SUMMARY - After the events that went down during the tourney, you are beginning to look less and less like a friend to Taliya.
CONTAINS - direct continuation, reader is a tyrell, reader is evil and manipulative, aerion is aerion, read part one
A/N - got carried away, oops. I'm so open to expanding on this reader or this story in general I'm not ready to let go
"You..." Taliya's voice was barely heard, thick with tears that she was desperately trying to hold back. "He asked for yours. You said... You told me you were trying to help me."
"I only gave it to him because he is a prince, Taliya. I couldn't humiliate him or myself in front of the king. You understand that, dont you?" You lied, reaching out to squeeze her wrist.
For a second, Taliya looked completely lost, her mind warring between the devastating reality of what had just happened and the absolute, fake warmth you were radiating.
She let out a broken sniffle, pulling her hand away to press it against her trembling lips.
â"I... I need to leave," she choked out, unable to look at you or the arena for another second.
"Of course," you whispered back instantly, leaning in to pat her arm. "Go back to the keep and rest. I'll come check on you the very moment the melee is over."
âYou watched her turn and flee from the pavilion, her head bowed to hide her crying face from the crowd.
The moment her back was turned and she was swallowed up by the crowd, the pity melted off your face in less than a second.
Turning back to the arena, you rested your chin in your hand, a tiny smile finally touching your lips as you watched Aerion tie your green silk ribbon tightly around his arm, ready to bleed the field dry for you.
Dinner was louder than usual that night. The melee had been a bloodbath, exactly as everyone expected, and Aerion had stood victorious at the center of it all, your pale green ribbon stained with the dust and blood of his opponents.
You were idly picking at a pastry when a shadow fell over your table.
"My lady."
âAerion stood there, simply extending a hand, his wrist still adorned with your ribbon.
â"The King demands a dance from the victor," Aerion said, his voice smooth. "And I demand the presence of the lady who granted me her favour."
You let out a delicate breath, looking up at him with wide eyes. Your fingers slipped into his palm without hesitation.
"It would be my honour, my Prince." You smiled, standing up as the crowd cheered.
He pulled you close and led you toward the center of the floor where the musicians were shifting into a slow, heavy measure.
As soon as you were among the swirling crowd, away from the prying ears of your family, Aerion brought you even closer.
His hand on your waist was firm, pressing you against his chest.
â"You played your part exceptionally well today, little rose," he murmured against your temple, "the Tully girl looked as though she was going to vomit when I took your ribbon."
âYou didn't flinch at his bluntness, you tilted your head up, keeping your face perfectly hidden from the rest of the room on his shoulder.
â"I have no idea what you mean, my Prince," you lied smoothly, your tone a soft, mocking pitch. "Poor Taliya was simply heartbroken that you didn't notice her. I was merely trying to shield her from your cruelty."
â"You are a liar," he whispered, his violet eyes flashing with possessive heat as he looked down at you. "A beautiful, vicious little liar. You wanted her to watch. You wanted everyone to see that you are the one I choose."
â"And if I did?" you murmured back, letting a fraction of your real, unbothered nature show in the curve of your smile. "A dragon doesn't care about a bit of collateral damage, does he?"
â"Never," Aerion replied, his thumb dragging sharply over your hip. "In fact, I find it thoroughly entertaining."
You found yourself smiling harder at that, slightly turning your head down at his comment.
The feast lasted for hours, but you slipped away, informing your father that you were getting sleepy.
Walking through the quiet corridors, your pulse was steady, and your mind entirely clear.
When you reached the front of your chambers, you didn't enter. Instead, you walked down the hall to Taliyaâs room.
Her door was unlocked. Inside, the candles had burned down to stubs.
Taliya was huddled on the edge of her bed, still wearing the wrinkled blue gown from the tourney. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her face was stained from hours of crying.
â"Taliya," you breathed, rushed and anxious, instantly crossing the room to sink onto the mattress beside her.
You reached out, wrapping your arms around her shoulders, pulling her into an embrace.
âTaliya didn't hug you back this time. Her arms remained heavy in her lap, her body completely stiff against yours.
â"Everyone was looking at me," she whispered, her voice hoarse from weeping. "When he took your ribbon... everyone whispered. They laughed. I could hear them."
â"They are vultures, all of them," you cooed into her hair.
Over her shoulder, your eyes stared blankly into the dark corner of the room, struggling to feel a thing.
"They don't know your worth, Taliya. Prince Aerion is a monster for what he did today. He intentionally used me to humiliate you."
âTaliya pulled back just enough to look at you, her red eyes searching your face. "But why did you dance with him tonight? I heard the music. If he was being cruel to me... why did you let him hold your hand?"
You squeezed her hands with practiced guilt, leaning in until your foreheads almost touched.
â"Because I was terrified, Taliya!" you cried softly, your voice cracking with fear.
"You know what he is. If I had refused him, if I had publicly slighted the Prince after he won the melee... he would have ruined my family. I did it to keep his anger from all of us."
A fresh wave of tears spilled over her cheeks, and she finally collapsed against your chest, sobbing violently into your green silk gown.
â"I want to go home," she wept, her fingers clutching desperately at your sleeves. "I hate this place. I want to go back to Riverrun."
â"No, no, you mustn't run away," you said quickly, leaning in close and looking at her with fierce intensity.
"If you pack your bags and flee to the Riverlands now, everyone at court will know he broke your spirit. They'll laugh even louder, Taliya" You gave her hands a desperate squeeze.
âTaliya looked completely lost, her mind stuck between her devastating humiliation and the fake warmth you were radiating.
"Alright.. Just, I need time to think. My mind is clouded with tears." She nodded, curling into herself and turning her back toward you.
With that, you rose from the bed and walked out of her chambers, letting out a sigh of relief as you closed the door.
The morning after the tourney, the highborn ladies gathered in the sunlit gallery, the air was thick with the scrape of needles through linen.
It was a picture of absolute serenity, a staged haven of courtly peace, but beneath all of it the murmurs of the tourney were still fresh.
You sat near the tall window, the bright morning light catching the delicate gold embroidery below your collarbone.
Your hands were steady as you worked a silver thread through a pattern of green leaves, your expression perfectly placid, a smile gracing your lips whenever an older septa passed by.
To anyone watching, you were the very picture of a dutiful lady of Highgarden.
Directly across from you sat Taliya.
She had forced herself to come down, desperate to prove to the court that her spirit hadnât been crushed by the princeâs public snub.
Where you were a vision of calm, Taliya was unravelled. Her skin was pale, save for the dark hollow shadows beneath her eyes, and she hadnât touched her cup of sweetened wine since she sat down.
Most telling of all, however, was her gaze.
Taliya wasnât looking at her fabrics. She was watching you.
Every time you paused to select a new thread, every time you offered a comforting nod to a lady who whispered a word of greeting. Her eyes tracked the movement.
She was looking at your fingers. Flawless, unbothered, not a single tremble in sight.
She was remembering the panicked, concerned girl who had held her hand in the dark just hours ago, swearing she was terrified of the Princeâs volatile nature.
Yet here you were, completely serene. There was no fear in the curve of your shoulders, no lingering anxiety in the way you carried yourself.
âYouâve chosen a beautiful shade of green, my lady,â a minor lord chirped, leaning over to admire your needlework. âIt matches the favour Prince Aerion wore yesterday.â
The gallery went subtly quiet, several heads turning to catch your reaction.
You let your needle pause, your eyes slightly rounding in a display of beautiful surprise. A flush rose to your cheeks.
âThe prince was merely teasing my family, I am sure,â you said softly, your voice melodic and entirely convincing to the ears around you.
You turned your face slightly, offering Taliya a look of sorrowful sympathyâa reassurance meant only for her.
But the lie did not settle the way it usually did.
Across the table, her needle snapped sharply in her grip. She didnât weep this time. She stared at your face, watching the way your lips curved into that familiar comforting shape.
For the first time, she wasnât seeing a friend, she saw the seemingly absent warmth beneath your lips.
âTaliya?â you whispered, tone dripping with gentle sisterly concern as you leaned forward. âAre you quite well? Perhaps we should return to your chambers.â
At first, Taliya did not answer. She slowly pulled her hand back from the ruined embroidery, the pieces beginning to align in her mind.
âI am quite well,â she responded, voice dropping an octave. She looked directly into your eyes, her gaze tracing the smooth, unblemished line of your jaw. âIn fact, I have never felt more clear-headed.â
Before you could say anything back, the bells of the Red Keep began to toll, echoing through the walls of the gallery.
It was the call for the midday court, the hour when the lords and ladies would gather to discuss important matters.
The older septa clapped her hands, dismissing the embroidery circle. Around you, the maidens rose in a flurry of soft chatter, gathering their belongings and smoothing their skirts.
Your movements were fluid as you stood up, you carefully folded your linen, fingers smoothing the green leaves you had embroidered with immaculate care.
When you looked back at Taliya, you offered her your arm. âCome,â your voice was a low sound, meant to soothe a grieving friend.
Taliya stared at your extended arm for a moment. Then, with a stiffness that made her look odd, she slid her hands around your forearm.
Her grip wasnât the soft clinging touch of a frightened girl anymore, evident in the way her fingers clamped down against your sleeve with digging pressure.
You didnât flinch. Your stride remained perfectly even as you guided her into the wide corridors that led to the castleâs heart.
As you walked, you navigated the crowd with proper charm. You inclined your head to an elderly lord from house Blackwood, you offered a dazzling smile to a pair of passing squires who quickly scrambled to clear a path for you.
But under the rustle of the crowd, Taliya leaned in close, her breath hot against your temples.
âLast night, you told me you danced with him out of fear,â Taliya whispered with her eyes fixed forward. âYou said you only gave him your hand to keep his malice away from us.â
You continued walking the same pace, your composure remaining unaffected. âI did,â you replied with ease.
âThen why,â Taliya hissed, her fingers digging deeper into your arm, her voice shaky with sudden clarity, âdid you look so beautiful doing it? I.. I lied last night. I watched you after returning to my room. You didnât falter once.â
You paused just outside of the Great Hall, where the crowd was thinning as people streamed inside.
Your expression softened into a look of profound, deeply hurt innocence as you turned to face her.
âTaliya,â you breathed, your voice cracking slightly, âhow can you say such a thing? I was terrified to my very soul. If I smiled, it was only because a lady must never let the court see her weakness.â
For a second, Taliya might have believed it. She might have burst into tears and begged for your forgiveness.
Yet as she stared at you, she noticed how eerily still you were. There was no sweat on your palms, no real heat in your skin.
Taliya let go of your arm, stepping back a single pace. Her face hardened, a look of spite igniting behind her swollen eyes.
âThe heralds are calling,â she spoke, her words entirely flat. âLet us go inside.â
You slipped away from her with a gentle, reassuring squeeze of her hand, stepping into the gathering of house Tyrell. Your father stood near the front, flanked by his knights and companions.
As you took your place beside him, you smoothed your skirts, folding your hands neatly over your waist.
You offered an almost shy smile to a pair of ladies from the Reach who murmured praises about your grace.
Across the aisle, Taliya stood rigid beside her father. Her stance was an interesting sight. There seemed to be no movement in her body as her father conversed with her.
The doors at the back of the hall creaked open once more.
Aerion stepped through.
He didnât look toward the lords surrounding him. Instead, his violet eyes searched around your area, briefly landing on you before stopping at your father.
He walked with purpose, his silver hair gleaming in the sunlight.
Your father inclined his head with reverence as the prince approached. âPrince Aerion, the Reach is ever honoured by the presence of the royal blood.â
Aerion offered your father a polite nod of his own. His voice, when he spoke, was smooth and carried beautifully across the silent hall, commanding the attention of every ear.
âThe honour is mine, Lord Tyrell,â Aerion said, peeking a glance at you.
âI have come before the court today on a matter of great import to my house. Your daughter has entirely captured my favour, and I find myself unwilling to look elsewhere. I have come for your blessing to take her as my betrothed.â
A sharp intake of breath rippled through the gathered nobility. Whispers erupted and your fatherâs eyes flared with shock, a proud smile breaking across his face.
On cue, you took a half a step forward. A look of surprise also washed over your features, your lashes fluttering before you looked up at Aerion with a radiant smile. You sank into a graceful curtsy.
âFather,â you called, your voice sweet, clear, and humble. âThe Prince honours our house beyond measure. If it pleases you, it would be my greatest joy to accept.â
âHouse Tyrell gladly gives our blessing, my Prince,â your father declared, booming with pride as he looked at you. âA glorious match.â
The court erupted into applause and excited buzz.
But from across the aisle, the final thread of Taliyaâs control snapped. The green ribbon, the dance, your accidental meetings with himâit all fused into a single blinding flash of betrayal.
Before her father could grasp her arm, Taliya broke from her house.
The crowd gasped and parted in utter confusion as the Tully girl stormed forward, her face twisting in unadulterated rage.
âTaliya?â you asked softly as she stopped directly in front of you.
You let your wide eyes fill with concerned confusion, tilting your head like a worried friend trying to calm a madwoman. âWhat isââ
Smack.
The sound of her palm striking your cheek echoed like a whip through the whispers of the room.
The noise died instantly. The entire court went dead, suffocatingly quiet.
Your head snapped sharply to the side by the force of the blow, your skirts rustling with the sudden movement.
For a second, completely hidden by the fall of your hair, the facade vanished from your face. Your eyes went cold and empty as you stood entirely steady.
You turned your face to the crowd, and the mask was seamlessly back in place.
A single tear slipped down your reddened, burning cheek. Your lower lip trembled, your hands flying to your sternum as you shrank back against your father, looking completely shocked and heartbroken by the sudden violence.
âTaliyaâŠâ your voice was barely above a whisper, cracking with a fragile gasp. âWhy⊠what have I done?â
For three heartbeats, the only sound was the heavy breathing of Taliya, who stood with her hand still raised, staring at you with wild, desperate fury.
Then, the room erupted.
âInsolence!â Your father yelled, âGuards! Seize her!â
From the other side of the room, Lord Tully looked as though he had been struck by a lance.
Blood rushed away from his face, his mouth opening in horrified disbelief at the social suicide his daughter had just committed before the eyes of the entire realm.
âTaliya, noâŠâ he choked out, stepping forward to reach for her, but he was far too late.
Your hand trembled as you pressed your fingers against your cheek. Your eyes swimming with a fresh sheen of tears, looking bewildered as it fixed on Taliya with heartbreaking betrayal.
You looked so small, so fragile. A maiden assaulted by a madwoman.
The gold cloaks were about to approach when Aerion stepped forward, cutting through the space between you and Taliya.
His head tilted menacingly, the smirk he had worn earlier was now gone, replaced by a look of predatory outrage.
His knuckles were white as he gripped on the pommel of his sword, his eyes blazing with unhinged heat.
âYou dare,â Aerion hissed, silencing the shouting of the lords in an instant. âYou dare strike my betrothed? In my grandfather's own hall, before the eyes of the court?â
Taliya withered, the sudden, icy reality of her wrath finally piercing through her blind rage. She looked around the room, her chest heaving, but she found no sympathy.
The ladies twisted their faces in disgust, the lords were shaking their heads. To them, she was not a victim of betrayal, she was simply a bitter, jealous girl who had lost the princeâs favour and resorted to violence.
âShe is a liar!â Taliya shrieked, hysterically sobbing as her father finally reached her, grabbing her tightly by the shoulders to pull her back. âShe sat in my chambers! She swore she was afraid of him! S-she used me!â
âSilence!â Lord Tully roared, his voice thick with shame as he bodily dragged his weeping, screaming daughter away from the prince.
Two Tully guards quickly flanked them, shielding the uncontrollable girl from the courtâs mocking stares as they hurried to the doors.
"Forgive us, my Prince⊠Your Grace, she is unwell⊠the heat of the tourneyâŠâ
The doors slammed shut behind them, cutting off Taliyaâs cries.
The atmosphere remained tense, everyone still talking in hushed tones.
Aerionâs gaze lingered on the door where the Tullys had vanished, his chest rising and falling with a slow, controlled anger.
Then, he turned around.
The violent rage in his eyes softened into a look of protective concern as he stepped toward you.
Your father moved aside, allowing the prince to take your hands.
Aerion reached up, his rings cold against your skin as his thumb gently brushed the edge of your reddened cheek, tilting your face up so the whole court could see your tears.
Everyone who was watching saw a devoted, chivalrous prince comforting his wounded bride.
However, as your eyes met his, Aerion saw the calculation hiding behind the watery surface of your eyes.
A tiny, nearly imperceptible twitch touched the corner of his lipsâa thrilled spark of amusement passing between the two of you, completely unseen by court.
Aerion turned to the people, his arm sliding securely around your waist, his posture an authority that brooked no further disruption.
âMy betrothed has suffered enough shock for one morning. Lord Tyrell, I will see to it that your daughter's mind is set at ease.â
Your father inclined his head once more, his face still tight with lingering anger at the Tullys, though his eyes shined with immense satisfaction as he looked at the prince holding you so protectively.
âYou honour us, Prince Aerion. Take all the time she needs.â
Aerion guided you to the door, and you kept your head lowered just enough to appear appropriately shaken.
One delicate hand was still hovering near your cheek as you walked with slight hesitation.
The loud noise began to fade as you walked through the heavy doors. He didnât guide you to your quarters.
His grip on your waist remained firm, directing you down a stairwell.
He turned down a quieter hall that led toward the secluded gardens, a place he had shown you once before.
Aerion released his hold on your waist only to step right in front of you, leaning back on the balustrade.
Crossing his arms, his eyes scanned the faint flush on your cheek. A fine smirk appeared on his face.
âI must admit, little rose,â he started, a low laugh vibrating in his chest, âI did not expect the Tully girl to possess quite so much fire. She nearly ruined my grand announcement.â
âShe didnât ruin anything, my Prince,â you replied evenly, stepping past him to rest your hands on the railing.
"In fact, she gave us exactly what she shouldnât have. Had she simply sat there and wept, the court would have pitied her. Now? They think she is mad with jealousy.â
Aerionâs smirk widened, his eyes darkening with erratic fascination. He moved to close the distance between you until his shadow completely swallowed yours. His fingers reached out to trace the curve of your jaw, tilting your chin up.
âYou barely even flinched,â he whispered, thumb brushing below the mark on your cheek.
You tilted your head slightly to his touch, âa lady must always know her audience. The court saw a girl attacked by a bitter rival. My father is furious, Lord Tully is shamed, and our betrothal is sealed with the sympathy of the realm.â
An amused chuckle escaped his lips. He leaned down, his breath warm against your face. âYou are quite extraordinary, my rose.â His voice dropped into a low purr. âBut you do know what happens to those who try to guide a dragonâs path, hm?â
You took a deliberate step forward, closing the scant gap between your bodies. Your hands came up, fingers light as they slip up his lapels, smoothing the wrinkled fabric.
âA dragon flies where it pleases," you looked up at him through your lashes, "and those who try get exactly what is offered.â
Aerion made a sharp breathless intake of air. Your lack of fear beneath such a gentle demeanor seemed to snap whatever restraint he had left.
His hand left your jaw and slammed against the balustrade behind you. He pressed his weight into you, trapping you while his other hand tangled into the neat pins of your hair. A few strands tumbled free, spilling over your shoulders to join the rest of your hair.
He leaned down, his lips brushing yours with bruising need.
The kiss was entirely untamed. Your fingers anchored tightly to his neck, while his hands roamed around your hair.
He groaned into the kiss, his grip tightening as his tongue slid past your parted lips, claiming your mouth with lustful hunger that stole the breath right from your lungs.
The pressure of his lips shifted from demand to a deeper consuming rhythm that made the rest of your world blur into insignificance.
The quiet air of the garden had vanished, now filled with the rush of the sea breeze and the searing friction of his mouth against yours.
He held you flush against him, hands moving from your hair down to the small of your back, pulling you impossibly closer.
When Aerion finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his silver hair slightly disheveled. He didnât let go of you, his forehead resting heavily on yours as you both pant for air, the feel still lingering om your lips.
âWe should return, my Prince. The lords will be wondering where you went.â You giggled softly, moving your head back to gracefully readjust the stray locks of your hair.
Aerion made a noise of breathless laugh and a scoff, clearly enthralled by how quickly you could slip back into a dutiful lady.
He offered his arm, and you wrapped your hand around his sleeve. The two of you walked out of the garden and into the corridors that overlooked the lower courtyard.
The heavy sounds of shouting and wood scraping against stone made you two stop.
Aerion paused, drawing you to the edge of the stone railing. âLook there.â
The aftermath of Taliyaâs outburst was unfolding in brutal, vivid detail.
The lower bailey was crowded with people on the steps, all of them watching the public disgrace of house Tully.
Several heavy wooden wheelbarrows were being aggressively loaded by royal stewards, trunks of fine blue silks and personal belongings thrown carelessly into the carts.
Lord Tullyâs face was filled with deep, unmitigated shame. He was bowing frantically to a pair of stone-faced gold cloaks, his voice carrying up to the gallery as he pleaded for his house's honor, claiming his daughter had been struck by a sudden madness of the brain.
And then there was Taliya.
She was being escorted toward a covered wheelbarrow by two of her fatherâs own guards.
Her fine blue gown was wrinkled, her hair completely wild, and her face swollen from fresh weeping.
As she struggled against the guards' grip, minor lords turned their backs on her, refusing to look at the girl.
Taliya fought against the guards, her eyes frantically sweeping the high balconies of the keep, searching for any sign of mercy.
Instead, she saw you.
She froze, looking up at the high gallery where you stood side-by-side with Prince Aerion, his arm resting possessively over yours.
You didn't smirk. You didn't gloat, nor did you let a single trace of triumph show on your face.
No, right there in full view of the courtiers who were looking up at the newly betrothed couple, you let your expression soften into a look of tragic sorrow.
You squeezed Aerion's arm tightly, leaning into his side as if the sight of your former friend's ruin was too much for your gentle heart to bear.
Down in the dirt, Taliya screamed. A raw, choked sound of pure agony, realizing that even now, you were playing the saint, and her own reaction was only making her look more hysterical to the court.
The guards quickly shoved her into the dark interior of the carriage, slamming the wooden doors shut.
You let out a long, trembling breath, slowly turning your head away from the courtyard as if you could no longer bear to look upon the tragedy.
Your hand, still resting on Aerionâs arm, gave a delicate, involuntary shudder.
"Come, my lady," a soft voice called out from the archway.
A small group of ladies and an elderly septa had crept onto the terrace, their faces filled with profound, eager sympathy. Your father stood just behind them.
"The entire court bleeds for you, sweet girl," one of the older Tyrell women murmured, rushing forward to offer a silk handkerchief.
"To be assaulted so viciously by one you called a sister... it is a mercy the Prince was there to shield you from her madness."
You accepted the handkerchief with a small nod, gently dabbing at your unblemished cheek as if the memory of the blow still stung.
"Taliya is... she was merely unwell," you murmured, your voice sweet, soft, and entirely devoid of any malice. "The summer heat can do strange things to a gentle mind. I only pray the Septons at Riverrun can bring her peace."
"You possess the heart of an angel, daughter," your father declared, stepping forward to gently place his hand over your shoulder.
"And she shall have the protection of a dragon." One of the other ladies rang out, clearly admiring your betrothed.
The ladies-in-waiting let out excited, hushed whispers, as Aerion took your hand once more.
This time, he didn't pull you against his chest. In front of your father and the peering eyes of the court, he simply raised your fingers to his lips and kissed the back of your hand.
Aerion released your hand, a faint, ghost of a smirk playing at the very edge of his lips as he turned to walk back toward the council chambers.
You watched him go, your hands folding neatly over your skirts as the ladies swarmed around you, offering their arms and their endless bright congratulations.
You let yourself be led back into the castle, matching their light, joyful steps, your gentle smile perfectly intact as you walked forward into the golden future you had designed piece by piece.
SUMMARY - Having met as children and reuniting once you've grown into a woman, Aerion's previous suspicion of you grows into the softest spot imaginable.
CONTAINS - pure fluff, reader is extremely kind, aerion is only kind to reader, classic sunshine x grumpy
A/N - i personally couldn't stop giggling while writing the "pastry" scene. Ughh i need him
The blazing sun over Summerhall was unforgiving, but it did nothing to melt the sour disposition of Prince Aerion.
At barely ten name days old, the boy was already terror embodied. He sat on a smooth rock by the edge of the river, a fishing rod held tight in his small, tense hands.
His eyes glared at the water as if he could command the fish to bite by sheer noble decree.
âThey wonât bite if you keep scowling at them,â a bright voice chimed from behind him.
Aerion stiffened, his jaw tightening. He turned his head sharply, expecting a person sent by his father to drag him back to his lessons.
Instead, he saw you.
You were the daughter of Maekarâs most trusted ally, having arrived only an hour ago.
While the adults spoke of their business, you had wandered out into the sun, your heavy skirts already trailing in the damp grass.
You looked entirely out of place among the solemn guards, a little burst of warmth against the grey stones of summerhall.
âGo away,â Aerion snapped, turning back to the water, âYouâll frighten them.â
âYouâre the one frightening them,â you retorted easily, completely unbothered by the venom in his tone.
You marched right up to his rock, your slippers squelching in the mud, and plopped down beside him without asking. âMy father says that fishes can sense when someone is angry. They donât like the energy.â
âYour father is a fool, and so are you,â he hissed, expecting you to cry or perhaps run back to the castle.
But you didnât seem bothered as you tilted your head, watching the bobber dance on the ripples. âYouâre doing it wrong anyway. The bait is too high.â
Aerion opened his mouth to deliver a cutting remarkâsomething about how a dragon did not take lessons from a silly girlâbut before the words could leave his lips, your smaller, warmer hands brushed against his.
You reached out, bypassing his defensive posture, and gently adjusted his grip on the handle, lowering the tip of the rod so the bait sank properly into the water.
The prince froze. No one touched him without permission. No one dared.
Yet, as the silence stretched between you, the bobber suddenly dipped aggressively. A heavy tug yanked the line down, nearly pulling the rod from his hands.
âSee!â you gasped, your face lighting up with a blinding grin. âPull, Aerion! Pull!â
Forgetting his pride, Aerion yanked the rod back with all his boyhood strength. A massive trout broke the surface, thrashing wildly and splashing mud and lakewater directly across his pristine tunic, and right into your face.
Aerion braced himself for the screaming. Noble girls and boys always screamed when they got dirty.
But then a bright laughter echoed across the banks. âLook at the size of it! We caught it!â
Aerion looked from the wiggling fish to your mud splattered face. His lips twitched, fighting a smile before he forced his features back into a proud mask.
âI caught it,â he corrected, though his voice lacked any real bite. âYou merely watched.â
âWe caught it,â you insisted, bending down to take a closer look at the trout.
Your fatherâs visit ended shortly after, and the brief, strange kinship evaporated into memory as the years pulled you both down separate paths.
Years slipped by like water through fingers, and when you finally returned to court as a young woman, the boy by the lake had become a man feared by the entire realm.
Aerion was breathtakingly beautiful, and notoriously cruel. He walked through court with a sharp tongue and a sharper temper, but that did not faze you.
From afar, Aerion watched you navigate the treacherous nature of court. You were a vision of light, offering warm smiles to the guards, listening patiently to the older women, and showing unfaltering kindness to everyone you crossed.
To him, it was grating. All noble ladies were trained to be sweet, performing acts of grace to secure a good match or win the favour of higher lords.
He waited for you to finally lose your cool.
But the day never came. No, the reality of your kindness crashed directly into him one afternoon near the small council chamber.
You were walking down the corridor with a butterfly that had landed on your arm when the doors of the chamber burst open.
A flurry of lords tumbled out into the hall, fleeing in terror. Among them was the master of coin, frantically wiping dark ink from his doublet with his bleeding hands, his face pale as death.
âSeven hells,â one of the other lords whispered hoarsely, scurrying past you. âThe prince has lost his mind entirely!â
You stopped, watching the chaotic retreat. Instead of turning back like any sensible person would, you set the butterfly on a nearby branch and stepped through the heavy doors.
An iron candelabra laid overturned on the floor, dark wax spilling across the polished wood, and an inkwell had been shattered against the wall.
Aerion stood by the high window, his back to you. His shoulders were incredibly tense, and his chest was rising and falling with heavy, angry breaths.
âI thought I made it clear,â Aerion growled without turning, âThe next soul to disturb me will lose their tongue.â
âThen it is a good thing I am capable of writing. I do not need my tongue.â you responded lightly, closing the heavy door behind you.
Aerion went still. He turned slowly, his stormy eyes dark with lingering rage. When his gaze landed on you, he let out a harsh, bitter scoff.
âCome to play the saint for me too?â he sneered, maintaining his distance. âSave your sweet smiles for the lords in the hall. I have no patience for your endless charity.â
You took a few measured steps into the room, keeping a respectful distance yourself.
âI don't think they donât understand how stressful it can be,â you said softly, ignoring his cruel words. âthey whisper and push, expecting you to sit quietly while they try to manage your familyâs rights. It makes sense that youâd lose your patience when they refuse to listen.â
He stared at you from across the room, his mind struggling to process what he was hearing. He had expected an admonishment, or at the very least, fear.
âThey are parasites,â Aerion muttered, his posture unlocking just a fraction. âThey look at me as if I am mad because I refuse to let them dictate my bloodlineâs terms.â
âI can see that,â you replied gently, giving a small smile. âThey may be stressed as well, but no one should have to bend to their whim.â
The room went silent before you spoke again.
âWhenever the court gets too loud for me, I find that walking around the gardens helps. The fresh air is always calming.. maybe it would help you too. Itâs quiet out there.â
The fire in his eyes flickered, clearly caught off guard by the suggestion. He stared at your face, the lines of his memory remembering the specific curve of your smile.
A breathless laugh escaped him.
âThe gardens?â Aerion repeated, his voice dropping the edge it possessed just moments ago.
He took a step forward, assessing your form. âYou havenât changed at all, have you? Years ago at Summerhall, you told me the fish wouldnât bite because of my âanger.' Now youâre trying to herd me into the bushes to calm down.â
Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, a soft laugh bubbling up. âYou remember that?â
âI remember a girl pushing my hands around and getting me covered in mud,â he murmured.
He then let out a soft click of his tongue, turning to look at the doorway. âFine. We will walk the gardens. But only because your previous method somehow worked.â
âOf course,â you smiled.
As the weeks progressed, a unique friendship blossomed between you.
Aerion still remained difficult as ever to the rest of the world, but your presence seemed to simmer that down.
The shift did not go unnoticed by the ladies of the court, leading to an afternoon that they wouldnât stop gossiping about for days.
You were walking through the outer courtyard with a small retinue of noble ladies, the daughters of prominent lords from the Reach. They were talking endlessly, giggling as they spoke of whatever irrelevant topics crossed their minds.
âYou must be careful, my dear,â one of the ladies said, leaning in closer to you. âPrince Aerion may be amused by your novelty but once he grows bored of playing with his new toy, you will be left with nothing but yourself.â
âHe is a prince of the blood,â another lady chimed in, her voice tight. âThey take what pleases them for a moment and cast it aside. Do not mistake a tyrantâs passing curiosity for actual regard.â
âAerion simply values sincerity,â you replied, offering an unbothered smile. âThere is no game being played.â
âYou are far too gullibleââ the former lady was cut when Aerion walked out from the room beside.
The ladies instantly adjusted their posture, immediately dropping to curtsies as he approached, each of them desperately hoping to catch the princeâs favour despite their previous warnings to you.
Aerion ignored them, his eyes locking firmly onto you.
Without a word of greeting, and completely disregarding decorum, he walked into the center of the group and stepped right into your space, his frame towering over you.
âYouâre late,â his voice was lowâmeant strictly for you, though it carried across the hall.
âLate for what, my Prince?â you asked, tilting your head up to meet his gaze with your beaming expression.
âI am going to the cliffs, and you are coming with me,â he stated flatly.
Behind you, a collective intake of breath echoed from the ladies. Here he was, actively seeking you out, his attention consuming you and utterly shattering their spiteful claims that you were just a passing game.
You looked back at the girls, giving one last smile before parting from them. âVery well, my Prince, if you insist.â
âI do,â Aerion tilted his head, turning on his heel to fall into step right beside you, his side brushing against yours as he guided you out of the yard.
That would not be the first or last time the court would witness the two of you separating from the rest of the world.
During one evening, after failing in your search for Aerion through the whole castle, you found him alone in the secluded parts of the library.
He was sitting alone, staring dead at a massive volume of ancient Valyrian history.
âI am not in the mood for company,â he hissed out, âleave.â
Your eyebrows furrowed in worry before approaching and setting down a small plate of pastries on the corner of the table. You pulled out the empty chair beside him and sat down despite his request.
Reaching over the plate, you picked up a small pastry and held it right in front of his face, completely disregarding his brooding glare.
âEat,â you insisted gently as Aerion still refused to acknowledge you. âYou always go for these specific ones. I know you like them.â
His fingers that had been gripping the edge of the book twitched, and he finally turned his head to look at you.
The weight on his shoulders gradually disappeared as he looked at the pastry, then up at your fond expression.
Aerion didnât move to take it from your hand. Keeping his intense gaze locked firmly onto yours, he leaned slightly forward.
Then, totally unprompted, he took a bite right out of the pastry while it was still held between your fingers.
A tiny giggle slipped past your lips, a bright warmth blooming all the way to the tips of your ears at the sheer intimacy of it.
You tried to bite your lip to hide your surprise, but your shoulders shook with quiet amusement as you looked into his smug face.
Aerion chewed slowly, the corners of his lips twitching at your giddy reaction.
âYou are ridiculous,â he murmured as he swallowed.
âMaybe,â you agreed, your heart fluttering as you set the remaining half down onto the plate. âBut it worked. You feel better already, donât you?â
Aerion stared at you for a moment, drinking in your presence. He did feel betterâthe tight, suffocating knot in his chest had already unraveled. But it was certainly not because of the pastry.
Slowly, he hesitantly reached out across the small space between your chairs. With one deliberate movement, he dragged your chair until it hit his.
Then, his hand moved to flip over on the table with his palm facing up, his fingers sprawling open in a silent, stubborn invitation.
You, on the other hand, did not hesitate. You slid your hand into his palm, your fingers easily weaving through his.
Aerion squeezed your hand, his rings pressing firmly against your skin, though his touch was surprisingly careful.
However, the true demonstration of expanse that you two had built played out before the entire court during a grand feast, where Aerionâs attempt to maintain his reputation crumbled.
The feast was deafeningly loud.
You were seated next to Aerion by Prince Maekar.
Aerion had spent the first half of the feast interacting with other lords while you conversed with other ladies.
He was glaring at a group of lesser lords when he noticed your sudden silence. Just then, some of the lords he had been talking to earlier called out to him and he tried to force his eyes back on them.
Aerion was aware that you two were the topic of conversation as of late. He couldnât let the people of court think he had gone soft. At least that was what his pride told him.
But the sight of your fragile form pulled at him like a physical anchor, shattering his resolve. His demeanor instantly changed.
He turned fully in his seat toward you, his cold stare evaporating.
âYouâre pale,â Aerion murmured, voice stripped away of anything harsh. âWhat is it?â
âJust⊠a headache, Aerion,â you whispered softly, giving him a tired smile. âThe noise is particularly loud tonight.â
Aerion didnât waste a second as he gently used his hand to cradle the back of your head.
His fingers began combing through the loose parts of your hair, his thumb tracing circles down your temple to ease the pressure.
The chatter around the surrounding tables died down, dozens of eyes tracking his movements, yet no one dared to disrupt. They watched as Aerion paid no mind to everything else the moment you showed discomfort.
You leaned into his touch, a smile returning to your face. âAerion⊠everyone is watching.â
Aerion let out a defeated sigh as he grinned. âLet them stare,â he concluded, his fingers tucking in a strand of hair behind your ear. âYouâve broken me anyway.â
Shifting his broad shoulders, he blocked the rest of the room from view, shielding you from prying eyes.
âYou are tired,â he paused, âif anyone breathes a word about that, I will have their heads.â
âYou canât murder the entire court,â you teased, lifting your head up for a moment.
A faint smile broke across his face. âWatch me,â he repeated, guiding your head to rest on his shoulder. âNow hold still and let me fix it.â
I published this on Ao3 a while ago and thought "why not post on Tumblr?" Enjoy!
inspired by To Annual an Annulment from the wonderful @chinkbihh
àšà§
Your knuckles rasped softly against the wooden door. Your hair was styled into a neat ponytail, not a strand out of place. Your feet swelled as you stood still in your white Chanel pumps, matched accordingly with your overpriced cream-colored dress. In your eyes, the outfit was hideous, not an ounce of self-expression in the cloth that wrapped around you, but he didnât care about that. He never did.
You heard a gruff voice summon you in.
His office never ceased to amaze you. The Cameron Company Headquarters was located in a fifteen-story high-rise tower at the heart of downtown Charlotte. You werenât from here, much like he wasnât either. You both grew up in the Outer Banks, on two opposing sides of Kildare.
The Cameron boy looked up from his desktop, his predatorial eyes were quickly replaced with his normal lovestruck gaze when he saw you.
âBaby!â He exclaimed, eagerly rising from his leather chair. âMy receptionist didnât tell me you had arrived. I should really fire her ass.â He walked over to you and placed his hand on your back as he led you over to the dining table on the other side of his large office.
The sweet smell of baked goods filled your nostrils as you reached the table. A variety of cakes, cookies, and pies were spread out across the table â all from your favorite bakery.
âThis isâŠa lot.â You gasp.
Rafe laughs as the two of you sit. âI know you wanted a âsmall brunch,â but I donât do small, you know that.âÂ
 Rafe Cameron was a man everybody feared and respected back in Kildare. Even you, who grew up on the poorer side of Kildare and was nearly ten years younger than the man, knew of his reputation. Despite being known as a psychotic piece of shit, he was popular with the ladies. During midsummer, he would recite a speech about drug addiction to fund his charity, but every year there were new stories about all the women he had taken in the storage closet with his eyes blown out and white powder coating his upper lip.
You were just one of the many girls who would swoon at the man when you saw him around town. However, being a geeky glasses-wearing teenager, he never gave you the time of day. There were many pretty rich girls to his disposal, it would be a miracle if you were even a thought on his mind. What was a miracle, was getting into UNC Charlotte and getting a paid internship with The Cameron Company in the spring of your freshman year.
 Your first few weeks at the company were what you had expected. You learned much about advertising and gained experience that a normal college student would kill to have. However, when you came in the second month of your internship, you were told that you were needed on the top floor.
It was then, nearly 400 miles away from home, that you finally came face to face with the infamous Cameron heir. He looked up at you with a stern expression, immediately arming any worries that ran in your head. âItâs an honor to meet you Mr. Cameron.â
âYou know my name, sweetheart, why so formal?â A small smirk played on his lips as he picked up a yellow folder from his desk, looking over the content inside. âIt says here that you grew up in Kildare.â Rafe paused, looking you up and down. âYou used to be friends with my sister, right?
Friends was an overstatement. You had been given a scholarship to attend Kildare Academy in your freshman year of high school. Despite the last generation redefining the meaning of Pogue and Kook, not much had changed with the younger generation. You were constantly ridiculed and harassed until Wheezie Cameron offered you a spot in her clique. Growing up with a dysfunctional family made it easier to bond with her, but that didnât take away from the fact that she was Kook royalty.
The Cameron girl ruled the school, and because of social law, you could never be a close friend to her, only given the high privilege of being a nameless figure in her posse. You were invited to all her shopping excursions, parties, and sleepovers. You couldnât correct your seemingly irritated CEO though, so you simply nodded in agreement.
âI see youâve made a few noticeable contributions to my advertising team. You were always a smart girl.â He mumbled the last part.
âI have an offer for you, one that you wonât regret.â Your eyes widen in excitement, but you quickly masked it before he noticed.
âWhat is your offer, Mr. Cameron?â
âCall me Rafe.âHe tuts.
âRafe.â
âWell, I need somebody to sponsor. Something to show the community that The Cameron Company âencourages young mindsâ or some shit like that, and you are the perfect fit.â
âWhat would this sponsorship look like, Mr.. I mean, Rafe?â
âItâs simple. I pay for your tuition, and all your pretty self has to do is let me parade you around like a little doll.â You shiver at his demeaning choice of wording.
âSo, youâd be likeâŠa sugar daddy?â You blurted out. Rafe chuckled while sipping on his sparkling water.
âYeah, something like that.â
âAnd what if I refuse?â
âThen darling, you can kiss this internship goodbye.â And so, you accepted, signing away the next four years of your life.
àšà§
True to his word, Rafe focused on every other aspect in your life so that you could focus on your education. While you were truly grateful for the opportunity, at times you couldnât help but feel like you were losing control of your life bit by bit. First, it was housing. You had drunkenly ranted about your messy roommate to Rafe one night, and after class the next day, you found all your items gone with a singular note from Rafe on your bare mattress displaying an address.
The apartment was bigger than your childhood home. Rafe stocked the place full of everything you could possibly need. On the off chance that he didnât have an item you desired there, he left you his black card which he strongly recommended you use.
Especially after all the clothes you brought with you mysteriously disappeared from your closet and dresser after a heated conversation between the two of you after a visit the country club.
You felt uncomfortable in the preppy Ralph Lauren outfit Rafe had given you to wear, making all the other rich women glare daggers at you for being with their dream man. After voicing your discomfort, he scurintized your usual style, and by the next day, you had no clothes of your own.
A year into your arrangement, Rafe took you to some fancy Italian restaurant that you had to reserve months in advance to get a table. It was there that he asked you to officially be his girl.
Your dynamic switched fast.
Before, Rafe would stay in his own apartment whenever he visited Charlotte. Now, he upgraded your fancy studio apartment near your university to a ritzy penthouse near his company. Despite the longer commute, you were still able to attend normal college events, which included parties. One of your friends that you made in freshman year invited you to Alpha Sigma Deltaâs annual Halloween party.
You knew Rafe would never let you go if you asked, but you also knew that he was back in the Outer Bank for the weekend, and what he didnât know wouldnât hurt him.
After a long night of grinding bodies, lingerie as costumes, smoke machines, and loud techno, you made it to the parking garage of you and Rafeâs building. Pulling into your reserved spot, you were startled the see the buzz cut blonde standing beside his parked car, arms crossed with his golf bag leaned against his Porsche.
Damn it, how could you forget about your Life360?
You immediately put the car in park and rush out to him.
âRafe it isnât what it looks like-â
âIsnât what it looks like?â He fumed, âWhat it looks like is that my girlfriend lied to me so that she could go to some frat party in some slutty costume.â
His hand reached out to tug on your flimsy crop top. âWhat are you supposed to be anyway, some sort of hooker mouse?â He chuckled darkly, âProbably fucked every guy there, right, baby?â
âNo, Rafe, I would never-â
âShut up! I donât want to hear your voice for the rest of the night, got it?â You meekly nodded. You awkwardly walked behind Rafe on the journey up to the penthouse. You waited for Rafe to come into the bedroom that night, but he never did.
àšà§
The sound of moaning woke you up the next morning. You rubbed your eyes and trudged into the living room, only to be met with a heartbreaking sight.
Some blonde was on her knees in front of him, her head bobbing up and down. Rafe leaned his head back in pleasure, eyes closed before regaining his senses and harshly tugging the girl closer to his shaft. It was only then that his gaze met your teary ones. He took in your shocked and smirked. âEnjoying the show, baby?â
You shouldnât have been surprised. You knew what you were getting into when you started dating Kildareâs most notorious playboy. He said he changed. He promised you werenât just one of his many situationships. One of his many fucks.Â
âDoes this make you jealous, baby? Does it make you want to cry?â He taunted you as he guided the girlâs mouth off him and guided her body on top of his, positioning himself into her slowly, his eyes fixated on you as he rutted up into her. Their euphoric moans filled the room. âFuck, she feels so good, baby. I bet this is what you felt like last night to those college boys.â
Finally, finding the strength in your body, you scoff at him before running out the door, tears never stopping.
àšà§
It occurred to you an hour later that you had nowhere else to go. Sure, you could do the six and a half drive back home, but you had class on Monday, and you couldnât miss it. For now, you took refuge in a fellow internâs apartment that she thankfully didnât share with anyone. When you called her, voice quivering about what had just conspired, she didnât hesitate to open her home to you.
âHonestly, that man has freaked me out ever since he started taking an interest in you. He literally fired half of the male interns because he thought they were flirting with you. Iâm glad he finally showed you his true colors. You are worth so much more than any money that man could give you.â
She gave you the courage you needed.
Later that day, you sent Rafe a message: âIâm done.â
Simple and concise â except it wasnât. He immediately began calling, texting, leaving voice messages that grew unpleasant over time.
âIâm sorry, baby.â
âIf you leave me Iâll die. I canât live without you.âÂ
âThis is starting to piss me off, answer the fucking phone.â
âI fucking own your life, I own you.â
âIâll wring your fucking throat, Bitch! Answer your goddamn phone, now!â
Flowers began to appear at your colleagueâs door every day. Letters were left on your Jeep expressing the same disturbing threats as the voicemails. Everywhere you went in town, you felt eyes burning into you.
Then things escalated. Days later, you received an E-mail from your financial aid office.
We regret to inform you that one of your scholarships has been removed from your account, you now owe a balance of $12,000. If you would like to enroll in classes next semester, please pay your remaining debt.
After contemplating back in forth in your head, you did the one thing your brain was telling you not to do. You texted Rafe.
Which leads you to where you are currently, taking a bite of a scone while his blue orbs analyzed your every move.
âUmm, so I wanted to talk about what happened last week.â You began.
Rafe interrupted before you could continue, âIâm so sorry about that baby, I donât know what came over me that day. I know you would never betray me, but the thought of those undeserving guys looking at your body made me lose it. Iâll do better I promise.â His eyes were wet as he reached out to rub your free hand.
His âapologyâ made you want to scuff. This is what you get after he cheated on you and harassed you for a week.
âYour plan of doing better is by cutting my scholarship?â
Rafe shrugged, âYou really donât need a degree anyway, especially after what happened. I thought about it and I realized, nothing like this wouldâve happened if you didnât have those school friends dragging you places, tempting you. Staying devoted to me is the only thing you need to do.â
You couldnât help but laugh, âAre you hearing yourself right now? Iâm not your fucking housewife Rafe, this isnât the 1950s!â
His grip on your hand became tighter as tears raced down his pathetic face. âBaby, youâre not thinking straight. We can talk about this. Itâs just a rough patch but weâll fight our way through it. Even couples as good as us have problems sometimes.â He sniffed.
âRafe, Iâm not getting back together with you. Our relationship isnât healthy. Ending my housing lease without my knowledge, throwing out my clothes and telling me what to wear like Iâm some Barbie doll, accusing me of cheating then doing it right in front of me, and fucking stalking me. Does that seem healthy to you?â
The large office felt tiny as silence suffocated the room.
Then a chuckle came from deep within his chest.
âSo, Iâm toxic?â He got up and started pacing around the room, âBaby you donât know how toxic I can be. Toxic wouldâve been taking you on my desk that first day you walked into my company with that tiny pencil skirt on. Toxic wouldâve been indulging in your little fantasies when you would eye-fuck me when you were apart of Wheezieâs brainless crew. Toxic wouldâve been chaining you up in the basement of Tanny Hill and pumping you until your stomach was nice and round the second I found out you were leaving Kildareâ leaving the life Iâd been planning for us when you turned eighteen. But no, I kept quiet, let you have your freedom and shit.â He glared at you.
âI was patient, played the long game until I knew you would be ready to be the girl I wanted you to be, and what do I get? An ungrateful little brat.â
 He started a rampage around the room, throwing papers, breaking glass, turning the once pristine office into a walking hazard.
You jumped up from your chair, slowly walking towards the crazed man you once spent nights dreaming of. âRafe, please stop! I donât want your money, you donât have to do anything for me anymore. I just want to stop being your girlfriend. Weâre not compatible.â
You screamed and ducked as a ceramic mug flew past your head, shattering on the wall behind you. âI swear, sweetheart, if you say were not compatible one more fucking time, I wonât miss.â He threatened.
His next words caused your blood to run cold.
âIt would be a real shame if your family lost their home because they hadnât been paying the property tax their daughterâs caring boyfriend had been covering. It would be a shame if your little sister found herself in the wrong place one night after her late-night shifts, girls her age sell well. And it would truly be a shame if someone ratted to your father that your mother is planning to run away from him and charge him with domestic abuse. Itâs a crazy world out there, sweetheart. Youâve been lucky to have me on your side. Donât make a stupid decision.â
 You cried harder as he placed a silver necklace with the letter âRâ around your neck.
âAnyways,â He switched back to his cheerful voice that he reserved only for you, his lovesick eyes wide and piercing, âI was thinking, itâs about time we made things official. I found this venue off the coastline. It would be perfect for our engagement party.â
Summary: You should have just broken up, but Rafe would never let that happen. Sequel to âweâre not over.â (Reader is kies cousin btw)
Warnings: NONCON/DUBCON (implied), DV (implied), Toxic relationship, Emotional abuse, Physical abuse,Baby trapping, Religious guilt/manipulation, Forced pregnancy elements, abortion. If any of this triggers you or isnât your thing, scroll away. This is fiction.Â
a/n: BITCH IM BACK OUT MY COMMA. Okay but fr thanks for all the love on the last part, i had to go to rehab right after posting it so my apologies for how long this part took but im doing sm better now. They tried to make me go to rehab and i said yes! yes ! yes!
MINORS DNI
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Downstairs, your momâs voice floated up the stairs, soft and uncertain.
âHoney? Rafe said⊠he said youâre pregnant?â
The words landed in your chest like stones dropping into deep water.
You stayed sitting on the edge of your bed, knees pressed together, one hand drifting behind your head without thinking. Your fingers found the strands at the nape of your neck and pulled. Hard. The sharp sting grounded you for half a second before the panic rushed back in. You twisted the hair tighter between your fingertips, pulling again, feeling the roots give way. It was the only thing that made sense right now.
Your momâs footsteps came up slowly. Each creak of the old stairs made your stomach twist harder.
She stopped in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame like she needed it to hold herself steady. Her eyes were wide, searching your face, already glistening.
âIs it true?â she asked quietly.
You swallowed. The lump in your throat felt like it had been there for weeks. Your fingers kept working at the back of your head, pulling, tugging, the little pricks of pain the only thing keeping you from floating away completely.
âYeah,â you whispered. Your voice sounded small. Foreign. âItâs true.â
Your mom stepped inside and sat on the very edge of the bed, close but not touching you. She always did that when things got heavy. Like she wanted to comfort you but didnât know where to start anymore.
You kept pulling at your hair. The strands came loose between your fingers, soft and warm. You didnât stop.
âI donât want it, Mom.â
The sentence hung between you both. Heavy. Ugly.
Your momâs breath caught. She looked down at her hands, twisting her wedding ring the way she did when she was trying not to cry.
âOh, honeyâŠâ She let the words trail off, then tried again. âYouâre sure? How far along are you?â
She looked down from your eyes to your stomach with a worried almost tired expression.
 âI mean, you can't be that far, and things like this⊠they change you. Rafe seems really excited. He's always so sweet to youâŠHe's already talking about helping. Making sure you and the baby would be taken care of. You wouldnât have to worry about money or housing or any of that ever again.â
You laughed once. A short, broken sound that scraped your throat raw. Your fingers yanked harder at the back of your head. More strands came free.
âI canât do this,â you said. Your voice cracked. âIâm not ready. It's not even just about Rafe. There's things I still wanna do. I've only traveled with the Camerons; I don't have a degree yet. I mean, shit, I haven't even had an actual job, yet mom, and now thereâs this baby, and I just⊠I canât bring a kid into all of this mess. I canât.â
You didnât tell her the worst parts. You couldnât. Even now, some sick, stupid part of you couldn't. After everything, you still remembered the way he cried in your lap earlier, the way he said he loved you like it physically hurt him. You hated him, and you loved him, and the two feelings twisted together so tight you couldnât breathe.
âBut honey, if you keep it, you won't ever need a âreal jobâ.â
Your mom reached out and gently touched your knee. Her hand was warm. Familiar. It almost made you cry.
âWeâre not going to force you into anything,â she said carefully. âBut sweetheart⊠abortion? Thatâs forever. And Rafe⊠heâs a Cameron. You could have a future. Stability. For you and the baby.â
You stood up so fast the room tilted. Your fingers were still buried in the hair at the back of your head, pulling, pulling. The sting had turned into a dull burn, but you couldnât stop. It felt like the only honest thing left in your body.
âI donât want that future,â you whispered. Then louder, âI donât want any of this.â
Your dad appeared in the doorway then, silent, watching. He looked exhausted..
He didnât yell. He rarely did.
âWeâll support you no matter what,â he said quietly. âBut you need to really think about this⊠that baby changes everything.â
The weight in your stomach twisted again. Sharp. Alive.
You turned toward the window without meaning to. The streetlight outside cast a pale glow over everything. Rafeâs truck was still there. Parked across the street, engine running low, exhaust curling in the cool night air.Â
Even from here, you could see the way his shoulders were tense. The way he hadnât moved in what felt like hours. Waiting. Patient. Like he already knew how this night would end.
Your breath caught.
He looked up. Your eyes met through the glass. For a second, the world narrowed to just him, the boy who used to make your heart race, the boy who pinned you against walls and cried in your lap and told you God gave him this baby.
You turned away fast. The room felt too small. Your fingers yanked harder at the back of your head. A few more strands came loose, caught between your knuckles.
âI canât breathe,â you muttered.
You pushed past your parents, feet moving before your brain caught up. Down the stairs. Through the living room. Out the back door into the yard. The cold night air hit your face like a slap. You sucked it in desperately, chest heaving, fingers still tangled in your hair.
Rafeâs truck was still there.
Still waiting.
You turned and ran back inside. Up the stairs. Slammed your bedroom door behind you and leaned against it, sliding down until you were sitting on the floor with your knees pulled to your chest.
The silence in your room pressed in so thick it felt like it had weight.
You stayed on the floor for a long minute, back against the door, knees drawn tight to your chest. Your fingers were still tangled in the hair at the back of your head, pulling, twisting, the sharp little pops of pain the only thing keeping your thoughts from spinning completely out. Strands kept coming loose between your knuckles. You didnât care. It was better than feeling nothing.
Eventually, you forced yourself up. Your legs felt shaky, like they belonged to someone else. You crossed to the mirror above your dresser without really deciding to. The girl looking back at you made your stomach drop.
Your eyes were swollen and red, puffy from the tears you hadnât let fall all the way. Cheeks flushed and blotchy. Lips pressed into a thin, trembling line. Your hair was a mess at the nape, pieces sticking out where youâd yanked too hard. You looked wrecked. Like someone who had already lost.
You stared at her, at you, and felt a wave of something ugly rise in your throat. This was what Rafe saw when he looked at you now. This was what your parents saw. This was what everyone would see if you kept falling apart.
You turned away fast.
Grabbed the oversized black hoodie from the back of your chair and pulled it on. The fabric smelled like your detergent and faint traces of Rafeâs cologne from the last time heâd worn it. You tugged the hood up over your head, cinching it tight. It felt like small, useless armor, but it was something.
Your hands were still shaking when you opened your bedroom door.
Downstairs was quiet. Your parents had retreated to the kitchen. You could hear the low murmur of their voices, but couldnât make out the words. Good. You didnât want to explain anything else tonight.
You slipped out the front door.
The night air hit cold and sharp. It stung your swollen eyes and made the skin on your face feel tight. Rafeâs truck was still parked across the street, engine idling low, exhaust curling lazily in the streetlight. You could see the faint red glow of his vape through the cracked driverâs side window. Smoke drifted out in slow, steady clouds.
He was waiting.
You crossed the street with your head down, hood pulled low, arms wrapped around yourself. Your fingers found the strings of your hoodie and twisted them tight. Each step felt heavier than the last.
Rafe looked up the second you got close. His eyes were red-rimmed, glassy. He looked exhausted. Wrecked. But when he saw you, something shifted in his face, like relief mixed with that sharp edge he could never quite hide.
He leaned over and pushed the passenger door open.
âGet in,â he said. Voice rough but soft. The same tone he used when he was trying to be careful.
You hesitated for half a second, then climbed in. The seat was warm. The truck smelled like his cologne and weed. You pulled the door shut. The click sounded final.
Rafe watched you for a long moment. The vape glowed again as he took a slow hit, smoke curling out between his lips before he spoke.
âYou came out,â he said quietly. Almost surprised. âI thought you were gonna make me sit here all night.â
You kept your eyes on the dashboard. Your fingers were back at the nape of your neck again, pulling gently at the strands under the hood. The sting helped. It kept you from completely dissociating.
âI donât want my parents involved in this anymore,â you muttered. Your voice came out smaller than you wanted. âTheyâre already freaking out.â
Rafe nodded slowly. He took another hit, then set the vape down in the cupholder. His hand moved across the console and rested on your thigh. Heavy. Familiar. You didnât pull away.
âIâm sorry I told them,â he said after a beat. âI was just⊠scared. I didnât know what else to do. You werenât answering me, and I thought,â His voice cracked. He looked away for a second, jaw tight. âI thought you were really gonna do it. Get rid of our baby.â
You stayed quiet. Your fingers kept pulling at your hair under the hood. Slow. Methodical. The pain was sharp and clean.
Rafe turned back to you. His eyes were wet again.
âBut youâre not, right?â he whispered. âYouâre keeping it. You came out here to tell me that. Tell me youâre keeping our kid.â
The words sat heavy on your tongue. You swallowed once. Twice. Then you nodded.
âYeah,â you said softly. âIâm keeping it.â
The words tasted like ash.
Rafeâs whole body sagged with relief. He let out a shaky breath and leaned across the console, wrapping his arms around you so tight it almost hurt. His face buried in the crook of your neck. You felt his shoulders tremble.
âThank you,â he whispered against your skin. His voice was thick with tears. âThank you, baby. I knew youâd do the right thing. I knew you wouldnât do that to me. This is gonna be good. I swear. Iâm gonna be better. For you. For the baby. Weâre gonna be a family.â
His hand slid down to rest on your stomach again. Gentle this time. Almost reverent.
You sat there stiffly, letting him hold you, letting him cry into your hoodie while your fingers kept working at the back of your head under the fabric. Pulling. Twisting. The sting kept you present. Kept you from screaming.
After a long minute, he pulled back. Wiped his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. His eyes were red but brighter now. Hopeful in that terrifying way only Rafe could manage.
âIâll come get you in the morning,â he said. âWeâll go see Ward together. Everythingâs gonna be okay now. Youâll see.â
You nodded again. Small. Mechanical.
Rafe leaned in and kissed your forehead. Soft. Lingering. Like a promise.
âI love you,â he murmured. âEven when you scare the shit out of me. I still love you.â
He waited until you got out of the truck. Watched you walk back toward the house. Only when you were inside did he finally pull away, the truck rumbling down the street.
You stood in the doorway for a long time after the taillights disappeared.
Your fingers were still pulling at the back of your head.
The words sat heavy in your chest.
You were alone with it now. The weight. The decision. The words you had just told him.
Your phone sat on the bed like a live wire. You stared at it for a long time before you crawled over and picked it up. Your hands were shaking so badly you almost dropped it twice. The screen lit up your swollen face in the dark.
You opened your messages.
Kieâs name was still there, buried under months of unread texts. The last one from her was from last year.Â
Kieđ€Ëàż: heyy im thinking about u
Kieđ€Ëàż: u should call me
You had never answered.
Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. The words felt impossible to type, but you forced them out anyway.
                                       Kieđ€Ëàż
                                    (10:07 pm)
You: hey ik we havent talked in a while
You: ive been rlly weird ikÂ
You: but i kinda really need ur help
You hit send before you could delete it.
Nothing.
The minutes stretched. You kept refreshing the chat like an idiot. Nothing. No typing bubble. No read receipt. Just silence.
You pulled harder at the back of your head. The pain bloomed fresh. You typed again.
                                       Kieđ€Ëàż
                                     (10:19 pm)
You: kie pls Â
You: this is serious Â
You: i fucked up bad
Still nothing.
Your chest started to cave in. The room felt smaller. The lie you told Rafe sat like lead in your stomach. You had bought yourself one night. Maybe. But tomorrow he would come back. Ward would be waiting. Your parents would look at you with those tired, disappointed eyes and talk about âstabilityâ again.
You couldnât do this alone.
You started blowing her up. Message after message.
                                        Kieđ€Ëàż
                                     (10:23 pm)
You: kie Â
You: Please answer Â
You: im pregnant Â
You: with rafes baby Â
You: dont want to keep it
The second the last message sent, your phone started ringing.
 Kieđ€ËàżÂ flashed across the screen.
You answered so fast you almost dropped it.
For a second, there was only breathing on the other end. Hers. Yours. Both shaky.
Kieâs voice came through, low and tense.
âWhat the fuck did you just say?â
You swallowed. Your fingers were back at your scalp again, pulling. âIâm pregnant. Rafeâs. And I⊠I donât want to keep it. I canât.â
A long silence. You could hear her moving, probably pacing wherever she was.
âJesus Christ,â she muttered. âYouâre actually serious right now?â
âI know,â you whispered. Your voice cracked. âI know I fucked up. I know I stopped talking to you. I know I chose him. But Kie⊠my friends wonât help me. My mom's talking about how Iâd be âset for life.â Rafe waited outside and threatened me⊠I donât have anyone else. Please.â
Kie let out a bitter laugh. Not mean, but exhausted.
âI told you. I told you so many times not to fuck with him. Heâs poison. And now youâre pregnant, and you want me to help you get rid of it?â
You closed your eyes. Tears slipped down your cheeks. You didnât bother wiping them.
âI know,â you said again. âIâm sorry. Iâm so fucking sorry. But Iâm scared, Kie. Heâs talking about lawyers. Wardâs involved. FUCK! I donât know what to do.â
Another long pause. You could hear her breathing.
âFuck,â she finally said. âOkay. Okay. Iâm not promising anything. But⊠Iâll help you. You need to get it done fast before he figures it out.â
Relief hit you so hard your knees almost gave out.
âThank you,â you whispered. âThank you, Kie.â
âDonât thank me yet,â she said. Her voice was tight. âBe ready at 6 a.m. sharp. John B will drive. Weâre taking you to the mainland. Donât tell anyone. Not your parents. Not Rafe. Especially not Rafe.â
You nodded even though she couldnât see you. âI wonât. 6 a.m.â
She hesitated. âAnd cuz⊠if this goes bad, if he finds out⊠I canât promise weâll be able to get you out again. You know that, right?â
âI know,â you said quietly.
The call ended.
You sat there on the floor, phone still pressed to your ear, listening to the dead line. Your fingers had gone back to your scalp without you realizing. The spot was raw now. Tender. You kept pulling anyway.
For the first time in weeks, a small, fragile sliver of hope flickered in your chest.
Tomorrow at 6 a.m.
You just had to make it through the night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sky was still dark when your alarm went off at 5:45.
You hadnât slept. Not really. You had lain in bed staring at the ceiling, fingers twisting in the hair at the back of your head until the spot felt raw and hot, after you had gave up on doom scrolling. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Rafeâs face in the truck, the way his shoulders sagged with relief when you lied. The way he kissed your forehead like a promise.Â
You got up slowly. Your legs felt heavy. You pulled on the same black hoodie from last night, the one that still smelled faintly like him. You tied your hair back tight so you wouldnât keep pulling at it. Then you stood at your window for a long minute, staring at the empty street where his truck had been parked hours earlier. The spot looked wrong without him in it. Too quiet.
You slipped downstairs without turning on any lights. Your parentsâ bedroom door was closed. You could hear your dadâs low snoring. For a second, you almost went in. Almost told them everything. But you didnât. You just grabbed your keys and left through the back door like a ghost.
The air outside was cold and damp. It clung to your skin. You pulled the hood up and walked fast down the street, shoulders hunched, breath fogging in front of you. Every shadow made your heart jump. You kept expecting Rafeâs truck to appear around the corner, headlights cutting through the dark.
But it didnât.
At the end of the block, John Bâs van was waiting under a broken streetlight. Kie was already standing outside, arms crossed tight over her chest. When she saw you, she didnât smile. She just opened the sliding door and stepped back.
You climbed in. The van smelled like salt water and old fast food. John B was in the driverâs seat, hands on the wheel, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror like he expected Rafe to appear any second. Kie got in after you and slammed the door shut. The sound made you flinch.
No one spoke for the first few minutes.
John B pulled away slow, headlights off until you were off your street. The van rattled over potholes. You kept your hands in your lap, fingers digging into your palms now instead of your hair. The sting wasnât enough anymore.
Kie finally broke the silence. Her voice was tight.
âYou look like shit.â
You let out a weak laugh that didnât sound like you. âYeah. Feel like it too.â
She didnât laugh back. She just stared out the window, jaw clenched. The tension between you both was thick enough to taste. You had been close once. Sleepovers at her house, you teaching her how to braid her hair, sneaking snacks from the Wreck after closing. Then Rafe happened. And everything changed. Family cookouts became awkward small talk. Texts went unanswered. She had warned you. You hadnât listened.
Now here you were. Pregnant. Desperate. Asking her for the one thing she had begged you to avoid.
âYou really did it, huh?â she said after a while. Not mean. Just tired. âGot knocked up by Rafe Cameron of all people.â
âYeah,â you whispered. Your voice cracked. âI fucked up.â
Kie let out a long breath. âI told you. So many times. But you kept going back.â
You didnât defend him. Not right now. Your fingers found the strings of your hoodie and twisted them.
âI know,â you said quietly. âI know I did. But I'm saying that, okay? I'm being honest, Im saying I need your help.â
She looked at you then. Really looked. Her eyes were hard, but there was something softer underneath. Worry. Guilt.Â
John B cleared his throat from the front. âWeâre about forty minutes out. Clinic opens at seven. Weâll get you in quick.â
You nodded. The van felt too small. Every bump in the road made your stomach turn. You kept thinking about Rafe waking up. Checking his phone. Realizing you werenât answering. The way his face would change.
The rest of the drive was quiet. Kie didnât say much more. She just sat there, arms crossed, staring out the window like she was carrying her own weight. You wanted to thank her again, but the words felt useless. So you stayed silent. Fingers digging into your palms. Heart hammering so hard you could feel it in your teeth.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The clinic was small and nondescript. A plain building tucked between a pharmacy and a laundromat. John B parked in the back. Kie walked you in. Her hand was on your elbow the whole time, gentle but firm.Â
The procedure itself was a blur. The nurse was kind. The doctor was professional. You cried the whole time. Silent tears running down your face while you stared at the ceiling tiles. Kie sat in the waiting room. When it was over, and you came out, drained and shaky, she didnât say anything. She just helped you to the van and wrapped a blanket around your shoulders.
The ride back was even quieter.
You sat in the back seat, curled against the door, staring out at the passing trees. Your stomach felt empty in a way that had nothing to do with the procedure. The weight was gone. But something else had taken its place. A hollowness. A guilt so heavy it made it hard to breathe.
Kie kept glancing at you in the rearview mirror. She didnât speak. Neither did John B. The silence felt like judgment. Like understanding. Like both at once.
Your phone buzzed in your lap.
You looked down.
                                         Rafe
                                      (7:35 am)
Rafe: why is your location off?
Your heart stopped.
You typed fast, fingers clumsy.
You: sorry my phone died last night (7:36 am)
You: just woke up (7:36 am)
You: everything ok? (7:36 am)
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Rafe: ill be at your house in 15 (7:38 am)
Your stomach dropped.
You looked up at John B.
 âHow far are we?â
âForty-five minutes,â he said. âMaybe more with traffic.â
âFuck,â you whispered. Your voice broke. âFuck.â
Kie turned in her seat. Her eyes were wide. âWhatâs wrong?â
âHeâs going to my house. He thinks Iâm there. Heâs coming in fifteen minutes.â
The van went quiet again. Different this time. Heavy with fear.
You leaned your head against the window. The glass was cold against your forehead. Your fingers drifted to the back of your head again, pulling at the already tender strands. The pain bloomed fresh. You welcomed it.
You had done it. You had gotten the abortion.
But Rafe was already coming.
And you had lied to his face last night.
The van kept driving. The road stretched ahead. Forty-five minutes.
You closed your eyes and tried to breathe through the panic clawing up your throat.
He was going to find out.
And when he didâŠ
You didnât want to think about what would happen next.
âWhat do I do?â you asked. Your voice sounded small. Desperate. âI canât go back there right now. I can't pull up with you guys. He's gonna be pissed I'm even around you, and heâll immediately know.â
Kie didnât answer right away. She just watched you, her expression tight with something between anger and worry. You could feel the years of distance between you both sitting in the space between the seats. She had warned you. Over and over. And you had still chosen Rafe. Still gone back. Still let him pull you under.
John B cleared his throat. âWhy donât we drop you off a couple blocks from your house? You walk the rest of the way. Act normal. Maybe buy yourself some time.â
You shook your head fast. âNo. Heâll know. If I show up on foot looking like this heâll lose it. Heâll start asking questions. Heâll know im lying. Heâll-â
Your voice broke. The van felt too small. Every bump in the road sent fresh nausea rolling through you. The emptiness in your stomach ached in a way that had nothing to do with the procedure. It was deeper than that. Like something had been carved out, and you were only just starting to feel the hole it left behind.
Kie reached back and touched your knee. Her hand was warm. Steady. For a second, it almost felt like old times. Before Rafe. Before everything got ruined.
âWhy donât you just stay with us?â she said quietly. âAt the Chateau. At least for today. Maybe tomorrow too. Buy yourself some real time.â
You stared at her. The words landed heavily.
âNo,â you said immediately. âNo way. Rafe will kill me if he finds out I went there. He already hates all of you. If he thinks I ran to you and lied to himâŠâ
You trailed off. Your fingers kept working at your scalp. Pulling. Twisting. The sting had turned into a dull throb, but you couldnât stop. It was the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart.
Kie didnât push right away. She just looked at you for a long moment. Her eyes were tired. Guilty. Like she was carrying her own weight from all the times she had tried to warn you and you hadnât listened.
âIf you go back right now,â she said carefully, âyouâre gonna have to look him in the eye and pretend thereâs still a baby. You really think you can do that? For how long? A week? Two? Sooner or later, heâs gonna figure it out. At least if you stay with us, we can buy you some time. Figure out next steps. Maybe even⊠have a little fun for once. Remember what that feels like?â
Fun.
The word felt foreign. Almost ridiculous. You hadnât had fun in so long. Not the kind that didnât come with fear or guilt or Rafeâs eyes watching your every move. The idea of sitting at the Chateau with Kie and her friends, even for a few hours, felt dangerous. But it also felt like the first real breath you had taken in months.
You leaned your head against the window. The glass was cold against your forehead. Outside, the trees blurred past. Your phone buzzed again, but you didnât look. You already knew it was him.
âOkay,â you whispered. Your voice sounded small. Scared. âJust for today. Just until I figure out what to say to him.â
Kie nodded. She squeezed your knee once. It wasnât forgiveness. But it was something.
John B glanced at you in the rearview mirror. âYou sure about this?â
You werenât. But you nodded anyway.
The van kept driving. The road stretched ahead. Forty-five minutes became thirty. Then twenty-five.
Your phone buzzed in your lap.
You didnât want to look. But you did.
Rafe: here (7:54 am)
Rafe: wya (7:56 am)
You stared at the message until the letters blurred. The van hit a bump, and your stomach rolled. Not from the procedure. From him. From the lie you had fed him last night, from the lie right now.
Rafe: now your ignoring me (8:00 am)
Rafe: answer rn (8:01 am)
Your thumb hovered over the screen. Kie glanced back at you but didnât say anything. John Bâs hands tightened on the wheel. The silence in the van felt heavier now, like everyone knew what was coming.
You typed fast, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
You: sorry u know i just woke up (8:04 am)
 You: still at home (8:04 am)
You: Just saw this (8:04 am)
The three dots appeared almost immediately. They disappeared. Came back. Your fingers dug harder into the back of your head. More strands came loose. You could feel the tender spot throbbing now, but you kept pulling anyway.
Rafe: come outside. (8:05 am)
Your breath caught. You looked up at John B. âHeâs at my house.â
Kie turned fully in her seat. âBlock him. Delete him. Now.â
You shook your head. Your hands were shaking too badly to type properly.Â
âIf I block him, heâll lose it. Heâll go inside. Heâll talk to my parents. Heâll know somethingâs wrong.â
Another message popped up.
Rafe: btw turn your lo back on (8:06 am)
You swallowed hard. The taste of panic was metallic on your tongue. You typed again, lying through your teeth even though every word felt like it was choking you.
You: location glitching. (8:07 am)
 You: im getting ready. (8:07 am)
You: ill be out in a sec (8:07 am)
The reply came faster this time.
Rafe: come out or im coming in (8:08 am)
Rafe: im not playing with you y/n (8:08 am)
Your chest tightened so hard you couldnât breathe right. You could picture him perfectly. Sitting in his truck in your driveway, eyes red, jaw locked, one hand gripping the wheel while the other hovered over his phone. Waiting. Always waiting. Like he had all the time in the world because he knew you would eventually break.
Kieâs voice cut through the panic. âWhat did he say?â
âHeâs at my house,â you whispered. âHe said heâs coming in if I donât come out.â
John B cursed under his breath. The van sped up just a little. Not enough. Never enough.
Your phone buzzed again. Then again. Then again.
Rafe: baby please (8:10 am)
Rafe: i waited all night (8:10 am)
Rafe: i thought we were good (8:10 am)
Rafe: why are you doing this to me?(8:11 am)
Rafe: turn your location on right now. im not playing. (8:11 am)
Rafe: im coming in. (8:16 am)
The message sat there. Simple. Final.
You could see it so clearly. Rafe walking up to your front door. Knocking. Your mom answering with that tired, worried. Him smiling that polite Kook smile while his eyes stayed dead. Asking where you were. Asking why you werenât answering.
And when they told him you werenât homeâŠ
You leaned forward and pressed your forehead against the seat in front of you. Your breathing was too fast. Too shallow. The sting at the back of your head wasnât enough anymore. Nothing was enough.
Kieâs hand stayed on your arm. But even she couldnât fix this.
The van kept driving toward the Chateau.
And somewhere behind you, Rafe was stepping inside your house.
Looking for you.
Realizing you had lied.
The panic clawed up your throat and stayed there.
Because you knew what came next.
And there was nowhere left to run.
âŠâŠâŠâŠ.
LIKE REBLOG AND COMMENT FOR MORE! YOUR SUPPORT KEEPS ME MOTIVATED TO WRITE!!
And somehow, without either of us saying anything about it, a routine formed.
It wasnât romantic. It wasnât even something we talked about. There were no âgood morningâ texts, no plans days in advance, no conversations about what this was supposed to mean.
But five more times that week I ended up at Alexâs place.
It always happened the same way. A short message. Usually from him. Sometimes from me when I was pretending I was bored enough to justify it.
Come over.
You busy.
Doorâs open.
Just that quiet pull toward the same place and every time it ended the same way too.
Alex had this way of holding control over a moment without saying much. His hands were always firm, sometimes too firm, and by the time I left his apartment there were always marks somewhere on my skin. Faint bruises along my ribs, fingerprints on my hips, once a darker mark on my shoulder that lasted two days.
None of it felt accidental. He noticed everything. Which meant he definitely noticed the bruises. But neither of us talked about them.
It existed in that strange space between us where things happened but were never labeled.
And the weirdest part?
I kept going back.
âž»
By Thursday night Lucy decided we all needed a break from campus.
Which meant drinks.
The bar was small and dimly lit, the kind of place students packed into because the music was good and nobody cared if you stayed for hours with the same drink.
We were sitting at a corner boothâLucy, Bree, Pippa, and meâhalf laughing over something stupid Lucy had just said.
âThat bartender is my ex,â Lucy announced casually, pointing her glass toward the bar.
We all turned.
He was behind the counter pouring drinks, tall, blond, the type who probably knew exactly how charming he looked when he smiled at customers.
Pippa blinked.
âThatâs your ex?â
Lucy nodded.
Bree leaned forward slightly. âWait, you dated him?â
Lucy shrugged. âFor like⊠two-ish weeks.â
âThatâs barely dating,â I said.
Lucy gave me a look. âIt counts if he ghosted me.â
Pippa burst out laughing.
âYou got ghosted by him?â
âShut up.â
We all laughed, and Lucy rolled her eyes but couldnât stop smiling either.
âAnyway,â she continued, waving it off, âI think I traumatized him..â
âOf course you did,â Bree said laughing.
We stayed there talking for a while, jumping between random topics the way people do after a couple drinks. Classes, gossip, Pippa complaining about one of her professors.
At some point Lucy checked her phone.
âStephenâs asking where we are.â
Pippa groaned immediately. âWhy does he always show up?â
Lucy typed something quickly. âBecause I told him where we are.â
âLucy.â
âWhat?â
âNow heâs going to bring Wrigley and Evan with him.â
She smiled innocently. âRelax.â
Ten minutes later the door of the bar opened.
And there they were.
Stephen walked in first, scanning the room like he owned the place. Behind him was Wrigley, already grinning at something on his phone, and Evan just a step behind them.
Lucy waved them over.
The booth suddenly got crowded as they joined us, chairs scraping and people shifting around to make space.
Evan sat across from me.
âHey,â he said with that familiar soft smile.
âHey.â
Wrigley dropped into the chair beside Bree, immediately leaning closer to say something to her that made her laugh quietly. I noticed the way their shoulders brushed.
Interesting.
Stephen slid into the booth beside Lucy, resting his arm behind her like he always did.
âYou guys started without us,â he said.
âYou took too long,â Lucy replied.
Drinks appeared, conversation picked up again, the group growing louder and more chaotic the longer we sat there.
For a while it actually felt normal. Until the door opened again.
And Alex walked in.
I noticed immediately. I always did.
He paused near the entrance for a second, scanning the room the same way Stephen had earlier.
Then his eyes landed on our table.
Bree suddenly sat up straight. âOh,â she said. âAlex.â
Everyone looked at her.
âI totally forgot,â she added quickly. âI texted him earlier.â
Too late. Alex was already walking toward us. The energy at the table shifted before he even reached it.
Wrigley leaned back slightly in his chair. Stephenâs expression went neutral. Evan glanced between Alex and me for half a second before looking away again.
Alex stopped at the edge of the table.
âBusy night,â he said.
Bree smiled. âSit.â
He grabbed an empty chair and pulled it over, sliding into the spot at the end of the booth.
Our eyes met for a brief moment. No smile.
Just that familiar, quiet recognition. Lucy looked between us, clearly sensing something interesting.
âSo,â she said slowly. âAlex.â
âLucy.â
She grinned. âLong time.â
âNot really.â
Wrigley snorted into his drink. The conversation picked up again after that, but it felt⊠different.
Like there was a current running under the table that only a few of us were aware of.
Alex didnât say much. He mostly listened, occasionally adding a short comment that made people laugh before leaning back again.
But every once in a while I felt his eyes on me. Just quick glances.
At one point Evan asked me something about a class we shared, leaning slightly closer so he could hear me over the music.
I answered normally. But when I looked up again, Alex was watching. His expression hadnât changed.
Lucy suddenly stood up. âShots,â she announced.
Everyone groaned but followed her toward the bar anyway. The group scattered for a moment, chairs scraping as people moved.
By the time the drinks were ordered, I realized Iâd been left at the table.
Not alone. Alex was still there. Leaning back in his chair, watching me.
âYouâve been busy,â he said quietly.
My stomach tightened slightly. âWhat does that mean?â
He tilted his head a little. âYou havenât texted today.â
I crossed my arms. âYou didnât text either.â
âThatâs true.â
Silence stretched for a moment. The music was louder here. Then his eyes dropped briefly to my arm where my sleeve had shifted slightly. Just enough to reveal the faint edge of a bruise near my wrist.
His gaze lingered there and he looked back at me. Something darker flickered across his expression. âCareful,â he murmured.
âAbout what?â
His voice stayed low. âPeople might start asking questions.â
My pulse jumped. âAbout what?â
But before he could answer, the others came back with the drinks.
Lucy slammed the tray onto the table dramatically. âOkay, everyone,â she said. âBad decisions time.â
The glasses were passed around, Laughter filled the table again.
But as everyone grabbed their shots, I could still feel Alexâs eyes on me. The room suddenly felt a lot warmer.
summary: after a snowstorm strikes, you're stuck in the apartment of none other than your coworker/workplace rival, Rafe, forcing you both to live in a confined space with nothing but your own feelings
content warning: enemies to lovers, workplace rivalry, forced proximity, underlying "there's only one bed", explicit sexual content, rafe being a yearner (again, bc a man who yearns is a man who earns) 18+ MDNI
w/c: 15.9k (i kinda got carried away, again-so sorry)
a/n: the inspiration? toronto was under a polar vortex and I was snowed in đ§ââïžkinda (very) insecure about this one since it's written in a way I usually don't write, but it's still my baby :') enjoy!
The cold flush painted across your face started to finally warm up and fade as you sipped on the warm mulled wine cradled in your hands. Outside, the city was already cold, the harsh winds harrowing as you observed the already-greyed sky become darker as the night settled in. Though the snow that had blanketed over the city was beautiful and dangerous at once, sparkling beneath streetlights. The sound of its crunching under your boots when you stepped into the bar.
Though it was happy hour on a Friday after work, you internally thanked that you could have some peace in the hole-in-the-wall bar you and your work friend had once found a few months back. It was quaint in the way that it felt intentional; the owners, being the older millennials they were through and through, were able to curate the bar to make it look effortlessly cozy. Warm lights hung low over wooden tables and second-hand stools that didnât match at all. Thrifted decor that made you wish youâd gotten your hands on it first to keep in your home, but no matter how many times you asked, theyâd never tell where they got it from. The playlist humming in the back that always added the right ambiance to any topic of discussion.Â
âYou seriously need to go on vacation,â your work friend, Sunny, exclaimed as she eyed you taking a huge sip of your drink. âI canât remember the last time you took time off for yourself and actually relaxed.â
Offended, you remarked, âNo, there was that one time back in December, remember?âÂ
âThat was a sick day,â she deadpanned.Â
âThat counts! Plus, I need to make sure the projections and future forecasts are perfect so that the Eden Young acquisition goes according to plan, so I can prove to that buzzed out-cokehead bastard that I know what Iâm doing.â You tip your glass over to down the rest of the wine before smacking your lips again, tasting the citrus and spice coat your mouth again. âPlus, relationships are exhausting. I donât have the energy for that right now.âÂ
This work week couldnât have gotten any more hectic than it already had been for you as you decided to give yourself more work than your boss had ever expected, and mostly out of your own free will, and slightly to spite the one person youâd been competing against your whole career since youâd first joined the firm. Sunny rolled her eyes, clearly not having heard this the first time.Â
âNever mind, you need a vacation, and you seriously need to get laid to get whatever this hatred is in your system out.â She pulled out her phone, showing her lockscreen picture of her and her partner, âI mean, look at me and Roxanne! We never got along, and then one day, I got my shit rocked by them, and now weâve been living together happily for three years.âÂ
âYou left your boyfriend during a date and then had sex with them in the bathroom.âÂ
âThank fuck I did, I donât know how much longer we could have gone lying to each other.âÂ
You nodded in understanding, âTris was a good guy; he looks happy with his boyfriend now.â To which Sunny hummed in agreement. Behind you, the door swung open, letting in a sharp gust of cold and the sound of laughter that didnât belong in a place this calm. Snow scattered across the entryway as two figures stepped inside, shaking off the storm like they werenât already a nuisance.
Sunny smirked at you.
âSpeaking of buzzed-out cokehead bastards, yours just walked in with his little minion.â
You groaned and turned to the bartender with a look of desperation and quiet resignation, sliding your empty glass across the counter. âEspresso martini, please. And triple the amount of vodka.â
The bartender glanced over your shoulder, then back at you, lips twitching. âRough night?â
âYou have no idea,â you muttered.
Rafe Cameronâs voice carried easily through the bar, low and confident, saying something smug enough that it made Sunny snort into her drink. She leaned closer to you, stage-whispering, âWow. Even his entrance is obnoxious.â
âPlease donât let him see us,â you murmured.Â
Rafe had immediately spotted you from the entrance of the bar, your silhouette ingrained far too well in his mind. Though it was cold outside, seeing you made the weather feel incomparably warmer, as you never greeted him with the kindness heâs seen you've shown others. Still, riling you up was always fun, even if you managed to get on his nerves with the silent competition that happened between you two, if it meant he got the opportunity to talk to you.Â
He hated how much he wanted that and hated even more how you consumed his thoughts all the time. The way everyâŻgiggle you let out while talking to that one analyst from the financial planning and analysis team made his heart race and fester with jealousy â not from the fact that you were enjoying your job, but that he wasnât the one who was able to get that reaction out from you and instead are met with witty remarks and not-so-subtle eyerolls that he wished he could get out of you through other ways.Â
Thereâd been one too many times where he wanted to bang his head into the wall, getting frustrated from when youâd give him a hard time with any joint projects within the team from how stubborn you were with him. Then, heading home wired from the interaction itself, ultimately giving into the urge and jerking off to the sight of you earlier as you were bent over conference tables as you drew out merger tactics.Â
Your drink was shortly handed to you, along with two shots of tequila. You looked up at the bartender, as he winked at you. âOn the house, thought you might need it.ââŻÂ
Right when you and Sunny went to clink your glasses, a familiar scent of pinewood cut through the air.âŻÂ
âNot even an hour off the clock and youâre already downing shots like youâre in a sorority. Have some decorum.ââŻÂ
Slowly, you turned your head. Rafe stood far too close for comfort, jacket shrugged open, eyes flicking between the shots and your expression with clear amusement. Bryan, his little minion, a data analyst who laughed a second too late at everything Rafe saidâhovered just behind him, already nursing a beer and pretending not to stare.Â
You downed the shot in one go, then the second, slamming the glass back onto the bar with a sharp clink before finally looking at him.Â
Your hand stilled mid-air. Sunny, on the other hand, turned with open interest, eyes flicking between the shots, your frozen expression, and the man now standing far too close to you.Â
Rafe had shed his coat, the first few buttons of his button-up undone casually like he wasnât the source of half your professional stress. Snow still clung to the dark fabric at his collar, melting slowly, and when you finally glanced at him, his gaze was already on you with a look of amusement.âŻÂ
You tipped the shot back in one smooth motion, then the second, slamming the empty glass onto the bar before turning to face him fully.Â
âDonât you have somewhere else to be?â you asked coolly, your eyes narrowing in on him as he took in your appearance after work. âNo one at home to annoy with your snark and flaunt daddyâs money? How do you even know about Bar Poet?ââŻÂ
âEveryone knows about Bar Poet.ââŻÂ
âWhat? No, no one does.ââŻÂ
Rafe sighed your name in pity and annoyance, a tone you knew all too well and had grown to have a hate-love relationship with. âThen why the fuck is it on the New York Times âTop Ten Bars in the Cityâ?âÂ
Sheepishly looking away, you took a sip of your espresso martini before taking in the scene outside. The snowfall had started to pick up, the streets becoming visibly more white as it gusts through. Winters in the city were great, except only when you were in the comfort of your condo, which you couldnât wait to get to. The idea of a scorching hot bath, the bath salts youâd bought sitting in your bag, and your current read was calling your name, and with Rafe looming over you, it was the only thing that would probably get you through the rest of your evening.Â
Rafe purposefully hovered over you as he gave his order to the bartender, smirking at the blush creeping up your face as you became acutely aware of just how little space there was between your bodies. You felt an unusual pressure from the core between your thighs grow warm, heat blossoming from the He could feel the heat radiating off you, close enough to notice the way it mixed with the scent of vanilla and something warm, like amber, from your perfume that heâd grown accustomed to.Â
Youâd be lying to yourself if you said Rafe didnât look at least a bit more different here today than he usually did. He usually did a good job of not letting hisÂ
âRelax, Princess,â he said, âweâre only here for a drink anyway.âÂ
âIâll go grab us a table,â Bryan stated, before Sunny mercifullyâor maybe maliciouslyâdecided to fill the silence and grabbed his arm.âŻÂ
âStay! Look, thereâs so much space, and a little birdie told me you saw the bossman at Pilates,â she teased, grinning as she tugged him back toward the bar stool next to her.Â
Bryan coughed awkwardly, cheeks flushing as he shot Rafe a look. âI, uhâpurely coincidental,â he said quickly, suddenly very invested in the condensation on his glass.âŻÂ
âWhat do you mean it was coincidental? Hiding something, Bryan?â You smirked.âŻÂ
Rafe snorted, rolling his shoulders as the conversation bored him already. âIf Bryanâs hiding anything, itâs how he somehow manages to complain about the workload while still never being the one who actually gets blamed when shit hits the fan.âÂ
You shot him a look. âLike how you always send emails at seven oâclock in the morning and then complain that no one respects your time?ââŻÂ
âI work,â Rafe shot back smoothly, ârelentlessly. Itâs exhausting carrying half the firm on my back and being the only one that the boss can truly rely on.âÂ
âOh my god,â you muttered into your drink.âŻÂ
âPlus, if you ever did notice, Iâm always working late. I couldnât even remember what my apartment looked like at one point. I donât recall seeing you at the office until then.ââŻÂ
âThatâs because I sit at a focus pod so I donât have to hear you, Cameron.ââŻÂ
 Sunny pointed her finger at you, quick to your defence. âShe also hasnât taken a day off since ever!ââŻÂ
âThatâs crazy,â Bryan said, âespecially considering Jason always lets Rafe take extra time off.ââŻÂ Â
âThatâs because I work my ass off hard enough for Jason to notice.âÂ
âAnd the rest of us donât?â You looked at him, eyebrows furrowed in a V-shape as you studied whatever audacity he had in him to overlook everyone elseâs efforts.
âNot as hard as me,â Rafe shrugged nonchalantly, his arms slightly brushing against yours, burning this path into your skin while you tried to tell yourself to get over it. âThe numbers speak for themselves.â
âListen, I get that itâs tiring to be the bossâ pet and constantly dick ride him, but can you not go three seconds without talking about it?" You turn around to face him,Â
âCareful,â he said lightly, tilting his head toward you. âFor someone who claims she doesnât care, youâre awfully invested in my work ethic.â
Bryan snorted into his beer. âGod, you two need to fuck each other before either one of you chokes the other one out.âÂ
âThatâs what I said!â Sunny exclaimed, âThereâs more sexual tension between these two than there was in the entire 50 Shades of Grey series.âÂ
You scoffed. âExcuse me?â
Rafe blinked once, like the idea had genuinely caught him off guardâthough not for the reason anyone else would assume. He recovered quickly, leaning back against the bar. âThatâs never gonna happen, Bryan.â
âYeah,â you said flatly. âIâll never sleep with someone who probably jerks off to his quarterly performance review.â
A slow smile spread across his face, not because he was offended or embarrassed, but worse. He was actually amused. He leaned in just enough that only you could really feel it.
âFunny,â he murmured. âYou donât want to sleep with me, but youâve clearly spent some time thinking about it.â His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before coming back up. âMakes me wonder whoâs actually interested here.âÂ
You carefully looked at Rafe, taking in his current state âat the loosened tie, the faint flush in his cheeks from the cold, the way his attention stayed fixed on you no matter who else was talking. It only made the knot in your chest tighten and burn from the inside, from both embarrassment and exasperation. There were one too many times where youâd woken up, heaving for air and sweating profusely from a wet dream, where Rafe had his head between your legs as an apology for the way heâd irritated you at work, or how heâd done the one thing that youâd never forgive him for, no matter how many times youâd thought about how his lips would mould against yours.
âCan you justâŠnot? Iâve had a long week,â you said flatly. âAnd youâre not helping.â
You looked away, your eyes meeting the bartenderâs softened ones, looking back at you. He leaned over the counter, his voice soft as he set another napkin down in front of you, âIf it makes you feel any better, youâre the highlight of my day whenever you come in.â
On the napkin was his name, Ryan, and a phone number scribbled in blue ink. You blinked, clearly off guard because heâd remembered you while you barely even knew his name. Heat crept up your neck, a soft laugh slipping out before you could stop it. âThatâs very kind of you.â
From beside you, Rafe stiffened. âHey,â he said coolly, looking at the bartender with a tight jaw and narrowed eyes. âQuit flirting with your customers and focus on making my drink.â
You looked at Rafe like heâd grown three heads as you contemplated ripping his off. The smug smirk on his face added fuel to the growing hatred you had for him. âRafe!âÂ
âWhat? Pretty sure I ordered first.âÂ
Sunnyâs eyes were practically sparkling at the whole interaction, while Bryan suddenly found his beer even more interesting than it was before. You cleared your throat, overwhelmed by the attention and all the alcohol in your system that was starting to make Rafeâs irritation feel oddly personal as you thought more about it. âI- uh, Iâll be right back.âÂ
You slid off the stool, grabbing your bag a little too quickly as you walked off, trying to ignore the set of eyes you knew were watching you as you went down the narrow hallways. It wasnât like it happened the first time, every time you had something good happen to you, whether it be praise for your work or a good moment between a coworker and yourself, Rafe had always stepped in and burst your bubble in some way. Heâd always managed to take something that was specifically yours and then turn it around for it to be his, leaving no room for you to feel pride in any sort of form. Yet, some part of you kept pulling you back into the cycle in hopes of one day getting your payback and proving him wrong, slightly because while your ego was bruised, it was also so that the younger you, whoâd fought tooth and nail to get to where you were now, didnât sacrifice her own mental sanity for nothing.
Looking into the bathroom mirror, you composed yourself before getting a message from Sunny.Â
Sunny: Hey, im SO soz but i have to run bc Rox had an emergency! lmk when you get home!!!
âGreat,â you muttered to yourself as you braced for whatever was on the other side of the door, âhow am I gonna sneak past them?âÂ
Just as you walked out, you collided with a firm frame, only for it to be Rafeâs when you looked up.Â
âYou alright?â Rafeâs voice was low as he steadied you with his hands on your arms, the heat from his arms burning through the fabric of your shirt as if they were made of fire.Â
âI donât need your concern, Cameron. I really donât have the energy for you anymore tonight,â you said, voice as cold as ice as you attempted to push away from him.
âLiar.â
âYeah? First, you intrude my space after work with whatever audacity you have. Then, you miraculously have the ability to trample over whatever good thing happens to me. And you still expect me to have any energy left for you tonight?â
âIs this what this is about?â Rafe raised an eyebrow, though it was obvious that he was smug about it. âYouâre mad that I cockblocked you and that bartender?âÂ
âOh, donât try to fucking patronize me.â You leaned in closer, hissing, âThis is more than just that, and you know it. You think everything revolves around you, but God forbid the officeâs nepo-baby isnât the centre of attention.âÂ
âI am not a nepo-baby,â he shot back. âHe was flirting with you while he was working on the clock. He wasnât doing his fucking job like he should have and gotten me my drink before.âÂ
âAre you hearing yourself right now? You donât get to have an opinion about who I talk to or who talks to me.â
âI wasnât giving an opinion.âÂ
âYou literally told him to focus on your drink like-â
âBecause he was looking at you like-â
âLike what?â you challenged, stepping closer without realizing it. You both had gotten closer to each other without even realizing it, to the point where you could feel him breathing in the same air as you, focusing on how he took deeper breaths from the exchange. âLike someone who actually enjoys my company? Like someone who actually wants to know me? Sorry thatâs such a foreign concept to you, Rafe, but itâs how relationships start.â
His hands flexed at his sides.
âDonât,â he warned quietly.
âDonât what? Point out that you canât stand someone else getting the attention you never got from a girl? That you canât stand when I-â
You were suddenly caught off by Rafe as he pressed his lips to yours, kissing you like it was his first and last time. It was anything but gentle, the months of pent-up frustration and unspoken tension pouring into it as his hand braced against the wall beside your head as if he needed the support to keep himself from topping you both to the ground. For a split second, you froze, your mind in disbelief that Rafe, the one person who vexed you, who knew how to get you riled up, who you truly despised, was the one who was kissing you.Â
Then the anger melted straight into heat, feeling yourself melt like butter into the kiss. You slightly gasped into the kiss as he began to move his lips against yours, swiping this against the seams of your lips and tasting the bitterness of coffee on yours. You curled your fingers into this shirt before you could think better of it, slightly moaning against Rafeâs lips.Â
Rafe initially couldnât fathom that heâd gone ahead and kissed you mid-conversation, but was even more confused now as he felt you kiss him back. His heart beat faster than it possibly could, his thoughts ran faster though as he felt the softness of your lips move against yours and your hands now placed against his chest. Admittedly, while Rafe was annoyed that he still hadnât gotten his drink, seeing the bartender be able to flirt with you so effortlessly sparked a possessive flame in him that set off his reaction. Youâd never felt at ease with him like you did with a complete stranger, and youâd definitely never give the same doe-eyed look that youâd seen you give to the bartender. He was tired of losing against everyone for someone he was always bickering with for something he wasnât even sure how itâd started in the first place.Â
As his body pressed flush against yours, the unmistakable hardness between you made your breath catch. Heat pooled low in your stomach, your hips moving before you could stop yourself, seeking friction against him.
Rafeâs hand slid to the small of your back, fingers spreading wide as he dragged you closer, eliminating whatever space had been left between your bodies. A quiet sound left his throat when you moved against him again â approval, hunger, something darker â and he answered by rolling his hips slowly into yours in return.
âAhem.â Your heads whipped to a woman with irritation painted on her face, waiting to get to the bathroom door, âCan I⊠go in?âÂ
You both muttered your apologies and stepped to the side, clearly even more frustrated than before.
âI- fuck,â Rafe breathed out, âYouâre coming home with me.â His thumb brushed over your jutted out bottom lip, slow as if he was tracing where heâd left his mark.
Your mind was so hazed over from the alcohol, and even moreso from the intoxicating kiss you both had just shared, you simply nodded your head and picked up your bag from the floor where theyâd dropped it. âWhat about Bryan?â
âHe left early, canât remember what he said though.âÂ
âIâll just uh,â you looked towards the bar, Ryanâs back was towards you as he helped another customer. âPay my tab an-â
âAlready handled it. Câmon.âÂ
Rafe grabbed your hand, picking up the rest of whatever was left at your spots and heading back out into the cold as the snowfall began to pick up. Even through the limited visibility ahead of you, Rafeâs hand hadnât let go of you once as he guided you through the city.Â
Rafeâs lips had barely left you once since youâd entered the building, from the moment the elevator doors slid shut, he was on you. Your back hit the mirrored wall with a dull thud as his mouth crashed against yours, a messy, desperate clash of teeth and tongues as either of you tried to fight for dominance. You hadnât realized that the elevators had stopped until a bell chimed and Rafeâs face whipped behind to see whoâd interrupted. A teenager, no older than sixteen, stared with his mouth agape at the sight of Rafe with his hand on your chest and one of your legs hiked up. Rafe just shot the kid a filthy smirk over your shoulder before the doors closed again.Â
By the time you stumbled into his apartment, neither of you were pretending this was anything but inevitable. Your bag hit the floor somewhere near the entryway as his coat followed. You barely registered moving down the hallway before the back of your knees hit the mattress. You landed on Rafeâs bed with a soft bounce, the expensive sheets cool against your flushed skin as he trailed his kisses from behind your ear to your neck. He inhaled the smell of your shampoo, citrusy and fresh, while his hands made work of pulling off your shirt. Rafe felt like he was experiencing sex for the first time all over again as his eyes quickly took in the state you were in, your lips swollen, eyes full of need. It was almost like he had complete reign over you, but he still was at your mercy if you wanted him to since heâd never imagined that heâd get to have you in his bed, let alone even kiss you.Â
You smirked, noticing that Rafe was spacing out, âCat finally got your tongue?âÂ
Rafe pinched your nipple through your bra, making you arch against his body. âYou have such a fuckinâ mouth on you, even in bed.âÂ
âAnd you arenât doing anything,â you countered, as you undid your bra and threw it to the side. âI couldâve gotten myself to cum by now.âÂ
Rafe followed, stripping himself quickly while throwing in, âSo thatâs why youâre always in a mood, because no oneâs ever been able to get you off.âÂ
âShut up, I could make you cum before I do - oh my god,â you breathed out just as Rafe took your breast in his mouth, his tongue circling your nipple. Your nails dug into his shoulders, a sharp, satisfying pain that made him hiss.
"You talk too much, princess," he snarled, yanking your dress pants down your legs. He hooked his fingers into your panties and tore them, the flimsy fabric giving way with a sharp sound. "Always have something to say." He spread your thighs roughly, his gaze dropping to the slick heat between them. A cruel, triumphant smile twisted his lips. "Look at you. Already soakinâ for me."
"Go to hell," you breathed, but it came out as a moan as he dragged a finger through your folds, circling your clit without giving you the friction you desperately craved. It was a power play, and you both knew it. He wanted you begging for more, and oddly enough, something in you wanted to see how long you could make him make you work for it before he broke and caved in on himself. Rafe continued to collect the slick thatâd collected between your thighs, feeling you become wetter. His finger continued its maddening dance, a slow, deliberate circle that never quite touched the pulsing, sensitive nub at your core. Your hips bucked involuntarily, trying to chase the friction, to force his hand where you needed it most. You breathed out his name, feel frustrated from the building tension yet with not going further like you needed him to. âFaster, please.â
âSaying please?â He shifted, his knee pressing between your thighs, forcing them wider. He lowered his head, his lips brushing against yours, a feather light touch that was more torment to you than comfort. âThatâs a first, princess.âÂ
"Asshole," you gasped, digging your nails into his shoulders, hard enough to draw blood hoping it hurt. Then Rafeâs hand came down, landing a sharp, stinging slap directly onto your exposed pussy. The jolt was electric, a bolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure intermingled with pain that shot straight to your core. You cried out, your forehead resting against the cool glass as your body trembled.Â
"Oh my god," your voice a ragged whisper.
He obliged. Another sharp slap, then another, until you were a quivering mess, your body humming with a desperate, frantic energy. "You like that, don't you?" he taunted, his voice akin to a dark caress. "Look at you," he snarled in your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "All high and mighty, but you're dripping for me, aren't you? So desperate for my cock you can't even think straight."
Rafe wasn't wrong. You could feel the slickness coating your inner thighs, a humiliating betrayal of your body's desire. He ran his fingers through your drenched folds, a cruel, exploratory touch that had you writhing against the glass. "So fucking wet from jusâ that," he groaned, his voice thick with lust. "Jesus." He brought his slick fingers to his mouth, licking them clean with a groan of pure satisfaction. The sight was so obscene, so possessive, it made your knees weak.
âYou taste so fuckinâ good, just as good as you look.â Rafe inserted a finger into you, pumping in and out as he leaned in to kiss you again. You could taste yourself on his tongue, feeling dirty about the whole ordeal. It wasnât long until Rafe pushed another finger into you, coaxing you that youâd been ready for it because of how wet you were. Though you had no capability to think, this was the wettest and most turned on youâd been since forever.Â
You pulsed around his fingers, gripping onto them, and he kept moving, and felt the tension in the apex of your tights becoming tighter when you realized that heâd been close to getting you to cum first. It pained you to have to deny your own orgasm, but youâd be damned if you let Rafe win; itâd give him the ego boost you couldnât afford to give, even on your deathbed.Â
In an instant, you pulled yourself away from the kiss and guided Rafeâs hands out of you before sinking to the ground and onto the plush carpet. It almost pained you to have to ruin them, knowing you were dripping of arousal on what felt like a designer carpet, but once youâd remembered that Rafe had come from money, it didnât feel as bad. Rafe watched you through hooded eyes and the lingering thought of how angelic you looked at that moment as you freed his cock from his boxers, your hands wrapping around the base of it, and it slightly twitched â thick, long, and flushed in a deep shade. The head was already leaking with beads of precum thatâd evidently been smeared, and you guided it to your mouth.Â
Rafe couldnât wait any longer, thus fisting his hand into your hair and shoving himself inside. He moaned at the feeling of your warm mouth enveloped around his cock, and even moreso melting at the sight of your current stateâthe way your lips stretched around him as he guided you up and down, hitting the back of your throat. You gagged, tears springing to your eyes, but you didn't pull away. You took it, taking him deeper, relaxing your throat to accommodate his brutal size. He set a punishing rhythm, fucking your face with a raw, primal need. "That's it, princess," he grunted, his hips pistoning. "Shit, if Iâd known how good you were with your mouth, Iâd have shut you up a long time ago." You slapped one of his thighs, looking up at him in annoyance.
He pulled you off him, a string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to the glistening head of his cock. He hauled you to your feet and threw you onto the bed, making you bounce on the mattress. You scrambled to your hands and knees, but he was on you before you could get away. He covered your body with his, his weight a delicious, suffocating pressure, and lined himself up with your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock through your soaked folds to tease you.
"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice a low growl against your ear. "Beg for it."
"Fuck you," you spat, pushing back against him, trying to impale yourself on his cock.
He huffed out a controlled breath and grabbed your hips, stilling your movements. "God, I have to do everything, donât I, Princess?" He delivered a sharp, stinging slap to your ass. "Câmon. Beg," he commanded again, his voice leaving no room for argument. Rafe pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes burning with an intensity that stole your breath. He saw everythingâthe desperation, the hate, the reluctant desire. He saw you, completely undone, and he loved it.Â
You tried your best to move, you really did, but Rafeâs grip was too strong. Though you kept a grip on yourself, refusing to give in as you were somewhat eager to see if his walls would crack just enough for you to take charge. While Rafe wasnât used to his conquests in bed ever disobeying him, he felt himself throb even more at how youâd always managed to put up a fight and in a way, it fascinated him even more to see the lengths youâd go to get the orgasm he so desperately wanted you to have first. He landed another smack to your ass again, your skin feeling like it was on fire, before picking you up and placing you to the side.Â
You stared at him, confused as he moved away from the bed, âWh-what? Where are you going?â
Rafe shrugged, âYou donât want to beg, and Iâm not gonna give an orgasm to someone whoâs beinâ a brat.âÂ
âFine,â you lay down on the bed while looking at him, âthen I guess you donât mind if I get myself off to the thought of Ryan.âÂ
âExcuse me?â He felt the same jealousy burn in him again, but tried to keep his cool. His eyes followed to where you started to rub circles against your clit, before looking back into yours. Neither of you broke eye contact, but rather, you let out a lazy, yet daunting, smile as your fingers began to get to work. It was a calculated risk, but as soon as you noticed the flash of fury in Rafeâs eyes, it all became worth it. His composure that he often held, the one that could never falter, soon crumbled to dust. He was no longer the detached observer; he was a man possessed.
Your fingers dipped lower, gathering your slickness before returning to your clit, rubbing a little faster, a little harder. You let out a soft, breathy moan, a sound you knew would drive him insane. "He probably would have done anything I asked."
That did it. A low, guttural growl ripped from Rafe's chest, a sound of pure, primal rage. He was looming over you in the second, putting your movements to a halt as he kissed you again, almost like he was taking possession of you. Rafe rubbed his length through your folds, lubing himself with your slick, and in with one brutal, unforgiving thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.Â
You screamed, a raw, guttural sound of pure ecstasy as he split you open. Rafe gave you no time to adjust, setting a fast pace from the very beginning. Each thrust was a punishment, a claim, a reminder of every hateful word you'd ever exchanged. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, a lewd, percussive rhythm that was the soundtrack to your destruction. He reached around and found your clit, his fingers rubbing tight, merciless circles. The dual stimulation was too much.
âCum for me,â he demanded.Â
âYou cum first,â you spat back. He increased the pressure on your clit, thrusting harder than he was doing before. His touch was rough and insistent, matching the brutal pace of his hips. The dual stimulation was a sensory overload, a delicious, agonizing assault on your senses. The anger, the jealousy, the hateâit was all melting away, consumed by the white-hot fire of his possession.
âIâm gonna count to five, and then youâre gonna cum.âÂ
Rafeâs grip on your hip tightened, his other hand fisting in the hair at the nape of your neck, tilting your head back. His body was a hard line against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.
âOne,â he gritted out, his voice a low growl as he drove into you with a sharp, powerful thrust that stole your breath. The pressure built instantly, a familiar tension building up again in your belly. He didn't give you a chance to adjust before he moved again.
âTwo,â he counted, the sound rough and possessive. This thrust was deeper, harder, designed to push you closer to that edge. A desperate cry escaped your lips, your nails digging into the sweat-slick skin of his back. He paused for a fraction of a second, letting the anticipation hang in the air before his hips snapped forward again.
âThree.â The word was punctuated by a thrust that hit that perfect spot deep inside you, making your vision blur with pleasure. The coil in your stomach tightened to an almost painful degree, your entire body trembling with the need for release.
âFour,â he snarled, his rhythm becoming erratic, his control clearly fraying. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your broken moans and his harsh breathing. You were right there, teetering on the precipice, waiting for the final push.
âFive.â The last number was a guttural declaration as he slammed into you one final, brutal time, holding himself deep as he whispered against your lips, âCum for me, princess. Show me who you belong to.â His words were your undoing. Your orgasm tore through you, a violent, convulsive wave that ripped a scream from your lungs. Your body spasmed, your vision going white as pleasure, sharp and absolute, consumed you. Wave after wave of intense, overwhelming pleasure pulsed through you, leaving you a shaking, breathless mess in his arms. He fucked you through it, his thrusts becoming erratic, his breathing ragged in your ear as he chased his own release.
"Mine," he grunted, his grip on your hips tightening painfully. "You're fucking mine."
With a final, guttural groan, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he came, his hot release flooding you. He collapsed to your side, your body already missing the way his kept you warm, then pulled you over to face him. He kissed you again, slower and more intense, like youâd vanish if he stopped. You explored him, tasting the Jack Daniels that was left on his tongue from the bar, memorizing the texture of his lips, the sharp edge of his teeth. You rocked your hips again, a slow, deliberate grind that had him groaning into your mouth before pulling away.Â
Rafe stroked your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle. The silence was heavy, thick with the unspoken truth that had just been violently fucked into existence. It wasnât long until your felt your eyes begin to close, your mind succumbing to the rest it so desperately needed.
The first thing you noticed was pure white light seeping through the windows and a type of silence you hadnât heard in years. The sheets were softer, heavier, and more luxurious than the ones youâd bought from a department store before moving here, smelling faintly of something unfamiliar, like cedar and laundry detergent instead of your usual lavender.Â
Your eyes opened slowly, confusion knitting your brows together as you took in the unfamiliar ceiling, the unfamiliar bedding, the unfamiliar sunlight filtering through curtains that definitely did not exist in your apartment. Then you felt the weight and the steady heat of another body pressed against yours. An arm draped over your stomach and soft snores that hummed close to your ear. Carefully turning your head, you moved to see where you were â and nearly choked.Â
Rafe was blissfully sleeping right next to you. Naked. Just like you.Â
âFuck,â you whispered to yourself, elongating the word as the reality of your situation settled in, âfuck, fuck, fuck.â
It almost made you scream, dread filling you as you tried to navigate how youâd leave without waking him up. As slowly as you could, you lifted Rafeâs arm off of you and quickly placed a pillow underneath it before moving away. Looking around, it terrified you how minimalistic and lifeless his apartment looked, almost as if it had replicated itself from American Psycho. Almost like it was a reflection of Rafe himself, cold, calculated, and anything but lively. You made quick work to get dressed when you looked to see Rafeâs button-up from last night lying next to your blouse on the ground. As a final fuck you, you slipped it on and grabbed yours and headed out, grabbing your bag and coat on the way that youâd put on in the lobby to not waste another second.Â
Though you could barely tell what youâd even seen of the apartment last night, stepping through the hallway, it became apparent that youâd set foot in only a fraction of what seemingly looked like a mansion. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the living space, sunlight pouring in over sleek furniture that looked like it belonged in a showroom rather than somewhere someone lived.
âNo wonder he forgot what his apartment looked like,â you muttered to yourself as you walked to the door, where a singular picture frame hung on a small corner of the wall next to the entrance. In it held a picture of Rafe, who looked no older than four, being held by a woman who looked exactly like Rafe.Â
His child-like eyes were soft, much softer than the hard ones that you were used to seeing all the time, and a genuine smile that held happiness that could only stem from the joy of being young and naive. It made your heart ache to wonder what happened to have turned that little boy into someone who was no different from a robot, or how this was the same person who you held resentment for, when he was someoneâs baby.Â
Your stomach twisted unexpectedly. Youâd always assumed Rafe lived the way he came off to be, loud and chaotic, but instead, the apartment felt quiet and controlled. Even more so lonely, like heâd been put in the most luxurious, minimalistic jail for a crime heâd never confess to. You were snapped out of your thoughts when someone started knocking at the door, scaring you because if Rafe woke up and caught you sneaking out, youâd be in even deeper in a mess than you already were. So you did the most logical thing.Â
You opened the door.Â
On the other end was a man who looked to be a part of the buildingâs management team, staring at you in the same way you were at him. You leaned against the doorframe, trying to look as natural a homeowner as possible.
âH-hey,â you glanced down to find his nametag, only to realize he didnât have one. âWhat brings you here?â
âGood morning, miss,â he said cautiously, âI just came with an important message if I could just let t-âÂ
âYou can let me know! Matter of fact, I was just about to head out, let me grab my things, and we go.âÂ
âWell, miss, I wish I could, but I really need to tel-â
âYeah, no, yeah, Iâll hear you out. Donât worry. Just need to get this otherâumphâheel on, and weâll go. Sorry, what did you say your name wa-âÂ
âHey, Louis.â Your face dropped as you froze up. If someone were pumping a cooling agent into your bloodstream, you could definitely feel it with the way your blood ran cold. Rafe came up behind you, his hand on the small of your back as he came to the doorframe to speak directly to the man who was clearly judging you now. His voice, thick with sleep, rasped, âI see youâve met myâŠfriend. Is everything okay?âÂ
âAh, yes, sheâs quite the talker. I just wanted to personally let you know that weâre advising everyone to stay inside due to the weather and our ability to get out.âÂ
âWhat do you mean?âÂ
âThe doors are blocked, weâve been snowed in.âÂ
âWhat?â You yelped, âYou mean Iâm stuck here?âÂ
âUh, yes? Were you not aware that there was a snowstorm today? It was all over the news.âÂ
âOkay, thank you for letting us know, Louis,â Rafe interjected, âHave a good day.â With that, you were pulled back into the apartment and the door shut. Rafe was now leaning against the hallway wall, blocking you from going any further. His shirtless frame, messy hair, and sweatpants hanging low on his hips threw you off. You could tell he was eyeing you, taking in the sight of his shirt on your body, then back to your face.Â
âItâs one thing to leave someone alone in bed, acting like last night never happened,â he started, the corner of his mouth twitched, âStealing my clothes as well? I must say, thatâs very bold of you to do.âÂ
âHad to give you the whole experience,â you sarcastically shot back before pushing him aside to look out of the windows to assess the situation. A quiet huff of amusement left him, but it faded just as quickly when he glanced toward the windows.
âYeah,â he muttered. âAbout that.âÂ
You looked out to see nothing but snow, not just falling, but piling. Thick white sheets that had already blanketed the streets below more than it already had last night, cars barely visible, wind still whipping flakes sideways against the glass.Â
âNo,â you breathed.
Rafe dragged a hand down his face. âStorm warning came in overnight. Roads are shut down.â
You turned slowly toward him. âYouâre kidding.â
âWish I was, princess.â
The realization settled between you both, âIâm stuck withâŠyou? For the next two days?â You panicked.Â
âNot how I wanted to spend the only days I have away from you, either.âÂ
You ignored him, trying to find a way out, âThere has to be an Uber available for me to go-â you were cut short again when you saw that there were no rides available. âI was supposed to go house-sitting for my sister. Ugh.âÂ
âIs that why you looked like youâre carrying a duffle bag at work, but you still wanted to take my Tom Ford?âÂ
âIt does not look that big.â
âI can see three sets of clothes packed in there right now. But yeah, by all means, take the shirt I bought with my own money.â
âYouâre not gonna die without it, you fuckinâ crybaby. And yes, sheâs gone to Mexico to meet her boyfriendâs parents.â You stared out, trying to figure out how to get out of here to not only save yourself from the impending truth about how youâd slept with Rafe, but also that you enjoyed it to the point where you felt yourself heating up at the thought of last night. Rafe walked away, overwhelmed that you were not only wearing his shirt like heâd once dreamed of, but that heâd have to spend two days with you even though you both couldnât stand to be around one another.Â
It wasnât until moments later when Rafe walked up and offered you a protein bar, âItâs for breakfast.âÂ
You stared at it, âYou donât have any food in the house?âÂ
âI do, but the chef I hired wonât be able to come in so...âÂ
âAnd you donât know how to cook?â You stared at him incredulously, wondering how he could live in such a place, with the most beautiful kitchen youâd ever seen, and not even use it. âYou have groceries, just make something.â
âI donât have time for that.âÂ
âYou know damn well you do,â you replied, walking over to open the fridge, with you being met with rows of neatly organized containers and glass bottles of green juice. Typical, you thought to yourself. There was enough food to feed a family of five.
âIf I did, I wouldnât have hired someone,â he said defensively behind you. You turned, brows raised. âAnd now you have all the time in the world, yet youâre relying on a protein bar.â
He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you move around his kitchen like you belonged there, opening cabinets to pull out a pan, then tying your hair back with the elastic from your wrist.
Something in his chest tightened once he realized what you were about to do. No one had ever willingly done anything for him before without expecting something in return, at least not since his mother passed.Â
âYou donât have toââ he started.
âI know,â you cut him off. âI want to.â
Rafe went quiet, before you spoke up again. âBut youâre going to do it with me.âÂ
The rest of the day went by with both of you actively avoiding each other, except every single opportunity between you two led to both of you irritating each other.Â
You both were sitting on opposite sides of the couch, Rafe mindlessly scrolling on his phone while you watched TV.Â
âYou breath loudâ he said without looking up.Â
You turned slowly, âI do not breath loudly. Have you heard yourself snore?â
âSomeone paid attention last night,â Rafe smirked. You shook your head, looking away from him and returning back to where youâd left off. âWhat are you even watching?â
âYou hate it.â
âPut it back on,â he said when you reached for the remote.
Oddly enough, Rafe had offered to make you coffee as a way to warm you both up, but your skepticism made you follow him into the kitchen when he was taking too long. On the counter, a mug, handthrown and nothing like the aesthetic that Rafe had going on in this place, was set.Â
You grabbed it without thinking twice, hoping itâd be a quick exit for you to get back to your book, when you took a sip and immediately grimaced.Â
âJesus, Rafe, this tastes likeââ
âThatâs mine.â
You froze mid-sentence. Slowly, you looked down at the mug in your hand, seeing nothing but black coffee swirling in its confinements, then back up at him. He was leaning against the counter, holding another cup that was identical to yours except your coffee was lighter.Â
âMy sister, Wheezie, she got into pottery and sent this over to me a while back,â He walked over to you, holding your coffee mug out. âMade yours with cream and sugar.âÂ
âYou couldnât label it?â you muttered, suddenly very aware of where your lips had just been.
âYou didnât ask.â
You scoffed, but handed the mug to Rafe in exchange for your drink. You watched as he turned it slightly in his hand, almost deliberately aligning it, then lifted the mug to his mouth and drank from the exact same spot your lips had just touched.Â
Your stomach flipped.
âThatâs disgusting,â you said, but your voice came out thinner than you intended. Rafe lowered the mug, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
âDidnât seem to bother you five seconds ago.â
Heat crept up your neck.
âYouâre insufferable.â You took a sip from the mug, painted to look whimsical as ever, and smiled a little, âBut your sister has a talent for painting though.âÂ
Rafeâs phone buzzed once, and a couple more times afterwards, making you slightly annoyed as you continued to read your book.
Then he laughed, though it wasnât in his usual sharp, detached huff, but something lighter. Warmer. The kind of laugh youâd heard before, back when boys thought they were subtle about having a crush. Your stomach twisted as it lingered over the possibility that all this time, Rafe was infatuated with someone else while youâd slept with him. Even worse, youâd began to feel warmer towards Rafe, where his glance made you slightly weak in the knees instead of digging your nails into the palms as youâd clenched your fists. Perhaps Sunny had been right, you did need to get laid, but getting laid by Rafe was not what you anticipated that she meant.Â
You glanced over, âWhoâs that?âÂ
âWhy do you care?âÂ
âYouâre smiling at your screen! You never smile, period.âÂ
Rafe turned to look at you and rolled his eyes, âSo? Itâs none of your business.â
You looked away, your cheeks blushing in embarrassment. Rafe was right, it really was none of your business and the fact that you cared more than you should have for someone you thought you despised mortified you.Â
It wasnât until a bit later when he spoke up, âIt was a picture of my niece from my sister, if you were wondering.â
Walking into the living room, you found Rafe doing push-ups on the floor. Shirtless.Â
Of course.Â
You rolled your eyes as you walked over to grab your laptop from your bag. âIs this really necessary?âÂ
âYes, I canât miss a single day.âÂ
âYou live in this big ass fancy apartment and they donât have a gym here?âÂ
âItâs not like the one I go to,â he pushed up. The muscles on his back flexed as he continued his movements, making your mouth go slightly dry. He looked back up at you, sweat droplets dragging down his forehead and he noticed you in a trance. âYou staring?âÂ
âWhat? No, Iâm judging you and your lack of form.âÂ
âSure you are.âÂ
You grabbed a throw pillow and threw it at his head, but to your surprise, he caught it mid-air without breaking form.
âDonât you have anything else to do?â He said between reps, his voice heavy.
He dropped to the floor again, slower this time. You hated how your eyes followed the movement, seeing his back flex made you wonder about what it felt to have touched them last night. The way his short spurts of breath and heavy whimpering reminded you of what youâd heard as Rafe thrusted into you made confused all over again, so you grabbed your things and walked away.
âYou folded that wrong.â Rafe said, watching you handle his laundry.
âItâs a towel, Rafe, how else does one fold it?âÂ
âIt has a system,â he walked over to the living room where youâd set up his laundry, grabbing it from you and rolling it up, âand donât touch my stuff.âÂ
âYou left it in the dryer for God knows how long,â you fussed, âI need to do mine too if Iâm stuck here. Instead of being a tad bit grateful that Iâm keeping this place functional, you keep bitching at me.âÂ
âIâm not the one with a stick up her ass,â Rafe shot back, completely unbothered, hands shoved into his sweatpants pockets.
You scoffed. âPlease. If anyone here has a stick up their ass, itâsââ
Something cold smacked into the side of your shoulder.
You froze. Slowly, you looked down to find snow, packed into a neat little ball, already crumbling against your sweater.
Rafe stood three feet away by the balcony, lips pressed together like he was trying not to smile. Your jaw dropped. âDid you justââ
Another snowball hit you. This time square in the chest, making you gasp.Â
âOh, my- RAFE!âÂ
You lunged for the small pile of snow gathered along the balcony edge, scooping some up and launching it at him. He dodged the first one easily, laughing which only made you more determined.
âI am hilarious,â he said, ducking again, then retaliating with one that caught your hip. âYouâre just mad youâre losing.â
âI am notââ
You stepped forward too fast.
Your sock hit melted slush.
The world tilted.
There was a split second where you realized you were going downâfollowed immediately by the impact of Rafe grabbing for you, which only made both of you lose balance entirely. You landed on your back with a startled gasp, feeling the impact of the hard surface beneath you, only for Rafe to land on top of you. Neither of you moved, simply looking each other in the eyes. Rafe broke contact first, just to glance down at your lips, though you caught it. Snowflakes drifted down around you as the wind blew some threw the open balcony door. Rafeâs weight braced on his forearms so he didnât crush you, but still close enough that you could feel his breath against your cheek.
Then you started laughing. You werenât even sure why, maybe from the adrenaline, or perhaps the absurdity of this situation as a whole was insane enough. Rafe blinked down at youâand then he laughed too. A warm, genuine laugh, eliciting the same way you felt when you saw his baby picture of him, almost as if you wanted to take him in your arms and tell him that heâs okay, that he doesnât need to keep playing the cold, restrained person he always came off as.
Soon, your laughter faded when you realized how close your faces where. You could see the tiny scare near his eyebrow, the way his pupils were blown wider than normal, and the faint baby pink flush in his cheeks from the cold. Your voice came out softer than you meant. âI⊠have bath salts.â
His brows pulled together slightly. âWhat?â
âIn my bag,â you clarified, suddenly very aware of his hands still planted on either side of you. âIf you⊠wanted to warm up together. Since this is technically your fault.â
A beat.
Then his mouth tilted into that slow, dangerous smile you were starting to recognize.
âYeah,â he said quietly. âYeah, okay.â
The bathroom filled with steam quickly, the large tub taking longer than expected to fill. You both hovered in that awkward not-awkward space of pretending this was normal while absolutely knowing it wasnât.Â
âYouâre getting in with your clothes on?â Rafe asked, nodding towards your discarded sweater.Â
âTheyâre underwear,â you said defensively. âAnd youâre literally wearing sweatpants.â
âThey come off.âÂ
âI wasnât born yesterday,â you scoffed as you stepped out of your sweatpants and placed them to the side. âNo need to be a smartass.âÂ
âPretty sure I can be anything I want in my house, princeess.â You hated how easily your body betrayed you, the way your pulse softened instead of spiking like it would when heâd call you that in the office.Â
A few minutes and Rafe dumping more than half of your bottle of bath salts later, you both were in the tub, him in his boxer briefs, you in underwear and a thin tank, knees bumping occasionally under the water as lavender-scented steam curled between you two. For once, neither of you were talking, afraid to ruin an intimate moment as this thatâd come after a day of banter and snark thrown at each other.Â
Rafe sat across from you, arms resting loosely along the sides of the tub, but his shoulders stayed tight â like he was hyperaware of every inch of space between you, or the way your bodies would accidentally touch and then immediately pull away from each other. Even then, Rafe would count the seconds until itâd happen again. His eyes were fixed on his thumbs as he twiddled them to distract himself from staring at your features and wondering how heâd carve them if heâd been a sculptor back in the sixteenth century. He was feeling more vulnerable than heâd ever felt since heâd moved away from his hometown.Â
It wasnât supposed to feel like, he shouldâve been more resentful towards you. He should have just stayed in his home office and let you roam about like he wasnât even there, thatâs what he wouldâve done at the office. Instead, he found himself wanting to be around you all the time, like leaving you to be on your own wasnât an option, even if it meant bickering with you all the time. Bickering was barely an issue to him anymore, Rafe enjoyed it because at least it meant someone paid attention to him past the surface level and materialism that he had to offer. Youâd spent the day in his kitchen, on his couch, arguing with him, laughing at him, even laughing with him. Being forced to exist in a space that had never felt like anything more than a hotel room that he happened to call home, until now.Â
Rafe loved the way you fought him, even if it peeved him a little. He loved how you never folded when he pushed, and he pushed you a lot more than he should, just to see if youâd still be there after. He loved when youâd call him out when he knew he deserved it. He loved the way you never thought twice to speak your mind during business meetings, even having a civil argument that he knew he wouldâve fumbled if he let his emotions get the best of him. He loved how youâd always leave at 2:30 to grab an iced latte with Sunny but still stay late to make up for the time youâd wasted.Â
Love. Rafe loved you. Yet, youâd never know it.
The worst part was knowing you reacted to him the way heâd reacted to everyone else, but he couldnât understand what made you resent him in the first place. Every bite in your tone was something heâd handed to you first. He hated that about himself. He hated that the best day heâd had in years had been spent doing nothing but arguing and cooking and throwing snow at each other like children.
Rafe hesitated to speak up and ask why you felt the way you did, afraid that heâd say the wrong thing and youâd leave him to cool in the steaming mist. He glanced at you through the steam, only to find you staring at the water, absentmindedly dragging your fingers through it. You would never realize that youâd shifted something inside him just by staying, and he knew heâd forever yearn for the chance to explain how he adored you in ways heâd only ever seen his mother adored in, or how he had the same glint in his eyes like his sister, Sarah, did when she met her partner. Youâd never understand why heâd felt so at peace just laying in your arms, even if it was a night you both did on a spur, or how his hand molded the small dip of your back so perfectly, that heâd keep it there forever, even if it meant using superglue.Â
His train of thought finally stopped in its tracks when youâd spoken up, âWhoâs the woman with you in that picture?â
Rafe looked up again to see you looking at him with a curious look, making him almost soften from the inside from how innocent and real it made you look, though, it felt far more dangerous than any insult youâd ever thrown at him.Â
âWhich one?âÂ
You looked at him knowingly, almost as if you could sense the internal battle of thoughts that were in his mind. You softly replied, not wanting to come off as snarky as you usually did. âYou know which one Iâm talking about.âÂ
His chest loosened. âThatâs my mom,â he said, voice softer than he intended. Something in your expression shifted â subtle, but he caught it. The tension in your shoulders stayed, but your mouth parted just slightly like you hadnât realized you were holding your breath until now.Â
âOh.âÂ
âShe died when I was younger. Itâs one of my favourite pictures I took before leaving my hometown.â He paused, watching you process it.Â
âIâm so sorry, Rafe.ââŻÂ
Rafe shrugged it off and looked away, his jaw tightening for a moment like he was bracing for impact. âShe was the only one who ever really believed in me. Like, even if Iâd been scared to do something, she never let me feel doubt in myself.Â
âMom kind of just made me feel like I⊠belonged, yâknow? Sarah had my dad on her side, but with Mom, I knew she was in my corner. But she never chose between us. She used to always tell me how she hopes Iâm just as good of a person in the future.âÂ
He chuckled to himself over the irony of it all, âGuess I screwed that up when she died. It was like everything flipped and I kept tripping over myself for everything I did.âÂ
âIâm sure it wasnât like that,â you tried to reassure him, the gesture feeling foreign to do it to him, specifically, âÂ
âNo, it was-â Rafe cut himself off and huffed a breath. He tried to steady himself as he continued. âMy dad⊠He was nothing like her.â He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers dragging slowly as though the words weighed like burdens on his neck that he kept holding up.Â
âAfter she died, I was just- I felt SO alone and it didnât help that heâd dialled in on me and held it against me. Every mistake I made, every time I screwed up⊠he made sure I didnât forget it.â His throat worked around the next sentence. âAnd I gave him plenty to work with.âÂ
You didnât say anything but swish through the spacious bathtub to sit next to him, the waterâs rippling slowing as you settled next to him. Close enough that he felt the warmth of you, close that he didnât feel alone with the memories he was recounting.Â
âIâm not proud of the stuff I did,â he said quietly. âThe drugs, the fights⊠losing control all the damn time. I was out of hand. And heâd look at me like I wasnât just disappointing him â like I was confirming everything he already believed.â Rafe could already hear the scold and lectures that Ward had given him, replaying like a vinyl that set to play any time through his brain at any given moment. Â
âI know I deserved him to lash at me, I had to be straightened out. But I just wanted my dad⊠I just wanted him to at least try to make it feel like mom wasnât gone.â His fingers curled at his sides. You reached out, your hand brushing his arm, but it was enough for him that he felt it all the way down to his chest. Â
âHe got me this job kind of as repayment for a favour heâd done for Jason a while back. For once in my life, itâs the real chance Iâve gotten to make something of myself and prove that Iâm not the screwup he decided I was. I donât even care what I have to do to do it, I just want to prove him wrong, so heâd shut up and not see me as some fuck up.â Â
âRafe,â you spoke up, âYou donât have to prove anything to someone who never tried to understand you.â His eyes flicked to yours, wary of you as he searched the slightest amount of sarcasm in your voice.Â
âBut if you want to prove something to yourself?â you continued. âThen do it the way you want, not the way your dad wants you to.â Â
For a second, he didnât move. Then his shoulders loosened, not from pain this time, but from being able to take off one of the weights he had on his shoulders and breathe a little better. âItâd been so many years, I almost forgot what her laugh sounded like,â he paused, âuntil I heard yours. You kind of have the same laugh as hers.âÂ
Guilty and warmth bloomed in you, brewing low in your chest in a way that you hadnât expected. Part of you made it feel adored that heâd specifically looked for your voice, that he actually liked it. Yet, it weighed on you that even with such a comparison, you thought of all the times he thought of his mother, hurting over her absence and having a painful reminder that heâd have to listen to without any control over it. Â
You swallowed, your chest tightening with a tenderness you werenât ready for. âShe sounds like someone anyone wouldâve been lucky to know.âÂ
All Rafe could do was nod, he could feel his pulse in his throat that signals the familiar edge of panic heâd get whenever he thought about his past. Vulnerability always felt like a mistake, so it was easier to push it down and be harsh to everyone else around him, because heâd indirectly just be disciplining himself to not be weak. He saw it though, the way you didnât look at him and think he was weak as he poured his biggest flaw in him to you. Â
Rafe couldnât tell if it was just his emotions getting in the way, or if his feelings for you had started to feel even more prevalent as he felt the water move between your bodies, becoming more aware that you were next to him, that you willingly moved to by his side. He wasnât sure if he deserved that kind of steadiness from someone â but for the first time in a long while, he wanted to try. Wanted to be someone his mom wouldâve recognized, someone she wouldâve been proud of. Then he remembered how he got to this point in the first place, and took the leap of faith that heâd been hesitant to take for a while.Â
âWhy do you hate me so much?â Rafe asked bluntly, wincing once he realized that heâd probably ruined the moment. He watched as you stopped your movements and looked at him like heâd said the most obvious thing ever. Â
âYou donât remember?âÂ
âI- no? You keep acting so hostile towards me and I donât even have a clue what I did.â Rafe felt helpless, not even remotely knowing what he might have done to you for him to make you act this way except compete against you to see who was better.Â
You scoffed to yourself, not believing that he wasnât aware of it. Suddenly, you felt like you were in that meeting room all over again, sitting in the seat as you sank further into it. The harsh lights in your eyes that made blurred whatever happened afterwards, the tight knot in your throat and the way your palms had gone cold as you pretended that it all didnât sting. Â
The memory hit you so sharply you almost forgot to breathe.Â
Of course he didnât remember. Why would he? To him, it had probably been a gateway to where he was now versus your current position at work. Something heâd lobbed because he could â because he didnât think anyone would take it to heart. His words replayed in your head as you imagined yourself back in that position, I donât even care what I have to do to do it. Â
You lifted your eyes to his, your voice steady though your body clearly wasnât. You could feel yourself shake even though the water hadnât cooled yet. âRafe, you donât remember the Northland acquisition deal from three years ago when we both joined?âÂ
Youâd stayed overtime at the office three nights in a row this week alone, your eyes burning as you worked tirelessly on spreadsheets that bled into strategy trees, colorcoded tabs fanned across the table like ribs. Youâd rehearsed contingencies until your voice went hoarse. Confidence exuded through you as you walked into the meeting room to present it to Jason, who directly managed over you, and two other executives from the company. It was going to work, you knew it, you had been at it for over a month. Â
The door opened, for you to find Rafe walking in, relaxed, his sleeves pushed up like heâd been here forever instead of six months like youâd been. âHey, this for the meeting?âÂ
You stood proud, smiling to yourself as you slid your desk across the deck. âThis is the route that gets us to Northland without overpaying in year one-tiered earn-outs, a staggered approach over their governance, and lockup language that keeps their OFC on our side.â Â
Rafe hadnât paid much attention, absentmindedly nodding to your words and skimming the first page. âGot it.âÂ
Finally, the presentation started, but as soon as youâd gotten up to present your strategy, itâd immediately left when Rafe had gotten up faster and sauntered the front. It all shocked you that youâd stayed remained sat when everything inside you was screaming to get up and put him in his place, but instead, you were frozen. Â
âRafe, what are you-âÂ
Jason interjected in a tone that made you want to throw up as he called your name in a hushed tone, âSit, let Rafe do his presentation.â Â
A wrecking ball hitting through bricks couldnât cover half of what you felt at the moment. Â
Rafe talked clean and fast â your earnout ladder, your governance framework, your lockup clause. Your model numbers, your talking points, your risk table, everything that youâd lost sleep over was coming out of his mouth like heâd stuck his hands in the mud and did the dirty work. Jason nodded, pleased as he announced that he knew that taking him on the team. The CEO said it was brilliantly done, while the CFO said exactly what we needed. At the front of the room, Rafe was smug as he glowed with the praise heâd gotten. Not a single mention that youâd done the work left Rafeâs mouth, the praise didnât drift your way. It moved around you, like current skirting a rock. Â
You sat still, your lips pressed together so tightly, you were afraid youâd bite through the skin. Your fingers pressed to the paper so they wouldnât shake. When it ended, you blinked back the hot tears that welled in your eyes, managed a professional smile, and walked out of the door with resentment at Rafe brewing deep within you. For days, you told yourself youâd be fine, but every email that mentioned Northland, along with Rafeâs name written right after, was like a knife to the heart. Â
It wasnât until you thought back to the last time youâd felt this defeated that sobered you up, numbed you from the name and months that came after the acquisition was complete, because you knew how to survive being erased once. Because not too long ago, someone who youâd given your heart, would diminish your hopes, saying youâd never make past a certain point because you werenât built for the pressure. Heâd said it like clockwork, as if it was a pacifier to sooth your ex from the fact that heâd been falling behind as you excelled in your field, and youâd still fight back every single time. But at night, when youâd look yourself in the mirror, it hurt to think that someone thought as lowly of you as he did. Â
You promised yourself then that youâd prove him that you werenât the type to crack, and even more so, you promised yourself that youâd be proud of yourself, even if no one else said your name out loud. Â
Rafe looked down, telling you that he remembered the events of that day as clearly as you did, guilt twisting his stomach all over again like it did when he first stepped up in front of the room that day. Â
He remembered that day all too well, the way Ward had called, condescending him that if he didnât have anything to show for this job, he was done for. With all the pent-up anger, heâd just looked at you, content and focused as you looked through your slides, he could feel your energy from behind the glass and see that you clearly belonged in that room more than he ever it. But as he looked at the text Ward had sent over that call, Rafe decided it was his moment to take. Back then, heâd told himself it didnât matter. That you would tolerate him anyway if he tried to charm you just right, that you wouldnât care, that it was just strategy and numbers and a clean presentation. But beneath all of that, buried under layers of pride and fear, was the part of him that wanted you to notice him â to see something in him worth looking twice at.Â
A part of him felt bad, especially when heâd been intrigued by you from the day heâd joined. Drawn to you in a way that irritated him as much as it scared him. You were sharp, unshakeable, impossible to ignore. He found himself watching you in meetings longer than he should, memorizing the way your eyebrow twitched when you disagreed with someone, the way you bit your lip as you were deep in thought. Â
But when he lifted his eyes to you after presenting, he couldnât miss the glassy coat over your eyes. He realized that you had noticed him, just not in the way you wanted.Â
Your voice came out leveled, no bite like it usually did which made it worse. Â
âYou used my strategy, Rafe. You took the deck off my desk while I was in the print room, changed the title slide, and pitched it. Jason and the execs all give you their respect, and you didnât correct them once. You didnât look at me. You just⊠took the win.âÂ
Rafe breathed out, the sound low and uneven. He rubbed a hand over his face, a frustrated, ashamed drag. When he looked at you again, the defensiveness was gone; something raw sat in its place. âI did. I did look at you.â His voice cracked, almost too quietly to hear. âI shouldnât have done that. Especially not you.â Â
You held his gaze, not daring to look away. âDo you know how much it hurts to see everything you worked on be blatantly taken from your hands and you donât even get the simplest acknowledgement?â You curled up, your legs pulling themselves up to your chest as you wallowed in where you were three years ago. Â
âIt cost me something to let you walk out of that room with it,â you whispered. âIt cost me even more to keep showing up after to keep proving myself.â Â
The steam from the warm water died down, yet still, something heavy and thick with regret filled the atmosphere. Â
Rafe looked down at his hands, the bravado he always wore like armor had seams now. âI was desperate,â he said, this voice low and rough. âThatâs not⊠Iâm not saying it was okay. It wasnât. I just, Iâd gotten off of a call with my dad, and I wanted a win so bad that I didnât think twice about who I was hurting. Not saying that my dad is an excuse either. I just, reacted irrationally.â Â
A beat passed by before Rafe spoke up again, âIâm sorry.â Â
You exhaled, not sure what to do with the ache his apology unlocked. âI worked for that acquisition deal,â you said, softer now. âNot just the hours, Rafe, years. Building myself back up after someone I trusted told me I wasnât enough. I told myself I would never let anyone decide my ceiling again. And then youââ Your voice thinned, until you steadied it again. âYou made me feel small. And I hated that I let you.âÂ
Rafe closed his eyes for a second, like the only way to stand still was to shut something out. When he opened them, they were steady. The water between you quieted, now cold, but the warmth your bodies kept it bearable. He shifted closer, your arms pressed against each other, but it felt like they found shape with each other quickly. He was careful, like the space itself might shatter. âI canât change that day,â he said, voice barely above a whisper. âBut I can change the next one.âÂ
You studied him, the fight and the fear both visible now. The part of you that had learned to endure wanted to fold back into silence and keep moving. The part of you that had learned to be proud wanted the truth to land. âYou want to prove your dad wrong,â you said. âI get that. Iâve been proving ghosts wrong my whole life.â You took a breath. âBut if you want to prove something, do it on your own accords, on your own terms. Do it through a way that wouldnât make you regret it after.â Â
Rafeâs expression shifted. not dramatically, but enough that you saw something crack open in him. Something heâd been holding back for far longer than he should have. He wet his lips, eyes flicking down, then back up at you like he wasnât sure if he had the right to say the next words aloud. âYou know⊠every time I look at you, I think about what I couldâve been if I wasnât so damn stupid back then.âÂ
You squinted at him, eyebrows furred together in a way that, caught off guard by the quiet sincerity in his voice. Â
He gave a small, humorless laugh. âYâknow I always notice you, right? Even when you give me the hardest time.â His fingers brushed the surface of the water, creating soft ripples between you. Â
âYou walk into rooms like you already know what youâre worth.â His breath stuttered just slightly. Â
Your heart thudded once, hard.Â
Rafe swallowed, his voice dropping to something rougher. âYou were the first person here who actually made me want to be better. Especially when I pretended you pissed me off.âÂ
You felt a warmth rise in your chest, confusing and achingly familiar.Â
âAnd after the Northland acquisition,â he continued, softer now, âI kept telling myself you hated me because you saw right through me. Because you knew I wasnât on your level.â His eyes searched yours, earnest in a way that made your throat tighten. Â
âBut the truth is⊠I just wanted you to look at me the way you looked at your work. Like I mattered. I know my worth, but it crumbles when it comes to you, and Iâd let it crumble at your mercy a thousand times over if it meant I could be in your presence all the time.â The confession hung between you, fragile and unguarded.Â
Before you could respond, Rafe took a slow breath, his hand hesitating in the water before settling gently at your waist. Not pulling â just making contact, asking for your permission without explicitly asking. âTell me if this is too much,â he murmured.Â
You didnât move away, you let the moment hold you both. And that was all the permission he needed. He guided you toward him, careful and deliberate, the water shifting around your hips as your knees brushed his. You felt the warmth of him beneath you, grounding and steady, as he pulled you onto his lap as though heâd imagined doing it a hundred times but never believed heâd actually be allowed. The movement sent a soft splash against the sides of the tub, ripples spreading around you in lazy circles.Â
Rafeâs breath hitched, his nose brushing yours, his forehead touching your own like he needed one more second to be sure. âI donât want to keep messing this up,â he whispered, voice cracking just slightly. âNot with you.âÂ
Your arms curled around his shoulders, drawing him closer. You didnât have to say a word. He closed the last inch and kissed youâslow and reverentâlike heâd been waiting for this since forever. The water stilled around you both, but everything inside you felt like it was finally moving. You returned his kiss, moving your lips around his like you were dancing around the confession. It wasnât before long until his arms left your waist and traced a path of fire down to your thighs, moving your legs wrapping around his waist as he settled you against the thick, hard ridge of his cock. The friction was a delicious promise, a silent vow of what was to come.
The rest of the night dissolved into a hazy, feverish dream. The tension that had always coiled between you was gone, replaced by a profound, aching need to be close. Your clothes became a forgotten trail on the bathroom floor as he carried you to his bedroom, his gaze never leaving yours. He laid you down against his sheets like you were something precious. Â
Every kiss was softer, more apologetic than the last, a silent atonement for every harsh word ever spoken. Every thrust was slower, more deliberate, a prolonged act of worship rather than a claim of ownership. It was slow, like you both were taking the time to learn each otherâs bodies. Rafe moved with an unhurried rhythm, hitting deep, forcing you to feel every thick inch of him as he stretched and filled you completely.
Every so often, Rafeâs lips would brush against your ear, whispering sweet nothings that made your inner walls clench around him as he hit your cervix. Â
"M' so sorry, princess."
"My girl," he groaned, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed impossibly deeper, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. "Taking me so well."
And when you awoke in his arms the next morning, the world felt softer somehow â muted by snowfall and the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek. You didnât question it. Didnât question him. Instead, you burrowed closer, tucking your face into the warmth of his shoulder, letting sleep pull you under again like a tide you were finally willing to surrender to.
The rest of the weekend unfolded in that same suspended, dreamlike rhythm.
The banter never disappeared â it simply changed shape. Sharper edges softened into teasing smiles, insults dissolving into quiet laughter that lingered a little too long. You found yourselves tangled beneath the same blanket more often than not, knees brushing, shoulders pressed together while you traded stories about childhood embarrassments, nightmare clients, and the strange paths that had led you both here.
At some point, you realized you were memorizing him â the cadence of his voice when he talked about something he loved, the crease that formed between his brows when he concentrated, the way his hand would absentmindedly find your hip like it belonged there.
And when Rafe surprised you with dinner â something heâd cooked himself, unevenly chopped vegetables and all â it wasnât the food that made your chest ache.
It was the quiet pride in his eyes when he set the plate down in front of you. Like you mattered more than anything heâd ever tried to win before.Â
It wasnât until late in the evening when youâd gotten news that the snow had cleared up and you could safely head out now. Â
âIâll just head home since the snowâs cleared,â you stated, packing whatever youâd taken out back into your bag. âIâll see you tomorrow?â Â
âWhat? No, you can stay here, itâs just another night.â Rafe looked at you, what looked to me, an attempt at making puppy eyes. âPlease?â Â
âYou did not just try to make puppy eyes at me at your grown age.â Â
âDid it work?â Â
ââŠYes.â Â
As soon as youâd both gotten to work, it was as if a switch had gone off, and Rafe was back to his usual self, either annoying you or being cocky. He was no longer the soft, vulnerable man youâd seen him as when you left the apartment together, nor the one whoâd pressed sleepy kisses into your shoulder before youâd slipped out of bed that morning. By the time your elevator reach the floor to your office, he barely even looked at you.Â
Meetings came and went, emails flew back and forth within your circles, even conversations happened around you like you werenât even there. If itâd been anyone else whoâd done it, you wouldâve brushed it off as normal workplace distance. But this was Rafe, the man whoâd tried to convince you to skip work with him and pretend the snow caused your absence. It wasnât until you skipped your daily coffee run with Sunny when she dropped your drink and stared at you, eyes wide and feral with curiosity.Â
âSomethingâs wrong. What happened during the snowstorm?âÂ
âNothingâs wrong,â you continued to type before thanking her for the drink and grabbing, âIt was just a regular-shmegular snow storm.â You thought youâd played it off as nonchalant as you possibly could as she eyed you up and down, her honey brown eyes taking in every single detail of your appearance.Â
âYou got laid.â
You choked on your coffee. âWhat?â
âYouâre glowing,â she whispered loudly. âYour hair looks suspiciously blown out better than usual. And youâre wearing the âI have secretsâ face. You got laid.â
âI did notââ
âYou DID,â she emphasized. âMy intuition does not lie, donât lie to me.âÂ
You glanced across the floor before you could stop yourself. Rafe was at his desk, jaw tight, shoulders squared, typing with aggressive precision like the keyboard had personally offended him. He didnât look up once, though you could tell he was listening.
Your stomach sank, unsure why heâd pulled a 180 and suddenly acted like you no longer existed to him.
ââŠOkay maybe I did,â you muttered.
Sunny gasped like sheâd just witnessed a solar eclipse. âWITH WHO? Was it the bartender guy?â
You didnât answer, just simply looking down to avoid confirming or denying anything.Â
âOh my God. It was!â
Suddenly, you both were started when Rafe had let out a huge huff and walked by your desk, still not making any eye contact with you.Â
The next three days were worse. If avoidance were an Olympic sport, Rafe wouldâve taken gold. It was nothing but short replies and no eye contact. Heâd even started delegating through others on the team instead of speaking to you directly. He was professional to the point of cruelty, which made the burden youâd had on you worsen as you stayed late finishing your latest project. Youâd found yourself tuning out more and replaying the weekend over again, just to see if youâd overthought and misinterpreted anything. If the night in the bath was just purely out of frustration and youâd been vulnerable with each other out of obligation.
By the time the Eden-Young acquisition presentation arrived, you were running purely on spite and caffeine. The conference room was packed. The same two execs from the last time youâd presented, multiple financial planning analysts, and your boss at the head of the table.
You thought back to the last time youâd given a strategy rundown for a company this big, and remembered everything that transpired after. You worked hard to where you were today, and even if Rafe was in the room, looking at everywhere but you, youâd be damned if it dampened your performance. And so you did, youâd delivered your presentation almost flawlessly, the projections, integration strategy, and risk mitigation all outlinted to a tee. Weeks of work poured into twenty minutes.
When you finished, there was a brief silence. Then your boss nodded slowly, proud of how youâd done.
âImpressive. Youâve clearly been taking notes from Rafe.â
Though heâd given you the only thing youâd cared about, the words hit like a slap. All the effort youâd put in, just be credited to Rafe.Â
Before you could even react, Rafe spoke.
âThat was all her.â
The room shifted, and suddenly all eyes were on Rafe or you. Your boss looked between you both. âExcuse me?â
Rafe leaned back slightly, completely calm. âThe modeling, the integration timeline, the synergy assumptions â she did all of it. The work is hers. Just like the Northland acquisition.â
Your boss blinked, then nodded again, this time toward you.
âWell. Excellent work.â
Heat rushed to your face â pride, validation, and yet, confusion tangled underneath at the base. The man who had just given you public credit hadnât spoken more than ten words to you all week, he hadnât looked your way at all, he didnât even acknowledge your existence. It made the praise feel heavier somehow, like a bouquet handed over a locked door. It was like heâd now sparked the firestarter in you, and before you knew it, you had the same resentment youâd held for him before.Â
Except this time, you were going to outright confront him.
You kept an eye out for when Rafe was about to leave, though he always left late. It wasnât until heâd gotten up from his desk to head out when you grabbed his arm and pulled him into an empty conference room closeby.Â
âWhat the hell is your problem?â you demanded.Â
Rafe froze, surprised by the contact.
âYou ignore me for three days,â you continued, voice tight. âand then suddenly youâre defending me in meetings like nothing happened? You donât get to do that. You donât get to pretend the weekend didnât happen.â
His jaw locked just as his hand flexed open, itching to grab onto you. You couldnât understand his constraint against you when youâd laid everything bare in front of him.Â
âI wasnât pretending,â he said quietly.
âReally? Because it sure felt likeââ
âI was trying to figure out if it was real.â That stopped you. You looked at Rafe, only to find him looking back at you with raw emotion and uncertainty. The tears youâd held back all week finally welled in the corner of your eyes as you could tell that he was being vulnerable again, that he truly was at a crossroads with himself.Â
âI needed to know,â he continued, voice lower, âthat I wasnât just⊠caught up in proximity. Or adrenaline. Or finally getting something Iâve wanted for years.â He swallowed. âI needed to know I wasnât going to ruin you because I couldnât separate work from⊠this.â
âRafeââ
âI love you.â
The words landed heavy between you, but it made your heart begin to race faster than it had when you first saw him.
âI think I have for a while,â he admitted. âI just didnât realize it wasnât hate until you stayed. Until you didnât leave Saturday morning. Until you were in my kitchen telling me I donât know how to use my own stove.âÂ
A shaky breath left him as he continued. âYouâre the best part of my day,â he said. âEven when youâre yelling at me. Especially when youâre yelling at me. So, I took a few days to make sure I wasnât about to screw this up.â
The silence stretched, only thing to be heard was your sniffles from your failed attempt at keeping your tears at bay. All this time, Rafe had been trying to figure out why he felt the way he did, but it hurt you more that he felt the need to step away just to save you from being hurt again.Â
As you wiped your tears with the back of your sleeve, you spoke up again. âYou could have came to me, Rafe. We could have worked this out.âÂ
âI know, but,â Rafe ran his hand through his buzzed hair, exasperated, âIf I lose you, then I lose it all. No oneâs ever made me this happy or anxious all at once, but.â He paused and looked at you, and with the way you looked at him earnestly, willing to hear him out even after what heâd done, Rafe felt himself falling in love with you all over again. âI want to love you the right way. However it is you want me to.â
You gently placed your palms on his cheeks, pulling his face closer as you softly placed a kiss on his lips as if it were a seal of confirmation that you, in fact, loved him as well. Even if you didnât say it out loud. Â
âYou donât have to love me perfectly,â you whispered against his lips, your voice still fragile from crying. âYou just have to love me the way you know how to. And honestly.â
The words seemed to land somewhere deep inside him, somewhere bruised and guarded that he didnât let many people reach. His hands came up instinctively, wrapping around your wrists where they cradled his face, like he needed to anchor himself there. Relief flooded his face so quickly it almost made you laugh through the remnants of your tears. He leaned forward again, pressing another kiss to your lips, steadier this time, like something had finally clicked into place. You both were so enamoured with each other, you hadnât realized a figure in the door way, gaping at the scene in front of her.
Words: 5.8k+
Type: Smut
Summary: You've been Wheezie's tutor for more than a year now, and that means that you've been in the presence of her brother as well.
Warnings: Fem!Reader. Dark!Rafe [+ mentions slight obsession from both characters]. The reader is very impulsive. Slight mentions of drinking alcohol, drug consumption, and fighting. Good Girl x Bad Boy trope. SMUT (fingering, dom!Rafe, sub!reader, risk of getting caught, rough touching?).
I do NOT give you permission to repost my work. If you'd like to read my stories on other platforms, you can find them on my Wattpad and AO3.
By clicking to read more you are agreeing that you are over the age of 18 and mature enough to read mature scenes :)
You intrigue him. You intrigue him to the point of driving Rafe to insanity. He has had his eyes on you for some time, and you are, absolutely, everything he has ever wanted to have.
You are gentle, nice, sincere, and even a little shy. You are a good student, a good friend, and a good person overall. Rafe is nothing of what he just described. He is not nice to people, probably even to his own friends. He doesnât see any pleasure in helping other people and he doesnât see the deal with studying. He has never worked hard for almost anything in his life, because he always had a way to get to where he wanted to be, no matter what. And that is why you are always in his mind.
You started tutoring his youngest sister almost a year and a half ago. His dad, his sister, and his step-mom absolutely love you. Wheezieâs grades have never been so high, and, even, Wheezie herself has never been so excited about school. You are, many times, invited to stay over for dinner - to which you always do that adorable expression before saying something along the lines of âyou are too kindâ.
Rafe has forced himself to control his staring and his somewhat obsession over you. Over dinner, he only looks at you sometimes. He doesnât come into Wheezieâs room when youâre there, even if he needs something from his sister. And he has never, ever, spoken a word to you.
The only reason why he has never said anything is that he has never really had many chances. Someone is always near you. In his house, thereâs always one of his family members. And outside of the house, you always have a friend nearby. Rafe doesnât have a good reputation. Your friends would come running to your rescue if they ever saw you talking to him.
Heâs not good news, and never will be.
And even when the reality is told this way, you also canât help but feel something towards Rafe too. Everyone knows heâs bad news. Before even taking the job as a tutor, all of your friends told you to refuse to work under the same roof Rafe Cameron lives. Same thing with your parents.
You have heard all of the rumors around the island about Rafeâs activities. He fights a lot, sometimes with random people for no reason. Most of those fights are provoked by him too. He does drugs, specifically cocaine, and occasionally smokes weed. Both of which he has never bothered to hide from the public, as he supposedly does them at parties. He drinks too much at those same parties. You have heard some of his arguments with his father, on accident, and some of his with Sarah.
He is not a good person, and he has never said anything close to a word to you. Youâve never even heard him talk about you to someone else, either in a good or bad light. Not like how youâve heard him speak of other people. Yet, still, something makes your heart speed up, and your insides awaken with some sort of flame every time you see him.
The closest thing you two have to an actual interaction is what happens almost every single day that you tutor. It doesnât have any words, or anything close to that.
The door to Wheezieâs room is always left slightly open when you two are studying. Itâs very rare for you to close it. Unless Sarah has her friends over, and you prefer Wheezie to have some silence when sheâs preparing for an important test. Rafeâs room is just down the wall. This means that he has to cross the hallway to get to his room, therefore, walking right past the door.
Every time he walks in front of it, you look up and your eyes meet right away. The first time it happened, it was extremely scary for you. You had never met Rafe, it was just your 3rd time tutoring Wheezie, and all you knew about her brother is the stories everyone tells. When he looked at you through that space between the doorway and door, you felt your heart fall to your feet. You were terrified.
And then, it happened again, and again. As mentioned before, it almost happens every day that you tutor. And, slowly, with every time you locked eyes with him, your fear evaporated and some sort of attraction grew inside you.
Yesterday, you walked over to the Cameronâs household and tutored Wheezie like any other day. And it happened again. You had lifted your gaze when you heard the footsteps over the stairs and then saw Rafe lifting his eyes from his phone to look at you. The looks never last more than 1 to 2 seconds, but, every time you do it, itâs like the time slows down and everything is silenced. You almost feel dazed when it's over.
Youâve always thought this attraction was ridiculous. As if Rafe Cameron would ever look at someone like you in that way. If anything, you are a little ashamed of your feelings. You havenât even come close to telling your friends. All youâve done is sometimes stare at him in public and, consequently, get told off by your friends, every single time.
âCall me whenever youâre done.â Your best friend tells you, right as you jump out of her car.
âI will.â You tell her with a smile, âThank you for the ride.â
She smiles back at you as an answer and, before you could close the door, she speaks.
âRemember!â You open the door completely, âDonât spend any more time in this crazy house than you need to, got it?â
âYes, maâam!â You say playfully at her.
She rolls her eyes at your lack of judgment towards the Cameronâs, and you finally close the carâs door. You turn around and begin to make your way towards the front door. As your friendâs car drives off, you automatically look over to the side to see Rafeâs bike missing.
Your chest squeezes at the lack of his presence, and you push the front door open. Rose, who was just crossing the hallway, looks up at you as you come in and a smile grows on her face.
âHi!â She says happily before walking toward you and giving you a quick hug, âWheezie is already upstairs.â
âThank you.â You tell her with a smile before beginning to make your way towards the stairs.
âI love the dress.â You hear Rose say from behind you, and you look over your shoulder.
Your smile grows at the compliment, and you look down at the flowery summer dress. You thank her once more, and she smiles back at you. You make your way up the stairs, backpack over one of your shoulders, and walk to Wheezieâs room.
The door is closed, and your eyes lift over to the closed door at the end of the hallway. Heâs not home yet, but disappointment returns to your mind as you donât get to see him walk out of the room.
You shake your head, trying to get the scenarios out of your mind, and you finally bring yourself to knock on Wheezieâs bedroom door.
âCome in!â She says.
You open the door softly and push it open. Wheezie is sitting on her bed, phone in hand, while Sarah is laying across the bed, staring at the ceiling. The two sisters look over and smiles grow on their faces as soon as they see that itâs you.
The three of you share your greetings as you put down your backpack on the ground, and you walk over to take a seat by Sarah. The conversation is light and more than comfortable. Sarah also compliments your dress and even asks you where you bought it. You all spent at least 20 minutes talking to each other until Sarah decided to leave you guys to work.
âSee you in 2 hours!â Wheezie tells her sister as Sarah walks over to the door.
âIf you surviveâŠâ She says suspensefully, and you smile at her.
Sarah grabs onto the doorknob as she walks, and you stare at her with absolute devastation in your heart as she closes the door fully. You, realistically, have no reason to go over there and reopen it. And this only means one thing: you will not be seeing Rafe today.
You get up from the bed slowly and walk over to the ground, where you usually study with Wheezie. Itâs a rather weird thing the two of you have been doing. It's due to Wheezie feeling too comfortable everywhere else, which leads to her getting sleepy and wanting to stop working for the day. The floor became your best friend in your almost 2 years of being her tutor.
You begin to take out everything that you need from your backpack, and Wheezie does the same thing, as you two sit side by side. You pull out your laptop as well - to see if you can find any other practice tests for her as soon as you have her entertained with something else.
Wheezie hands you her corrected homework, as she always does, and you carefully read what the teacher wrote in the notes. Wheezie sits in silence while you read and whenever youâre done, you hand it back to her.
âWhat do you have to do for tomorrow?â You ask her.
âNothing.â She tells you, âOnly day without homework.â
You donât hesitate in believing her and quickly fetch a practice test from your bag. She gives you a glare as you hand it to her, and her expression quickly cracks into a smile when you mimic her.
You stay silent as she does the test, and you look through your computer. You begin to try, without looking, to get your pen from your bag, but you donât seem to find it. You look away from your screen to look for your pen, and you empty your whole bag to not find it.
âWhat is it?â Wheezie whispers softly.
âI canât find my pen, for some reason.â You tell her, âI swear that I used it yesterday when I was here, but I donât think I put it in my bag.â
Wheezie thinks for a bit, and then the realization hits her.
âYou forgot it, yesterday.â Her eyes move over to her desk, âI think I put it up there but⊠Rafe was in here last night and needed to sign something down for Dad, so he used it.â
âHe has it?â You conclude for her.
âI think so?â She says, unsure, âI donât think he gave it back to me.â
You nod and open your mouth to say something, but she beats you to it.
âNever thought my brother would keep a bright pink pen, but...â She says, and you laugh with her. âIf you want me to go grab it, it might be in his room.â
âNo, itâs okay!â You tell her, âKeep working, I can go grab it.â
âAre you sure?â She asks.
âOf course.â
You stand up from the ground and, with slow steps, you open the door of Wheezieâs bedroom. You walk out, closing the door after you, and look over to the infamous one at the end of the hallway. Rafe isnât home yet. At least you didnât hear his bike outside. So, it will be fine. You wonât be caught. It will be quick. Just an in-and-out situation!
Step after step, you feel your heart begin to beat quicker than before. Your steps are slow and almost inaudible. When you get there, your hand lays over the cold door knob. You hesitate as the consequences of your actions run through your mind. You donât want to anger someone who is already naturally angry. And movies always make it seem like boys hate when you go over into their rooms... Maybe you shouldnât be doing this. Why did you not let Wheezie do it?
You turn the knob and push the door open slowly. A fresh breeze from an open window hits you as you walk in, and you take a look around.
The room is clean, the bed is made, and everything seems overall neat. There isnât much of a personality to the room, but youâre also not quite sure what else you were expecting.
You notice, now, that you stand just by his bed, right in the middle of the room. Therefore, not, in any way, looking for your pen. Your heart is still going at frantic beats, but youâre not really caring about it.
You left the bedroom door just slightly open when you came in, so, no one really will see you from across the hall. You turn around, looking now at the door that you can only assume leads to his bathroom. You take a few more steps, staring at some books that he has, and even some clothes that he has on top of his wardrobe.
A gray jacket is folded and laid over the wardrobe. You walk to it and canât help but lift your hand to touch it. It seems soft, and you remember that Rafe wore it last week. He had come home late that day, and you had just finished dinner with his family. You remember that you also thought it looked soft on him.
Your fingertips touch it and you feel the smooth material. A strange excitement courses through you as you do this. It's something that you shouldnât do, in a place where you probably shouldnât be. Itâs weird, but indeed exciting.
A little smile grows on your face, but something breaks the silence.
âWhat are you doing?â A voice asks.
You pull your hand away quickly and look over at the door. Your eyes widen and your heart almost feels like itâs going to explode, pounding in your chest. Rafe looks back at you with a serious expression while he stands by the door. The one he pushed open, and you didnât even hear.
âI- UhmâŠâ You try to speak but it feels harder than you expected, âI- I was just looking for my pen.â
âWhat pen?â He asks, still with a straight face.
âA pink pen.â You tell him quickly, scared that youâll anger him if you take too long, âWheezie told me that it could be here.â
Rafe stares at you for a few extra seconds and his expression is completely unreadable. You canât tell if heâs mad or not. He just stares and does nothing else. You do a step to the side to distance yourself from the wardrobe but are too scared to look away from him.
Rafe finally looks away from you and looks around his room quickly. For a bit, you almost think that heâs trying to see if you broke or stole anything. But, his eyes then stop right where his desk is. In two steps, Rafe slightly closes the door back up and is standing near the desk, eyeing something. He grabs whatever it is and turns back to you. Your pink pen.
âThis one?â He asks in a rhetorical tone since he has just found the pen in the most obvious spot.
âYes.â You say quickly, walking over to him, âI didnât see it there for some reason.â You lie.
Rafe lets you take the pen from his hand and he looks down at you as you do it. You look at him hesitatingly, and your eyes meet. Youâve never stood this close to him. A mere foot away from each other, and it all feels⊠weird. Something you shouldnât be doing.
âThank you.â You tell him.
Your voice broke into a whisper right as you began to speak. Since the distance between the two of you is so short, it was easy for Rafe to hear every syllable. He looks down at you and admires your face for quite a bit.
Innocently, you wait for any sort of response from Rafe, but he never really does anything. You force yourself to look away from him as you continuously find yourself feeling intimidated, and Rafe continues to stare at you, awaiting your next move.
âI should probably get back to your sister.â You break the silence but donât reconnect your eyes just yet.
As you take a step towards your exit, Rafe blocks the door with one step to the side. You look up at him to find some sort of short smirk on his face as he looks down at you. Youâre not sure what heâs finding so entertaining all of a sudden, but as soon as you try to walk around him again, he blocks your way once more.
Before you can try it, Rafe takes a step forward, leaving you two to be extremely close to one another. You are about to take a step back, but Rafe opens his mouth to speak before youâre able to. He leans down slightly, making your faces stay close, and you stare back at him in a slight panic.
Your heart is beating quickly, his presence is making your skin heat up and your insides turn in familiar ways. You stare into his eyes in a way youâve never done it before and hate how you find yourself admiring their color.
âWhat were you doing with my jacket?â He asks you, rudely snapping you awake.
Randomly, you look over your shoulder to the jacket behind you, forcing yourself to think of something that doesnât sound as creepy as the real reason. You turn your head back to the front to find Rafe even closer to your face, now. Your heart pounds, and your mouth becomes dry.
âI- IâŠâ You pause to compose yourself, âI was just straightening it.â
An actual smile appears on his face, and you force yourself to pay attention to what his next words will be. Instead of his stupid perfect smile - the one youâve never seen before this day.
âStraightening it?â He repeats it as a question.
You nod quickly.
âWhy?â He asks you, sounding genuinely confused, but his smile never breaks.
âI, uhmâŠâ You scan through your thoughts for a stupid reason, âI like to organize stuff?â
You really tried to sound sincere with what you said but all it did was make it come out as a question. It actually sounds as if you are questioning yourself. Rafe stares at you as you break under his stare, all because of your own disappointment in your worst lie yet.
He stops smiling but still has a bit of a small grin. You can see it only because of how close you stand near him.
âOrganizing stuff or just my stuff?â He asks you, and you stare at him in slight surprise.
You are awful at hiding your emotions.Â
You decide to not answer his questions, knowing that you will incriminate yourself further if you keep going, and decide to also look away from him. You stare at the fabric of his polo shirt and try to ignore the faint scent of his cologne. Your insides squeeze themselves, and you ignore how your mind is severely thinking of non-appropriate ways of ending this conversation. Your friends would be disgusted if they even knew a fraction of it.
You stay quiet, and he hums in question to re-grab your attention. You look up at his eyes again, and you two stare at one another in silence. You can tell heâs looking at every bit of your face, but, most of the time, his eyes glance over your lips.
âI just felt like touching it.â You whisper extremely soft, admitting, yet not confident in your own words, âSo, I touched it.â
He nods with a little bit of amusement growing on his face, and you suddenly feel embarrassment run its way through your body. You look away from him completely and over at the door, ready to leave the room.
âI should really g-â You begin to say, but Rafe stops you.
âNo, no.â He frowns slightly, âNo need to leave. We can talk for a little longer. Iâm sure Wheezie is entertained.â
Heâs strangely right. You gave her a quite big practice test, she might take a bit more time to be done with it than usual. But, at the same time, you donât want to stay here for much longer.
Your brain has been telling you to run ever since he blocked the door. All while the whole rest of your body is screaming at the mere fact that Rafe Cameron is staring at you.
Rafe notices how you give him a somewhat confused look. His eyes move away from any other part of your face to look at your body quickly. He has seen you in dresses before, but he has never seen you in this dress.
Your nervous self, noticing his eyes over your body, does probably the most embarrassing thing you could think of and decides to open your mouth. You donât want the conversation to die out awkwardly, but, sometimes, you really shouldnât say the first thing that comes to mind.
âItâs a new dress.â You let him know.
âI know.â Rafe tells you quickly, bringing his eyes back to yours, âNever saw you in this one before.â
If your heart could be beating any faster or harder, it wouldâve killed you by now. You swallow your emotions, keeping yourself calm, and try not to overthink anything he just said. Itâs not every day that your crush (the one no one should ever have, for their own safety) admits that he actually looks at you.
Your eyes light up in the most ridiculous way possible, and Rafe notices it. You open your mouth to ask him if heâs serious because it all seems like something out of your dreams but decide against it. Rafe doesnât notice that, but he does stare at your mouth once more. He moves his head a little. He gets closer to you, and you, without even thinking, do the first thing that comes to your head.
Your lips touch Rafeâs in a matter of a second and you are able to catch Rafe by surprise. It takes him just short seconds to react, and even when those seconds were the slowest ones youâve ever experienced, what came next, sure made up for it.
His hands are quick and they grab onto your waist, pulling you against him. The soft fabric of your dress is tight to your torso, and he can feel the warmth of your skin from underneath.
The room is silent but all you can hear is the sounds of the kissing. The kiss was so innocent, at first. Lips to lips, which obviously became a makeout session that is progressively getting more and more heated. Rafe's intentions before this weren't to kiss you, but simply to tease you. This result wasn't what he expected, yet he's not backing out now.
One of your hands stays over Rafeâs shoulder, while the other one is on the back of his head. You can feel his shorter hair underneath your hand. The same hair youâve seen from afar for so long and always wanted to touch.
Rafeâs hands are rough as they hold onto you, but you donât mind it one bit. Itâs different from what youâve ever experienced before with other guys, but you like it.
Rafe makes the two of you move without disconnecting your lips, and, with a few slow steps, you feel the desk hit the back of your legs.
Rafe pulls away from the kiss and begins to kiss down your jaw and neck. Your insides are burning with everything that is going on and that seems to make every touch feel better than it naturally would. The flame is overall pleasure. The same one that seems to appear whenever you have to correct yourself for being attracted to the man kissing you because... he is not a good man.
You gasp at the sensation of Rafeâs lips over a sensitive spot on your neck and he hears it, reacting by giving the same spot a bite before moving back to your lips.
You comfortably lean back on the desk while your lips and tongues touch again and you feel Rafeâs hands pull on the fabric of your dress. You pull away from the kiss, slightly startled, and Rafe looks down at you.
âWe canât.â You whisper at him.
âNo one will know.â
His breath hits your lips and you look over at the door, the same one that isnât completely closed and has a little bit of a crack facing the other side of the room. You bring your eyes back to Rafe and he hasnât moved. You give him a short nod and you notice an emotion wash over his face before he speaks.
âJust try and be quiet.â
He brings you back to the kiss after those words and itâs sad to say that you really didnât need any more convincing after that. He kisses you for a few more seconds before doing what he was doing before.
Rafe pulls on the dressâs skirt, pulling it up over your hips, and you can hear your own heart in your ears, pounding over whatever situation youâre finding yourself in. The fabric comes up completely over your hips and stays by your waist. You almost jump at the feeling of Rafeâs hands over your naked skin, but that only made you pull him closer by his head to deepen the kiss.
His hands squeeze at the flesh on your hips and, when he lets go, one of his hands moves over to push your underwear down. The breeze coming from the open window hits your warm skin and you feel the burning of your insides worsen by the second.
Your underwear falls to the ground after Rafe pulls away from the kiss to do that, and you gasp against his mouth as soon as his hand lays over your inner thigh. He smiles against your lips and, with one finger through your slit, he feels how wet you are.
Rafe looks down at you as his finger moves and his smile worsens when he sees how your expression changes when he finds your clit. His finger begins to circle it slowly, making a good amount of pressure, just to see the reaction that you give him, and when your mouth opens, Rafe fastens it. You breathe heavily at the sensation and cling onto his shirt while you lean back on the desk.
âFeels good?â He asks in a whisper and you nod, right away.
Rafe smiles and slides his finger away. Your expression changes into quick disappointment, but Rafe moves down over to your soaked entrance, letting his finger slide with extreme ease inside you. His fingers are bigger than yours, and you sense the difference right away.
You let out a breathy moan, and Rafe muffles it with his kiss. He moves his finger back and forth slowly and then easily slides in his ring finger as well. The end of his palm moves over your clit as his movements remain slow and he continues with his mouth near yours, muffling whatever loud sound you let out.
He looks down at your face, already frowned with pleasure, and you look back at him. Itâs a sight he swore he would never see but in his dreams. He was wrong. So very wrong.
Rafe quickens his fingers, finally, and now the silence of the room is broken with the sounds of your wetness whenever he moves. The squelching worsens as he curves them. His fingers move quickly, going back and forth, and your moans get breathier and, slowly, turn into whimpers of pleasure.
The sounds themselves almost make Rafe feel lightheaded, like some sort of drug he is just first experiencing and he loves every second of it. Your hold on his shoulder moves over to his hair, and he notices that even though you pull at it, youâre gentle, much gentler than him.
The bubble of pleasure begins to grow on your lower stomach and Rafe lifts his other hand from your hip to play with your clit. With his two fingers ramming into your wet cunt, his movements get quicker and much, much rougher. His circling of your clit is fast, enough for you to almost let out a loud moan, but you beat yourself to it by closing your mouth tightly. Your breathing is heavy and uncontrollable and your orgasm is already so near.
âRafe.â You let out a broken whisper while looking up at him.
He only moves his hands quicker this time and he looks at you in absolute bliss when you hold yourself from moaning all over again. The squelching noises are just enough to drive him to final insanity. His fingers are soaked to his knuckles and he swears that he doesnât ever want to stop moving his fingers inside of you.
He curves them and scissors a few times and, finally, finds and touches a specific spot inside of you. He has his lips on yours, muffling your obvious moans, this time, and you cry out into his mouth.
âWanna cum?â He asks against your lips in a low tone.
You nod at him quickly, giving him a look that almost drives the man feral. He kisses you again, making you just moan at the mere feeling of his lips and tongue against yours, and he decides to let you have it.
âThen do it, princess.â He whispers against your swollen lips before doing some last absurdly quick thrusts with his hand and driving you over the edge. âCome all over my fingers.â
Your whole body explodes with pleasure, and Rafe muffles your moans with the best of his ability, yet never stops his hands. The flame you have felt burning deep in your body finally ascends enough throughout your limbs and fingertips, and you close your eyes, letting yourself be taken over by it.
You slowly come back, and Rafe slows down to a stop. You open your eyes slowly and feel the warmth of your body descend. You feel like you're shaking all over. Rafe looks down at you as you slowly come back from the intense orgasm, and you look back at him. Your eyes have this type of dazed look over them. Your chest moves up and down slower than before.
He pulls his fingers out of you slowly and you bite your lips to keep quiet, feeling sensitive to his touch. You look down at his wet fingers, and Rafeâs mind sparks with an idea. He brings his fingers to your mouth, and you open it almost right away. His fingers are taken by the warmth of your mouth and you suck them clean.
Rafe pulls his hand away and quickly kisses you, tasting you in your own mouth. He groans against your lips and your other hand comes to cling onto his polo on his chest.
A door at the end of the hallway opens and you two separate from the kiss right away. Rafe pulls down the skirt of your dress and helps you lean away from the desk.Â
The footsteps are heard over the hardwood flooring but they soon disappear when they're near the stairs. You look back at Rafe when the sound disappears and you watch him as he adjusts your dress ever so slightly before looking back up at your face.
âI still need my underwear.â You whisper at him.
âNo, you donât.â He tells you.
You look at him with widened eyes, and he smiles down at you. He moves away to grab something from the ground and you look down to see that itâs your pink pen. You grab it, and he looks down at you.
âI should go.â
He doesnât say anything but looks down at you, and, this time, you donât find yourself intimidated from being under his stare, even when a smirk begins to grow on his face. A sudden urge fills in your chest as youâre about to walk away and a question repeats in your mind. What if this was just a one-time thing? Is it over now?
You stop yourself from moving, reach him, and kiss Rafe one last time, following your urge. He kisses back, and you notice how you pull yourself closer to him, having your body glued to his. His hands come back to you and they squeeze roughly onto your body. Itâs strange to like touch as rough as his, but you're beginning to need it whenever you're near him.
You pull away from the kiss with a little proud smile. Rafe is only able to get a glimpse of it before you turn around and leave the room. You walk down the hallway and disappear into his sister's bedroom.
Rafe walks and closes his door, bringing his hands to his face. It has been so long since he first wanted this, and, now, he finally had it. He can still feel your soft lips against his, your fingers on his hair, your moans repeating in his ears, and your warm skin under his palms.
He groans to himself at the mere thought of some things that seem to be engraved in his mind and uncovers his face. He stares at the floor for a few seconds in absolute silence, still thinking, and something catches his eye.
He closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath and reopens them to look at the open window. The breeze touches his face and his mind runs loose, worse than ever before. He's not done with you.
It's finally posted!! Do you like this type of story? Pls let me know, I have a lot more ideas for this universe - 2 of which are already written.
Hope you enjoyed this <3
in another life, i would make you stay a gojo satoru (fix it) series
pairing âžș reincarnated!gojo x reincarnated!reader
summary âžș you are a sorcerer, married to your husband who bears the burden of being the strongest. firsthand, you watch the love of your life fall apart, the world burdening him until, finally, he dies at the hand of sukuna. as you watch him through the broadcast, you blankly volunteer to be nextand you die, praying to whatever merciful god out there that, in another life, you and satoru get the happy ending you both deservedâ
until you wake up from your dream, gasping.why the hell was your dream so vivid? you were some sort of magician? with a smoking HOT husband? and why the fuck does the guy that's ten minutes late to the first day of lectures look EXACTLY like him?
warnings âžșeventual smut fluff and angst (the holy trinity), hurt/comfort, reincarnation fic, basically you and gojo have a miserable life in canon and get reincarnated into a modern au where i fix everything and give you the romcom you deserve, canon typical violence, jjk manga spoilers, mentions of blood and injury, major character death, fem reader implied
masterlist
01 âžș What a Weird Fucking Dream
the first day of your semester is precendeted by a very odd dream involving sorcerers and a hot ass husband. which you then see in lecture (3.7k)
02 âžș Note to Self: Don't Call Random Guys your Husband (soon!)
for as long as you could remember, you and the bright prince have always been bitter enemies... but when duty calls and you are married off to each other, the dragon prince and lion princess would learn that surviving this marriage may lead to another path they long have thought impossible: love
genre: 18+ suggestive contentâminors do not interact!âhardcore enemies to lovers, arranged marriage, crack, quarrels, manhandling, forced proximity, mentions of blood & injury, fluff, yearning, kidnapping, descriptions of violence, amnesia, comfort, pregnancy, lannister!reader
:: MASTERLIST ::
001 â the dragon and the lioness
for as long as you could remember, you and the bright prince have always been bitter enemies... but when duty calls and you are married off to each other, how will you survive this marriage?
002 â kissed by fire
quarrels between you and your husband are not new, but when a heated argument turns into the two of you see it fit to give each other silent treatment⊠it takes an incident to make both of you realize that perhaps a lion and a dragon are not a bad match after all
003 â like a dragonfire
to aerion brightflame, love is a frivolous thing made up by the storybooks he loathes. but try as he might, he can't keep his eyes off you either. what lies in the store for both of you after passionate nights and a taste of danger⊠if not realizing that love is not that unreal, after all?
004 â lay all your love on me
the three times the dragon prince has been denied your bed, and the one time he succeeds (and finds out why)
005 â forget me not
life as you know it shatters when your husband loses his memories of you in a freak incident. how will you convince him of your marriage and the love that made it real?
:: DRAMATIS PERSONAE ::
you â lady of house lannister. the only daughter of the grey lion of casterly rock, younger sister to tybolt and gerold lannister. as a child, you often accompanied your father to kingâs landing, where you inevitably crossed paths with aerion. two of you quarreled endlessly over the smallest things, neither willing to yield an inch to the other. raised to be dutiful yet prideful due to your lineage, you grew into a woman of sharp wit and tongue, carrying yourself with all the dignity worthy of a noble lady
aerion targaryen â a prince of the blood. the second son of prince maekar of summerhall. haughty, vain, and at times cruel, aerion thinks himself better than his brothers or cousins. styling himself aerion âbrightflameâ, he is a fearsome swordsman and skilled fighter, though not above resorting to underhanded tactics. at first, he despised the thought of you as his bride. yet as the days pass, aerion slowly comes to a startling realization: no other woman is capable of undoing him quite the way you do
SUMMARY â Jealous of your cousin and inspired by Princess Rhae, you put a mysterious potion into Aerion's wine. What seems to be working perfectly fine at first, turns out to be a curse later...
REQUEST â (1)
AUTHORâS NOTE â The request was to write something based on Ethel Cain's song "Fuck Me Eyes" and I do listen to her sometimes but I do not know much of her lore, so I hope I understood it correctly that Ethel is jealous of another woman in this song. Reader is a cousin of the Lannisters but their looks are not described and hers aren't either. I just needed it for the plot. The song obviously doesn't mention any love potions but I decided to give the fic a bit darker twist since it's based on Ethel Cain's song + I've always liked that canon plot of Rhae making a love potion for Aegon.
WARNINGS â DARK THEMES, love potion (gone wrong), possessiveness, obsession
WORD COUNT â 2,950
ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.
LOVE POTION GONE WRONG
Your cousinâs name day celebration was grand and lasted for a fortnight. Caella Lannisterâs every whim had been always fulfilled while you remained nothing but an envious decoration in the corner of the room, watching closely and imagining yourself taking her place.
You had always been jealous of her dresses and the attention she was getting in every room she was walking to. But all those things seemed to be silly now when you had to watch her courting the man you wanted.
Prince Maekar had taken his son Aerion to the tourney held to celebrate Caellaâs name day. Her father, Lord Lannister, made sure that many important people were invited. Everyone knew that his true intention behind that, however, was finding a husband for his only daughter. And the Prince would be perfect. A widowed father if not the son. But of course the son would be perfect.
It should be an easy task. Caella was one of the most beautiful women in the realm and every man who met her was in love with her. Her cheeks were always painted with a blush, her lips a delicious shade of pink, her bosom squeezed by a corset and prominent, her hands soft and delicate. A splitting image of her mother who had once been the most beautiful woman in the whole kingdom as well.
Life was effortless for people like them. And you couldnât blame them for being so smug about it. Who wouldnât be?
You also couldnât help hating them a little.
Because life was so awfully unfair.
Prince Aerion had caught your eye first, standing up from the mud after winning his first joust, spitting down blood and looking up at the box you had been sitting in with your cousin. His cold eyes had met yours for a mere second but you would never forget a chill going down your spine. You hadnât even realised you had been holding your breath.
Your eyes had been following him ever since. But he hadnât looked at you again. In fact, you eventually realised he hadnât been looking at you for the first time either. He had been staring at her. Your beautiful cousin Caella and her sultry eyes looking back at him as if he was no one important. Her pretty lips curved in a smirk because women like her could afford being a little cruel to men. They loved being treated this way by them, meanwhile theyâd find it disrespectful if a woman like you did the same thing.
So you watched. You watched her court him and flirt, bat her eyelashes and praise him as he smugly teased her, falling for every sweet word and compliment. He was a very vain man but it wasnât stopping you from wanting him.
However, you were not the one he wanted.
Prince Maekar wasnât accompanied to Casterly Rock only by his son Aerion. His son Aegon was there as well to squire for his brother. His sisters were present as well. The little one â Rhae â was sometimes being left alone with you as you were asked to watch over her or teach her how to embroider.
The evening before the last day of the tournament was no exception. You were told to spend time with the young Princess. You sighed and went to her chambers as she was giggling over a book she was reading, laying on the carpet by the hearth.
âWhat is amusing you so much, Princess?â You asked her with a smile as you sat down next to her.
âI canât tell you, you would tell on me and I would be in big trouble,â she claimed, blushing.
âNow you have to tell me or else Iâll die from curiosity," you teased.
âBut you must promise to keep a secret,â she looked into your eyes.
âI promise.â
âI am reading how to prepare a love potion,â she confessed as your heart skipped a beat. âFor my brother Aegon,â she added.
Under any different circumstances, you would scold her and absolutely tell on her. But at the moment the love potion idea seemed to be the only way to ever get Prince Aerionâs attention.
âWe can try to brew it together,â you proposed and the Princessâ eyes sparkled.
The maester gladly provided you with all the ingredients, thinking you were playing to be healers with the little girl. Rhaeâs age was another advantage as well â she was still quite naive. She didnât realise you put your hair instead of hers to the cauldron and she didnât even know that you gave her an orange juice while you took the potion for yourself.
Now anyone who would drink it, would fall for you. Or at least the book was promising that. The plan seemed to be easy. And the fact you were always quietly and humbly by Caellaâs side while Aerion openly courted her and flirted made the opportunity basically come your way without any effort.Â
âCan you fetch me more wine?â He asked you, handing you an empty goblet as if you were a servant girl. Caella giggled at that.
But instead of being angry, you smiled and nodded.
âYes, my Prince,â you bowed your head and hurried to the table with drinks. You filled the goblet with wine and sneakily poured inside the potion while you stirred the goblet with your hand.
As you walked back to them, watching Aerion leaning in to whisper something into Caellaâs ear, your heart grew heavy. There was not such a thing as a love potion, was there? You were nothing but childish and not any less naive than Princess Rhae, thinking that it would truly work.Â
You handed him the cup with a sad smile but he didnât notice your melancholy. He never noticed anything about you.
You stood quietly beside your cousin like a decoration that you were most of the time. You were looking down but watching Aerion from the corner of your eye as he sipped on the wine.
Once he finished, he gave the empty goblet to one of the servants and excused himself as he walked away.
Just like that.
âWhat do you think?â Caella asked you teasingly.
âAbout what?â
âAbout me becoming his wife,â she rolled her eyes.
âWhat honour is that? He is his fatherâs second son. And his son is a fourth son,â you pointed out. âBesides, they say he is mad.â
Your jealousy didnât allow you to admit it would be grand for her.
âA woman of your position should not be so picky,â Caella snorted at that and left your side.
Left alone in the middle of the room, you went back to your table and sat down there, sighing and fidgeting with your fingers. Prince Aerion was sitting a few seats away from you. You felt his gaze upon you and you smiled nervously at him.
His Targaryen eyes sparkled with hunger.
He stood up and approached you to take an empty seat next to yours.
âLady (Y/N), will you cheer for me on the morrow?â He asked.
He was very close to winning the whole tournament.
You looked him up and down, uncertain. Was the potion working or was he teasing you cruelly?
If it was the potion working, you were quite excited but also a bit disappointed. You had been imagining something more romantic; him coming up to you and kissing you in front of everyone, claiming out loud he wished for you to become his wife because your beauty overthrew him.
Perhaps you were reading way too many romantic books.
âI will, my Prince,â you nodded. âWhy? I think my cousin will like you nevertheless,â you explained.
âYour cousin?â He furrowed his brows.
âLady Caella,â you reminded him.
âAh, her,â Aerion shrugged his arms.
âYou seemed to be fond of her, my Prince,â you pointed out.
âDid I?â He smirked and leaned back on the chair, looking you up and down as if you were a meal on his plate. He licked his lips. âWill you give me your favour?â
âYouâre already wearing my cousinâs ribbon.â
âI shall replace it,â he offered.
You looked down to hide a smirk as you giggled.
âAlright then,â you nodded and untied one of the ribbons from your sleeve to give him.
He caressed it and then he moved it to his lips to kiss it. After that, he smelled it. You were trying your best not to show how shocked you were.
âIt is time for me,â he said. âI should rest before the morrow.â
âO-of course, my Prince.â
Most people did not realise the ribbon had been changed. Caella did but she couldnât tell whose ribbon the new one was. She was complaining to you about it for the whole tourney.
And then the last joust came to an end and Prince Aerion was announced the winner. He had fought dirty but no one would dare to accuse him. He was given a flower wreath to crown the Queen of Love and Beauty and he rode to your box as he stood in front of it. Caella straightened her back and everyone looked at her. It was obvious she would be crowned.
She was the most beautiful woman there and it was her name day.
âLady (Y/N),â Aerionâs burning gaze was on you. Only on you. Everyone gasped. âLet the world know that you are my Queen of Love and Beauty,â he announced.
He didnât crown you, he didnât name you. He announced it to you. You had no choice but to take the crown and put it onto your head as you smiled nervously and others cheered awkwardly.
Caella scoffed and hurried out of the box. Her mother and father gave you a deadly look as they rushed after her.
âHeâs unpredictable and unstable,â you heard someone whispering.
But you didnât care. You were the happiest woman in the world as you kept standing there and smiling at him. And he was looking up and smiling back, smugly.
After the tournament the celebration was still supposed to last a whole week. Caella ignored and avoided you but you wouldnât have time for her anyway because Prince Aerion was following you like a dog.
Everywhere you went, he followed. And you adored it.
You adored the way he would berate any man looking at you or trying to speak to you. You adored the way he was undressing you with his eyes. You adored the way he would push you down onto his lap and you could feel how hard he was between his legs. And your parents didnât even scold you for courting the Prince so openly because they knew it was the opportunity that happened once in a lifetime.
You adored the way Aerionâs hands would always find the curve of your breasts whenever he dragged you alone to the dark hallway corners. You adored the way he would smell your neck and bite your jaw playfully. You adored the way he was addressing you as his property.
In fact, he wasnât talking about anything else. You didnât have a proper conversation with him at all because he only cared about mentioning the fact that you were his.
âIf you donât agree to go to Summerhall with me, I am going to take you there either way, dead or alive,â he murmured into your ear two days before his departure from Casterly Rock.
You should have been scared. But you were happy.
âI will gladly go, my Prince. As your wife,â you said.
âWe should get married. Tonight,â he insisted.
And you agreed.
You sneaked out of the castle with him and came back a few hours later as a husband and a wife. He announced it at the feast. Caella sobbed. You had never seen her cry but no one had ever disrespected her so much on her name day.
And it felt good. It felt so good.
You were on your way to Summerhall in a carriage with Rhae and Daella. Daella was asleep but Rhae seemed to be sad.
âWhat is it, Princess?â You asked her.
âThe potion did not work,â she sighed.
âIâm sorry. Perhaps theyâre not real, you know?â You smiled at her.
âPerhaps,â she shrugged. âBut Iâm grateful, to be honest,â she admitted, which sparked your interest.
âWhy?â You inquired, tilting your head.
âBecause the other night I studied the book more carefully and it turns out it was not exactly a love potion. The recipe for that was listed a few chapters later. I misunderstood something.â
âWh-what do you mean?â
âIt was a recipe for obsession. Shouldnât be used on someone unless you want to drive them into madness.â
You remained silent for the rest of the ride.
You lost track of time. You had no idea what day it was and you knew no world outside your chambers. Prince Aerion made sure you never left them unless you were to accompany him so he could show you off. But then he would never leave your side.
It didnât take you long enough to finally realise he didnât love you.
Because people in love didnât do such things. They werenât so cruel to their spouses.
He was simply obsessed with the idea of possessing you, owning you. And it was getting worse with time, everyone said so. Prince Maekar himself worried about your fate. If only he had known you were the only one to blameâŠ
You should have let Caella marry Aerion.Â
But it was too late to change anything now.Â
Some nights Aerion allowed you to the library when his brother Aemon was not there. You would look through every book for a possible antidote to your potion but there seemed to be none.
With his level of possessiveness you wouldnât be surprised if he still haunted you in the seven hells where you two were certainly headed to.
Your skin was all covered with bites and bruises from the intensity of his loving. You smelled like he wanted you to smell, nothing else was allowed. You dressed in gowns he was choosing for you. You didnât own anything else.
Around your neck there was a beautiful choker necklace that Prince Daeron teased you about. A collar, he would call it. And you would get angry at him but you knew he was right. It was the symbol of Aerionâs ownership over you.
You werenât allowed to write letters to your own family and the letters they were sending to you were not being given to you. However, Prince Maekar sometimes sneaked them to you and you gave him permission to write back in your name, assuring your family of your happiness. There was no point in worrying them.
Now you were sitting by the hearth and reading a letter sneaked out to you earlier. Your hands were shaking as you understood the meaning of the words.
Caella was happily married now to a Lord from the Reach.
Once again she had it better than you. But this time it was not a cruel fate or the societyâs injustice you could put the blame on.
This time the blame was entirely yours. You shouldnât have messed with the magic forces far more powerful and older than you.Â
Aerion entered the chambers and you quickly dropped the letter into the fireplace. He didnât realise that, too busy taking off his armour after the training.
âWill you not help me, wife?â
Wife. The word you had wanted to hear more than anything.
The word that sounded like a curse now.
âOf course, my Prince,â you nodded and hurried to his side but your hands were still trembling and he spotted. He squinted his eyes and tilted his head, watching you like a curious animal.
âYouâre shaking,â he pointed out. âAre you ill?â
âNo, my Prince,â you shook your head.
âCold?â
âNo, my husband. You take good care of me, I would not dare to complain. I am healthy and warmâ you assured him and he smirked with amusement.
âWhat is it then?â
âI am⊠plagued with nightmares, worried about my family. I would love to see them,â you whispered, carefully. His eyes grew cold again.
âI am your family now,â he insisted.
âYes, of course,â you looked down.
âDo not ever mention this again.â
You nodded and continued to take off his armour.
âDo you love me, wife?â He asked, suddenly. He didnât love you himself but he needed you to love him. He needed an assurance that his pet was loyal.
I hate you.
âI do, husband.â
âSay it then,â he challenged you.
I hate you.
âI love you,â you whispered and looked up to meet his gaze.
âGood. Good wives get rewards,â he smirked and your face lit up at his words.
âDo you mean that Iââ
âI shall grant you my child to carry,â he said and your smile dropped. âYou will be given the honour to carry a dragon.â
You swallowed thickly. To carry something that was part of him under your heart for nine months was filling you with disgust. It felt as if his presence would be even more invasive and constant once youâd become a mother of his child.
But you had no other choice.
âTh-thank you, husband,â you mumbled.
Aerion caressed your cheek and put a hair strand behind your ear as he leaned in close to your face, his breath on your mouth and his eyelashes brushing the delicate skin of your cheeks.
âA child will bind us together even more,â he whispered. âIs it not beautiful?â
I love the concept of a love potion gone wrong cuz it's like u can't force love; only obsession. Aerion getting possessive and her regretting the decision was just too good. In the end, she's STILL stuck with envying her cousin cuz atleast she has a normal husband đ
synopsis: A chance encounter at a high-end grocery store leaves you unable to forget the strange, guarded man you metâuntil you discover heâs actually a famous singer. When photos of your brief meeting spark rumors online, youâre suddenly pulled into a world you never meant to be part of.
You thought Gojo Satoru was unobtainable. He was a star in the night skyâshining, constant, beautiful in a way that felt almost cruel. Close enough to see, close enough to admire, yet impossibly far. A beacon you could only ever grasp at, fingers curling around nothing but empty air.
Youâd see him on social media sometimes. Scrolling late at night, your screen dimmed, your room quiet except for the in-and-out of your breaths. He always looked the sameâbright, effortless, unfairly handsome. He existed in a world untouched by anything ordinary.
But you never thoughtânever even entertained the ideaâthat youâd actually have a chance.
But that would change.
It started with an accidental encounter, long before you knew who he was.
ââââ
Youâre in Erewhon, browsing like you actually had money to spend.
The place doesnât even feel real. Everything too clean and curated, shelves lined with glass jars and pastel packaging that looked more decorative than edible. The lighting whiteâyet soft, like it was trying to convince you that spending $30 on juice was a life-changing experience.
You pick up a jar, turning it over in your hands. Blue sea moss. $90.
You stare at it for a second longer than necessary. The color was almost aggressiveâa bright azure blue, borderline radioactive. No way something that looked like that was meant to be eaten.
You set it back down carefully, it looked like something that might explode if you didnât.
After a while of aimlessly walking aroundâpretending to browse, pretending you belongedâyou make your way toward the smoothie bar. It was the only thing that felt remotely justifiable.
You want to try the Hailey Beiber smoothie, the thing all those girls raved about. You want to know if it really makes your skin glow.
$21.
You hesitate, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Part of you wants to try it, just once. So you can know what it feels like to casually spend money like that, to not think twice about something so absurd.
You were still debatingâwhen you bumped into somethingâor someone.
âShit! Iâm so sorry!â The apology leaves you instantly, your hands coming up as if you could physically undo the collision. You look upâ
The stranger in front of you is dressed simply. A black hoodie, slightly oversized, and grey sweats. He looks out of place.
Even you had put in some effort before coming hereâjeans that fit just right, a light pink cardigan layered neatly, a coat of mascara brushed on thicker than usual. Not too much, just enough to feel like you wouldnât be judged.
But he looks like he doesnât care, almost like he doesnât need to.
âItâs alright,â he says easily. âI wasnât looking where I was going. Iâm sorry.â
And then you notice his eyesâan enchanting kind of blue. The kind of blue that doesnât seem to end, framed by lashes so pale theyâre almost white. His gaze is steady, but thereâs something behind itâsomething vast, something you canât quite place.
A frozen lake you could stare into for hours and never fully understand. And his hairâresembling freshly fallen snowâblindingly white. There was no way that was real.
You stare a second too long. He tilts his head slightly, expecting some kind of response.
You snap out of your trance. âNoâItâs my fault,â you rush, words tripping over themselves. âI was just.. distracted. Everything in here is just so- luxurious. UhâI usually shop at Walmart.â
The honesty slips out before you can filter it.
For a split second, you think maybe youâve said too much. But he laughs, soft and real. âSo youâre not supposed to be here then?â
You huff quietly, shrugging. âWell, Iâm definitely not rich enough to shop here.â
He nods, like he understands you completely.
âIâm not supposed to be here either,â he admits. âIâm just visiting. Iâm used to more⊠simpler things.â
Thereâs something in the way he says it. Casual, but careful, like heâs choosing his words just enough to avoid saying too much.
You glance back at the menu above the counter.
âI was thinking of treating myself,â you say, half to him, half to yourself. âJust once. Seeing what itâs like to be rich. But a $21 smoothie is kinda insane.â
Thereâs a beat.
âIâll buy it for you.â The words come out quickly, almost as if he didnât mean to say them out loud. He straightens slightly, looking as if heâs trying to recover. âI meanâonly if you want.â
You blink.
âReally?â A smile spreads across your face before you can stop it. âIâd love that. Thank you.â
Inside, youâre ecstatic. A free smoothie from a ridiculously handsome stranger? This had to be some kind of cosmic compensation for all your bad luck.
He orders without hesitation, and you wonder if he even though about the price. The two of you move outside, settling at a small table tucked along the edge of the store.
The air is warmer out here, the late afternoon sun dipping lower, casting everything in a soft glow.
Now youâre glad you made an effort in your appearance today. This was practically becoming a real date.
âSo,â he says, sliding the drink toward you, condensation already gathering along the sides of the cup. âWhatâs your name?â
You tell him.
He repeats it slowly, carefully, like heâs testing itârolling each syllable over his tongue with an ease that makes it sound prettier than it actually is.
âAnd you?â you ask, leaning forward slightly. âWhat should I call you?â
He hesitates. Just for a fraction of a second.
âYou can just call me Satoru.â
He says it quieter than before, itâs something meant only for youâsomething he doesnât want anyone passing by to hear.
You nod. âWell, Satoru⊠you said youâre just visiting. What are you here for?â
âIâm attending some⊠events,â he says. âThings like that.â
âLike concerts?â you guess. âL.A. has a lot of those.â
He glances at you, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.
âYeah,â he says. âBasically.â
You take a sip of your drink, the cold sweetness hitting your tongue as water droplets slips down the cup, dampening your fingers.
For a while, neither of you says anything.
You just sit there, looking at each other.
Time shiftsâit slows and stretches. The world around you fades into something distant, blurred at the edges. Cars honk, people chatter, doors slam shutâbut none of it matters. Itâs all in the background.
Right now, you and Satoru are the only two people in the galaxy. And Time itself seems to notice, pausing, lingering, zooming in on the smallest thingsâthe way his gaze softens, the way your fingers tighten slightly around your cup, the barely-there glances exchanged like secrets.
And for onceâTime waits for you.
RING!
The sound cuts through everything. Sharp and jarring.
Reality snaps back into place. Time resumes, relentless as ever.
âSorry,â you mumble quickly, already standing. âI have to take this.â
You step a few feet away, pressing your phone to your ear. Itâs your best friend, Shoko.
âHello?â
âThis better be important,â you say immediately, lowering your voice. âYou interrupted something.â
âYeah, whateverâlike you have anything important to do.â
You roll your eyes, even though she canât see you. âShoko-â
âYou know how I applied to that medical school?â she cuts in.
You pause. âYeah⊠what about it?â
âWell, I got in!â Her voice spikes, bright and unfiltered, and it catches you off guard. Youâve never heard her sound so genuinely excited about anything.
âOh my god,â you breathe, a smile breaking across your face. âIâm so happy for youâseriously. Iâm proud of you. Youâre going to be the best doctor in the world.â
âI know,â she laughs, not even pretending to be humble. âSo get ready, Iâm taking us out. Iâm already on my way to your apartment.â
âWait- what?â
The line goes dead. You stare at your phone for a second, exhaling sharply.
You didnât even get to tell her you werenât home. You have to leave.
Now.
You hurry back to the table, your steps quicker, your beating fast.
âIâm really sorry,â you say to him, breathless. âBut I have to go. Itâs- an emergency.â
The lie comes out smoother than you expect. You donât have the heart to tell him the truthâthat youâre leaving to go celebrate with your friend. That this moment, whatever it is, is already slipping away.
You grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, already half-turned toward the street.
âIâm really sorry,â you repeat, casting one last glance at him. Taking in his face, his eyes, his open mouthâlike he was about to say something.
You wave down a taxi, directing it to go to your apartment.
ââââ
You make it home just before Shoko arrives.
The moment you manage to slip into a tiny black dress, one that was probably a size too small, the door swings open.
Of course she lets herself in. She always does.
âThis night is going to be all about me,â she proclaims, striding in like she owns the place. Her dress catches the light with every movement, sequins scattering reflectionsâand actual glitterâacross your floor. âIâm going to get so wasted Iâll forget that I can never party again.â
You blink, ignoring the glitter. âNever party again? Isnât that a little far? Iâm sure medical school wonât take up that much time.â
She stops, staring at you like youâve just said something deeply naive.
âYou donât know the horrors,â she says flatly, then shudders. âIâve heard stories.â
You laugh, grabbing your bag, and your keys.
âWell,â you say, forcing the energy back into your voice, âletâs make this a night you wonât forget.â
You hook your arm through hers, pulling her toward the door.
And just like thatâyou run out into the night.
ââââ
You get home at 3am and drag your dress down your body, fingers clumsy, impatient. The fabric catches at your hips and you tug harder than you should, nearly tearing it in the process. For a second you donât even careâyou just need it off.
It slips free and pools at your feet, a crumpled reminder of the night.
You step out of it and leave it there.
The bathroom light is too bright when you flick it on, harsh against your tired eyes. You donât bother adjusting it. You turn the shower knob all the way to hotâtoo hotâand step in before you can register the pain.
You stand there, unmoving, letting it run over your shoulders, down your back, washing away the smell of sweat and perfume and alcohol. The night clings to you, stubborn, but the heat slowly starts to pull it away.
And for the first time all night, you let your mind drift back to Satoru. You wonder if he was hurt that you left so quickly. It didnât matter anyways. He probably bought women drinks regularly. You werenât specialâyou were just at the right place at the right time. Just another girl he happened to run into.
The water runs down your face, and you close your eyes.
You arenât anything special.
Youâre prettyâbut an average kind of pretty. The girl-next-door kind. The kind that has to have a real personality for people to fall in love with. You arenât particularly well endowed eitherâyour body lacks curves. You have barely any extra plush to grip onto.
Sometimes you stare at your naked body and wonder how anyone could ever love itâlove you. In a society where big breasts and a fat ass gets you everything, you have nothing to give.
You arenât someone people remember. Not the kind someone like him would go out of his way to find.
You probably shouldâve told Shoko. She wouldâve lost her mindâgenuinely, completely thrilled to hear you actually talked to a man who wasnât an asshole for once. She wouldâve demanded every detail, replayed every word, made it into something bigger than it was.
But you didnât want to make the night about you. So you kept your mouth shut. Now youâre wondering if that was a mistake.
Because thereâs so much you want to say now. So many questions that keep circling back, refusing to settle.
Would he even remember you? Would he try to find you?
You let out a quiet breath, leaning your forehead against the cool tile.
You could just tell Shoko tomorrow. Or later. Over FaceTime, like you always do. You could say everything then.
That thought settles something in you, just enough.
Eventually, you step out of the shower, skin warm and flushed. You wrap yourself in your fluffy pink towel, the fabric soft against your damp skin, and pad barefoot over to your bed.
You grab your phone from your purse and collapse onto the mattress, scrolling absentmindedly while you wait for your hair to dry.
The first video that pops up is a clip of an idol performing in L.A. You barely register it.
You donât care much for famous people, so you scroll away.
A flash of white brings you back. Your thumb pauses mid-motion. You scroll back up and watch the videoâthe whole thing.
A figure steps forward on stage, lights flashing, the crowd screaming so loud it distorts the audio. At first, itâs hard to tellâitâs out of focus, chaotic.
But something about the singer feels familiar.
Your stomach twists. Itâs Satoru, but he looks different.
His hair is styled now, not soft and slightly messy like before. His clothes are nothing like the hoodie and sweats from beforeâtheyâre sharp, intentional, expensive. Thereâs makeup, subtle but there. Stage lights catch on his skin, highlighting angles you hadnât noticed earlier.
And his presenceâitâs stronger, more confident.
Itâs clear he knows exactly how every eye in that arena is on him. He knows he belongs.
This is version of him you didnât see. Or maybe you just werenât paying attention.
âWhat the fuck?â you whisper, barely audible.
The camera zooms in. And itâs him.
Thereâs no mistaking it now. The crowd screams his name. GOJO.
Gojo Satoru. Thatâs his full name.
You pause the video, your finger hovering for a second before tapping into the comments.
They flood the screen instantly.
@gojossixthsenseye: I NEED HIM SO BAD
@gojosatorusmicstand: The mic is ON
@ineedwaterrrr: I would die for him ngl
Your mouth parts, your eyes flicker away from your screenâtrying to forget to focus on anything else, anything but your phone.
Girls thirsting, screaming, and jumpingâall of it was for him.
The same guy who bought you a smoothie like it didnât matter. Who sat across from you like it was normal. Who looked at youâreally looked at youâlike you werenât just another face passing by.
This version of himâwould never do that. Would never talk to a strangerânever talk to you. Someone whoâs never even brushed against fame, let alone existed inside it.
You turn your phone off abruptly and toss it somewhere into the mess of blankets and pillows on your bed.
You stare at the ceiling. You felt something when you talked to him. A connectionâa spark of something real.
But maybe that was just himâcharming. So much so that it disarmedyou. The kind of person who could make anyone feel seen if he wanted to.
Maybe he just wanted to feel normal for a little while. And you were convenient. You didnât recognize him. Not even when he gave you his name.
That mustâve been perfect for him. No expectations, screaming fansâno pressure.
Just a normal conversation. Maybe thatâs why he stayed as long as he did.
The thought sits heavy on your chest. And you know that by morning he wonât even remember you.
You were just a moment for him. A tool to step outside of his life for a little while.
You reach blindly into your blankets and fish your phone back out.
Your fingers move almost on autopilot, opening Instagram, searching his name.
His account pops up instantlyâverified, with tens of millions of followers.
You tap on his latest postâitâs from the concert. A photo of him on stage, lights exploding behind him, the crowd barely visible beyond the glare.
You stare at it for a second.
Then you comment.
@starrygirI: he sounds way better than i thought
Itâs stupidly casual. Like youâre just another fan.
But now, that is all you are.
He didnât seem the singing type when you first met him. Not the idol type either. You were wrong about a lot of things.
He probably wouldnât recognize you. And why would he? Youâre just another comment in a sea of thousands.
You check the time: 5am. Two hours gone. And somehow, you feel like youâve learned more in those two hours than you had in college.
Reality settles in, heavy and immovable. Youâll never get a chance to speak to him again. At least not casually.
You turn your phone offâthis time for realâand pull on a loose t-shirt, the fabric soft and familiar.
Sleep comes quickly.
And when it doesâyour dreams are filled with a vast land of snow and endless blue.
ââââ
You wake up lateâwhen the sun is at its highest point in the sky. Light spills through your half-closed blinds, painting your room in a muted golden haze.
The first thing you do is reach for your phone.
Notifications.
But not the one you want. He hasnât responded. Heâs famous, you didnât expect him too.
It still hurts.
You push yourself out of bed, limbs sluggish, and trudge over to your small kitchenette. You open a box of cheap Costco croissants and pull one out, eating it cold because you donât have the energy to heat it up.
You lean against the counter, chewing slowly, and unlock your phone again.
This time, you go straight to his profile and open direct messages.
Your fingers hover for a second before you start typing.
idk if u remember me but i was the girl at erewhon
âI donât know if you remember me?â you mutter, âwho the fuck would say that?â
Itâs only been a day, heâd probably remember you. Considering the fact he spent the better part of his afternoon with you.
You delete it and start again.
u didnât tell me u were famous
Now it sounds worse. Like you care about that. Like it changes something. Like youâre about to latch onto him now that you know who he is.
Maybe thatâs dramatic, but it sounds desperate. You send it anyways.
He probably wonât even see it.
You move to your living room, collapsing onto your ratty little couch, the cushions sinking under your weight. Your laptop sits on the coffee table, and you pull it toward you, flipping it open.
You type his name into Google, and instantly your screen floods with images, articles, and interviews.
You click on one. Itâs a magazine cover from the recent issue of Man About Town.
Satoru sits on the floor, head tilted slightly upward, eyes locked with the camera like heâs looking straight through itâthrough you. Itâs mesmerizing, almost as magical as seeing him in person.
But no camera can capture the exact blue of his eyes. Not the way they looked in real life. Not the way they held yours so effortlessly.
Your gaze drifts lowerâto his clothes. Black pants, sleek, perfectly tailoredâinterrupted only by the unmistakable red and green Gucci stripe running down the side.
Itâs obvious now. At the store, you thought he was like you: Broke and out of place.
Now itâs clear, he just snuck away from his hotel. From his schedule. From everything that comes with being him.
And for a momentâyou were his normal.
You close the tab and go back to your search.
Absorbing more than you probably should. Turns out he had another concert next week.
You click on it immediately, already knowing what youâll find: Sold out.
You check resale sites next. Sketchy onesâlinks you barely trust.
The prices make your stomach twist, knowing you could never afford them.
$800
$1000
$1200
Youâd really fucked up this time.
Thereâs nothing you can do except wait.
ââââ
Itâs the day of Satoruâs concert.
You told yourself you wouldnât go.
You would get in trouble. Youâd regret it. Thereâs no pointâyou donât even have a ticket.
The thought flickers in your mind anyway. You shut it down before it can take root, digging into the pliable soil of your mind and settling.
You donât have a ticket. Thereâs nothing for you there.
ââââ
Itâs dark by the time you step out of your Uber. The door shuts behind you with a dull thud, swallowed almost instantly by the distant roar of a crowd.
For a second, you just stand there on the curb, unsure how you got here. You donât remember making the decision. Your body had moved on its own, there was something inside you that refused to stay away.
Now youâre hereâstanding in front of the arena.
It towers over you, steel and glass and blinding lights. Massive screens flash Satoruâs name in looping graphics, his face appearing for seconds at a time before dissolving into color and motion. People rush past you in clusters, buzzing with excitement, their voices overlapping into a constant hum of anticipation.
You let yourself drift with them. No resistance, no directionâjust letting the current of bodies carry you forward. Their energy brushes against you, warm and electric, but it never quite reaches inside. You feel like a ghost slipping through something you canât touch.
Inside, the air changes immediatelyâcool, artificial, humming faintly with the buildingâs ventilation. Bright lights reflect off polished floors. Thereâs a long line snaking around metal barricades. People waiting for wristbands, tickets clutched tightly in their hands.
You slow, watching them for a moment. You wouldnât need to wait, you donât have a ticket.
The realization doesnât sting like you expected, it just settles, deep in your gut.
You walk around the line. Past the security ropes. Toward somewhere quieterâsomewhere you know you probably shouldnât be.
A dark corridor opens along the side of the building, half-hidden from the main flow of people. A small sign hangs above it, almost overlooked.
Staff Only. You donât stop.
The lights dim as you step inside, the noise of the crowd muffling into the distance, like waves behind a wall. The corridor stretches ahead, narrow and shadowed, leading to a thin gap between the arena wall and an outer barricade.
Itâs empty. Occasionally, someone passes at the far endâstaff members with headsets, security guards moving with purposeâbut none of them spare you more than a glance. They look through you, past you.
Youâve always been good at that: being invisible.
You step closer to the wall, the bass faint but steady beneath your feet, like a heartbeat you canât quite sync with. For a moment, you close your eyes.
And just for a moment. You let yourself pretend.
Pretend youâre out there, pressed up against the barricade, shoulder to shoulder with the crowd. Pretend the lights are blinding instead of distant. Pretend that when you look up-
A roar erupts. Your eyes snap open.
Reality crashes back in all at once. The music surges, louder now, vibrating through the concrete, through your bones. The crowd screams in wavesârising, falling, rising againâreacting to something you canât see.
A few beats pass. Then his voice appears.
It cuts through everything, even from here. He starts with his most popular songâyou knew he would. Youâd looked it up, you memorized the setlist.
The crowd explodes. Itâs deafening, overwhelming, almost violent in its intensity. They scream the lyrics back at him, thousands of voices merging into one. From where you stand, itâs hard to even hear him over them.
But then certain parts come. The ones no one bothered to memorize.
His voice is deeper than the recordings ever captured, richerâlike itâs pulled straight from somewhere deep inside his chest. It fills the space in a way that feels too intimate for something so far away.
And the crowd feels it too. Their screams sharpen, higher, almost desperate, bouncing off the walls and folding back in on themselves.
You hum along softly, barely audible over the clamoring in the pit. Trying to imagine that youâre out there.
That somehow, he sees you.
For a second, it almost works. But the illusion shatters as quickly as it formed, leaving you standing in the pieces of your broken dream. Youâre still in the hallway, separated by concrete bricks.
A wall between you and him. Literally and figuratively.
The song ends. Thereâs a pause, brief but heavyâthe entire arena is holding its breath at once.
Then he speaks. The crowd erupts again, louder somehow, like theyâd been waiting just to hear him talk. His voice filters through the wall in fragments, broken and uneven.
ââŠtonightâŠâ
ââŠthank youâŠâ
ââŠmeans a lotâŠâ
You strain to catch more, but the rest dissolves into noise. He sounds so close. Close enough that, if the wall disappeared, you could reach out and touch him.
And yetâheâs impossibly far. Once, you were right there. Closer to him than any of these people will ever be.
And now there are thousands between you. Thousands screaming his name. And even if you screamedâhe wouldnât hear you.
Time keeps moving. Like it always has. Steady, unrelenting, dragging everything forward whether youâre ready or not. Even when you wish it would rewind. Even when youâd give anything to relive the moments you let slip awayâlike the drifting tides of the ocean.
Another song starts. Then another.
You tell yourself youâll leave after this one.
Time blurs, slipping through your fingers, measured only by the rise and fall of music and the constant pulse of the crowd. At some point, your legs give out and you sink to the floor, back pressed against the cold wall, arms wrapped around your bare knees.
You let the sound wash over you. Let it carry something awayâsome piece of the weight youâve been holding onto. Your anguish.
By the time the concert nears its end, you can feel the difference. The crowdâs energy is thinning, stretched tight and fraying at the edges. Still loud, still aliveâbut itâs tired.
Then the music shifts.
It turns slow, soft. Itâs a different kind of song.
A love song.
His voice returns, quieter now, stripped of the heavy production. No distortion, no layering. Raw and unguarded, resonating through the space.
For a moment, itâs easy to pretend that this is just for you. A private concert in your mind, tucked away in the dark.
But itâs not for you, none of this is. Youâre just another face in a crowd youâre not even part of.
The final note fades, and the arena erupts.
Every single person screaming, cheering, pouring everything they have left into the moment. Itâs louder than before, louder than anything, it hurts to listen too.
He says a few words, the crowd cheers again, the lights dim. His presence is gone.
You sit there for a moment longer, unmoving, the silence in your space feeling heavier now that the music is gone. Then you push yourself up, legs stiff, and make your way back down the corridor.
The closer you get to the exit, the louder it becomes againânot music this time, but people.
The crowd spills out into the halls and onto the streets, buzzing with excitement. Laughter, chatter, voices overlapping in a chaotic song.
You let yourself be pulled along again. You try to join the crowd, but you donât fit. Youâre not laughing, not smiling.
If anything, the concert didnât bring you closer to Satoruâit reminded you of how far away he isâof everything youâll never have.
You wish, not for the first time, that Satoru was normal. Because maybe then, this wouldnât feel so impossible. Maybe then, youâd have a chance.
A long sigh escapes you as you pick up your pace, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. Every part of you achesânot physically, but in that quiet, persistent way you canât shake.
You just want to go home.
Outside, the night air hits you, cool and grounding. The moon hangs overhead, plump and inviting, casting a pale glow over the sea of people and cars below.
Pickup lines stretch endlessly, headlights blending into one continuous stream of white and red. Drivers call out names, passengers weave through traffic, tires screech.
You stand there for a second, scanning the crowd. Youâre unsure if youâll even be able to find your ride.
Suddenly, the window of a Toyota rolls down and a man with a scarred lip peers out at you.
He calls your name, âUber for you?â
âUh yeah,â You open the door to the backseat and slide in. âYouâre Fushiguro right?â
He tries to catch your eye in the rear-view mirror, âYeah, but you can just call me Toji.â
âRight. Just take me to the address I put in the app.â You purposely avoid his gaze, opting to look out the window instead.
You hear him hum and type something out on his touchscreen
He pulls away, speeding off. Leaving everything behind you in the dust.
ââââ
That night, Shoko calls you.
Your phone buzzes against your mattress, the sound louder than it should be in the quiet of your room. You stare at the screen for a second before picking it up, already knowing itâs her.
You answer in bed, still half-buried under your blankets. You put her on speaker and drop the phone beside you, turning onto your side.
âHey Shoko, howâs med school so far?â
âWellââ she starts, dragging the word out, âthis guy I met at the bar had free tickets to a meet and greet with some famous singer, itâs in a week, you wanna go?â
You blink, that wasnât what you expected.
Shokoâs been so busy with med school lately, buried in textbooks and stressâyouâll take any excuse to see her. Even if it means standing in a crowded room with a bunch of screaming fans.
âOf course,â you say, pushing yourself up slightly. âWho is it?â
âGo-go Sakura, I think?â she says, completely unsure. âI donât remember his name. Heâs super famous though.â
You pause, wondering if you heard it right.
She completely butchered his name, but you know exactly who sheâs talking about.
Your chest tightens just a little. This is your chance.
âYeah,â you say casually, pretending that his name doesnât stir something inside you. âLet me search him up.â
You grab your laptop from beside your bed and sit up properly, leaning back against your pile of pillows. The screen lights your face blue as you open it, fingers moving slower than usual.
You donât want her to know that you know himâthat you met him.
âOhââ you say after a second, forcing a bit of surprise into your voice. âHe is super famous. Heâs got likeâ100 million listeners on Spotify.â
âHoly shit,â Shoko gasps, âthe guy didnât tell me he was that famous.â
You huff out a quiet laugh.
Of course he didnât.
âDo you think if I post a photo with him on my Insta Iâll go viral?â she adds, suddenly more awake.
âShoko,â you say flatly, âyour Insta is private.â
Thereâs a pause.
âOh yeah,â she says. âIâll make it public then.â
You actually laugh at that, shaking your head a little.
Then it hits youâshe canât see you.
âHey,â you add quickly, adjusting your position, âyou wanna FaceTime? I miss your face girl.â
âDuh,â she says immediately. âI miss you too.â
You prop your phone up against your laptop, adjusting it a couple times until it stops slipping. Your camera turns on, and a second later hers does too.
Her face fills the screen.
You notice it right awayâher dark circles.
âYou look tired,â you say, leaning in a little, your brows pulling together. âWe can talk tomorrow if you want.â
âThe semester just started,â she sighs, rubbing at her eyes. âThe work isnât that difficult yet. I just need to fix my sleep schedule.â
You nod slowly.
âI know,â you say. âAt least youâre doing something productive with your life. I sit on my couch watching movies all day.â
The words come out lighter than they feel.
âI really need a job.â
âNo luck with liberal arts?â she asks.
You let out a dry laugh.
âFuck no,â you say. âMy only hope is to marry a rich man.â
You drop your face into your hands dramatically, muffling your voice.
âYouâll have men lining up for you,â she says without hesitation. âTrust me.â
âI wish,â you groan, dragging your hands down your face. âUgh. I was so dumbâI shouldâve gotten a degree in biology or something.â
You glance back at your phone, at her.
âI think Iâm the one whoâs tired,â you add. âIâm gonna sleep. Text me the meet and greet stuff.â
âIâll send the ticket to you,â she says. âIt has all the info.â
You nod. âOkay.â
She ends the call.
You let out a deep sigh and fall back against your pillows, one arm coming up to cover your eyes.
You were boring, jobless, and loveless.
The thoughts bury deep inside your mind, heavy, hard to ignore.
How were you supposed to attract a rich man like this?
You werenât anything flashy. You werenât the kind of girl who walked into a room and had people turning their heads.
You were certainly no peacock. If anything, the smallest things made you flush with embarrassmentâa wrong word, a lingering stare, even thinking too hard about something you said hours ago.
You exhale slowly. You were going to have to pick up a shit ton of jobs again.
Just like in college. The thought almost feels nostalgic. But back then, it meant something. You were working towards your future, now this is your future.
Your eyes shift toward your laptop, still open beside you. The screen glows softly in the dim room, pulling your attention back.
You sigh and sit up again, dragging the laptop into your lap.
A Michelin star restaurant. The kind that serves tiny plates of food that barely fill your stomach. One of your old boyfriends took you there onceâsaid it was ânothing special.â That kind of place was normal for him. You remember feeling out of place the entire time.
Men dressed in perfectly tailored suits. Women in beautiful floor length dresses, slits cut into the sidesâhigh enough to show a sliver of thigh.
You swear the waitress eyed you up and down, as if she knew you didnât belong among them.
And nowâyouâre considering working there.
You tilt your head slightly, thinking.
Itâs not like youâre completely inexperienced. Youâve worked as a waitress before. Plenty of times. You know how to carry trays, deal with customers, smile even with it hurts.
It wonât harm you to try.
You click on the link. The application page loads, clean and simple. You skim it quickly before uploading your resume, the same one youâve sent out a dozen times before.
You hesitate for half a second, then hit submit. You lean back slightly, staring at the screen.
Hopefully they find you a perfect applicant, and call you in for an interview. You just want something to do besides lying on your couch all day.
Your phone buzzes loudly, making you jump, scaring you out of your thoughts. You pick it up lethargicallyâit continues to buzz in your hand.
Youâre being bombarded with messages.
All from Shoko.
Shoko đ: Omg look at this
Shoko đ: Itâs abt the singer i was showing u
Shoko đ: Wait
Shoko đ: Isnât this u???
She sends a link in the chat. You open it slowlyâyour fingers hovering over it hesitantly.
It leads you to a post filled with pictures of Satoru andâ
You.
The photos are blurry, taken from far away. Only the side of your face is visibleâcovered by strands of hair. Not enough to identify you, but you recognize yourselfâyour outfit, the shape of your nose.
You glance down at the caption.
Gojo Satoru spotted in the wild with a girl???
Your stomach drops, people had noticed himâhad noticed you.
The comments are filled with people wondering who you are, maybe a secret girlfriend, a fan.
No, youâre too close to be just a fan. He looks too relaxed, his smile easy, his hand frozen in timeâpushing your drink towards you.
You scroll, just to find more videos of people making theories, defending you, or picking out every little thingâthe curve of your nose, the cardigan youâre wearing, the pattern of your hairâtalking about it like itâs the hottest gossip of the year.
And maybe it is.
When you he offered to buy your drink and you agreed, you didnât expect anything big to come out of it. You didnât even know who he was.
Now, youâre somehow apart of all this.
A/N: First fic iâve posted on tumblr đ donât flop pls
warnings â MDNI; EXTREMELY DARK CONTENT; NOT A LIGHT READ; MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH (reader đ), mentions of murder/suicide, abusive relationship/DV, gun use (almost), swearing, manipulation/coercion, abusive!ex!rafe, dark!rafe, literally too much to name so just pls donât read if u donât like dark fics bc this is DARK. like dark dark.
summary â you end things with rafe after things escalate and he gets physical with you one night. if only you knew, there was only one way out of a relationship with rafe cameronâŠ
a/n â so sorry this took FOREVER to the person who requested it. kind of rushed through to finish it so ignore any mistakes or anything. also never wrote a death scene before so bare with me đ«
& THANK YOU FOR 700 FOLLOWERS đ« iâm so so grateful to have come across this sweet lil community and i loveee writing for you guys. pls read w/ caution but if u do read, i hope u enjoy alsjdididn that sounds so bad but YK WHAT I MEAN LOL LOVE U GUYS
pro tip: listen to romantic homicide by d4vd while u read đźâđš
Rafeâs heart was pounding in his chest, muscles tight as he shifted nervously in the seat of his truck.
His gaze continuously darted from your ring in his hands, up to the light flooding through your bedroom window.
He wished he was parking his truck for anything other than dropping off the last teather he had to you⊠but here he was clutching your momâs ring, so tiny in his hand, compared to how bulky it looked on your dainty finger.
By this point, heâd lost track of how much time heâd been loitering outside, waiting to text you⊠not that it mattered. Time was on his side.
According to social media, your parents were in Ibiza for the weekend, leaving you to watch over the homeâŠ
You didnât want your parents to go. But who were you to deny them a second honeymoon that the pair so greatly deserved? Theyâd been reluctant to leave you, too, but the trip was already booked before your nasty breakup. Before you met the side of your ex that the entire town tried to warn you about.
The start of your relationship with Rafe could only be compared to that from a dream, or a movie. You were constantly showered with gifts, from a new phone to designer clothes or fancy jewelry. The trips were endless, his family always taking the yacht or the jet somewhere to getaway for a couple of days.
And space wasâŠnonexistant. On the off chance that you werenât together physically, it seemed like Rafeâs texts, calls and random pop-ups never seemed to let up.
The gifts only did so much, since you came from money, too. But no familiesâ wealth and assets could even hold a candle to that of the Cameronâs.
And such a grand fortune almost always paired with power, influence, notoriety⊠and if being the eldest son of the most powerful family on the island was all you knew, you might end up being just like Rafe Cameron, too.
You might also end up way in over your head in a relationship like Rafe Cameron, too.
Rafe had always wanted love. Heâd never admit it, of course, thatâs not what men do. But heâd always longed for a love that could be his with no conditions.
His own dad only liked him when he could help him, particularly with things only Rafe would risk his freedom to do, just hoping for an ounce of approval in return.
Rose⊠well, Rose never liked him, and sheâd be the first to own up to her hatred for the boy.
Wheezie used to like Rafe, but after his falling out with their sister, a seed of resentment was even planted in the youngest Cameron, too.
And Sarah⊠didnât matter. She never liked Rafe. She was always against him, even when they were kids.
But youâŠyou loved him. You had no problem saying it, showing it, letting everyone else know.
You were a beacon of light in what Rafe had previously deemed to be a cruel, dark, cold world. Youâd taught him how to show and recieve genuine affection, something he had no real recollections of, as far back as his memory could stretch.
The night you decided to dim the light of the relationship, Rafe felt blindsided. He felt betrayed, hurt, double-crossed. Heâd played the final scenes of your relationship in his head everyday since.
He always wanted to do right by you. He wanted to protect you, love you, trust youâŠbut trust was never something Rafe really knew much about.
He never meant to take things as far as he did. He wanted to believe you when you insisted the guy at the club was just a long-time family friend, âlike a cousin, babe.â
But he saw it. He was there. The guy was too close to you, you were too comfortable letting him invade your space. You obviously knew him, you already admitted it. The family friend bullshit was surely just a ruse.
Heâd snapped. He did, and he knew it. He never shouldâve thrown things at you, put his hands on you, but the whole altercation lasted all of 2 minutes⊠surely, you were just being dramatic. Surely, it didnât warrant a breakup.
You, on the other hand, tried to block that night from your memory completely. But each diversion of your eyes to one of the bruises or cuts littering your skin was a harsh reminder. You had to close your eyes every time, wincing at the pain youâd felt, and cringing at your inability to stand up for yourself.
But how could you be blamed? You were scared.
âŠJust like now, when the vibration of your phone led your eyes to a text message from a familiar number.
      Maybe: Rafe â Iâm here.
Rafe was already chewing on his fingernails before the text even delivered, nerves taking over. His breathing was heavy and arrhythmic. He could hardly sit still. He decided the lines he snorted when he first parked werenât enough, so Rafe laid out another, much larger one, inhaling it off of the dash. His nose burned as the powder rushed through it, but it didnât compare to the burn in his chest. In his heart.
How did things get to this point?
Convinced that you were the one who poked the bear, Rafe hadnât even seen the breakup coming. From the moment he met you, he was no longer able to comprehend or accept a life without you in it. His brain couldnât even fathom a day where you wouldnât be his. His whole life, he never had to ask permission, and therefore seldom ever heard any rendition of the word ânoâ.
Thatâs why he hoped you wouldnât try to shoo him away after getting your ring back. Heâd do anything to make sure you didnât.
He just wanted to see you. Talk to you. He wanted you to welcome him into your house, accept his apology, and tell him you love him no matter what and you want to be with him forever. Assure him that you overreacted, that you never shouldâve left him, and you never would again.
Just 5 minutes, thatâs all he needed.
And he hoped you would give him the chance. He needed you to. Because Rafe wasnât sure what he would do if things went any way but his.
You sent Rafe a thumbs up as you slipped on your house shoes. Normally, youâd never wear them outside, and Rafe knew that, too. You hoped maybe the shoes would be the subtle hint he needed to know you didnât want to spend long outsideâŠbecause you didnât want to spend long with him.
If the ring wasnât a family heirloom, you wouldâve honestly just let Rafe keep it to spare seeing him again.
But you needed it back, and part of you also thought maybe this could be the assurance Rafe needed to know that you were serious, and you wouldnât be changing your mind.
As soon as you made it to the top of the stairs, you could see a street light illuminating a familiar truck across the street.
Slowly, you placed a hand on the railing and started down the stairs.
You were shaking. Your fingers trembled as they grazed the banister on your descent.
Your legs even felt a bit wobbly, relying on the railing more than you normally would to get up or down the stairs.
Why did you feel so uneasy?
Meanwhile, in the car, a pit was forming in Rafeâs stomach too.
He couldnât imagine you doing anything besides taking him backâŠso why did he still feel a shred of doubt?
Maybe the coke was influencing his already chaotic mind.
He loved you. He wanted to be with you. He wanted to make you happy.
He wanted toâŠÂ grab his gun?
What the fuck?
Rafe didnât even realize heâd fetched the weapon from the middle console, too lost in a sea of dark thoughts.
He immediately flinched away, dropping it down onto his lap. He was thankful it didnât go off. He didnât want to bring a gun just to talk to youâŠ
Did he?
No. Of course he fucking didnât.
âŠSo why he still slipped the cold metal in the back of his waistband, tucking his shirt over to conceal it just in case, was beyond him.
Rafe climbed out of the truck, ring in hand as he started towards your front porch.
He was standing at the top of the steps, weight shifting from one foot to another when you slowly pulled the door open.
He couldâve sworn your sweet, floral scent hit his nose before you even put your hand on the knob.Â
You looked beautiful as ever, even with no makeup. Even with your baggy silk pajama set and yourâŠhouse shoes.
That canât be a good sign. You only slipped those on when you knew you were just running out to grab something, like your lip gloss from your car or a package from a delivery driver.
âŠOr a ring from your ex-boyfriend.
Rafe worked to ignore the tightening of his chest and the beads of sweat forming on his palms that he tried not to ball into fists at the realization that you didnât seem to plan on doing much talking.
You wanted to get your ring, and you wanted to get rid of him.
The arm that opened the door joined the other in wrapping around your frame as the wood swung open to reveal your ex-boyfriend.
He immediately looked away after only a moment of eye contact. He almost looked just as nervous as you were.
It was hard to deny his charmâŠRafe always looked good, never had to try.
If only looks were everything.
Your nerves drove you to break the silence. âHi, RafeâŠâ
Blue eyes shot up to yours again. âH-hey, Y/N/N.â
You could see him figeting with your ring in one hand, the other rubbed over the back of his neck and shoulder.
âYou look nice.â
You shifted nervously, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth and biting down gently. âThank you⊠and thanks for bringing my ring by.â
Rafe let his head and gaze fall down, eyes focusing in on the gold ring you mentioned. âYeah, uh, yeah,â Fuck. He had to ask now. âListen, um, I was kind of hoping we could⊠you know, we could like, talk maybe?â He scratched the back of his head. âFor a minute? Like-like inside?â His words were riddled with random pauses and âuhâsâ and âumâsâ.
He could tell you were nervous. That wasnât his goal, but hell, he was nervous too.
âIâŠI donât know, Rafe, I-â
âPlease, just,â He watched you pull into yourself at his sudden interruption, so he pulled back. âJust⊠I just wanna talk. Iâm not gonnaâŠIâm not going to hurt you.â
Leave it to Rafe to tug at your broken heartstrings, even after heâd been the one to do the damage.
Reluctantly, you stepped back through the threshold, standing off to the side just enough to allow Rafe the space he needed to enter.
But you didnât close the door.
Instead, you spun around, keeping Rafe in your sight with one hand still resting on the door knob.
âListen, Y/N, I-I know what I did wasâŠwasnât right, okay? IâŠIt was-it was fucked up, I know that.â
You nodded, leaning into the door and offering him the silence he needed to continue.
âI donât, I canâtâŠI canât do this, without you, Y/N/N. I feel like I canât, I canât even breathe without you. Nobody gets me like-like you do.â
You could feel your heart strings being yanked on again.
Especially when the light from outside glistened perfectly on the tear that slid down Rafeâs cheek. You realized his eyes were glossed over, and his hands were shaking.
âRafeâŠâ
âI justâŠIâm sorry, okay? Iâm sorry.â He was swiping his hands over his head and face aggresively.
âItâs okay, Rafe.â You offered, gently. His eyes immediately shot up to yours, a look of surprise on his face. It was mixed with a bit ofâŠrelief?
âR-really?â He questioned, so low you almost couldnât hear him.
âYeah. IâŠI accept your apology.â
A mountain was lifted off of the boyâs shoulders. He could feel his muscles slowly untense for the first time he left his house that night. No⊠for the first time since you walked out on him.Â
âWowâŠâ he mumbled to himself. A small smile even tugged at the corners of his lips.
ââŠBut I still mean what I said, Rafe. IâŠâ you swallowed your nerves. âI donât think I wanna change my mindâŠâ
You were reluctant to meet Rafeâs gaze again, worried for what expression you might find. You prayed your words wouldnât make him too mad.
But when you looked up, Rafe looked anything but mad. He lookedâŠhurt. Disappointed. In you or in himself, you couldnât be too sure.
âIâm sorry.â Your voice broke.
You donât know what posessed you, but you found yourself reaching for Rafeâs arms, redirecting them from the back of his head, to you instead. You pulled him into you, draping your arms around his torso and tucking your head into his chest.
It took him a second to wrap his arms around you too. The wave of comfort that washed over him was instant. And dangerous. Because Rafeâs dark thoughts pulled his focus far past the intoxicating scent of your hair under his nose, the feel of your soft skin brushing against his. It pulled him to the realization that there was no way in hell you were going to deprive him of this. No way he would be able to let you wrap your arms around someone else the way you were around him now.
The intimate embrace had been comforting for you too, until you shifted slightly, and felt the graze of something hard on your forearm.
âWhat isâŠâ you mumbled lowly, fingers tracing over the area again, and you didnât need to see it for the placement and feel to confirm what Rafe was concealing.
You immediately scrambled away from him, pushing off of his chest and clutching the open door again. âW-why would you bring that?â
Your mouth went dry. You tried to steady your body as it started to tremble, desperate to conceal anymore alarm from Rafe. You hoped you hadnât already shown too much fear. You didnât want to set him off.Â
And for a good reason.
âHey, no-no itâs notâŠitâs not like that, okay?â Rafeâs hands up shot up defensively in the air as if to say, âIâm no threat to youâ. He could tell you still felt threatened, though.
He slowly reached one arm back, fishing under his shirt and grabbing the gun. He kneeled to the floor, placing the weapon down before kicking it away from him.
âIâm not gonna hurt youâŠI-I promise.â
The absence of saliva in your mouth made it difficult to swallow, as did the lump forming in your throat. You wanted to believe Rafe. You wanted to feel sorry for him. You did feel sorry for him. But why did he come to your house with a gun? Suddenly, you didnât want to talk anymore.
âI-Iâm heading to bed soon, anyway,â you started, nervously. âMaybe you should goâŠâ
âY/N/N, please,â He took an eager step towards you. You shrunk in on yourself, prompting him to retreat.
âRafeâŠyou should go.â You tried again. You hoped the way you held your breath as you pressed yourself impossibly further into the door wasnât noticeable.
He should go?
Rafeâs eyes darted wildly between yours. It wasnât supposed to be this way. You were supposed to welcome him in, check⊠forgive him, check⊠so why couldnât you take him back? And why was he so inclined to not take no for an answer?
Pure cocaine, mixed with a jealousy that was even more pure, more potent, could do that.
Youâd openly admitted that you didnât want him. In fact, you wanted him to leave.
But Rafe didnât care to respect your wishes. It was rare that he cared about anyoneâs wishes, aside from his own.
He made a mistake. Why did you have to be so unfair to him? And then so unwilling to hear him out, give him a chance to explain his side of things?
Rafeâs brain could only deny the reality. He physically couldnât see his world spinning without you in the center. He wouldnât.
Rafe was convinced that you didnât really want him to leave. You were scared, understandable. But you loved himâŠright?
Right. You had a dangerous amount of love for your ex.
Both of you knew it. Rafe loved you too, but his love was more than dangerousâŠ
Rafeâs love, was deadly.
You didnât even see him do it, but suddenly Rafe had cleared the space between you. He towered over your figure, fingers curling around your neck.Â
You breath hitched in your throat at his close proximity. Youâd asked him to widen the gap between the two of you, forever, not close it.
Even the soft hold had you shifting your feet, trying to hold back the urge to push him away as not to set him off.
When you felt his grip tighten though, your hands rushed to his, scratching and clawing at his skin.Â
When your nails didnât work, you fished behind you, knocking things off the table as you struggled to get your hands on something, anything that could be used to your advantage in the moment.
As soon as you felt your fingers curl successfully around a cold, heavy object, you wasted no time swinging your arm around and knocking it right into the side of Rafeâs head.
The first gasp of air seemed to burn your lungs more than the absence of air had.
You took off immediately, clumsily running through the house towards the back door. You were crying, hardly able to catch your breath.
âShit!â Rafe yelled, hand met with a wet sensation when his fingers lightly inspected the side of his head youâd struck.
He took only a moment to regain his composure.
And now, he was pissed.
More than pissed. Rafe was infuriated. He couldnât even recall a time heâd felt so engulfed in a rage this deep. Not even after the worst beating from his dad. Not even after Barry turned him into the police.
He took off after you, not even bothering to run. He could still hear you knocking things over as you stumbled towards the back exit.
His chest was puffed out, heaving, and his broad shoulders made him look even bigger as he stormed towards the backyard.
As soon as he was close enough, Rafe used both hands to shove you violently to the ground, watching as you tripped over your own feet down the rest of the stairs you hadnât yet descended.
Your head bounced off of the grass, and you cried out in pain.
You managed to roll onto your back just in time for Rafe to throw himself on top of you. A large hand clasped over your mouth, Rafe eager to keep you quiet and avoid any nosey neighbors.
âŠIt was a little too late. A porch light flipped on in the corner of his eye, at the house neighboring your privacy fence.
He turned back to you.
âShut up,â he seethed, struggling to keep both your limbs and voice contained underneath him. âJust-just shut up.â
He looked like a monster towering over you, a knee on either side of you forcing your legs closed beneath him.
Your sobs were uncontrollable, muffled beneath his hand as you shook your head vigorously.
âCan you, can you please stop, Y/N, please!â His voice was laced with desperation. He wasnât just begging you to save the relationship anymore. He was begging you to save yourself.
He tried to shush you, masking both your mouth and nose to do so.
When it didnât work, his hands unconsciously slipped down to your throat.
He wasnât thinking logically. He didnât comprehend that going from covering your mouth to choking you meant completely cutting off your air, taking a chance of killing you.
All he knew was he had a problem. He needed to shut you up. His only method of action wasnât working, so his body moved into fight or flight mode, hands manuvering to your throat all on their own account.
You sputtered and struggled to free your airways from Rafeâs iron grip. He seemed to have a newfound strength out of nowhere. Like all of his efforts were focused on channeling his anger through his hands, and your throat was the outlet.
And thatâs because any emotion Rafe had previously felt, had shut down. He wasnât even sure if what was left could be called anger, without being a huge understatement.
Rafe was⊠enraged. Inconsolably, inexpicably enraged. He blacked out.Â
Literally. His mind was fuzzy, his vision grew just the same. It was almost like darkness took over, and he was no longer able to control himself.
And he looked scary. Veins protruding from his forehead, his neck, his arms as he flexed every muscle he had to drain you of your air.
Rafe didnât realize he was choking you, didnât comprehend it was an action that could only be taken so far before it became irreversible.
You struggled hard, forcing Rafe to exert more energy than heâd assumed it would take.
Because Rafe knew, from the moment you walked out on him, things would only go one of two ways.
Either you would forgive him, choose to stay with him, help him get better, grow together.
âŠOr, you would deny him the chance to redeem himself. And in turn, youâd deny yourself the chance to make it to another day.
The gun was only a prop. He knew he couldnât bring himself to shoot you. It was too messy, too inhumane.
He didnât bring it to shoot you, no, but to scare you.
And it worked.
You were scared. Shaking, trembling, writhing around underneath him, you were so scared that your face even started to drain of color, he noticed.
His eyes fell to your lips, which seemed to be a mixture of red and a pale shade of purple almost, now.
At least they werenât moving, he thought.
Heâd hoped things would go much differently when he first got your text, asking for your ring.
Heâd planned everything out, scripted it all together.
But he fucked up. He shouldnât have been so aggresive, so quick to resort to violence with you, the person he loved more than anything that walked the Earth. After all, thatâs the reason you left him in the first place. He just couldnât see things that way.
But Rafe knew there was no way you would forgive him after this. No chance you would want to be with him after he just inflicted so much pain and force on you, the thing that prompted you to leave him in the first place.
Heâd been going crazy without you. Not seeing you, hearing from you, proved to affect him worse than a day or two without cocaine did.
You left him alone, trapped by himself with nothing but his thoughts.
And boy, were they dark.
Of course, Rafe thought about your kiss, your lips on his, your beautiful body, your hair that he loved to pull and play with.
But more than that, he thought about what he would do to get back at you for leaving him. All the ways he could hurt you for hurting him.
The thoughts consumed him.
It was a terrible place to be, really, trapped in your mind because the reality you wish you had only existed in your head anymore.
It was almost as scary as walking into a storm that you didnât even know was coming.
Had you known the things Rafe thought about while you were away, you never wouldâve asked for your ring back.
You valued your life more than some stupid family ring.
An overwhelming ringing took over your ears just as clouds started to take over your vision.
Slowly, your grip on his wrists weakened, as did your will to fight back.
A deep, strained breath pulled from the back of your throat. Your last one.
It was so pronounced, the sound shattered the wall of darkness clouding Rafeâs eyes and mind, grounding him back to the current moment.
When he came to, the first thing he registered was the sound of his erratic breathing, blaring through the otherwise silent air.
Next came the strain he felt on his muscles all across the board.
Specifically, his hands.
His eyes dropped to the extremeties, and he noticed his fingers were curled inwards at the knuckles, almostâŠstuck. Like theyâd been wrapped around something for too long.
And they had been.
His eyes blurred his hands in front of him, instead focusing in on the figure underneath them.
You laid at his knees, completely silent, and completely still.
Grimly silent.
Eerily still.
âY/N-â his voice came out nothing but a squeak of air when he tried your name the first time.
He paused. His eyes never left you.
He cleared his throat lowly. âY/N?âÂ
Hesitantly, he tapped on your arm with one hand. âY/N/N?â
Rafe ignored the way his hands started to shake.
He ignored the wet beads he felt starting to cascade down his cheeks.
âY/N, wake up,â Somehow, he managed to grow impatient at the lack of response he was getting from your still body.
âCome on,â he nudged you again through tears, this time a bit harsher.
Heâd come to, but his mind was now convincing him that you didnât want to answer him. Just like you didnât want to talk to him earlier.
You didnât want to talk to him. You wanted him to give you your ring, and go.
âŠAnd the realization hit them that he didnât do either of those things.
In fact, when he pulled the ring from his pocket and held it to your finger, he couldnât help but notice now how the light blue gem sparkling in the middle of the ring wasnât too far off from the color of your skin.
Instantly, his hand fell weak. He dropped the ring, shuddering as it clattered onto the floor beside you.
âShitâŠâ he drawled out, hands flying up to run through his hair and rest on the back of his head.
He almost lost his balance trying to lean on only the balls of his feet to hold himself up. âS-shitâŠâ
He dared to bring two fingers to your neck, planting them reluctantly in the crook underneath your jaw.
He couldâve sworn his body went as cold as yours felt when he didnât feel not the first thump of your pulse.
His eyes fell shut, and he moved his hand to clasp over one of yours.
His head hung low, tears sliding down profusely, beading on your silk pajama top.
âIâm sorry, Y/N/NâŠâ
More than crying now, he was sobbing.
âIâm so, so s-sorry baby.â He placed a kiss to your cold hand, letting the warmth of his lips linger for a moment.
Your tiny hand felt so cold, and in that moment, he only wanted to warm it up.
He wanted to warm both of them up.
He wanted to warm all of you up.
But it was too late.
Heâd sealed your fate. Heâd never be able to feel your warmth again.
As obvious as it was that you were gone, something about the entire thing still didnât feel real to Rafe.
He just couldnât understand how things had deviated so far off of the plan he had set, from the reality heâd planned in his head.
But the crescendo of sirens slowly cutting through his sobs confirmed the reality he was in⊠the reality that he now existed in a world that you no longer did.
And he didnât want to exist in that world.
Rafe stole one last look at you, eyes closed, almost like you were sleeping. You looked so⊠peaceful. The kind of peace you could never find at the hands of Rafe CameronâŠwhile you were alive, anyway.
Rafe placed a final kiss to your hand, then to your forehead, then your lips. He mumbled stutters of apologies and requests for forgiveness. First to you, and then to a higher power.
He slowly stood to his feet, eyes never deviating away from you until he made it through the threshold of the house.
He scanned the room for something, a sharp exhale mixing with the approaching sirens when his eyes landed on it.
Rafe slowly trudged to the corner of the room, bending at the waist to retrieve a cold, metal object from the floor.
He was a sobbing, sniffling mess as he wrapped his fingers around the gun.
The sirens grew closer, as did red and blue lights.
Rafe let out another exhale. His hands were shaking, his head was pounding, his arms burned from your nails clawing at him, his legs felt weak as he struggled to hold himself upright, the weight of the world threatening to buckle his knees.
âI-Iâm sorry, Y/NâŠâ his voice was barely above a whisper as he mumbled to himself. He hoped you could hear him, wherever you were. He hoped you would make things easy, just forgive him when he asked this time.
His hand and lip quivered uncontrollably as he raised the heavy object higher. A series of chills erupted down his spine when the barrel met his temple.
He shook his head, moving it instead to rest underneath his chin, pointed upward.
If he was going to do this, he had to make sure he wasnât one of those idiots that survived somehow.
He couldnât survive in a world without you. He wouldnât. So he knew he couldnât miss.
His eyes fell shut again, both hands wrapped around the trigger, ready to pull.
âFreeze!â
âWha- ah!â Rafeâs eyes shot open at the booming voice, just before a real boom filled the air. Suddenly, he was left with a burning sensation in his shoulder, and an empty hand, as the gun clattered to the floor.
âFuck!â Rafe yelled out, voice hoarse from his cries. He sank to his knees, not because of the demands the officers that swarmed the house were now screaming at him, but because the pain he felt, both physically and emotionally, was too much.
He couldnât fight back anymore.
All he could do was struggle to catch his breath, mumbling incoherent apologies and lines as police swarmed him, picking his his fate out for him, the same way heâd picked out yours.
synopsis it is crucial that the head boy and girl of Kildare Academy work together. Too bad the head girl is you and the head boy is Rafe Cameron.
wc 2K
Rafe Cameron likes to do this thing where he pretends that he's hopelessly in love with you.
Every morning, when you walk past him in the Academy carpark, he says, âGood morning, sweetheart.â Easy on the morning, rolling the sweet over his tongue so heart sounds thick as brown molasses. He always has his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the emblem on his breast-pocket hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. Sometimes you humour him. Often you avoid acknowledging him altogether.
He has a tendency to call you every pretty noun under the sun except your actual name. Though he has a certain predilection for sweetheart, heâll always follow up your carpark rendezvousâif you could even call it thatâwith a, âWait up, beautiful!â Gorgeous if youâre particularly unlucky. Youâre pretty sure he does this because itâs more convenient than remembering your name; that, or heâs covering his ass in case he mixes you up with the other girls on his roster.
âCâmon,â he adds, catching you up with ease, âthink you can give me a smile today, birdie?â
Thatâs a new one. You frown hard, conveying your disapproval at being branded by yet another nickname against your will.
âThink you can show me you deserve it, Cameron?â
Rafe slaps his hand against his chest, faux-affronted. âOof, Iâm wounded.â He grins fondly. âYou know that itâs bad luck to ice out the Head Boy on the first day, right?â
âDonât remind me,â you mutter grimly, quickening your pace in an attempt to create some distance from him. Itâs a futile attempt at hostility; heâs heading to the same handsome office that you are, home to the Academyâs once imposing headmaster.
Heâs gotten soft over the years. Itâs the only explanation, really, for why heâs chosen such a diametrically opposed duo to be the Head Boy and Girl respectively. Where youâre serious, unsmiling, easy on the eyes and hard on the ego, Rafe Cameron is this cocky, deceptively charming wall of solid muscle. Heâs attractive in that way thatâs made him every girlâs default love interest, and even worse, he enjoys the attention as much as you absolutely hate it.
You force a breath of air out through your nose, halting in your tracks and turning to face him. He doesnât think you look nearly as formidable as you want to, especially with that sweet, little furrow between your eyebrows. He tries to look earnest, as if proving his maturity is going to make you hate him any less than you do.
Heâs to blame for the animosity, of course â callow, sophomore year him who called you âseriously fucking hotâ in the boyâs locker room, and then in the gym, within earshot, added, âshame sheâs such a frigid bitch, huh?â He didnât mean it, and he was very clearly wounded; if you couldâve seen his face as heâd said it, maybe the cracks in his armour of indifference wouldâve been more obvious. Maybe you wouldâve realised he was deflecting from the fact that your rejection had really hurt him.
But then again, maybe you wouldnât have. Because in what world was yelling âGo out with me?ââcrudely, callously, you might addâfrom across the classroom meant to be taken for real? Youâd assumed that sophomore year him was making fun of you. When you said no, he assumed that sophomore year you just wasnât interested.
Fast forward two years, to now, itâs clear that neither of those assumptions were wholly true. You walk past the front reception and toward the headmasterâs office in tandem, halting just short of his closed door, a polished knocker hanging directly above eye-level.
As you reach up and press it against the smooth mahogany, you send him a wayward glance. âJust because we have to work together this year,â you say evenly, âdoesnât mean we have to be friends. Alright?â
âYes maâam.â He nods, sending you a mock salute.
This just makes you frown harder than before, as if thatâs fucking possible. Heâs going to get a smile out of you if it fucking kills him. âI mean it, Cameron.â You let go of the knocker to punch your forefinger into his chest, eyes narrowed sternly. âNo more sweetheart, beautiful, gorgeous, honey, whatever. If thereâs one thing I deserve, as your,â you raise your fingers in air-quotes, ââpartnerâ, itâs a bit of respect. That clear?â
Heâs never once called you honey. He raises his eyebrows. âDarling?â
You let out this sigh thatâs more disappointment than frustration, like you didnât want to deal with this, like you almost expected more from him. It makes his mouth go dry. âYou know what?â you say, shaking your head defeatedly. âNever mind. I thought... I don't know, I thought that if Cromwellâd chosen you to be the Head Boy, maybe youâd done some growing up since sophomore year. But clearly he's getting old, because ââ
âWhoâs getting old?â A pleasant voice interrupts, the mahogany door in front of you jolting open abruptly. âMiss Y/L/N,â Headmaster Cromwell adds, mock-austere. âI sure hope you arenât talking about me.â
âHeadmaster Cromwell,â you answer, eyes widening sheepishly. âI didnât mean ââ
âShe was talking about me, Crom-dog,â Rafe pipes up, throwing him arm around your shoulder genially. When he pulls you into his side, the smell of his vetiver and musk cologne grows ever present. âUs. How weâre no longer the scrawny little freshmen we were when we first met you.â
He pauses, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. âWomen, am I right? Always so sentimental.â
You resist the urge to roll your eyes, shaking him off in a hurry. âAnyway.â
âAnyway,â Rafe agrees with a grin, shoving his hands into his pockets. For the price you pay for a uniform blouse, he privately thinks it should be made of thicker fabric. He can still feel your soft skin pressing into all his finger calluses. âYou wanted to see us, sir?â
He nods significantly, beckoning the two of you into his office. âYes, yes, come in,â he says, taking a seat in his brown leather chair, the headrest cracking with age. âFirst day of senior year, eh? How are the two of you feeling?â
âApprehensive,â you say, sending Rafe a glare.
He meets your gaze with something akin to amusement, his blue eyes full of mirth. âSentimental.â
âAh.â Cromwell raises his eyebrows, regarding the pair of you with interest. âAnd youâll be conveying these emotions at your address this Friday, I imagine?â
Your head whips back to his desk, bottom lip pulling between your teeth. âOh. Um ââ
âBecause of course,â he adds, clasping his hands together on his desk, âthe start of year speech isnât just tradition, itâs a collaborative effort. As head students, leading the fortnightly school assemblies is going to be one of your biggest responsibilities.â
âRight,â you agree, nodding vigorously. âI assure you, Headmaster Cromwell, itâs all under control.â
Rafe turns to face you, surprised. âIt is?â
âOf course it is, Cameron,â you answer tiredly, not bothering to meet his gaze.
Cromwell frowns. âA collaborative effort, Miss Y/L/N.â
You swallow a sigh, plastering on a smile before turning in tandem and nodding. Fake though it may be, being on the receiving end of one of your smiles makes Rafe unusually pleased. He grins back handsomely, his head cocked toward you in a way that accents his stubbled jawline.
âAll Iâm saying is,â you say carefully, the smile becoming more gritted teeth than anything remotely amicable, âIâve⊠made a start on it. I know that youâve got football trials to organise, so I thought ââ
âSuccessfully delegated,â Rafe interjects. âGot Ollie organising them this year.â He pauses, leaning toward you and clearing his throat. âYou know⊠to free up time for this partnership.â
âExcellent!â Cromwell exclaims before youâre able to protest, clapping his hands together approvingly. âAlready taking initiative. Excellent, excellentâŠâ
He reaches for the hefty stack of papers to his left, plucking off the two forms at the top of the pile. âHere,â he says, handing one to each of you. âA suggested programme for your first meeting with this yearâs prefects.â
You accept it with a nod, scanning over the template before folding it once, twice, careful. Beside you, Rafe throws his into his bag callously, threatening a migraine.
âAs you know, alongside the school assemblies, youâll be in charge of timetabling prefect duties and maintaining order. Of course, weâll meet every fortnight or so so I can check in â ensure everythingâs running as smoothly as possible.â He pauses here, looking between you through assessing grey eyes. âBeing the face of this institution is a massive undertaking, you two. Youâre responsible for more than just the student body⊠youâre responsible for Kildare Academyâs legacy.â Another pause. âIt can be quite the burden. Itâs important that you trust each other⊠know that you can rely on one another.â
You clear your throat gauchely. Rafe feels this strange jolt in his chest as Cromwellâs words wash over him.
Youâre saved the awkwardness of having to respectfully disagree with him by the peal of the bell, signalling the start of first period. Cromwell springs up and nods in dismissal, the lapels of his suit jacket quivering like jowls. âAlright then!â He exclaims, smiling jovially. âI look forward to hearing your address this Friday!â
You return his smile, albeit reluctantly, avoiding eye contact with Rafe as you turn around and exit. Though youâre determined to make it to class without having to engage in any more conversation, it appears Rafe Cameronâs more determined to do the opposite.
Scratch unnecessary though. Heâs pretty sure every precious second that heâs trying for more receiving-end smile is another that shows him time is of the essence.
âWhat did you reckon?â He asks, messing with his dirty-blonde locks absentmindedly.
The side of his elbow brushes your blouse, and you begin to walk faster, incensed by his closeness. Despite this, he refuses to back down, âThink itâs true? Him retiring this year? Cause shit, itâd explain all that crap about responsibility and legacy.â
You frown at your feet and continue to soldier forward. Rafe tries again, âRemember when Jake was head boy? Kelceâs older brother? Swear to God he didnât get speeches like that from Crommy⊠I mean, shit, he was doing all this and organising football practice, not to mention all the parties heââ
âLook,â you interrupt abruptly, letting out a tired sigh. âYeah, whatever, I wonât tell Cromwell, alright? As long as you just⊠just do everything youâre scheduled to do.â
âThatâs what youâre getting at, right?â You ask impatiently, because youâre late and the second bell is about to ring and you really donât have time for this, not with Rafe Cameron. âDoing the bare minimum just like Jake Smith did? Because yeah, whatever, thatâs fine â in fact, Iâd almost prefer it to trying to work together.â
Rafe draws back slightly, regarding you for a moment. âHuh.â A pause. âYou think I donât deserve it.â
You balk at his expression, something dejected behind blue irises. âWell, I,â you hesitate, âno. I just⊠I donât want to work with someone who doesnât consider this a priority.â
âYouâre a priority to me,â he says, referring to the guy sophomore year you had once rejected.
âNot me,â you mutter irritatedly, cheeks warming. âHead student stuff. You know â all those things Jake Smith got away with not doing?â
âAs I seem to recall,â Rafe replies matter-of-factly, unperturbed, âIâve already delegated football trials to Ollie to free up time.â
âFor the speech,â you say slowly, unsure.
For you. âFor the speech,â Rafe affirms, looking down at you in this sincere way that makes your head hurt.
You swallow. âAlright then. Weâll do it Wednesday after school.â
Rafe grins triumphantly, nudging your chin with the hook of his forefinger. âYour place or mine, sweetheart?â
âCameron,â you warn, ducking out of his reach with a frown.
âSorry.â He nods faux-apologetically. âYou prefer honey, yeah?â
âIf you call me anything other than my name, Iâll murder you in your sleep.â
âIn my sleep?â He asks, raising his eyebrows suggestively. âSo youâll be on my bed, huh? Knew it. Knew you had a secret thing for me.â
âSchool library, Cameron,â you say grimly, beginning to walk away. â4pm on Wednesday. Donât be late.â
Rafe nods again, sending you a mock salute. âOh donât worry,â he calls after you. âI never keep a lady waiting.â
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
origamiaround
germansingergirl
janainaart
kaledo-art
