to topper?”
“because he’s a dickhead who likes hearing himself talk.”
“what did he say?”
rafe looked at you then and for one horrible second you saw genuine vulnerability underneath all the wreckage. “he said you look tired.”
your throat went dry. “and?”
“and he said i’m bad for you.”
you stayed very still. “he’s not wrong,” you said softly.
that did it. you saw the exact second something snapped.
rafe laughed again but this time it sounded ugly. sharp around the edges. “yeah,” he said, nodding fast. “yeah, okay.”
“rafe —”
“no, you’re right.” he pointed at himself mockingly. “i’m fucking poison, right? everybody says it, so it must be true.”
“that’s not what i meant.”
“then what did you mean?”
his voice rose suddenly.. “because i’m getting a little tired of hearing how terrible i am from everybody all the fucking time —”
“lower your voice.”
that stopped him cold. you hadn’t meant to say it like that, soft and careful but also a little afraid but the second the words left your mouth, the entire room changed.
rafe stared at you and you watched horror spread slowly across his face. “you’re scared of me.”
it wasn’t accusatory: that would've been easier. it sounded devastated. you felt tears sting immediately. “i didn’t say that.”
“but you are.”
“sometimes i just —”
“sometimes what?”
you looked away. big mistake. he moved toward you instantly, not aggressive exactly, but frantic now. “look at me.”
you pressed back against the door unconsciously. another mistake because his expression physically crumpled after that.
“jesus christ,” he whispered.
he stepped away from you so fast he almost stumbled. then came the sound. a laugh. wrong. “that’s fucking crazy,” he muttered to himself, dragging both hands through his hair. “you’re actually scared of me.”
“rafe, stop.”
“no, no, i get it now.”
“you’re spiraling.”
“am i?” he snapped. “because from where i’m standing, this seems pretty fucking clear.”
you hated when he got like this. once he started falling apart, he dragged every conversation into deeper water until both of you drowned in it.
“i never wanted that,” he said suddenly quieter.
you looked up - his eyes were glassy now. “wanted what?”
his throat bobbed hard.
“for you to look at me like everybody else does.”
your chest ached so violently it almost made you angry because this was the trap. this was always the trap with him. he’d hurt you then bleed all over the floor afterward until you forgot your own bruises trying to stop his.
you moved before thinking. crossed the room, grabbed his face. “hey,” you whispered. his breathing caught instantly. you felt it happen beneath your hands. that terrifying dependence again. “look at me.”
he did. immediately. always immediately for you. his eyes were bloodshot. exhausted. furious and miserable all at once.
“i’m still here,” you said softly.
he stared at you like the words physically hurt him. “don’t say shit like that.”
“why?”
his hands wrapped around your wrists carefully, carefully like he was forcing himself to remember his own strength. “because one day you won’t be.”
the room went still. your heartbeat thudded unevenly. he looked away first, voice quieter now, almost embarrassed. “and i don’t think i survive that.”
there it was. the thing neither of you said out loud. the real thing underneath all of it. it wasn’t love anymore. not fully. it was dependency. attachment sharpened into something dangerous. he needed you in a way that went beyond romance and crossed into ruin.
and maybe the sickest part was that some hidden awful piece of you needed it too. needed being wanted that desperately. needed being the only thing capable of calming him down. needed being chosen over everything else. even his sanity.
you kissed him before you could stop yourself. hard and desperate. his reaction was immediate like a match hitting gasoline. one second he was staring at you and the next his hands were in your hair, pulling you flush against him so fast your back hit the wall beside the door.
the kiss turned messy instantly. teeth. breathing. anger hidden inside want. he kissed like he was trying to crawl inside your ribcage and stay there. your fingers tightened in his shirt and for a few terrible perfect seconds, everything disappeared.
the fighting. the fear. the damage.
just him. just this. then his hand slid against your neck.
not choking. not hurting but enough pressure that instinct flashed through your body before your brain could catch up.
you flinched. tiny. barely there but he felt it. rafe pulled away so fast it almost looked like you burned him. silence crashed into the room. your breathing sounded too loud.
his eyes were locked on your face now with pure horror inside them. “i didn’t —”
“i know.”
“i wasn’t —”
“rafe.”
he stepped backward hard enough to hit the dresser behind him. “fuck.”
you reached for him automatically and this time, he recoiled. actually recoiled. “don’t.”
your chest dropped. “what?”
“don’t do that right now. don't try to make me feel better.” his voice broke on the last word and suddenly he looked young. not scary. not violent. just deeply, catastrophically damaged. “you should go home,” he said.
you stared at him. “what?”
“before i ruin this worse.”
“rafe —”
“please.”
the word almost didn’t sound like him.=he looked like he was trying not to come apart at the seams. “just go tonight,” he whispered. “please.”
but you didn’t leave of course you didn’t. for a second neither of you moved. the music downstairs kept shaking through the floorboards, distorted now, like the entire house was underwater. rafe stood across from you breathing hard, one hand braced against the dresser behind him like he needed it to stay upright.
you could see it happening. the war inside him: half of him wanted you gone before he hurt you worse while the other half wanted to lock the door and keep you there until the world ended. and the terrifying thing was that you genuinely didn’t know which side would win if he stopped trying.
“say something,” he said hoarsely.
you swallowed. “i don’t want to go home.”
his eyes closed. just for a second, like the answer physically hurt him. “don’t make this harder.”
your chest tightened painfully. “you think this is easy for me?”
he laughed under his breath, exhausted and ugly. “no, i think you’re fucking addicted to drowning.”
that landed because it was true. you hated him for saying true things out loud without sugarcoating it. it's exactly what he did when he confessed his love for you.
rafe looked at you again then, and there was something dangerously open in his expression now. stripped raw. no performance left. “why do you stay?” he asked quietly.
you didn’t answer. because there wasn’t one answer. because you could’ve listed a thousand reasons and none of them would’ve made sense to normal people.
you stayed because he looked at you like you were the last thing tethering him to earth. you stayed because sometimes at three in the morning he held you so gently it made your chest ache for days afterward. you stayed because underneath all the violence and ego and destruction was somebody deeply terrified of being unlovable.
and maybe because part of you believed if you loved him hard enough, he’d finally become someone safe.
which was stupid. people weren’t projects. you knew that.
and still.
“i don’t know,” you whispered finally.
rafe stared at you for a long time after that then he nodded once like you’d confirmed something terrible. “yeah,” he murmured. “that’s what i thought.”
before you could respond, somebody started pounding on the bedroom door downstairs. “rafe!” a drunk voice shouted from the hall. “bro, where the fuck’s your coke?”
his entire face changed instantly. rage flooding in so fast it was almost frightening to watch. “go away,” he barked.
the person outside laughed. “you with your girlfriend?”
girlfriend. the word hung weirdly in the room because neither of you ever used it. whatever this was had grown too sharp for labels months ago. “i said fuck off.”
more laughter. footsteps retreating eventually. silence again. you looked back at rafe and found him already staring at you.
“what?” you asked quietly.
his jaw tightened. “you didn’t say anything.”
“about what?”
“girlfriend.”
your heart skipped strangely. “do you want me to be?”
the question slipped out before you could stop it. immediate regret because rafe’s expression shifted into something almost painful. “you know that’s not what this is.”
there it was. that awful ache again. you crossed your arms tighter around yourself. “right.”
“don’t shut down again.”
you looked away and he moved before thinking. you saw it happen in real time — the instinctive step toward you — and then the moment he caught himself.
stopped. forced distance back between you. god, that somehow hurt more. “i don’t know how to do this right,” he admitted quietly.
your throat tightened. because that was true too. rafe loved like somebody who’d only ever been taught possession. keep. hold. consume. destroy before being destroyed. gentleness didn’t come naturally to him.
sometimes neither did empathy.
but want? need? those he understood perfectly.
“come here,” you whispered.
he hesitated this time. you almost laughed at the irony.
slowly, like approaching something dangerous, he crossed the room again. you took his hand carefully. his fingers twitched immediately around yours. he looked down at them like he couldn’t believe you were touching him voluntarily after everything.
“you’re shaking again,” you murmured.
“i know.”
“have you slept?”
a pause. “not really.”
“how long?”
another pause. “does it matter?”
yes. because suddenly you could see it clearly — the exhaustion under his eyes, the twitchiness in his movements, the emotional whiplash. he’d been spiraling for days. probably longer. “rafe.”
“don’t start.”
“you can barely stand still.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re absolutely not fine.”
his expression hardened instantly. there he was. the second he felt exposed, he shoved knives back into his voice. “you wanna know what’s funny?” he said coldly. “you only act like you care when i’m falling apart.”
you blinked because that was the only time he let you see him. “that’s not fair.”
“isn’t it?”
“i’m here all the time.”
“physically? sure.”
that hurt more than it should’ve because lately maybe he was right. lately you’d started pulling pieces of yourself away from him quietly. subconsciously. trying to survive him in small hidden ways.
taking longer to answer texts. sleeping over less. flinching sometimes. looking at him differently. and rafe noticed everything, especially rejection, the one thing he had been trying to escape.
“i’m trying,” you whispered.
“fuck,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. “don’t say that.”
“why?”
“because that’s my line.”
you almost smiled. almost. then his phone buzzed somewhere in the room. he ignored it. buzzed again and again. finally he yanked it off the bed hard enough to nearly throw it. his expression darkened instantly when you saw the name reflected briefly across the screen.
wheezie.
“what happened?” you asked.
“nothing.”
“rafe.”
he rubbed a hand over his face violently. “my dad’s looking for me.”
cold spread slowly through your stomach. “why?”
“because i left dinner.”
“that’s it?”
he didn’t answer which was answer enough. you’d seen the aftermath of ward and rafe too many times already. broken glasses. split knuckles. screaming matches that sounded less like arguments and more like mutual destruction.
you stepped closer instinctively. “did you fight?”
his laugh came out sharp. “when do we not?”
“what happened?”
“he said i was embarrassing him.”
your chest ached immediately. “rafe —”
“and i told him to go fuck himself.”
“okay.”
“and then he grabbed me.”
you froze. he looked away instantly after saying it like he regretted letting you see that piece. “he was drunk,” rafe muttered quickly. “it’s whatever.”
but your eyes were already on the bruise along his jaw. suddenly it made sense. rage curled hot in your stomach.
“he hit you?”
“don’t look at me like i’m pathetic.”
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
his breathing started getting uneven again. too fast. you knew this version of him now — the one balancing right on the edge between fury and collapse.
“hey,” you said softly. “come sit down.”
“i’m not a fucking child.”
“i didn’t say you were.”
“stop trying to fix me.” he almost begged. “please stop trying to fix me.”
your eyes burned suddenly because he sounded tired. like he genuinely believed he was beyond saving now. “i don’t know how to love you without trying,” you admitted.
his head lifted slowly. and there it was again that terrifying softness. the one nobody else ever saw. “that’s the problem,” he whispered.
you didn’t realize you were crying until he touched your face. gentle. so gentle it almost broke something inside you. his thumb caught a tear beneath your eye.
“don’t cry,” he murmured immediately, panic slipping back into his voice. “shit, baby, don’t —”
baby. he only called you that when he forgot to be careful.
you laughed shakily through the tears. “you’re so fucked up.”
a weak smile pulled briefly at his mouth. “yeah.”
“and you make me fucked up too.”
that smile disappeared. he looked at you for a long time after that. then very quietly: “i know.”
rafe was still standing close enough for you to feel the heat coming off him. his hand lingered near your face like he wanted to touch you again but didn’t trust himself to. you should’ve left twenty minutes ago. instead you whispered, “kiss me again.”
his eyes shut instantly. the request hurt. “don’t ask me like that.”
“why?”
“because i’ll do it.”
your heart twisted. “that’s kind of the point.”
he stared at you for one long awful second before kissing you hard enough to push you backward a step. all restraint gone this time. anger lived inside every movement he made. not at you — never really at you — but at himself, at the world, at whatever hollow thing inside him kept ruining everything he touched. you kissed him back anyway which probably made you just as bad.
his hands slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and immediately you felt it — the desperation. the way he held you like he was scared somebody would rip you away if he loosened his grip for even a second.
the kiss turned messy fast. his breathing uneven. your fingers tangled in his damp hair. he made this quiet wrecked sound against your mouth that nearly shattered your resolve entirely because nobody ever saw this version of him. nobody else got the trembling hands. the exhausted affection. the terrifying vulnerability hidden underneath all the violence.
they got the monster. you got the aftermath.
“i missed you,” he admitted suddenly against your lips.
your chest ached so hard it almost made you angry. “it’s been four days.”
“felt longer.”
his forehead dropped against yours. you could feel him breathing, could feel the slight tremor running through him now. coming down. crashing. whatever cocktail of adrenaline and drugs and rage had been keeping him upright tonight was fading, leaving something rawer behind.
you brushed your thumb beneath his eye softly. “you’re exhausted.”
“don’t psychoanalyze me right now.”
“you can barely keep your eyes open.”
“still prettier than everybody else here.”
you laughed despite yourself and rafe’s expression changed instantly at the sound. that was it, that terrifying thing again. he looked at your happiness like a starving man looked at food. for him, your emotions controlled the oxygen in the room. it scared you sometimes, how much power he gave you accidentally.
because one day you were going to disappoint him in a way neither of you could come back from. you felt it coming already. some inevitable disaster waiting at the end of the road.
“what?” he asked quietly.
you hadn’t realized you were staring. “nothing.”
“that’s a lie.”
“you know,” you murmured, “normal relationships aren’t supposed to feel like this.”
his jaw tightened immediately. “you want normal?”
“i didn’t say that.”
“answer the question.”
you looked away. his fingers tightened slightly at your waist.
“do you?”
“i don’t know.”
he laughed once under his breath, but there was no humor in it. “yeah,” he whispered. “that’s what i’m afraid of.”
before you could answer, his phone buzzed again and again and again. he ignored it until the fourth call then finally snapped, grabbing the phone and answering violently. “what?”
you flinched slightly at the sudden volume. his eyes flicked to you instantly afterward, regret immediate. he turned away.
“i said i’m busy.” pause. his jaw hardened. “tell him i’m not coming home.”
another pause. then: “i don’t give a shit what he said.”
you heard muffled yelling even from across the room. wheezie, probably. or ward. likely both. rafe’s breathing sharpened. “stop calling me,” he snapped suddenly. “seriously, just leave me the fuck alone for one night —”
the line disconnected. silence. he stared at the phone screen for a second before hurling it across the room. it smashed against the wall violently. and you couldn't help it: you jumped.
immediate stillness. rafe froze too, horror spreading slowly across his face, because he saw it. saw your reaction. the fear. small but there.
“shit,” he whispered.
he stepped toward you instinctively. you stepped back instinctively. his face just fell apart. “right,” he said softly.
you hated yourself immediately. “rafe, i didn’t mean —”
“no, it’s okay.”
it wasn’t okay. his voice sounded empty now. dangerously empty. he dragged both hands down his face hard enough to redden his skin. “i’m trying so fucking hard with you.”
the words cracked in the middle and your throat tightened painfully.
“i know.”
“do you?”
he looked at you then with genuine devastation in his eyes. “because every time you look scared of me i feel like i’m losing my fucking mind.”
you blinked quickly against fresh tears. “you think i want this either?”
“then why can’t you trust me?”
you laughed softly, disbelieving. “because sometimes you scare me.”
silence. real silence this time. rafe stared at you like you’d shot him. you watched the exact second the words sank in fully. his mouth parted slightly, eyes glassy, breathing gone uneven again. “oh.”
just that. oh. like some final piece finally clicked into place. you instantly wanted to take it back. “rafe —”
“no, no, it’s okay.”
again with that awful calm voice. the dangerous one. “i get it now.”
“please don’t spiral.”
“i’m not spiraling.”
he absolutely was. he turned away from you abruptly, pacing once across the room before stopping at the balcony doors. his shoulders looked tight enough to snap. “i would never hurt you,” he said finally.
“i know.”
“no.” he shook his head hard. “i don’t think you do.”
you opened your mouth, closed it again because the horrible truth was that you did know and that somehow made this worse. you genuinely believed rafe would rather die than intentionally hurt you. the problem was that rafe destroyed things accidentally all the time, himself included.
“look at me,” he said suddenly.
you did. his eyes were red now. angry tears sitting there unshed, humiliation all over his face. “tell me exactly what you’re scared of.”
“rafe…”
“tell me.”
you swallowed hard. “sometimes when you get angry, i don’t recognize you.”
he went very still. “and?”
“and i never know what’s gonna happen.”
the room felt freezing suddenly. he nodded slowly. he was forcing himself to hear it. “okay.”
you hated how calm he sounded now. “say something.”
“what do you want me to say?”
“anything.”
he looked down at the floor for a long moment. then laughed quietly to himself. completely broken. “that’s so fucking embarrassing.”
your chest tightened. “what is?”
“that i love you this much.”
the tears finally spilled down your face. because he said it like a confession. like a wound just ugly and devastating and far too real. rafe noticed the tears immediately and swore under his breath, crossing the room before stopping himself halfway there.
that hesitation again. that horrible learned restraint. “baby,” he said softly. “please don’t cry.”
you covered your face with your hands suddenly because everything hurt too much at once. the room. the conversation. him.
your entire body shook once and then he was there anyway. careful this time. so careful. his hands slid around your wrists gently, pulling them away from your face. “hey,” he whispered. you couldn’t look at him. “hey.”
his forehead rested against yours. you felt him trembling. “i’m trying to be somebody you can feel safe with.”
that almost broke you completely because you believed him. that was the tragedy. you believed every word and still didn’t know if love was enough to survive him.
for a while neither of you spoke. you just stood there breathing the same air, foreheads pressed together, both pretending this wasn’t already doomed.
downstairs, the party kept going. people laughed. music shook the walls. somebody yelled drunkenly from outside near the pool. normal life continued while the two of you stood in the middle of something quietly catastrophic.
rafe’s hands stayed loose around your wrists. too loose. he was terrified you’d notice if he held on too tightly. “say something,” he whispered eventually.
and suddenly all you could think was: he’s never going to get better like this.
the realization hit so hard it made you feel sick.
because you loved him. god, you loved him. but love had started feeling like enabling a slow death. for both of you. your lips parted before your brain caught up. “i think i’m losing myself.”
the words barely made sound leaving your mouth but rafe heard them anyway. he always heard everything. his entire body went still while you watched panic creep slowly into his face. the kind that hollowed him out from the inside.
“what does that mean?” he asked carefully.
you started crying harder immediately because there wasn’t a way to explain it without hurting him. and hurting him felt unbearable even now.
“baby,” he whispered quickly, “hey, hey, don’t cry, just talk to me.”
you shook your head. he looked terrified. actually terrified. “please.”
your chest hurt so badly it felt impossible to breathe through it. “i don’t know who i am anymore,” you admitted shakily. “everything in my life revolves around whether you’re okay or not.”
his face crumpled instantly. “i never asked you to do that.”
“i know.”
“then don’t make that my fault.”
the defensiveness came automatically. reflex. you saw him hate himself for it immediately afterward. “fuck,” he whispered, letting go of your wrists completely. “i’m sorry.”
you wiped at your face roughly. “i’m tired all the time.”
rafe stared at you silently. “i jump every time my phone rings because i think something happened to you.” still silent. “and when you disappear, or get too high, or stop answering me, i feel like i’m gonna throw up until i know you’re alive.”
you could see it. see him trying not to fall apart right in front of you. “i know you don’t mean to,” you whispered. “but loving you feels like waiting for a disaster.”
that did it. you saw something inside him break. actually break. his eyes dropped immediately to the floor because he couldn’t look at you anymore. and when he spoke, his voice sounded small. small enough to ruin you.
“i told you not to stay.”
tears blurred your vision completely because he had. over and over. not directly but in all the ways that mattered. through every ruined night. every split knuckle. every terrifying outburst followed by shaking apologies.
he’d warned you the entire time. you just loved him more than your own judgment. “rafe…”
he backed away suddenly. like he physically couldn’t stand near you after hearing that. he laughed afterward, but it sounded awful. empty. “god.”
you’d never seen him look this destroyed before. not even after fights with ward. not after police reports or overdoses or nights where he came to you bleeding and furious and half-conscious.
this was worse. because this time you were the thing hurting him.
“i ruined you too,” he said quietly.
your heart stopped. “don’t say that.”
“it’s true.”
“rafe —”
“look at you.”
his eyes finally lifted back to yours. “you used to be happy.” the room tilted slightly because he sounded genuinely heartbroken about it. “you used to laugh at everything,” he whispered. “you used to sleep through the night.”
you couldn’t stop crying now. he noticed every detail. every change. every piece of damage. and somehow that made it infinitely worse. “i still love you,” you said helplessly.
his face twisted painfully. “i know.”
“then why does this feel so awful?”
he laughed softly through tears that finally started falling. you froze.
you had seen rafe angry. furious. violent. drunk. high. bleeding. screaming.
you had almost never seen him cry.
and somehow it looked more frightening than all the rest because he cried silently like he was ashamed of it. he turned away from you immediately, wiping hard at his face.
“please don't look at me right now. sseriously.” his voice broke again. “please don’t fucking look at me.”
you’d never heard him sound this shattered.
slowly, carefully, you walked toward him anyway. he didn’t move this time. didn’t pull away. didn’t stop you. you wrapped your arms around him from behind and felt him inhale sharply like he’d been stabbed.
for a second he stayed rigid. his hands grabbed your arms hard enough to tremble. his head dropped forward and you felt the exact moment he started crying for real.
trying not to make noise. your own tears came harder immediately. “i’m sorry,” he choked out.
you pressed your face against his back, shaking your head even though he couldn’t see it.
“i’m so fucking sorry.”
“stop.”
“i never wanted —”
you felt him trying to breathe through it and failing. “i tried so hard not to fuck this up.”
that sentence. that fucking sentence. because you knew he meant it. every awful broken piece of him had genuinely tried. he just didn’t know how to love without destruction attached to it. you tightened your arms around him instinctively and rafe made this horrible wounded sound in response. like comfort hurt now too.
“you should hate me,” he whispered.
“i don’t.”
“you should.”
he finally turned around in your arms then, and the sight of him nearly destroyed you. just a boy who had never been taught how to be loved correctly. his hands cupped your face desperately. “i would’ve done anything for you.”
your breath caught painfully. “i know.”
“no, you don’t understand.”
fresh tears spilled down his cheeks. “i would’ve burned my whole fucking life down if you asked me to.”
you started sobbing because he meant that too. that was the problem. his love had no survival instinct in it. it consumed, destroyed, devoured everything around it until there was nothing left. including himself.
“i don’t know how to save us,” you whispered.
the expression on his face after that was something you’d remember for the rest of your life because it wasn’t anger. wasn’t desperation, wasn’t even sadness anymore.
it was acceptance. the slow horrible realization that maybe there was no saving this. that maybe love alone had never actually been enough. his thumb brushed under your eye automatically, wiping tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “yeah,” he whispered brokenly. “i know.”
a week later, you stopped answering his calls. not all at once. that would’ve been easier. instead it happened slowly, painfully, in tiny cowardly pieces. you let the phone ring longer before picking up. you answered texts with shorter replies. you stopped sleeping at his house. stopped driving by figure eight automatically. stopped checking the news every morning in fear you’d see his name attached to something awful.
you tried to remember who you were before Rafe Cameron became the center of your nervous system. it felt like trying to remember a language you used to speak as a child. everything was quieter now. that should’ve felt good. instead it felt like withdrawal because your body had gotten used to chaos.
used to checking your phone every five minutes. used to decoding his moods through text punctuation and response times. used to the intensity of him. and without it, you felt strangely hollow which was humiliating.
you hated that part most.
the fact that even after everything, some pathetic ruined part of you still missed him constantly.you missed his hands. his stupid laugh when he was genuinely amused. the way he touched your waist absentmindedly in crowded rooms. the way he only ever slept properly with you there.
you missed being needed. that was the ugly truth underneath all of it. you missed how desperately he loved you. even if it was killing you. your phone buzzed again against your bedsheets. you stared at the screen without opening it.
rafe:just answer me once.
another message immediately after.
please.
your chest tightened painfully. you turned your phone face down instead. coward. coward coward coward because if you answered him, you knew exactly what would happen.
you’d hear his voice. hear how wrecked he sounded and fold instantly. you always folded for him. that night, sarah found you sitting on the beach alone.
Sarah Cameron slowed when she saw you, expression immediately shifting into concern. “hey.”
you wiped quickly at your face before she could see. too late. she sat beside you in the sand without asking. “you okay?”
you laughed softly. “obviously.”
sarah was quiet for a second. waves crashed somewhere in the dark. “he’s bad,” she said finally.
your stomach dropped instantly. “what happened?”
“nothing happened.” which somehow sounded worse.she hugged her knees to her chest, looking out toward the water. “he’s just…” she hesitated. “really bad.”
you stared at her. “define bad.”
she looked uncomfortable now. that terrified you immediately. “sarah.”
“he’s barely sleeping.”
your chest tightened. “okay.”
“and he got into some fight at the country club three nights ago.” you closed your eyes. of course he did. “and ward’s losing his mind because rafe keeps disappearing for hours.”
“sarah —”
“he asked me if i knew where you were yesterday.”
your heartbeat stumbled.
“what did you say?”
“nothing.”
silence stretched.
then quietly:
“he looked awful.”
you swallowed hard. don’t do this. don’t go back. don’t go back just because he’s hurting. but your brain had never mattered much where rafe was concerned. your body already knew the route to his house by memory.
sarah looked at you carefully. “did something happen between you guys?”
you laughed again. this one sounded closer to breaking. “something’s always happening with us.”
she didn’t smile. “he loves you, you know.”
the words hit like bruises now instead of comfort.“i know.”
“i’ve never seen him like this over anyone.”
you looked away toward the ocean because suddenly you felt sick again. “that’s kind of the problem.”
sarah went quiet after that because she understood. more than anybody else probably. she’d grown up inside the same house as him.
she knew what loving a cameron could cost somebody.
that night you dreamed about him. of course you did. in the dream he was standing in the ocean fully clothed, staring at you from far away.
not angry. not yelling just looking tired. waves crashed harder and harder against him, but he never moved. and somehow you knew — with dream logic certainty — that if you walked away, he’d let himself drown.
you woke up crying. your phone lit up beside you immediately.
3:14 a.m.
one voicemail from him. your hands shook before you even pressed play. for a second there was only silence then breathing.
“hey.”
his voice sounded wrecked, raspy like he hadn’t slept. you squeezed your eyes shut immediately.
silence again. you could hear wind in the background. maybe outside. maybe driving.
“i just wanted to hear your voice tonight.”
your throat tightened painfully. another pause then quieter: “something happened today and you were the first person i wanted to call.” your chest physically hurt now. “but i couldn’t.”
his breathing cracked slightly. “that’s probably good for you.”
you pressed your hand over your mouth hard. “i’m trying really hard not to come see you.”
the tears started immediately because he sounded honest.
“and i don’t know if you understand how hard that is for me.”
you could hear him swallow. hear the slight shake in his breathing.
“i keep reaching for my phone before i remember.”
another silence so long this time that you almost thought the voicemail ended. then:
“i miss you so bad it feels embarrassing.”
your entire body folded inward around the pain of it.
“i know you said you’re losing yourself,” he whispered. “and i swear to god i’m trying to let you go because maybe that’s what’s best for you.”
his voice broke completely there. you started crying harder.
“but i don’t know how to do that.”
the wind crackled sharply through the speaker. then very softly: “i don’t know how to exist in a world where i can’t reach you anymore.”
the voicemail ended.
you stared at the screen for a long time afterward then finally looked at the call button. your thumb hovered over it.
one press. that’s all it would take and every wall you’d spent the past week trying to build would collapse instantly.
you knew that. you knew it with horrifying certainty. your thumb shook harder. then your phone buzzed suddenly before you could decide.
incoming call.
rafe. 3:27 a.m.
your breath caught. he was calling again. probably because he knew you listened to the voicemail. you stared at the screen while your heartbeat hammered painfully against your ribs.
ringing.
ringing.
ringing.
without fully meaning to you answered. silence. you could hear him breathing immediately. sharp inhale on the other end like he couldn’t believe it actually worked.
neither of you spoke.
then finally, in a voice so small it barely sounded like him at all: “hi, baby.”
the second you heard his voice, every carefully constructed thought in your head collapsed. all week you’d been trying to turn him into something survivable.
a lesson. a phase. a relationship that hurt too much and therefore had to end. but then he said hi, baby in that exhausted wrecked voice, and suddenly he was just rafe again.
your rafe. the one who fell asleep with his hand wrapped in your shirt like you might disappear overnight. the one who got mean when he was scared. the one who loved you so intensely it felt radioactive.
you covered your mouth hard to stop the sound that almost came out of you. on the other end of the line, his breathing shook. “you answered.”
you squeezed your eyes shut. “i shouldn’t have.”
“probably not.”
god. even now. even now he sounded sadder about ruining you than losing you. silence stretched between you. you could hear tires against pavement. he was driving. immediate panic hit your chest.“where are you?”
a pause. “nowhere.”
“rafe.”
another pause. “outside your house.”
your entire body went cold. you sat upright instantly, heart hammering. “what?”
“i’m not doing anything,” he said quickly, hearing the fear immediately. “i swear. i just—” his voice cracked. “i just wanted to be close to you for a minute.”
you looked toward your bedroom window automatically even though the curtains were closed.
suddenly you could picture it perfectly. his truck parked somewhere down your street. hands gripping the steering wheel. eyes exhausted and bloodshot. waiting not because he wanted to scare you because he genuinely didn’t know where else to put all this love.
your chest hurt so violently it felt impossible to breathe through it. “how long have you been there?”
“like an hour.”
“rafe —”
“i know.” you heard him laugh softly at himself. “i know it’s fucked up.”
tears burned instantly behind your eyes again. “why didn’t you call?”
“because i said i was trying to leave you alone.”
the silence afterward nearly killed you because that was the tragedy of him.
he was trying. in all the wrong ways, maybe, but he was trying so hard it was tearing him apart.
“i hate this,” you whispered.
you heard his breathing hitch sharply through the phone. “yeah,” he whispered back. “me too.”
another silence then suddenly: “can i see you?”
your heart twisted so hard it felt dangerous “rafe…”
“just for five minutes.”
“it’s three in the morning.”
“i know.” his voice sounded thin now. fraying at the edges. “please.”
that word again. please. rafe never begged anybody for anything except you.
you pressed the heel of your hand hard against your eyes. “you can’t keep doing this.”
“i know.”
“showing up outside my house —”
“i know.”
“calling me crying at three a.m.—”
“i know.” each answer quieter than the last. “i just don’t know how to stop.”
there it was. the truth. raw and ugly and impossible to fix. you started crying silently againbecause he sounded genuinely ashamed.
“talk to me,” he whispered immediately when he heard your breathing change.
you couldn’t. your throat hurt too badly on the other end, you heard him exhale shakily. “are you crying?”
you laughed once through tears. “what do you think?”
his silence said everything. you imagined him gripping the wheel tighter. head tipped back against the seat. eyes shut trying not to come apart. “don’t cry because of me,” he said softly.
the sentence hit so wrong it almost made you angry. “everything is because of you.”
he inhaled sharply and you regretted it immediately.
“no, it’s okay.” that awful calm voice again. “you’re right.”
“that’s not what i meant.”
“yeah, it is.”
you could hear the self-hatred bleeding through him now slowly poisoning everything. “i keep thinking about what you said.”
your stomach dropped. “what part?”
“that you’re losing yourself.” his voice sounded far away suddenl like he was speaking from somewhere underwater. “i can’t stop hearing it.”
you pressed your hand harder over your mouth.
“you know what’s fucked up?” he whispered. you stayed silent. “i think i knew already.”
fresh tears slipped down your face. “rafe…”
“i saw it happening.”
his breathing cracked slightly.
“every time you looked tired. every time you flinched at loud noises. every time you checked your phone too fast because you thought i got arrested or overdosed or wrapped my truck around a tree.”
you squeezed your eyes shut harder because all of it was true. every word.
“and i kept loving you anyway.” his voice finally broke completely there. “i loved you more every time you stayed.”
your chest caved inward because that was the sickness of it. your suffering had become proof of love to him. how could it not have? nobody had ever stayed before. not really. not after seeing the ugliest parts.
except you.
you stayed through every shattered thing and somewhere along the way, rafe started measuring love by endurance by who could survive him longest. “i’m sorry,” he whispered suddenly.
not loud. just devastated. “i’m so fucking sorry for what loving me turned you into.”
you started sobbing hard enough it hurt and on the other end of the line, you heard him make this horrible broken sound in response like hearing you cry physically injured him.
“baby,” he choked out immediately. “baby, please—”
“i miss you,” you admitted suddenly.
the confession ripped out of you before you could stop it. silence. dead silence.
“don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” his voice sounded terrified. actually terrified.
“i mean it.”
you heard him inhale shakily hope itself hurt. “i miss you every second,” you whispered. “it feels like there’s something under my skin all the time.”
a quiet wrecked laugh escaped him. “yeah.”
“and i hate you for making me like this.”
another silence then very softly: “i know.”
you looked toward the window again. your entire body aching with the urge to run outside and climb into his lap and let him hold you until morning.
which was exactly why you shouldn’t because loving him had started feeling less like a relationship and more like a mutual suicide pact.
emotionally first. everything else later.
“can i ask you something?” he said quietly.
“okay.”
you heard him swallow. “if i was different…”
your heart immediately started breaking all over again. “rafe—”
“just answer me.”
his voice trembled slightly. “if i was better… would this still have worked?”
tears slipped silently down your face.
because underneath all the anger and obsession and destruction, that was the real thing haunting him.
not does she love me. he knew you did. the real question was: would she have survived loving me if i’d been someone else?
you stared blindly into the dark of your bedroom then whispered the worst possible truth. “i think i would’ve loved you forever.”
you heard him stop breathing. completely. for one terrible second neither of you moved or spoke and then on the other end of the line, very quietly — like the sound was dragged out of him against his will — you heard rafe start crying.
you had never heard him cry like that before. not the quiet tears from the party.
not the angry frustrated choking-back-emotion thing he usually did. this was different. this sounded helpless like something inside him had finally given out.
you sat frozen in your bed listening to him try and fail to breathe normally on the other end of the phone, and it felt like somebody was reaching into your chest with bare hands.
“rafe…”
he laughed weakly through it, humiliated already. “sorry.”
that almost destroyed you more than the crying itself because even now, falling apart felt embarrassing to him.
“don’t apologize.”
“can’t really help it.”
his voice sounded wrecked beyond repair. you could picture him perfectly now without even looking outside. head bent forward over the steering wheel.
eyes squeezed shut.
trying desperately to pull himself back together before you heard too much.you realized suddenly that nobody had probably ever held him through this before.
through grief. through fear. through shame. people only ever dealt with rafe in extremes — anger, violence, ego, recklessness. nobody stayed long enough to witness what happened after.
the collapse and somehow that made your love feel unbearably sad.
“i didn’t mean to cry,” he admitted quietly.
your eyes burned again. “you don’t have to sound guilty about it.”
“yeah, well.” a shaky exhale. “kinda hard not to.”
“are you alone?” you asked finally.
“yeah.”
“have you been drinking?” a pause. “a little.”
your stomach tightened. “how much is a little?”
another pause. “enough.”
you shut your eyes hard. of course. you heard him shift around in the truck. “don’t do that.”
“do what?”
“go quiet like you’re disappointed in me.”
your throat tightened painfully. “i’m not disappointed.”
“then what?”
you didn’t answer immediately because the truth was exhausting. you were scare all the time. scared he’d die. scared he’d hurt somebody. scared he’d destroy himself slowly while you stood there loving him helplessly. scared that one day the phone would ring and this entire nightmare relationship would suddenly become irreversible.
“i’m tired,” you whispered finally.
he went silent after that; you could hear the engine idling softly in the background. then “yeah.”
just that. yeah like he understood exactly what kind of tired you meant. not sleepy: soul tired. the kind that settled into your bones after loving someone too destructively for too long.
you wiped at your face roughly. “you should go home.”
he laughed softly. “you know that’s the last place i wanna be.”
“rafe.”
“i know.”
you heard him sniff once quietly. trying to recover. trying to sound like himself again. it hurt worse somehow.
“do you remember that night on the boat?” he asked suddenly.
your heart twisted immediately. of course you remembered.
it had been late august, storm coming in. the two of you alone off the marsh because he’d shown up at your house bleeding from the mouth after another fight with ward.
you’d cleaned his face up in silence while he stared at you like he was dying.
later, the storm got worse. rain hitting the boat roof hard enough to sound violent. and rafe — half-drunk, exhausted, eyes soft in that dangerous vulnerable way — had suddenly asked:
do you ever think maybe we met at the wrong time?
you hadn’t answered then either because what could you even say to that?
“yeah,” you whispered.
he was quiet for a long moment. then: “i think about that night all the time.”
your chest ached. “why?”
another pause.
“because that was the first time i realized loving you felt good and horrible at the same time.”
tears slipped down your face silently. “rafe…”
“i remember looking at you and thinking…” his voice cracked slightly. “thinking that if i touched you enough maybe i’d stop feeling so fucking empty all the time.”
you covered your mouth hard because that was the tragedy of him in one sentence.
he didn’t love gently. he loved like starving and eventually starving people consumed everything around them, including themselves to satisfy her hunger.
“you know what the worst part is?” he whispered.
you couldn’t answer. “sometimes it worked.”
you started crying again immediately because you knew exactly what he meant.
there were moments.
moments where lying beside him felt so intimate and raw and devastatingly human that it almost convinced you this could survive.
late nights tangled together while he talked quietly about things he never told anyone else.
his sleepy hand finding yours automatically under blankets.
the rare genuine smiles. the way he looked at you like the world got quieter when you walked into it.
those moments ruined you because they made leaving impossible.
“i loved those parts of you,” you whispered.
you heard him inhale shakily. “which parts?”
“the soft ones.”
silence then a broken laugh. “there’s not enough of those to save this.”
you cried harder because he sounded certain now. certain in a way that terrified you. “don’t say that.”
“why not?”
his voice stayed painfully calm. “you already know it.”
you couldn’t breathe correctly anymore. your entire chest felt crushed under the weight of this conversation.
“i think…” he stopped. started again quieter. “i think i loved you so much i stopped seeing you as a person.”
your heartbeat stuttered. “what?”
he swallowed audibly. “you became…” another shaky breath. “everything.” the word hung horribly between you but you continued. “my mood depended on you. whether i slept depended on you. whether i felt okay for five fucking minutes depended on you.”
he laughed weakly at himself. “that’s not love, is it?”
you shut your eyes tightly because part of it was love. that was what made this so awful. buried underneath all the obsession and fear and dependency was real genuine love. which meant neither of you got to dismiss this as fake. it would’ve been easier if it was fake.
“i don’t know,” you whispered honestly.
he was quiet for a long time after that. then finally: “i think i ruined the best thing that ever happened to me.”
your chest physically hurt. “you were the best thing that ever happened to me too.”
the second the words left your mouth, you heard him break all over again. a sharp inhale, similar to one of a kicked puppy.
“don’t.”
“it’s true.”
“please don’t say shit like that right now.” his voice trembled violently.
“why?”
because maybe if you hadn’t loved him back so deeply, this would’ve been easier. because maybe mutual destruction hurt worse than one-sided heartbreak. because maybe hearing that he mattered this much to you was the final thing pushing him toward collapse.
you heard movement suddenly. a car door opening.your stomach dropped instantly.
“rafe?”
“i just need air.”
“where are you going?”
“nowhere.”
panic crept sharply up your spine. “are you driving?” silence. “rafe.”
“i can’t sit here anymore.”
your pulse hammered. “you’ve been drinking.”
“i’m fine.”
“don’t lie to me.”
he breathed shakily into the phone. “i just…” his voice cracked apart again. “i just wanna see you so bad.”
you started crying harder immediately.
because he sounded desperate, so unbearably desperate.
“please,” he whispered suddenly. “please just let me see you for five minutes.”
you looked toward your bedroom door. toward the window. toward the version of your life that existed before him and then toward the one that existed now.
the terrifying thing was that you already knew which one you were about to choose.
18+ He loves when you make out with his tip. ⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢
You’re kneeling between his spread thighs, the room quiet except for his ragged breathing. His length is thick and heavy in your hand, flushed dark and already leaking. You lean in and start slow, pressing soft, warm kisses right to the swollen head, letting your lips linger there like you’re kissing his mouth. He groans low, one hand gently cupping the back of your head. “Fuck, baby…” His voice is wrecked already. “Just like that.”
You smile against him and kiss him again, deeper this time. Your lips part, tongue sliding out to swirl around the sensitive tip, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum that keeps leaking for you. You make out with it lazily — open-mouthed, wet kisses, sucking gently on the head before pulling back to kiss it again, over and over.
Every time your tongue flicks across his slit, his hips twitch, and he lets out a shaky moan. You keep going, treating just the tip like it’s the only thing that matters, kissing, licking, sucking softly while your hand strokes the rest of his length.
He’s breathing hard now, fingers lightly resting on your shoulder, but he never pushes. He just watches you with dark, hazy, loving eyes, completely lost in the sight of you making out with his arousal. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “Look at you… kissing me like you love it more than anything.”
You hum happily around him and take the head back into your mouth, sucking a little harder while your tongue swirls. He groans louder, thighs tensing around you as pleasure builds.
He doesn’t last long after that. With a moan of your name, he spills across your tongue in thick, hot pulses. You keep kissing and licking him through it, gentle and sweet, until he’s trembling and pulling you up into his arms.
⤷ sfw headcanons (there will be part two for nsfw)
not proofread coz i cba </3 — au masterlist
wc: 3k
AFFECTION
• For chris, limited affection. Has too many enemies to be completely affectionate, he really doesnt need people knowing he has a soft spot in general let alone the idea someone could take advantage of that and put her in harms way. In private, constant holding her. Wont even let her walk around his house without being by her side, likes to know shes safe at all times or he just cant function at all. He genuinely hates not being able to let everyone know that hes hers so he makes up for it by being very possessive in private.
• sunny most of all craves feeling safe. She only has her brother at home and in no way does he communicate any form of affection other than his unwavering hatred of chris and anyone who annoys her. She doesnt see her brothers defense as safety, it only makes people want to cross him out of amusement. Thats exactly why chris stays away, sunny prefers it that way. She knows hed be there as soon as she needs it, he makes her know shes always safe. She doesnt like being affectionate and she keeps to herself but in terms of chris its the only time she feels she can fully relax and be comfortable. She loves how close he wants to be when its just them.
BONDING
• With sunnys high knowledge of almost every topic, chris loves to be able to teach her things. How to roll, how to act in certain situations, how to fight. Sunny doesnt make him feel dumb for his lack in academics and he loves feeling like he has an equal. The sharing of knowledge is his way of bonding and feeling closer to her. Its a non burdening way to share what goes on in his mind.
• Sunny just loves being in his environment. Sneaking out for car drives, going to new places and for once not feeling the weight of having to socialise because its not the same with chris. Its just existing together rather than having to entertain or perform for each other.
COMFORT
• Chris has a history of ruining things by saying the wrong thing and not thinking. Whenever he feels hes on the edge of creating conflict with sunny or saying something even vaguely harsh, he just kisses her. Its a way to shut himself up, show sunny its not her and that he doesnt want to lose her. If sunnys mad at him fully, and he knows he cant kiss her, he really struggles. He knows her boundaries so he wont push them, but he’ll let her get everything she wants her to say out before even being close enough to kiss her. Hes big on physical affection with sunny because it finally means something.
• Sunny knows chris struggles with his anger, and shes been surrounded by angry men her whole life. The easiest way to know shes still safe even in those high tension moments is with chris’ hands. Just holding his hand gently of feeling him holding her lets her know hed never use them for anything aggressive. she use to find any hand movements and gestures to be triggering but now its the easiest way for her to find comfort.
DREAMS
• Chris never saw himself having a future, going from high risk situations to the next, he was sure it would eventually be the last one. He cant rely on that anymore, he wants safety and he wants that with sunny. He wants her to be happy and he believes only he can keep her completely safe.
• Sunny wants a private life, one thats calm and secure because shes never had that. Shes lived in fight or flight and she doesnt want that to be her entire life. Before chris, she never felt she could have that. She truly feels eventually they can have that together, but she knows its a matter of time.
EMERGENCIES
• His number one priority is always sunny, he will let himself be a punching bag as long as shes safe. Chris would use every ounce of energy in his body to defend her if he had too. Hes probably at his most confident when he is actually protecting her, hes skeptic a lot of the time and is convinced that calm never lasts long, so when there is actually something to defend her from he feels its more logical somethings gone wrong for him but he knows he can handle it no matter the situation.
• Sunny can only close in on herself, it takes her so long to feel even remotely okay after any dangerous situation because shes always waiting for the next one. She tends to just let it play out, feeling that its inevitable. Chris is determined to help her to look after herself, he can help her when hes actually there but in order to hide his soft spot for her, he cant be there all the time. Chris knows she can take care of herself, but shes reached the point of feeling theres no point in it anymore. Hes working to change that.
FAMILY
• Chris has a comfortable family, theyre relatively well off and he doesnt need the money yet, but he knows he will when he has to move out. His brothers havnt got themselves stuck in that business or those groups unlike chris, but now he cant get himself out of those. He keeps his family safe from risk but they worry he cant keep himself safe.
• sunny only has her brother. Their dad drove their mum away through his anger and mistreatment of her but when she left he didnt feel he should be left with the responsibility to look after them two so he left. Her brother ends up taking his anger out on her despite his only drive being to keep her safe. sunny sees it as an excuse to be violent than there being any truth in that statement.
GIFTS
• chris has like an INSANE amount of money saved up. it was originally to fund his life after moving out but now hes fully willing to spend it on sunny as a way to apologise if hes been an asshole. he'd buy her ANYTHING, fully willing to buy her a pet, a car, hundred dollars shopping spree, anything.
• okay chris is so whipped that he sees her being around him as a gift and im not exaggerating. would endlessly say thank you for her existing in his company if he wouldn't get embarrassed from it. sunny loves to buy him flowers, he acts all stupid like its a weird gift for him to be receiving but he loooves it. its a little piece of sunny for him to keep around when shes not over and he'll just stare at them and daydream about her.
HONESTY
• he doesnt want to be a liar. but he does. he sees it as protecting her, if its not endangering her and the truth doesn't yet impact her directly (he wouldn't lie about betraying her like being with another girl - he wouldn't do that in the first place) then he will lie and consider it a white lie or just bending the truth. it tends to be where they arguments originate from, sunny doesnt like being left in the dark as it just makes her feel vulnerable.
• she lies about herself, what shes thinking, how shes feeling etc. people see her as weak anyway and she doesnt need to keep providing them with evidence to back up that point. she knows she can be honest with chris but its still a little difficult
I LOVE YOU
• hes not good at specifically saying it. his way of it is in physical affection, gift giving, acts of service etc. he thinks he doesnt even deserve to say it, shes just so loveable it feels like hes like overwatering a plant if he tries too hard, hes desperate not to force her to feel any type of way. theyre also not dating so he keeps that excuse but if he ever did say it, hes not letting himself leave the conversation as anything except her boyfriend. until hes confident she wants that then hes not saying it
• she struggles, too shy in general let alone the pressure it would come with. she feels its almost burdening the universe to make sure he ends up betraying her because thats what everyone else in her life has done. she doesnt want to “curse” him by saying it
JEALOUSY
• yall know exactly what im gonna say - he gets so extremely jealous that he doesnt even know what to do with himself. his limits himself to protecting her when its an actual threat, but one is someone flirting with her or looking for too long, he doesnt know how to treat the situation. shes not actively in danger so he kind of has to let it play out even if it killllsss him. he'll be extra touchy when they hang out next tho.
• sunny started going to parties more because she likes just being in the same room as him even if they have their rules about not talking. but hearing the girls go on and on about his past with them or how much they wished they could be with him just crushes her persona of having well controlled emotions. she spends a lot of time thinking about whether or not she should ask chris for them to stop hiding them from everyone but shes yet to brave that conversation
KIDS
• chris is way too scared to even think about having kids. he knows he'll want whatever sunny wants and thats as far he can think without having a mental crisis
• sunny is really similar. living life in and next to risk has made her never feel comfortable enough to actually settle so she cant even picture herself as a mother figure (despite the fact she'd obviously make a great mum)
LISTENING
• Hes a very obvious listener, if you think hes listening he is, but if you think he isnt then he definitely isnt. He makes it obvious, staring directly into sunnys eyes and giving her his undivided attention and completely shuts up. If his eyes dart away to something else, he has no clue what was said. Sunny gets the better end of this treatment, he does his best to always listen especially when she isnt the best at verbalising her feelings
• Sunny isnt good at verbalising her feeling but chris is a whole different ballpark. He doesnt even want to wear his emotions on his face because hes always on a look out for any threats. When hes with sunny hes much more able to let go of the tension so when she is “listening” to him, it tends to be more giving him the space to just breathe properly.
MORNINGS
• Sunnys brother knows that chris is there, but he sneaks out anyways. Chris has an irrational fear that if he leaves before she wakes up then something will happen to her or she literally wont wake up. He has to say goodbye before he goes, which works well with sunnys needs too. She felt abandoned all the time anyway but sharing her space with chris has made it much more difficult to be in spaces where she can feel his presence but hes not actually there. Shes much more comfortable when she knows hes gone and in what emotion he left so she knows hes okay and that he will come back.
NEEDS
• Chris has never been good at being by himself, while refusing to open up to them he will always be in the company of people, whether theyre family friends or strangers at a party. He’ll always be emotionally and a little physically distant but its different with sunny. When theyre together he has to be a physically close as possible as if she’ll evaporate or even he himself will.
• Sunny hates being with people to a new degree, its the most uncomfortable thing in the world for her. She hates feeling at threat of anything serious or just embrassment. For her to not spiral with overthinking, she needs to know that chris takes her seriously. He has to listen when she talks, she wants to be his number one priority at all moments otherwise she will pull away completely feeling as if he never cared it the first place like she was just a joke to him.
OTHERS
• Chris is highly protective over everyone in his life (if you couldnt tell already). He has his ways of keeping constant tabs on everyone to make sure theyre safe but is also the reason he doesnt have many close friends. He doesnt want to care about too many people otherwise the amount of protection he can give lessens. He wont let people in due to fear something will happen that he couldnt save them from.
• Sunny refuses to be close to people, feeling like theyre just gonna walk out any second. She’ll act like she prefers being by herself but she just feels as if anything else is a waste of time. She always has the idea in the back of her head that chris will leave her too.
PDA
• Mentioned a little before but they have an agreement not to socialise or anything in public for both of their safety. Sunnys brother has a lot of enemies and so does chris and they dont feel its worth the risk. Everyone who vaguely knows them thinks that sunny is essentially banned from being around chris because of when she took his pills.
QUARREL
• They argue somewhat frequently. Its because they both care so much and that feeling is new to them so they arent the best at treating it. Sunny worries chris is careless sometimes with his job as a dealer and chris is too hyperaware of who sunny is near (her brothers friends etc) and also thinks she is careless sometimes. They dont always verbalising their care for each other and leave that up to physically showing it (lol) and then they only time they communicate is to in effect argue.
ROMANCE
• Chris prefers buying gifts as i think i said before, on both short and long periods of time that he cant be there, he’ll get her any kind of gift to show that he cares and how he wishes he could be there. It also gives sunny a little comfort that hes always looking out for her.
• Sunny is working on opening up, chris understands her struggles with it. So every time shes a little reliant on chris, he values it more than someone else would, its a little bit of trust that she wouldnt give to someone else.
STRESS
• I feel like a lot if self explanatory from the rest of what ive said lol buttt an example of a time hes been stressed is when chris cant come over coz sunnys brother is doing a big deal or meeting and shes in the house with him. He really thinks its not safe but sunny refuses to let chris sneak in because if he turns up and they spot him, its even riskier for him. Chris really doesnt like the people she has to be around sometimes.
TRUST
• Chris trusts sunny with most things except her ability to look after herself. Sometimes when shes feeling bad she struggles to care which chris is always hyper aware of. Sunny as ive said feels like chris might just walk away and not talk to her again so shes not good at letting him do stuff or be there for her all the time if shes struggling.
UNIQUE
• Chris has a super cool black cat he has a really big soft spot for, no one really knows he has one because he wont let anyone come over buttt since sunny found a way to sneak into his house without his family seeing, she knows and adores him. Chris sometimes uses it to convince her to come overrr
• Sunny use to have instruments and she was really good at playing them. She really loved it and made her own music but then her brother unexpectedly sold all of it because he owed someone money :(
VACATION
• They both wanna stay somewhere with a beach. Secluded enough they can enjoy each others company without stress and then it would have a lot of air since theyre both trapped in places that smell of weed most of the time. Chris is saving up to take her at some point if he can convince her brother to let him.
XTRA
• One random thing i can see them doing is when they have the house to themselves, they dont use it to yknow be at loud as they want (they can kinda do that anyway because her brother wont walk in on them), sunny uses it as an excuse to show chris around the house like that tiktok trend where people would show their pets things they havnt seen before like the inside of the microwave I HOPE SOMEONE KNOWS WHAT I MEAN OR I SOUND CRAZY, but yeah sunny shows him random things and ends up yapping his ear off because she loves explaining things and chris find it adorable :)
YEARNING
• Chris thinks about sunny day and night, 24/7. Shes like a little angel on his shoulder thats just enough to motivate him throughout his daily activities. He always makes sure to know the next time he sees her so that he always has something to look forward too.
• Sunny doesnt find yearning a comfortable state to be in so she kind of forces herself not too. But when shes actually with chris shes quite clingy and attached at the hip to him but not verbally. As you can tell she has a bad fear of abandonment so it affects her “relationship” with chris a lot.
ZZZ
• Its got to the point they both struggle to sleep when they arent together. They are so constantly worked up about the other one being in danger or just leaving that if feels like they already have/are when they dont wake up and see them. They are literally obsessed with each other they both are just said of the consequences of verbalising and showing it all the time :(
creds to anyone with an au like this :> (i know it best from @/sturnioz)
