how i feel when i think i find a good fic but one of the warnings is quite literally SA but with a “:(” at the end like that behaviour is okay in a relationship or from strangers.. why are we glorifying SA y’all
The bell above the bookstore door jingled sharply, and you looked up just in time to see a tall, very damp stranger step inside, shaking the rain from his jacket.
He looked out of place: broad-shouldered and golden-haired, like he belonged on a yacht instead of standing in the doorway of your tiny shop, dripping onto the hardwood floor.
You arched a brow. “You’re getting water on my first editions.”
The guy, Rafe Cameron, you recognized now, glanced down at the puddle forming around his expensive-looking sneakers. “Shit—uh, my bad.” He took a dramatic step to the side, as if that somehow fixed it, then ran a hand through his rain-soaked hair. “I, uh, wasn’t planning on coming in. Just—y’know. Rain.”
You resisted the urge to smile. “Yes, I do know rain.”
Rafe exhaled, half-laughing, like he wasn’t used to people talking to him like this. He glanced around, taking in the towering bookshelves, the warm glow of the reading lamps. “So… what kinda place is this? Coffee shop? Library?”
“Bookstore.”
“Right. That’s what I meant.”
You leaned your elbows on the counter, tilting your head. “Not much of a reader, are you?”
“Uh—” He looked vaguely offended. “I mean, I’ve read, like… some books.”
“Name one.”
His jaw tightened. “Do magazines count?”
You laughed and Rafe looked half annoyed, half intrigued. “Not unless they have plotlines and character development.”
He hesitated, shifting his weight like he was debating whether to leave or stay. Then, as if making a split-second decision, he cleared his throat. “Alright. Sell me a book, then.”
Your eyes widened slightly. “What, right now?”
“Yeah.” He crossed his arms. “Something I’d like.”
You eyed him, taking in the expensive watch, the cocky smirk he was trying to suppress, the slight impatience in the way he tapped his fingers against his bicep. Then, without a word, you turned, plucked a book from the shelf, and set it down in front of him.
Rafe squinted at the cover. The Great Gatsby.
He snorted. “You picked this ‘cause I’m rich, didn’t you?”
You just smiled, chin propped in your palm. “I picked it because it’s about a man who has everything… except the one thing he really wants.”
That shut him up.
For the first time since he walked in, Rafe didn’t have a witty retort. Instead, he just looked at you like he wasn’t sure what to make of you. Then, after a moment, he picked up the book, flipping it over in his hands.
“Alright,” he said, voice softer than before. “Guess I’ll give it a shot.”
And just like that, a golden-haired, rain-drenched Kook walked into your quiet little world, and, much to your surprise, didn’t seem in any hurry to leave.
...
The next time Rafe Cameron strolled into your bookstore, the weather was perfectly dry. No convenient rainstorm forcing him inside. Which meant he was here on purpose.
You glanced up from your desk, hiding a smile as he beelined straight for the shelves, hands in his pockets, exuding casual confidence... except for the way his eyes flicked toward you every few seconds, like he was making sure you noticed him.
He stopped in front of the classics section, squinting at the titles, then, rather dramatically, pulled out the thickest book he could find.
“War and Peace,” you read off the spine, eyebrows raising.
Rafe nodded, flipping it open like he knew exactly what he was doing. “Yep. I’m thinking… light weekend read.”
You leaned on the counter, amusement bubbling in your chest. “You do know that book is, like, twelve hundred pages, right?”
Rafe smirked. “Yeah. I like a challenge.”
You folded your arms. “Do you even know what it’s about?”
He hesitated for just a second, just long enough for you to tell he absolutely did not, before shrugging. “War. And… peace.”
You bit back a laugh. “Brilliant deduction, Tolstoy.”
He made a face. “Okay, whatever, maybe I just like big books. What, I’m supposed to pick some tiny little paperback?”
“Size isn’t everything, Rafe.”
His bit back a grin like he was fighting off some very Rafe-like response to that statement. Instead, he cleared his throat and flipped to a random page. “I’ll prove it,” he declared. “I’ll read the whole thing.”
You tilted your head, amused. “All of War and Peace?”
“All of War and Peace.” He looked very proud of himself, like he’d just announced he was climbing Mount Everest. “And then I’ll come back and tell you all about it.”
You rested your chin in your palm, eyes twinkling. “I’m holding you to that.”
“Good.” Rafe closed the book with a satisfying thud and tucked it under his arm like a trophy. He turned to leave but then, almost as an afterthought, glanced back at you, smirking.
“Bet you’ll be impressed when I finish.”
You grinned, shaking your head. “I’ll be shocked if you finish.”
Rafe just gave you a wink, pushing out the door, head held high like he’d just won something.
You bit your lip, watching him go.
Oh, this was going to be fun.
...
“You have a predilection for making a mess,” you mused, watching as Rafe leaned back in his chair at the counter, arms crossed, an empty coffee cup in front of him: his third of the morning.
Rafe blinked. “A what?”
“A predilection.”
He squinted at you. “Is that, like… a disease?”
You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. “No, it means you have a habit of doing something. A preference.”
“Oh.” Rafe nodded, like he totally got it. He absolutely did not get it.
Moments like these happened all the time. You’d say something, something perfectly normal, in your opinion, and he’d look at you like you were speaking ancient Latin.
Last week, you told him his posture was lackadaisical, and he spent the next three hours trying to pronounce it. Yesterday, you mentioned that his tendency to linger in your store was beguiling, and he just stared at you for a solid five seconds before muttering, “Yeah, well, you’re beguiling too.”
But today? Today was different. Today, Rafe had come prepared.
“I actually knew that,” he lied, shifting in his seat. “I, uh… I absconded that word earlier.”
You blinked. “You what?”
“Absconded,” he repeated, looking oddly proud of himself.
You bit your lip, trying so, so hard not to laugh. “Do you mean absorbed?”
Rafe’s smirk faltered. “…Yeah, that one.”
You let out a giggle, and Rafe groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “I knew I was gonna mess that up.”
“No, no,” you teased, leaning forward on your elbows. “Please, continue. What else have you absconded (definition: leave hurriedly and secretly, typically to avoid detection of or arrest for an unlawful action such as theft) lately?”
He shot you a look, then, without missing a beat, grabbed his empty coffee cup and stood. “I’m absconding out of here.”
You let out a full laugh, and he grinned as he turned toward the door.
Before he left, though, he paused, glancing back at you with that cocky, boyish smirk.
“By the way, I predilect you.”
You shook your head, utterly endeared. “That’s not... never mind.”
yes you will have a good future, yes you will find someone who loves you fully, yes you will achieve your dreams, yes you are worthy of love, yes you will find close friends, yes you will get your dream house, yes you will live the the life you deserve.
this is crazy i got my results and my grades are good but i expected higher cuz i did everything i could and studied hard for this im just shocked i think ima go insane my mom said its fine if u want to retake or u just happy idk im confused and tired i had a plan if i got the grades i wanted lol but its fine im sure there sumn gonna happed and its just gods plan yk
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