bestfriend!rafe helping reader while she's drunk. fluff-ish ? just a cutesy silly moment, no other warnings.
“fuck, baby, you can’t just take your shirt off like that,” rafe mutters under his breath. his voice is low and strained as he quietly shuts your bedroom door behind him.
he keeps glancing toward the hallway every few seconds, probably terrified your parents are going to wake up and find their daughter stumbling around half naked with him standing in the middle of her room looking guilty as sin.
to be fair, this was only the second time you’d ever gotten drunk.
you hated alcohol usually, which is exactly why rafe is sure you're going to regret this in the morning.
he knew all too well that one shot alone was enough to make your face hot and your words slur together embarrassingly fast. but tonight had been your birthday. every ten minutes somebody new would appear next to you, grinning with another bottle of tequila and insisted you take another birthday shot which involved your face up and a few wasted pours dripping down your neck.
the next few rounds of that turned into rafe carrying you bridal style up the stairs of your house because he knew you'd trip if you ever tried to walk up alone.
“s’fine, rafey,” you mumble lazily, words slurrying together while you sway slightly where you stand, “jus’ go home already.”
you don’t even wait for his response before flopping backward onto your bed, limbs sprawled out carelessly against the comforter.
your head spins pleasantly against the pillows while your overheated skin prickles uncomfortably beneath your clothes. with a soft whine, you start tugging at your skirt and trying to shove it down your legs.
“whoa—sweetheart, stopstopstop.”
his hands land firmly against your hips before the skirt can move any lower, keeping the fabric bunched stubbornly around your thighs while he leans over you.
you blink slowly up at him, struggling to keep your eyes open for more than two seconds at a time. and unfortunately for your poor drunk brain, this angle is horrible for you.
because rafe is hovering over you exactly the way he does in every embarrassing fantasy you’ve ever had about him.
his broad shoulders practically cage you into the mattress while the chain around his neck dangles over your clavicle.
even in your drunk state, you notice how messy his hair is from running his hands through it all evening while trying to manage you. plus, his stupidly pretty blue eyes keep darting everywhere except directly at your chest.
“it's soooooo hot,” you complain.
“i know, baby, i know.” his voice comes out rougher than he'd hoped. he immediately glances toward the wall again before shushing you gently. “you gotta keep it down, alright? your parents are literally just down the hall.”
you nod like you understand even though you absolutely don’t.
your attention is too focused on the fact that rafe smells really good right now. his expensive cologne mixed with cigarette smoke and the ocean. right now, he smells like every bad decision you’ve ever wanted to make in your life.
and his hands are still resting on your hips.
you squirm beneath him again with another frustrated little sound, once more trying to peel your skirt down your legs yourself.
“wanna take it off.”
“jesus christ,” he mutters under his breath.
he’s barely holding himself together. he keeps grinding his teeth and exhaling sharply through his nose every time your skirt rides up your thighs again.
he's your best friend. which means he absolutely should not be reacting to you like this. and yet he is.
it doesn't help that the alcohol in your system makes you just aware enough to notice the way his hands tense whenever you move beneath him.
you tug at the skirt again stubbornly.
“fuck. okay okay,” he says quickly, finally catching both your wrists in one hand before you can flash him accidentally. “i got it, alright? just—just let me do it for you.”
completely unprompted, you let out a soft pleased little moan while relaxing against the mattress.
his entire body goes rigid hovering over you while a slow flush crawls up the back of his neck. the universe apparently enjoys torturing him. you can physically feel the way he reacts to the noise through the denim of his jeans.
your sleepy eyes blink downward curiously.
“rafe...” you whisper, dazed.
“don’t.” his response comes immediately. with one hand still bunching both of your wrists together, he points a finger at you without looking directly into your eyes yet,
“don’t start.”
but you’re drunk enough to lose whatever tiny filter you normally have around him.
“you’re hard,” you murmur with genuine surprise.
rafe actually lets out a short laugh at that, except there’s absolutely nothing amusing about it.
“yeah, wonder whose fault that is,” he says tightly.
you stare up at him for another long second before your lips part slightly in realization.
“is it ‘cause of me?”
his head drops briefly forward while he drags a hand down his face, shoulders tense so tight they look painful.
as he looks back down at you, the expression on his face makes your stomach flip drunkenly.
“sweetheart, you are laying half naked underneath me asking if i’m hard because of you. what do you think?”
you lay there on the soft sheets of rafe's bed, his strong arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you close as his lips brush your neck in soft, lingering kisses. "you're so beautiful," he whispers, his voice rough and needy, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your hip. you feel his hardness pressing against your ass, thick and hard, making your breath hitch.
he shifts, guiding you onto your back, his pretty blue eyes locking onto yours with that intense, yet loving gaze that always makes your heart race. "i've got you, baby," rafe murmurs, hovering over you, his massive cock throbbing against your thigh. he kisses you deeply, tongue sliding against yours, as he positions the swollen head at your slick wet entrance.
slowly, so slowly, he pushes in, just the tip at first, and you gasp, your walls clenching around him. "'s’ too big," you whimper, tears pricking your eyes from the delicious burn. he pauses, cupping your face tenderly, thumbs wiping away the first tear that falls. "shhh, i know, pretty girl. just breathe for me." he kisses your forehead, your cheeks, your lips again, pouring affection into every touch as he inches deeper, giving you time to adjust.
you moan loudly, a mix of pain and pleasure, your body trembling beneath him. another tear slips down, and rafe groans, loving the sight of you like this, all vulnerable, completely lost in him. "fuck, you look so good crying for my cock," he says softly, as he sinks in further, stretching your pussy wide. with his free hand he uses his thumb to stroke your clit gently, easing the pain away, while he peppers your jawline with kisses.
bit by bit, he fills you completely, until he's buried to the point he can't go any further, both of you panting. "that's my girl, taking me so well," he praises, starting a slow rhythm, each thrust deep and loving. "rafe!" you cry out, moaning through the tears, and he captures your mouth in a passionate kiss, whispering "i love you" between breaths, making the moment even more intimate as he claims you as his.
𝜗𝜚 summary : you've been avoiding rafe since your shared moment in his bedroom and he's been trying to reach out to you by every means possible. of course he finds you at a fucking glitter party.
𝜗𝜚 words : 2.6k
𝜗𝜚 c!w : drinking, weed, icky men, use of 'slut', violence, swearing, suggestive.
part 1, part 3.
to say you'd been avoiding rafe cameron was putting it very, very lightly.
you hadn't uttered a word of the moment let alone the kiss you'd shared with your best friend's older brother to anybody. much less to sarah. you were sure she'd murder you both before you could finish the sentence.
but you couldn't help it, the kiss had plagued your memory.
it stung when you tried to think of anything else. you were so buzzed, a floaty feeling as your head turned to nothing but pure fuzz. rafe's hands were big and warm, fitting around your waist like a glove and his lips oh so soft. you'd never kissed anyone before him, and you were sure now that you never again wanted to kiss anyone but him.
rafe had a pretty good idea why, though was still slightly confused to your sudden detachment.
he knew you were shy, practically cowering in on yourself when any attention was directed your way. he knew he was pushing you, all but forcing your hand when offering you a blunt and not wasting a minute asking are you sure? before crashing his lips into yours.
though he'd be lying if he said he wasn't growing frustrated with the sudden radio silence.
he walked through the doors of kelce's house. he'd been here a number of times, especially for events just like the one tonight.
rafe had to hand it to him. kelce knew how to throw a house party.
despite the blaring music around him and the glitter that was swarming him, all he could think of was you. he'd tried getting a hold of you on various occasions but it was as if you'd fallen off the map. he wondered why you hadn't visited sarah until he found her in the kitchen, stating that she was off to your house.
meaning you had been avoiding him. hell, you'd been avoiding tannyhill altogether.
"man, my fucking eyes." rafe actually had to hold a hand to his eyes when he took sight of topper. kelce had been trying this new thing where he added a 'theme' to each of his houseparty's. tonight's theme was glitter.
topper's face was decorated in gold glitter, swarming through the golden locks of his hair and dripping onto his white shirt. "where's your glitter?"
an annoyed squint was all he offered. "i'm not putting that shit on me."
"kelce isn't gonna be happy. we're supposed to be supporting this whole 'theme' thing." rafe rolled his eyes as topper spoke. they moved through the house, making their way to the living room where most the party was.
kelce's house was huge and the kook's sure as hell filled it.
"dude." the sight of kelce filled his vision. he was seated on the couch, his arm strewn across the back, around some girl rafe didn't care to know the name of. "where's your glitter?"
but his words fell on deaf ears.
rafe's eyes were too busy travelling across the room, landing on you.
you weren't sitting on the couch with your friends or the chairs behind you. you were seated on the carpet, hands playing with a dainty bracelet that you often wore on your wrist. rafe wondered for a moment were you messing with it to soothe the anxiety he knew was bubbling in you. you didn't often come to things like these.
you were dressed in a white, almost silverish dress with two thin straps winding around your shoulders. he swore you never showed so much skin in public, usually a cardigan drawn over you.
pink glitter dusted your hair and he could see it faintly tracing your skin along with your eyelids and your nails painted the same glittery pink.
he was almost getting sick of the glitter everywhere, but you seemed to be changing his mind on the matter.
the chatter continued through the room and they quickly turned their attention away from rafe. you, however, couldn't seem to. you felt your cheeks heat up at the mere sight of him.
how could you ever look him in the eyes again? especially after that night. you'd been so desperate, asking him with a please to kiss you. you'd rutted your hips subconsciously against him, all doey eyed and all but begging for his lips. you'd never done such a thing, acted such a way. you were sure you could never face him ever again after it.
but rafe only took that as a challenge.
you watched as he walked towards you, plopping onto the free armchair you'd chosen to sit next to. like this, he could have fooled himself into thinking you were sitting pretty on your knees for him.
"hey, sweetheart." his tone was a soft greeting, lips playing into a quirk.
a squeaked out "hi." was his response before you whipped your head away from him, turning red in the face. the colour of your cheeks almost matched the glitter in your hair.
"leave her alone." sarah was dressed in a shimmery gold dress, almost the same shape as yours. it was apparent that you'd been matching. yet she also found a way to match with her boyfriend, same golden glitter decorating her face as his did. "she doesn't need you following her around like a dog."
rafe rolled his eyes, watching his sister blow out the smoke from a blunt and pass it off to her boyfriend. it appeared as though two blunts were going around the circle gathered in the middle of the living room. most people at the party were off doing their own thing. they wouldn't dare join.
"it's―it's okay, sarah." your meek words caused sarah's brows to furrow while rafe's face only went slack, a smirk filled with pride falling across his lips.
you didn't often speak up to sarah.
but you did, for him. perhaps it was just a quiet argument, nothing extreme. but to rafe? well he thought you ought to gain a reward.
"y/n?" your eyes snapped across the room to a boy on the couch. rafe believed his name was max, dark hair and dark eyes, shorter than himself. "you want a pull?"
a breathy giggle passed your lips as your cheeks turned pink for a reason nobody but rafe knew. "no, thank you." was your gentle response.
good girl rafe uttered in his head.
as if on cue, your eyes glanced up at him where he sat on the armchair. he gave you the smallest of nods, one not perceptible to anyone but you.
and you knew as you squirmed on your knees that you'd done the right thing.
"please." a huffed laugh fell from sarah. "y/n would have to be possessed by satan himself before she'd touch weed."
again, your eyes flickered back to rafe, this time more hesitantly.
he had this amused look on his face, as if he could read you so well. and he could. perhaps that was the scary part. these people surrounding you, they'd known you for forever. sarah was your best friend, you were closer with nobody else in the world, you told her all your filthy secrets and she shared all of hers.
but rafe... it was rafe who seemed to know you the most out of everyone in the entire room.
he was aware of your filthy little secret, not sarah.
she was completely naive to you sitting in her brothers room, atop his lap, glazed over eyes as you begged him over and over again to kiss you, a blunt being passed between you two.
a shaky breath left your lips and you stood. "'m gonna go get a drink."
"there's juice in the fridge!" kelce called after you, knowing you wouldn't actually dare drink any of the other beverages he had to offer. alcohol simply wasn't your 'scene'.
apparently weed was.
you didn't actually make it to the kitchen, though. rafe stopped you in the hallway before you could, his large hand coming to wrap around your upper arm.
skin on skin.
your head felt suddenly floaty. "shit." he let go of your arm once you were backed against the wall, swallowing thickly. "there's fuckin' glitter everywhere." wiping his hands against his jeans, coating it with pink glitter.
you frowned at his words. "'s on theme." you mumbled.
you were acutely aware of how trapped you were, between the wall and rafe's towering body. you never realised how tall he was until he was so close to you. "why are you avoiding me, huh?"
you couldn't look at him. you couldn't be this close. you couldn't. you couldn't. you couldn't.
all you could think of was his hands on your waist, his lips on your own. you could have let out a whimper at the mere flashback. "'m not."
"don't give me that shit, princess." his two fingers hooked under your chin, forcing your eyes to look up at him. this is when you panicked, eyes turning wide as saucers, top lip biting your bottom, as much as he'd told you to stop beforehand. "what, you're gone all shy 'cause you knew you wanted me to fuck you, is that it?"
for the first time, words slipped so easily from you. "rafe!" hands reached up, trying to cover his mouth.
you should've known better than that, though.
his hand swiftly grabbed your wrist, pushing it downwards. you were sure it'd leave a mark by morning. in a strange way, you hoped it did. a mark of his fingers digging into your skin. like his touch would still be there by the time you woke in your bed.
"scared people'll hear, huh? scared they won't think you're the good girl you're pretendin' to be?" he tilted his head gauging your reactions. "asked you a question, angel."
his grip tightened on your wrist and you couldn't help but whimper out, "yes." aware of the many bodies surrounding you, anyone could have easily spotted you two.
perhaps that was the upside to kelce inviting every single person to have ever lived on figure eight to his house parties. they were a bunch of nobodies. they didn't know you and you didn't know them. they didn't matter. what mattered was rafe, standing right in front of you, bending down lower so his lips could reach your ear.
"worried what they think, huh? 'n 'm the only one in this whole fuckin' house who knows who you are." suddenly his fingers softened against your chin, rough hold loosening while his fingers traced gently across your cheek. "so worried about what they think of you. y'can still be my good girl, yeah?"
you swore then and there that rafe had ripped every pretty thought that had ever developed in your head.
you were totally and utterly dumb.
and all you could offer him was a haste nod.
"y/n?" rafe allowed his hands to fall away from your skin at the sound of your name being called. you blinked, trying to come back to reality after rafe had messed you up completely. you were met with the sight of max, looking dangerously between the two of you. "he bothering you?"
you looked up at rafe in confusion while the blonde boy merely made a scowl at max. "wh―no, no he's not bothering me." your voice was sickly sweet, innocence radiating off it.
you didn't understand max's intentions.
that was why you were safe with rafe, who would make sure no man ever got to act on such thoughts.
none but himself. of course.
"come outside 'n smoke a blunt with me, then, yeah?" once again, your brows furrowed at his words. you didn't really know max all that well, just that he was a newfound friend of topper's. he moved to the outerbanks not too long ago.
"dude, are you deaf?" it was rafe who responded, instinctively standing out further than you, almost as if he were shielding you from the boy. "she said no, what―five fuckin' minutes ago?"
max's eyes squinted. "listen, with all due respect, wasn't fucking talking to you."
rafe's lips quirked upwards, tongue digging into his cheek. you looked nervously between the boys. "yeah, well you're talkin' to me now. fuck off 'n find someone else to go smoke a blunt with, yeah?"
"think i'll take this one, actually." you felt the boy reach out for you, grabbing your upper arm and dragging you forward. you stumbled as he did so, his grip made from seemingly iron.
rafe's face dropped almost instantly. his eyes glared at the hand that held you. his eyes flickered up to your face, head bent, nervously biting your bottom lip while your face contorted into a kind of stinging pain. "get your fucking hands off of her."
"yeah?" max suddenly pulled you closer, hitting your back against his chest. your eyes went wide as they looked for rafe's. you wouldn't admit it aloud, but sudden white hot fear filled your chest. "or what?"
a breathy chuckle left rafe's lips as he nodded to himself. it was almost as if he were mulling a thought over. it didn't take him long to decide.
max didn't get to let out another word before rafe was throwing a punch across his face, knocking the breath out of him.
the boy stumbled backwards, shouting out a swear and clutching his face. you felt rafe's hands immediately win you back, pulling you closer to him as your breath picked up. your eyes glanced around the house, a hundred eyes suddenly all looking at you. you didn't like this. you didn't like any of this at all. and it was all your fault.
"rafe." you practically whimpered out, hand tugging at his sleeve. you could feel tears welling in your waterline. "please, let's just g―"
"take her." max was wiping his bloody nose with the back of his hand. "don't fucking want the slut anyw―"
it was safe to say that max didn't get to finish his sentence because before you could do anything to stop it, rafe was discarding you. he was practically on top of max within a blink of an eye.
you called out for rafe, begging him to stop.
you didn't want any of this, and it was all your fault.
panic filled you and suddenly there was too much air in your lungs. you felt wet hot tears against your cheeks and you tried getting rafe to stop but too many people were surrounding you now, enclosing in on you.
people knew you were shy. you didn't like meeting new people or talking in groups.
but it went so much deeper than that.
the people surrounding you made your head fuzzy. the loud noises of screaming and yelling, some telling him to stop, some egging him on further. it was all beginning to get too much and you couldn't feel yourself breathe.
you only allowed yourself to leave out a breath when topper and kelce came running through the crowd, pushing people apart to get to rafe. they all but pulled the blonde boy off of max, kelce holding him by his chest and telling him to relax.
you couldn't actually hear anything, you could just see lips moving.
everything was a blur.
rafe was yelling back at kelce, half explaining-half shouting past him to max.
he didn't stop until his gaze reached your watery eyes.
"rafe!" you could hear sarah yelling from beside you. "what the fuck is wrong with you?"
you wanted to stay to help the boy. oh you did dearly. he'd done so much for you already. but you were a coward and the panic in your chest, the frosty fear in your stomach. it wasn't going to simmer away while you stared at rafe, hands all bloody and knuckles split.
Rafe Cameron is one of the most powerful and feared men on the island. A member of one of the two most dangerous gangs, he has built his reputation through violence, control, and loyalty. After spending two years in prison, he is finally released, fully aware that several of his rivals are waiting for the right moment to strike.
Despite the constant threat surrounding him, his first priority is you—the only person who never abandoned him. After four years together, you remain his closest confidant and the only person he truly trusts. In a world shaped by crime, betrayal, and danger, your relationship represents the one place where he feels safe.
Marked by a childhood and past filled with abandonment and betrayal, Rafe learned early to protect himself by shutting others out. He built emotional barriers that no one has been able to cross. Only with you does he allow himself to be vulnerable.
As tensions rise and enemies grow bolder, your relationship is put to the test. Between loyalty and survival, love and fear, you must face the consequences of staying with a man who lives on the edge of violence. Together, you navigate a fragile balance between devotion and danger, questioning how long love can survive in such a world.
5181 words
instagram: @drewiddle
this is my original idea and storyline. anything familiar is purely coincidental. this story is written purely for enternainment purposes only.
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| ENGLISH IS NOT MY 1ST LANGUAGE |
ENJOY!
The small back room behind Kurt's bar has always felt like a place that exists outside of time, as though it has been forgotten by the rest of the world and left behind with nothing but its memories and secrets to keep it company.
No matter how often you step inside, no matter how many nights you spend sitting on its worn furniture, listening to whispered conversations and dangerous plans, it never truly changes. The faded wallpaper still peels away in long, fragile strips, revealing cracked plaster beneath. The wooden floor still complains softly beneath every movement, and the weak neon light above continues to flicker in irregular intervals, casting unstable shadows across the walls.
The air is heavy, saturated with the persistent scent of stale alcohol, old cigarette smoke, dust, and leather. It clings stubbornly to your clothes and hair, following you long after you leave, as if refusing to let you forget where you have been.
You have spent more time in this room than you sometimes care to admit.
You remember the first time you were brought here, how hesitant you had been, how uncertain you felt about stepping into a place that clearly held more danger than comfort. Back then, you had wondered if you truly belonged among them, if you would ever understand their world.
Now, the room feels disturbingly familiar.
It has witnessed your laughter during rare moments of relief, your tears when things became overwhelming, your silent fears when you waited for news that could change everything. It has absorbed every confession, every argument, every promise that was made and sometimes broken.
Kurt is not here tonight.
He rarely is when they gather for serious discussions.
He gives them the privacy and independence they need, trusting them to handle their own affairs while remaining quietly present in the background of their lives. The room exists because of him, and yet he never intrudes upon it.
Kurt is a respected man throughout the city. In his fifties, with carefully styled gray hair and a natural charisma that makes people listen without question, he carries himself with calm authority. He has the appearance of someone who has lived enough to understand both the darkness and the beauty of life, and who has chosen, consciously, to remain balanced between the two.
To most people, he is nothing more than a successful bar owner.
To them, he is something far more significant.
A mentor.
A protector.
A substitute father.
Many of the boys grew up without stability, without guidance, without anyone to teach them how to navigate life without falling into destruction. Kurt had quietly filled that role, offering them shelter, advice, and protection when no one else would.
Yet he never sought recognition.
Everything remained discreet.
Always.
You close the door gently behind you and step into the room, immediately noticing the tense atmosphere that hangs in the air like an invisible weight.
The boys are already seated around the round wooden table, their expressions serious and focused. No one is joking, no one is relaxed. Their body language alone is enough to tell you that this meeting is not a casual one.
Rafe sits at the head of the table, as he always does.
Not because he demands it, but because leadership seems to gravitate naturally toward him. Even when he tries to remain in the background, people instinctively look to him for direction.
He sits upright, shoulders squared, hands loosely folded together. His face is calm, almost disturbingly so, as though he is discussing something ordinary rather than a potential threat.
You move quietly toward the couch near the wall and sit down, careful not to interrupt the fragile silence. The worn leather is cold beneath your skin, and it creaks faintly as you adjust your position.
You fold your hands in your lap and lower your gaze briefly before lifting it again to observe the group.
Mostly, you observe him.
Your eyes trace the familiar features of his face, the tension hidden beneath his controlled expression, the subtle movements that reveal his thoughts when he believes no one is watching.
Forty-eight hours.
That is all the time he has been free.
And already, danger has found him again.
After several long seconds, Rafe finally begins to speak.
"When we came back from the beach," he says evenly, "someone had painted my front door."
Your heart tightens instantly, a quiet unease settling in your chest.
"Fresh red paint," he continues. "Large letters. Impossible to miss."
He exhales slowly.
"'Welcome back.'"
A bitter hint of amusement touches his lips.
"I knew it would happen," he adds. "I knew I'd become a target the moment I got out."
No one interrupts him.
"I checked the house first," he says. "Everything was normal. No signs of forced entry. No damage."
He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table.
"Then I checked the cameras."
You hold your breath without realizing it.
"There was an old black car," he explains. "Cheap. Probably stolen. It parked only a few minutes after Hailey and I left."
A sense of guilt washes over you, irrational yet impossible to ignore.
"One man got out. He was dressed entirely in black. Hoodie up. Face covered. He wrote the message and left."
The moment Rafe finishes speaking, the silence that follows feels unbearable.
It doesn't last long.
Derek is the first to react, pushing his chair back slightly as he runs a hand over his face.
"Could be Mason," he says slowly. "After what happened last year… I never really believed he'd let that go."
Nathan lifts his head.
"You mean after we took over his territory?" he asks.
"And humiliated him in front of his own guys," Derek adds. "Yeah. That."
One of the others lets out a dry laugh.
"He lost everything that night," he mutters. "Money. Reputation. Half his crew. You don't forget something like that."
You watch Rafe closely.
His expression doesn't change, but you can tell he's listening to every word.
"He swore he'd make us pay," Nathan continues. "I remember it. He said it right to your face, Rafe. Told you he'd wait as long as it took."
Rafe exhales slowly.
"Yeah," he replies. "I remember."
Another guy leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"What about Leon?" he suggests. "After the warehouse incident, he blamed us for everything. Said we ruined his life."
Derek nods.
"He went to jail because of that," he says. "Lost his wife. Lost custody of his kid."
Silence falls briefly.
"That kind of resentment doesn't disappear," Nathan murmurs. "It grows."
You feel the atmosphere grow heavier with every name that is spoken.
Someone else shakes his head.
"No," he says. "Leon's too careful. If it was him, he wouldn't leave a message. He'd just act."
"Then maybe Northside," another voice suggests. "They've been quiet for months. No moves. No noise. That's never a good sign."
Rafe finally speaks.
"Quiet usually means preparation," he says calmly.
Nathan nods.
"Exactly. Last time they went silent like that, they hit us three weeks later."
Derek frowns.
"Yeah, and we barely survived that."
The memories clearly aren't pleasant.
You see it in their eyes.
Old fear.
Old anger.
Old wounds.
"What about inside jobs?" one of them asks suddenly.
Everyone turns toward him.
"You really think someone from our side would do this?" Derek asks sharply.
"I'm saying it's possible," he replies. "People get greedy. People get scared. People switch sides."
"That's bullshit," Nathan snaps.
"Is it?" the other guy challenges. "You think nobody's ever betrayed anyone in this business?"
The tension rises instantly.
Rafe raises a hand slightly.
"Enough," he says.
The argument dies down.
He looks thoughtful now, distant.
"Every name you mentioned has a reason," he admits. "Every one of them has something against us."
He pauses.
"That's the problem."
Because it means the list is long.
Then Nathan suddenly leans forward, his expression sharpening.
"Rafe," he says carefully, "you're sure it parked right after you left?"
"Yes," Rafe answers. "Almost immediately. Why?"
Nathan hesitates briefly before continuing.
"That means he was either already watching you…"
Everyone stiffens.
"…or he knew your schedule."
The realization spreads slowly through the room.
"So it's either someone close to you," Nathan adds quietly, "or someone who's been tracking you."
Rafe's body tenses visibly.
You watch the moment understanding strikes him, the way his jaw tightens and his eyes darken.
"Fuck," he mutters under his breath.
"I didn't even consider that."
"Relax," Derek tries. "It doesn't mean—"
"No," Rafe interrupts sharply. "It's not okay."
Silence follows.
No one seems to understand what he means.
Except you.
A chill runs through you as the implications become clear.
You lift your head slowly and speak, your voice quiet but steady.
"Because if someone has been watching us already," you say, "then there's a chance someone followed us here."
Every face turns toward you.
Understanding dawns.
Fear follows.
"Fuck," someone whispers.
And suddenly, the room feels smaller.
Colder.
More dangerous.
For several long seconds after your words leave your lips, no one speaks.
The silence that settles over the room feels heavy and unnatural, as though even the walls themselves are listening, absorbing every breath, every nervous movement, every unspoken fear that circulates between you. You can hear the faint buzzing of the neon light above your head, the distant sounds of music and laughter from the bar outside, and the steady rhythm of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.
It is Lucas who finally breaks the stillness.
He exhales sharply and drags a hand through his hair, his expression tight with anxiety and frustration.
"Fuck… we need a plan," he mutters, his voice low but trembling slightly despite his attempt to remain composed.
His words seem to unlock something in the room.
Slowly, almost instinctively, everyone turns toward Rafe.
They do not do so because he has asked for their attention, nor because he has raised his voice or imposed himself. They do it because, in moments like this, he has always been the one who knows what to do. The one who thinks clearly when others begin to panic. The one who transforms fear into action.
Rafe does not speak immediately.
Instead, he remains seated for a moment, his gaze fixed on the surface of the table, as though he is carefully arranging his thoughts before allowing them to escape. His jaw tightens slightly, and you recognize the familiar expression of concentration that appears whenever he is forced to make difficult decisions.
Finally, he inhales slowly and lifts his head.
"Relax," he says quietly.
Under different circumstances, the word might have sounded ridiculous. Almost offensive. Yet there is something in his tone—steady, firm, unshaken—that immediately commands attention.
"We're not doing anything reckless," he continues. "Not tonight. Not ever."
He pushes his chair back and stands up, the legs scraping loudly against the wooden floor. The sound echoes through the small room, emphasizing the sudden shift in energy. This is no longer a conversation. It is preparation.
Rafe turns toward the far corner, where a large black sports bag rests against the wall.
You notice it properly for the first time.
A dull, uncomfortable feeling spreads through your chest.
You already know what it contains.
He reaches for the bag, lifts it effortlessly, and walks back toward the table before dropping it in the center with a heavy, resonant thud. The impact causes several empty glasses to rattle slightly.
Every single boy rises to his feet almost simultaneously.
Chairs scrape backward.
Postures straighten.
Expressions sharpen.
Without fully realizing it, you stand up as well and step closer to Rafe, as though instinctively seeking his presence.
He unzips the bag.
The soft metallic glint of steel reflects the unstable light.
Several firearms lie inside, carefully arranged, cleaned, and prepared.
Your throat tightens.
No matter how many times you see them, the sight never becomes normal.
It is always a reminder of how dangerous this life truly is.
"Everyone gets armed," Rafe says firmly. "Now."
He looks around the room, making sure no one misunderstands.
"Text your girls," he adds. "Tell them we're packing. No explanations. No delays."
Phones are immediately pulled from pockets.
Fingers move quickly across screens.
Messages are sent.
Lives are silently rearranged.
Rafe reaches into the bag and retrieves one of the guns. You watch him closely, noticing once again the precision of his movements, the confidence with which he handles the weapon, the absence of hesitation. It is the behavior of someone who has long accepted that violence is sometimes unavoidable.
He slides the gun behind his back and secures it against his waistband, exactly as he has done so many times before.
The familiar gesture makes your stomach twist.
It always means that something serious is coming.
Then he turns back to the group.
"Here's how this is going to work," he says.
His voice is calm, controlled, and authoritative, leaving no room for argument.
"Nobody stays alone," he begins. "Not any of you. Not me. Not our girls."
His eyes briefly meet yours.
A silent promise.
A silent warning.
"If they can't reach us directly," he continues, "they'll go after the people we care about."
A tense murmur ripples through the room.
"We're leaving the bar together," Rafe goes on. "At the same time. No one stays behind."
He begins to walk slowly as he speaks, pacing back and forth, organizing every detail with meticulous precision.
"You'll all take different directions," he explains. "Not toward your houses. Somewhere random. Somewhere unpredictable."
Nathan nods thoughtfully.
"So we see if we're being followed," he says.
"Exactly," Rafe replies. "If anyone notices something suspicious, you text immediately. No stupid risks."
He pauses and looks directly at Derek.
"Don't try to handle it alone."
Derek lifts his hands slightly in surrender.
"I won't," he promises.
"If someone follows you," Rafe continues, "we regroup at the emergency location. Armed. Ready."
He stops pacing for a moment.
"If nobody follows you, you go home fast," he adds. "You grab your essentials. You grab your girl. No arguments."
Your thoughts drift instantly to your belongings, to the small pieces of your life that suddenly feel fragile and temporary.
"Then you head to the port," he says. "Nine p.m. sharp."
"Barry's helping?" someone asks.
"He's taking care of my boat," Rafe replies. "And he'll make sure your cars disappear."
The level of preparation is both reassuring and terrifying.
"And if someone follows you to the port," he continues, "the rule doesn't change. You alert the group. We regroup."
He stops moving.
Looks at every face in turn.
"We're going to the island," he says quietly. "Just until we know who we're dealing with."
His voice hardens.
"Right now, we don't even know how many enemies we have."
The reality of that statement settles heavily over the room.
"We take no risks," Rafe concludes. "We protect ourselves. We prepare."
He pauses.
"And when we're informed…"
His eyes darken.
"…we strike."
(PORT — 08:30 PM)
The sky was slowly turning dark when you and Rafe arrived at the port. Shades of deep blue and orange still lingered on the horizon, reflecting on the restless water. The air smelled like salt, fuel, and cold wind, typical of the harbor at night. Boats were gently rocking against the docks, their ropes creaking softly in the background.
Rafe parked the car near the entrance and turned off the engine. Before you could even unbuckle your seatbelt, he was already out, walking around to your side. He opened your door with a small smile, offering you his hand.
"Careful," he murmured.
You took it without thinking, stepping out on your heels.
A few of Barry's men were already there, moving efficiently, loading bags and suitcases onto the boat. They barely spoke, focused on their work. One of them took the car keys from Rafe and nodded before disappearing into the crowd.
Rafe squeezed your hand slightly as you both started walking toward the others.
Some of the guys were sitting on coolers, laughing loudly. A few girls stood nearby, wrapped in jackets, phones in hand, taking pictures of the port and the boats. Someone had music playing softly from a speaker, mixing with the sound of waves and distant engines.
Seeing everyone together again made something warm settle in your chest.
It felt… familiar.
Strangely comforting.
You knew the situation wasn't normal. It was risky. Unstable. There were things going on behind the scenes that you weren't supposed to know about. Things involving drugs, fights, deals, and enemies. Things that could get people hurt.
Things that had already sent Rafe to jail once.
And yet…
Standing here, surrounded by everyone, you couldn't help but feel a little excited.
Before Rafe had gone away, this was how it used to be.
All of you living together. Watching each other's backs. Sharing meals, arguments, laughs, late nights, and secrets. Always close. Always united. Always trying to survive in your own messy way.
Back then, it had felt like a strange little family.
Maybe it wouldn't have been easy without the girls around.
Being with them felt like being on a permanent holiday. There was always something happening. Someone telling a story. Someone teasing someone else. Someone blasting music too loud. Someone starting a game, a challenge, or a stupid bet.
You were never bored.
Never alone.
On the other side, though, the boys were always planning things. Stuff you weren't supposed to ask about.
But somehow, you and the girls had never really experienced that part.
They made sure of it.
The boys always kept you away from the worst. They never let you see the blood, the fear, the chaos. They never let you hear the full stories. They never let you be present when things turned ugly.
They didn't want you involved.
Didn't want you scared.
Didn't want you traumatized.
Didn't want you broken.
So from your side, everything had always seemed… normal.
Almost peaceful.
It was strange. Unhealthy, probably.
But you had never truly been afraid. And you didn't think the other girls were either because you trusted them.
You trusted your men.
You trusted Rafe.
And he had never let anything happen to you.
Not once.
By 8:50 p.m., everyone was finally there.
The docks were bathed in warm orange light from the old lampposts lining the port, their reflections trembling on the dark surface of the water. Boats rocked gently against their ropes, wood creaking softly, metal chains clinking now and then in the quiet evening air. Somewhere nearby, music drifted from a bar along the marina, blending with laughter, engines, and distant waves.
It felt strangely peaceful.
The guys were gathered near the dock, leaning against railings, standing in loose circles, cigarettes glowing faintly between their fingers. Smoke curled lazily into the night sky, disappearing almost as soon as it formed. Barry stood with them, laughing loudly at something Derek had just said, one hand resting casually in his jacket pocket, the other holding a phone he checked every few minutes.
Everyone was dressed up.
Derek had insisted.
He’d turned the whole thing into a “Welcome Back Home” celebration for Rafe, claiming that if they were going to disappear at sea for a night, they might as well do it properly. And somehow, he’d convinced everyone.
Rafe wore a black button-up shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a silver chain resting against his collarbone. Chad and Nathan had gone for fitted shirts and dark jeans, clean sneakers, hair carefully styled. Lucas looked unusually neat, like he’d actually spent time in front of a mirror for once. Even Derek, usually careless, had made an effort.
You and the girls stood a little farther away, near the edge of the dock, gathered in a loose circle.
Riley twirled slowly, showing off her tight emerald-green dress, laughing as she did.
“Okay, tell me I don’t look like I’m about to steal someone’s man tonight.”
Emma rolled her eyes affectionately.
“Please. You look like you already stole him five years ago.”
Kelsey adjusted the strap of her heels and smiled.
“And you’re still winning.”
You glanced at your reflection in the dark glass of a parked boat. Your dress hugged you perfectly, simple but elegant, catching the light every time you moved. Your hair fell in soft waves over your shoulders, and for once, you felt… confident. Not guarded. Not tense.
For a moment, standing there with the girls, laughing softly, complimenting each other, fixing stray hairs and crooked straps, it felt like you were just a group of friends about to go on vacation.
Not people living with danger in the background.
It was almost surreal.
Barry cleared his throat loudly, drawing everyone’s attention.
“Alright,” he said, stepping forward, his tone shifting into something more serious. “Listen up.”
The conversations slowly faded.
Rafe turned toward him first, cigarette between his fingers, eyes attentive. The others followed.
Barry gestured toward the boat behind him—a large, sleek yacht rocking gently against the dock, lights glowing softly from inside.
“Everything’s inside already,” he continued. “Bags, food, drinks, equipment. We checked it three times.”
He raised three fingers for emphasis.
“My guys have been doing rounds inside the boat and around the port since this afternoon. Nobody suspicious. Nobody hanging around too long.”
One of Barry’s men nodded silently from a few steps away.
“We checked the security cameras,” Barry went on. “No strange movements. No unknown faces. No one entered or left the port without being recorded.”
Rafe listened closely, jaw tight, posture relaxed but alert.
“A few of my guys are placed at different corners,” Barry added. “Just in case something goes wrong after you leave. They’ll stay on watch until you’re out of range.”
Rafe stepped forward and raised his hand.
They slapped palms in a firm, solid high-five.
“Thanks, man,” Rafe said sincerely. “I appreciate it.”
Barry smiled.
“You know how it is, Cameron.”
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice.
“Also… I’ve got a few connections on Isla Verdanza.”
The name rolled off his tongue easily.
“Some good guys out there,” Barry continued. “Ex-military, security work. Loyal. If you need backup, manpower, anything… you call me.”
Rafe nodded slowly, lips pressed together.
“I will.”
Barry hesitated for a second, then lifted one finger.
“And one last thing.”
Everyone turned fully toward him now.
“I prepared everything inside,” Barry said with a grin. “For you to have fun tonight.”
The guys exchanged confused looks.
“Prepared… what?” Derek asked suspiciously.
Barry only laughed.
“You’ll see.”
He shook hands with Rafe again, then Chad, Nathan, Lucas, and Derek. His men stepped back, quietly untying ropes and checking the last details.
One by one, everyone climbed onto the boat.
Barry’s crew stepped off, giving final nods and thumbs-ups.
“All clear,” one of them said.
You took Rafe’s hand briefly as you stepped aboard, feeling the solid wood beneath your feet, the gentle sway of the boat responding to your weight.
Inside, warm lights glowed softly, reflecting off polished surfaces and wide windows. Everything looked clean, organized, ready.
You and the girls headed straight toward the living room, laughter bubbling up again as soon as you were out of the guys’ earshot.
Riley dropped onto one of the couches dramatically.
“Okay, I’m officially on vacation mode.”
Kelsey wandered toward the minibar.
“Speaking of vacation…”
She pulled out a chilled bottle of champagne, beads of condensation sliding down the glass.
“Oh yes,” Riley said instantly, jumping up. “Hand it over.”
Kelsey popped the cork with a soft pop, and it bounced harmlessly against the ceiling. Foam spilled slightly over the rim as she laughed.
“Perfect.”
She poured the champagne into tall glasses, handing them around.
You took yours, feeling the cold glass against your fingers.
Meanwhile, upstairs, the guys had disappeared toward the upper deck, already arguing about music and drinks.
Rafe slipped the keys into the ignition, settling into the captain’s seat. The engine hummed to life, deep and powerful, vibrating softly through the floor.
The boat began to move.
Slowly at first.
Then steadily.
The dock drifted away.
The lights grew smaller.
The night opened up around you.
A few minutes after the boat left the harbor, everything changed.
The quiet disappeared.
Music exploded through the speakers, loud and heavy, vibrating through the walls, the floors, the furniture—through everyone. Bass thumped so hard it felt like a second heartbeat. The kind of music you couldn’t ignore even if you wanted to. The kind that forced your body to move.
Lights inside the living area dimmed automatically, soft neon strips glowing along the ceiling and walls, bathing everything in deep blues and purples. Reflections shimmered on the windows as the dark ocean slid past outside, endless and black.
Someone—probably Derek—turned the volume even higher.
“THAT’S what I’m talking about!” he yelled, raising his drink.
Within seconds, everyone had something in their hand.
Beer bottles clinked together.
Red cups were filled and refilled.
Clear glasses caught the light as liquid sloshed inside.
The smell of alcohol mixed with cigarette smoke and weed, thick and familiar, curling lazily toward the ceiling vents. Windows were cracked open just enough to let fresh sea air drift in, carrying salt and wind and freedom.
The boat settled into autopilot.
Rafe checked the controls once, twice—pure habit—then finally relaxed, leaning back against the counter with a drink in hand, eyes scanning the room automatically before softening when they landed on you.
The girls had already claimed the center of the living space.
Riley was first, hips swaying effortlessly, arms lifted above her head, hair flying as she laughed. Emma followed, spinning dramatically, pretending she was on some invisible stage. Kelsey clapped along, then joined in, dragging you with her.
“You’re not standing there like a statue,” she laughed. “Come on!”
You didn’t fight it.
The music took over.
Your body moved without thinking.
Hips rolling.
Shoulders loosening.
Feet following the rhythm.
Champagne in one hand, fingers loose around the stem.
You laughed when Riley bumped into you on purpose.
“Watch it!” you teased.
“Never,” she shot back.
The guys watched from the side at first, pretending not to care, pretending not to stare.
Failing completely.
Chad leaned toward Nathan.
“Tell me she’s not doing that on purpose.”
Nathan smirked.
“Everything she does is on purpose.”
Lucas filmed for three seconds before Kelsey flipped him off and stole his phone.
Derek danced badly on purpose, earning groans from everyone.
“Stop! You’re embarrassing us!” Emma yelled.
“I’m expressing myself!” he replied proudly.
Smoke drifted around the room as Chad lit another cigarette, passing it to Riley between kisses. Someone else rolled something on the counter. Someone else opened another bottle.
Glasses were never empty.
Laughter never stopped.
The music never dropped.
Song after song after song.
Time blurred.
At some point, sweat clung lightly to your skin. Your cheeks were warm. Your head buzzed—not drunk, not sober—just floating somewhere in between.
Happy.
Free.
Alive.
When the current song finally faded out, replaced by the soft transition into the next, you slowed, breathing lightly, brushing hair out of your face.
Your eyes found Rafe instantly.
He stood near the window now, shirt unbuttoned halfway, drink in hand, watching you with that familiar mix of pride, desire, and something deeper. Something protective.
Without thinking too much, you walked toward him.
You stopped in front of him, close enough that his knees brushed yours.
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
“Hey, baby.”
You didn’t answer.
You simply reached for his hand.
Your fingers slid between his.
Warm. Certain.
“Come with me,” you said quietly.
No explanation.
No hesitation.
His lips curved into a slow smile.
“Where?”
“Outside.”
That was all.
You tugged gently.
He followed instantly.
You led him past the others, through the narrow hallway, up the small steps, and out onto the deck.
The music muffled behind the door.
The night rushed in.
Cool. Dark. Endless.
The ocean stretched in every direction, glittering faintly under scattered stars. Wind played with your hair, with his shirt, with the loose edges of everything.
You didn’t give him time to say anything clever. The second your back was to the railing, you fisted the open edges of his black shirt and pulled him down into you. Your mouth crashed against his—hungry, no preamble, no teasing buildup. Just lips and tongue and the faint taste of whiskey still on him.
Rafe groaned low in his throat the moment you connected. His hands found your waist immediately, yanking you flush against him like he’d been waiting for this exact second all night. He kissed you back just as hard, matching every slide of your tongue, every small sound you let slip.
When you finally pulled back just enough to breathe, your lips were swollen and your voice came out husky.
“Did I tell you,” you murmured against his mouth, “how fucking good you look in this black shirt?”
You didn’t wait for an answer. You kissed him again—this time slower, deeper, deliberate. His hands slid lower. One palm flattened against the small of your back; the other curved possessively over your ass, squeezing hard enough to pull a soft gasp out of you.
He broke the kiss just long enough to rasp against your lips, voice rough and low.
“Stop it now, baby, if you don’t want me to take you right here in front of the boys.”
You laughed breathlessly, still kissing him between words.
“I mean…” Another slow, filthy kiss. “There’s like eight bedrooms on this boat. You’re definitely gonna take me after.”
His grip tightened. He bit your bottom lip lightly, tugging before letting go.
“Tease.”
“I’ve got something for you,” you said, finally pulling back enough that he could see the wicked little smile curling your mouth.
His brows lifted, interest sparking in those blue eyes.
“Yeah?” He smirked, thumb brushing the curve of your hip. “What’s that?”
You bit your lip, holding his gaze, letting the anticipation stretch just long enough to make him impatient.
“Come with me,” you whispered. “We need to be protected from the wind for this.”
He didn’t ask questions. Just let you take his hand again and lead him along the side deck, past the glowing navigation lights, until you reached the sheltered alcove near the stern—one of the few spots with a low, cushioned bench tucked out of the direct breeze. The music from inside was a dull throb now, distant enough that you could hear the water slapping against the hull and the occasional laugh drifting through the walls.
You sat first, legs crossed delicately, skirt riding up just enough to show the smooth skin of your thighs. Rafe dropped down beside you, arm stretching along the back of the bench, body angled toward yours like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.
You reached into the deep V of your top, slow, deliberate and pulled out the tiny clear plastic bag you’d tucked between your breasts earlier. A small mound of white powder sat inside.
“Surprise,” you said softly, dangling it between two fingers.
Rafe’s eyes darkened instantly. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
“Where the hell did you get this?”
“Barry’s,” you answered simply, shrugging one shoulder like it was nothing.
He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.
“Usually I don’t like you doing that shit…” He leaned in, brushing his lips over your temple, then your cheek, voice dropping. “But since it’s your ‘welcome back’ party…”
He kissed you again, slow this time, appreciative, tongue sliding against yours in a lazy promise of what was coming later.
“Thanks, babe.”
You smiled against his mouth, then carefully opened the little bag. Without breaking eye contact, you tipped a neat line along the upper swell of your breast, right where the fabric dipped low and your skin was warm and flushed from dancing.
You didn’t say anything. Just arched your back slightly, offering.
Rafe’s gaze dropped to the line of powder, then flicked back up to your face. His smile turned filthy.
“Jesus, Hailey.”
He didn’t hesitate. He dipped his head, nose brushing the soft curve of your breast first, inhaling deeply then followed the line in one smooth pull. The sensation of his warm breath and the faint scrape of his nose against your skin made your breath hitch.
When he finished, he didn’t pull away. His tongue darted out, slow and deliberate, licking up every last trace. The wet heat of it sent a shiver racing straight down your spine.
“Fuck, babe,” he muttered, voice wrecked. Then his mouth was on yours again—harder this time, tongue deep, tasting the faint chemical edge still on his own lips. You moaned into the kiss, fingers threading into his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl.
He pulled back barely an inch, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged.
“When the hell did you get so slutty?”
You laughed softly, breathless.
“Guess you bring it out of me.”
His hand slid up the outside of your bare thigh, fingers splaying wide, possessive. He squeezed once, then dragged his palm higher, disappearing under the hem of your skirt, tracing the sensitive skin there with slow, teasing strokes.
“Careful,” he murmured against your lips, smirking. “Keep looking at me like that and we’re not making it to any bedroom.”
You tilted your head, lips brushing his ear.
“Who said I want to wait?”
His grip tightened.
“Fuckin’ dangerous girl tonight,” he rasped, kissing you again messy, desperate, like he was already half-gone.
And the night was still young.
hey guys, i know i took a long time to post this one, but i didn’t really have any inspiration. i’m posting it anyway, even though i’m not sure if i like it yet, so i’m gonna need your opinions. please remember i’m not a professional writer, i just write whatever comes to my mind, so let me know what you think ♡
you can dm me on instagram : @drewiddle if you want, since i'm not good with tumblr lol.
Rafe Cameron is one of the most powerful and feared men on the island. A member of one of the two most dangerous gangs, he has built his reputation through violence, control, and loyalty. After spending two years in prison, he is finally released, fully aware that several of his rivals are waiting for the right moment to strike.
Despite the constant threat surrounding him, his first priority is you—the only person who never abandoned him. After four years together, you remain his closest confidant and the only person he truly trusts. In a world shaped by crime, betrayal, and danger, your relationship represents the one place where he feels safe.
Marked by a childhood and past filled with abandonment and betrayal, Rafe learned early to protect himself by shutting others out. He built emotional barriers that no one has been able to cross. Only with you does he allow himself to be vulnerable.
As tensions rise and enemies grow bolder, your relationship is put to the test. Between loyalty and survival, love and fear, you must face the consequences of staying with a man who lives on the edge of violence. Together, you navigate a fragile balance between devotion and danger, questioning how long love can survive in such a world.
4691 words,
instagram: @drewiddle
this is my original idea and storyline. anything familiar is purely coincidental. this story is written purely for enternainment purposes only.
masterlist
| ENGLISH IS NOT MY 1ST LANGUAGE |
ENJOY!
The summer sun poured over your bare skin, warm and golden, like it was trying to make up for every lost day. Your heart hammered against your ribs. In the distance, waves crashed lazily against the shore, birds sang overhead, and for once you believed really believed that nothing could ruin this day.
You hadn't enjoyed a summer in two years.
But that ended today. Things were finally going back to normal. Or at least, to whatever version of normal you could rebuild.
You sat on the hood of the car, legs dangling, flanked by Derek and Taylor two of his ride-or-dies staring at the massive metal doors that had kept you and Rafe apart for 730 endless days. The minutes crawled. Every second stretched until it hurt.
Then — bip.
A sharp electronic tone.
The doors groaned to life, metal scraping metal, parting with agonizing slowness.
You slid off the hood and started walking forward without thinking. Closer. Closer.
Until finally, through the widening gap, you saw him.
Tan skin kissed darker by prison yard sun. Jaw sharper, more carved. Veins snaking down forearms thickened from endless push-ups and pull-ups. Shoulders broad enough to block out the world. Duffel bag slung over one shoulder proof he wasn't coming back in cuffs. And those eyes.
God.
Those piercing blue eyes still looked right through you, same as always, only hungrier now.
"You're out, Cameron," one of the officers called, voice flat and bored.
Rafe didn't move at first. Just smiled slow, dangerous, victorious.
And then you ran.
You crashed into him like a wave, lips finding his in the same heartbeat. He lifted you instantly, effortless, hands clamping around your thighs, hauling you up so your legs locked around his waist. Your arms wound tight around his neck.
He kissed you back like he was starving, like two years of want had finally snapped its leash.
The catcalls and cheers erupted from the windows above prisoners banging on bars, whistling, yelling his name.
You barely heard them. You were too busy trying (and failing) not to climb him right there in front of everyone.
God, you'd missed him.
And from the way his fingers dug into your skin, the way his tongue claimed every corner of your mouth, he'd missed you more.
You broke the kiss first, gasping, forehead pressed to his. He growled low in his throat, clearly not ready to stop.
You smiled, eyes locked on his.
"Welcome home, baby."
He set you down gently, but kept you close, arms caging you against his chest. Then he buried his face in your hair for a long second, breathing you in like you were oxygen.
Taylor approached first, huge grin splitting his face. He slapped Rafe's shoulder, then pulled him into a rough hug.
"Damn, man. You've been hitting the gym hard."
Rafe chuckled — low, rough, familiar. He clapped Taylor on the back.
"Yeah, well... had to do something to keep from losing my mind thinking about her every damn night." His eyes flicked to you, dark and possessive. "Worth it, though."
Derek was next same high-five, same brotherly hug.
"We've missed you, bro."
"I missed you too." Rafe's arm slid around your waist, fingers splaying wide, claiming. "Thanks for taking care of her. I owe you both."
Taylor waved it off, easy. "Nah, man. That's what brothers do."
You smiled, chest tight with something softer than lust. These three they'd grown up together in the middle of blood, betrayal, and gang wars.
Loyalty like theirs didn't come with an expiration date. It was carved into them.
Derek jerked his thumb toward the car.
"Let's go, guys. I think you've been here long enough."
Nods all around.
Derek took the driver's seat, while Rafe slung his bag into the trunk with a heavy thud that echoed like finality. He slid into the backseat beside you, thigh pressing against yours immediately, like he couldn't stand even an inch of space after two years. Taylor shotgun, already fiddling with the radio like nothing had changed.
The car smelled like leather, salt air, and the faint trace of whatever cheap prison soap Rafe still carried on his skin. You couldn't stop staring at him the new bulk of his shoulders straining the thin white t-shirt, the fresh ink peeking from under the sleeve (something you'd have to trace later), the way his blue eyes hadn't lost that piercing edge, only sharpened.
Rafe caught you looking. Of course he did. His hand found your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to say mine without words. He leaned in close, breath hot against your ear.
"Two years, baby," he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel. "And you still look at me like you wanna eat me alive."
You laughed soft, breathless and elbowed him lightly. "Shut up. I'm allowed to stare. You got... bigger."
He smirked, that signature Cameron smirk that used to drive everyone crazy. "Yeah? You complainin'?"
"Never." Your fingers slid up his arm, tracing the vein that popped under his skin. "Just missed this version of you."
His smirk softened for a second, something real flickering in those eyes. Then he glanced forward, at the two men in front.
"Yo," Rafe said, louder now, voice carrying that easy authority. "You two really held it down for me? No bullshit?"
Taylor twisted in his seat, grinning. "What, you thought we'd let your girl run off with some pogue while you were inside? Nah, man. We kept her locked up tighter than your cell."
Derek snorted, eyes on the road. "She's the one who kept us in line. Threatened to burn our bikes if we stepped outta pocket."
Rafe's hand tightened on your thigh. He looked at you, brows raised. "That true?"
You shrugged, smiling. "Maybe. They were getting lazy."
Rafe laughed, a real one, deep and surprised, the sound you'd dreamed about on lonely nights. He pulled you closer, arm wrapping around your shoulders, fingers playing with the strap of your tank top.
"Fuck," he muttered, almost to himself. "I don't deserve that. But I'm takin' it anyway."
The car rolled down the coastal road, windows down, summer heat rushing in. Waves still crashing in the distance, birds still singing like the world hadn't paused for two whole years. Rafe's free hand found yours, lacing fingers tight. His thumb ran over your knuckles back and forth, like he was making sure you were real.
After a minute of quiet, he spoke again, quieter this time.
"Listen..." He cleared his throat, glancing at Derek and Taylor before looking back at you. "I'm not the same asshole who went in. I mean — I'm still me. But I had a lot of time to think about what matters. And it ain't the bullshit drama, the money, the fights. It's this." He squeezed your hand. "You. Them. Us."
Taylor reached back for a fist bump. Rafe met it without hesitation.
"Brothers for life," Taylor said simply.
"Always," Derek added from the driver's seat.
Rafe nodded, jaw tight like he was holding back more than he'd ever admit. Then he turned to you, blue eyes locked on yours — intense, hungry, finally free.
"So what now, baby?" he asked, voice dropping low again, just for you. "You gonna let me make up for lost time? 'Cause I got two years worth of ideas, and none of 'em involve clothes."
You felt heat crawl up your neck, but you held his gaze, smiling slow.
"Take me home, Cameron," you whispered. "And don't stop till we're both wrecked."
His grin was feral. "That's my girl."
Derek cranked the music louder,some old rap track you all used to blast and the car sped toward Figure Eight, toward the house, toward whatever messy, beautiful, second-chance life waited on the other side of those prison doors.
For the first time in two years, summer felt like it belonged to you again.
After a few moments, the car rolled to a stop in front of the house that sprawling, sun-bleached beast of glass and stone perched on the edge of the island like it owned the ocean itself.
This place held so many damn secrets.
It was the headquarters where deals went down in low voices and blood sometimes stained the marble. The safehouse they'd barricaded when rivals came looking, when cops circled too close. The first time you stepped inside, you'd been terrified,heart in your throat, realizing exactly what kind of life Rafe and his brothers led. Back then, they were just criminals to you. Dangerous.
Untouchable.
And now?
Years later, this same house was home.
You'd lived here alone for two years — well, not quite alone. Derek and Taylor had become your shadows, your protectors, your family. They'd turned this fortress into something softer, something survivable. You wouldn't trade it for anything in the world.
Rafe stepped out first, muscles shifting under his shirt as he grabbed his duffel from the trunk with one easy pull. You followed more slowly.
Derek and Taylor stayed in the car, engine idling.
"Aren't you guys coming?" you asked, leaning toward the open window.
Derek shook his head, small smile tugging at his mouth.
"Nah. Think you two need some time alone."
Taylor grinned wider, throwing an arm over the back of the seat.
"Plus, it's our day of freedom too.Now that your man's back to take care of you, we're finally off the clock. Gonna go live a little."
You laughed, light, real, the sound surprising even you.
"Alright," you said softly. Then, quieter: "Thank you. For everything you did for me."
Taylor winked. "Now lets go get some chicks."
"Hell yeah, baby!" they chorused together.
The car peeled out with a dramatic honk of the horn,loud and obnoxious, like they were breaking out of prison themselves. In a way, they were.
For two years they'd lived in shifts: always watching the perimeter, always ready if someone tried to use you to get to Rafe. No real nights off. No real life.
You owed them. More than words could cover.
The sound of the engine faded down the road.
Silence settled,just the waves, the wind, and Rafe.
He stepped up behind you, hands sliding around your waist from behind, pulling your back flush against his chest. His chin rested on your shoulder, breath warm against your neck.
"Still can't believe you stayed," he murmured, voice rougher than before. "In this house. With all the ghosts."
You turned in his arms, hands sliding up his chest.
"Where else was I gonna go? This is ours."
His eyes searched yours — blue and piercing, softer at the edges now.
"Yeah. It is."
He kissed you then,slower this time, no audience, no rush. Just deep, deliberate, like he was memorizing the taste of you all over again. When he pulled back, his forehead pressed to yours.
He pulled back from the kiss just long enough to kick the front door shut behind you with his heel the heavy thud echoing through the foyer like the final slam of a prison gate. Then he was on you again.
His mouth crashed back into yours, hungrier, more desperate, like two years of restraint had finally shattered. Hands everywhere at once sliding up your thighs, gripping your waist, then lower, rough palms finding the curve of your ass through the thin denim of your mini skirt. He squeezed hard, possessive, fingers digging in with enough force to promise bruises you'd trace fondly tomorrow.
"Damn, baby," he growled against your lips, voice gravel-rough and wrecked, "this fucking mini skirt of yours..."
Another bruising kiss, teeth grazing your bottom lip.
"I'm gonna destroy you in it."
The words hit you like a spark to dry tinder. Your pussy clenched hard around nothing, heat pooling low and instant. You'd missed that filthy mouth of his more than you'd ever admit — the way he could unravel you with just a few dirty promises.
You kissed him back like animals, tongues sliding, tangling, chasing. No patience, no gentleness — just raw, starving need. Your fingers twisted in his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer while you guided one of his big hands under the hem of your skirt.
He didn't hesitate.
Calloused palm slid up the back of your thigh, then cupped your ass fully,skin on skin now, the denim bunched up around his wrist. He gripped hard, lifting you slightly onto your toes, grinding you against the solid length of him so you could feel exactly how much he'd missed you.
You gasped into his mouth. He groaned, low, guttural and pressed you backward until your spine met the cool wall of the entryway.
"Fuck," he breathed, forehead pressed to yours, eyes dark and blown. "You're soaked already, aren't you?"
You nodded, breathless, hips rocking shamelessly against his hand.
"Been soaked since I saw you walk through those doors, Rafe."
That seemed to snap something in him.
In one swift motion he hoisted you up, thighs wrapping around his waist like they belonged there and carried you through the house without breaking the kiss. You vaguely registered the familiar layout flashing by: the wide staircase, sunlight spilling across the marble floors, the faint salt smell that always clung to everything here. But none of it mattered.
Only him. Only this.
He didn't bother with the bedroom.
Halfway up the stairs he pinned you against the wall again, one arm braced beside your head, the other still under your skirt, fingers now teasing the edge of your panties. He rocked into you slow, deliberate, letting you feel every thick inch through his sweats.
"Two fucking years," he muttered, lips dragging down your neck, teeth scraping your pulse. "Two years of jerking off to the memory of this pussy... and now you're right here, dripping for me."
You moaned — loud, shameless — head falling back against the plaster.
"Then take it, Cameron. Take what's yours."
His control frayed.
He yanked your panties to the side, not bothering to remove them, and ground the heel of his palm against your clit while his fingers found you slick and ready.
"Gonna fuck you everywhere in this house," he promised, voice wrecked. "Kitchen counter. Shower. That big bed. Every fucking room. But first..."
He pulled back just enough to look at you — eyes wild, chest heaving.
"First I'm gonna make you come on my fingers right here on these stairs. Then I'm carrying you upstairs and burying myself so deep you forget there was ever a day I wasn't inside you."
Your nails dug into his shoulders.
"Yes," you gasped. "Please, Rafe — now."
He didn't make you beg twice.
Rafe's fingers slid lower under your skirt, calloused tips brushing the slick heat between your thighs. He teased first : agonizingly slow circling your clit with the barest pressure, watching your face like he wanted to memorize every gasp, every flutter of your lashes. His free hand pinned your hip to the wall, keeping you steady as your knees threatened to buckle.
"Look at you," he murmured, voice thick with lust, breath hot against your collarbone. "Already shaking. Been dreaming about this pussy clenching around my fingers... bet it's tighter than I remember."
You whimpered, nodding frantically, hips bucking forward for more.
He chuckled — dark, satisfied — and finally gave in. One thick finger pushed inside you, slow and deliberate, curling just right to hit that spot that made stars explode behind your eyes. You cried out, nails scraping down his back through his shirt.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned, eyes locked on where his hand disappeared under your skirt. "So wet for me, baby. Dripping down my wrist already."
He added a second finger without warning, stretching you, thrusting deeper now — in and out, building a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. His thumb found your clit again, rubbing firm circles, syncing with the pump of his fingers.
The wet sounds echoed off the staircase walls, obscene and intoxicating, mixing with your ragged breaths and his low curses.
You grabbed his wrist — not to stop him, but to hold on — feeling the flex of his forearm as he worked you harder. He twisted his fingers inside, scissoring slightly, stretching you wider while his thumb pressed down, rolling your clit under the rough pad. Pressure built low in your belly, coiling tight like a spring, every stroke pushing you higher.
"Rafe — oh god — don't stop," you gasped, head thrown back, thighs trembling around his hand.
He leaned in closer, lips brushing your ear. "Not stopping till you soak my hand, princess. Wanna feel you come undone right here. Scream for me."
His pace ramped up — fingers plunging faster, curling sharper, thumb flicking your clit in quick, relentless bursts. The crescendo hit like a wave: heat spreading from your core, muscles clenching around him, pulling him deeper. You rode his hand shamelessly, grinding down, chasing the edge.
It built and built — intense, almost overwhelming — your whole body tensing, breaths coming in short, desperate pants. His free hand slid up to your throat, not squeezing, just holding you there, thumb stroking your pulse point like a reminder of who owned every inch of you.
"Come on, baby," he growled, fingers slamming in now, palm grinding against your clit with every thrust. "Give it to me. Let go."
The coil snapped.
You shattered — a long, drawn-out cry ripping from your throat as your orgasm crashed over you in waves. Your pussy clenched hard around his fingers, pulsing, gushing slick that coated his hand and dripped down your thighs. He didn't let up, dragging it out, thrusting through every aftershock until you were shaking, oversensitive, begging in broken whispers.
Only then did he slow, easing his fingers out gently, bringing them to his mouth to lick them clean while you watched, boneless against the wall.
"Fuck, you taste even better than I remembered," he said, voice wrecked. Then he scooped you up — legs still trembling — and carried you the rest of the way upstairs like you weighed nothing.
The bedroom door banged open. He set you down on the edge of the massive bed, sunlight streaming through the windows, casting golden stripes across his tan skin as he peeled off his shirt. His sweats tented obscenely, the outline of his cock straining against the fabric.
Your turn.
You dropped to your knees before he could say a word, hands tugging his sweats and boxers down in one pull. He sprang free — thick, veined, already leaking at the tip.
You wrapped your hand around the base, stroking slow, feeling him throb under your palm.
"Missed this too?" you teased, looking up at him through your lashes.
Rafe's hand tangled in your hair, gentle but firm. "Every fucking day. Now show me how much you missed it."
You leaned in, tongue flicking out to taste the salty bead at his tip. He hissed, hips jerking slightly. Emboldened, you took him into your mouth — slow at first, lips stretching around his girth, tongue swirling along the underside as you sank deeper.
He groaned deep in his chest, fingers tightening in your hair. "Just like that, baby. Fuck — your mouth..."
You hollowed your cheeks, sucking harder, bobbing your head in a steady rhythm. One hand stroked what your mouth couldn't reach, twisting slightly at the base. The other cupped his balls, rolling them gently, feeling them tighten under your touch.
Rafe's breaths came ragged now, hips thrusting shallowly to meet your mouth. "Deeper," he rasped. "Take all of me."
You relaxed your throat, pushing forward until your nose brushed his pelvis, eyes watering but holding his gaze. He cursed — loud, filthy — holding you there for a beat before letting you pull back, strings of saliva connecting you as you gasped for air.
Then back down, faster now, sloppy and eager. You moaned around him, the vibrations making his thighs tense. His free hand braced on the bedpost, knuckles white.
"Gonna come down your throat if you keep that up," he warned, voice strained.
You didn't stop. Sucked harder, faster, hand pumping in sync. His abs flexed, breaths turning to growls.
"Fuck — yes — " He thrust once, twice, then held your head as he came, hot spurts flooding your mouth. You swallowed every drop, milking him through it until he shuddered and pulled you off gently.
Rafe hauled you up from the floor like you weighed nothing, tossing you onto the center of the massive bed. The white sheets bunched under your back as he climbed over you, knees bracketing your hips, eyes wild and black with hunger.
He didn't bother taking your skirt off. Didn't bother taking anything off except his sweats that were already shoved down around his thighs. He just shoved the tiny denim up around your waist, ripped your soaked panties to the side again, and lined himself up in one brutal motion.
"Look at me," he growled, voice shredded. "Wanna see your face when I finally get back inside this perfect fucking cunt."
Your eyes locked on his — wide, glassy, already wrecked from the stairs — and that was all the permission he needed.
He slammed into you in one vicious thrust.
The stretch burned so good you screamed his name instantly, back arching off the mattress, nails raking down his shoulders hard enough to leave red trails. He didn't pause. Didn't give you time to adjust.
He just pulled out almost all the way and drove back in — deeper, harder — setting a punishing rhythm that had the heavy wooden headboard slamming against the wall with every stroke.
"Fuck—yes—Rafe!" The words tore out of you, broken and loud, the only thing you could manage.
"That's it, baby," he snarled, hands gripping your hips so tight you knew you'd have fingerprints tomorrow. "Scream my name. Let the whole fucking island know who owns this pussy."
He fucked you like he was trying to carve himself into your soul — hips snapping forward with brutal force, cock driving so deep you felt him in your stomach. Every thrust punched the air out of your lungs, turned your brain to static. Your legs wrapped around his waist on instinct, heels digging into his ass, trying to pull him even deeper, but he was already giving you everything.
"Two years," he panted against your neck, teeth scraping your skin. "Two fucking years of blue-balled torture and now you're creaming all over my dick like a good little slut. Feel that? Feel how fucking soaked you are for me?"
You couldn't answer. Couldn't form words. Just another broken cry of his name as he angled his hips and started hammering that spot inside you that made your vision white out.
"Rafe—Rafe—fuck—Rafe!"
He laughed — low, dark, feral — and shifted his grip. One hand slid under your ass, lifting you higher so he could pound down into you at a steeper angle. The other wrapped around your throat — not choking, just holding, thumb pressing against your racing pulse.
"Who do you belong to?" he demanded, voice rough as gravel. "Say it."
"You," you sobbed out, barely coherent. "You—Rafe—only you—"
"Louder," he snarled, thrusting so hard the bed creaked dangerously. "Let 'em hear it outside."
"You! Fuck—Rafe! Yours—yours—yours—"
He groaned like the sound of his name on your lips was better than any drug. His pace turned savage — erratic, desperate, chasing his own edge while dragging you toward yours again. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mixing with your screams and his filthy praise.
"Gonna fill you up," he rasped, forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping from his brow onto your chest. "Gonna pump you so fucking full you'll feel me leaking out of you for days. You want that? Want me to breed this tight little cunt?"
You shattered around him before you could even try to answer.
Your orgasm hit like a freight train — violent, blinding, every muscle locking up as you screamed his name loud enough to rattle the windows. Your pussy clamped down on him like a vice, pulsing, milking, soaking his cock and the sheets beneath you.
Rafe lost it.
"Fuck—fuck—there it is—take it—take it all—"
He buried himself to the hilt one last time and came with a guttural groan, hips jerking as he flooded you.
Thick, hot spurts painting your walls, so much it leaked out around him with every shallow thrust he gave to ride out the aftershocks.
When the storm finally broke, you both collapsed in a sweaty, tangled heap on the rumpled sheets. The room smelled like sex, salt air, and summer. Your chest heaved, thighs still trembling, his cum slowly leaking out of you and onto the bed beneath your ass.
Rafe's heavy arm draped across your waist, pinning you to him like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.
For a long stretch, neither of you spoke.
Just breathing.
The sound of waves outside the open windows.
The distant cry of gulls.
The slow thump of his heartbeat against your back.
After a few quiet minutes, Rafe's voice came low and rough, almost reverent.
"God... it's so good to be back."
You turned your head just enough to press a soft kiss to the inside of his bicep. Your voice came out small, still hoarse from screaming his name.
"So... what are you gonna do now?"
You swallowed. "They'll know you're out. Word travels fast on this island. What do you think's gonna happen now? They're gonna come after you, right?"
He exhaled through his nose, long and slow, fingers tracing lazy circles over the curve of your hip.
"They'll sure as hell come after me."
No sugarcoating. No bullshit.
"I don't have any plans yet. Haven't had time to think that far. But one thing's for damn sure—I'm not going back to jail. If someone has to die so I stay free... then that person's gonna die. Simple as that."
He paused, voice dropping softer. "We'll leave the country after. Or hell, I don't know. Mexico, Costa Rica, wherever. But I'm not going back inside. Not ever."
Your stomach twisted.
The fear you'd been shoving down all day rose sharp and cold in your throat.
"I'm scared, Rafe."
He shifted, rolling you gently until you were facing him. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb brushing the corner of your eye like he could wipe the worry away.
"Don't be, baby."
His voice was steady now, the same tone he used when he was making promises he intended to keep. "And don't think about that shit yet. If something happens, I'll take care of it. We'll get off this island—me, you, Derek, Taylor. We'll disappear. Start over. And we'll build that family we always talked about."
You searched his eyes, blue and fierce and finally free.
A small, hopeful smile tugged at your lips.
"For real? You want to be a father?"
He chuckled—low, warm, the sound vibrating through your chest.
"Hell yeah, baby. I want the whole damn thing."
He pulled you closer, nose brushing yours. "The family house. The fucking dog. The kids running around screaming. All of it. Far from here. Far from this island and all its bullshit. Just us. Real shit. Normal shit."
Your smile grew, soft and real, the first one that didn't feel fragile since he'd walked out those prison gates.
You leaned in and kissed him—slow this time. Deep. No rush. Just the quiet certainty of two people who'd waited two years for this exact moment.
When you finally pulled back, you tucked your head under his chin, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.
His arms tightened around you like he'd never let go.
And as the golden afternoon light faded into dusk outside the windows, you drifted off in his hold—safe, sated, and—for the first time in forever—hopeful.
Tomorrow could wait.
The threats, the plans, the blood that might still come...
cw: dubcon, brief violence, choking, restraints, coercion??/prostitution??, fingering, mean rick
summary: you’re not who you say you are. your cover’s blown and rick’s left to deal with you. can’t have you running that pretty mouth and spreading their secrets. awful shame to have to kill you, though.
he could feel eyes on him when he walked through the gates. prying and prodding stares, lingering on the dripping gash on his eyebrow and the blood matted above his swollen lip. he felt their eyes shift behind him, noting the absence of the person he’d left with. realizing that you didn’t make it back with him.
he stalked past them all, his sneer growing with every nervous, tittering question thrown his way.
“where is she?”
“what happened?”
“is she alright?”
“the hell happened to you?”
rick glanced up from the sink and met daryl’s eye. he stood behind him, scrutinizing his reflection in the bathroom mirror. it was silent between them, only disturbed by the thin trickle of water pattering down from the faucet. the porcelain was tinged pink, blood curling through the water and swirling down the drain.
his jaw ticked. anger simmered, the heat of it wavering on the surface of his skin. he threw down the rag he’d used to clean up and turned to face him. “she’s been spying on us. you know that?”
daryl’s expression hardened. he shifted on his feet. his voice was low and rumbling. “for the saviors?”
rick stared silently, tongue prodding his cheek.
you had been in alexandria before they even got there. sweet, bubbly thing, always helping out wherever you could. they were off-put by how cheerful you seemed, brushed it off as you having no idea what the world was like outside the walls. but you did. you did know because you would go out alone. every week. and every time, you would come back completely unscathed and bearing the most random assortment of supplies.
he had known something was off about you from the start. he just never put his finger on it. it didn’t click until one day when he was watching carol chirp about with the other women in the community. with you. you both had the same look in your eye. some dark, steely glint hidden beneath a rosy film. like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
you slipped up, eventually. mentioned something you shouldn’t have known about, action you hadn’t been a part of. you forced his hand.
“n’you took care of it?” daryl asked after a moment, staring back at him. he didn’t seem surprised — the benefit of forever being wary of everyone and everything in the world. rick envied him of that.
“yeah. she’s not gonna be a problem anymore.”
you should have known things weren’t right when rick insisted on coming with you on your run. no one had ever pushed as hard as he did, or carried enough weight in the community to force you to let them come.
a thousand possibilities ran through your head as you drove with him in the passenger. you could fake where you were headed, find some wayward pharmacy instead of returning to the sanctuary. you could swerve off into a tree, pull your gun on him, take him to negan — just cover it up and say a swarm got to you and you were the only one to make it out. but he beat you to it.
his voice was steady when he spoke. casual and unassuming. “hey, stop up here. think i saw something.”
you thought playing along was the right move. that maybe if you just continued your charade, you’d be able to keep your cover and go on with what you’d been sent out to do. that’s why you listened.
but then you stepped out of the car, and he scruffed your neck with a massive palm and shoved you face-down onto the trunk without a second thought.
you sputtered, kicking and clawing at him while he pressed you flat to stop your writhing. you managed to land a few blows as you tried to push him off before he wrestled a hand into your hair and slammed your head back down on the metal.
the air ringed and distorted around your ears. you only vaguely made sense of the arm snaking around your neck, the crook of his elbow crushing in on your throat, making your every breath draw tighter and tighter.
“thought you were fuckin’ slick, huh?” he gritted, knocking his head against yours, mouth ghosting at your ear.
he felt you convulsing beneath him, choking gags spilling from your lips and nails weakly tearing at his skin. raised red welts gave way to raw, bubbling scratches. the blood smeared on your fingers.
your vision swam, black creeping in on the edges and blanketing over your eyes. and then there was nothing.
the first thing you registered was the pounding in your head. it reverberated through your skull, throbbing down your spine and thrumming in the hollows of your bones. every breath you drew was raspy and shallow, the cool, musty air battering its way against your trachea as it reached for your lungs.
the second was the cold bite of metal cutting into your wrists. your arms were stretched wide and your hands hung limp, fingertips buzzing where the blood pooled. you blinked, bleary eyed, and moaned in confusion.
you were in a bed. in a room you did not know. there was a haze of dust that floated stagnant in the air, visible in the dim beams of light streaming through boarded-up windows. a once-cheery yellow quilt dimpled underneath your bare thighs.
it slowly dawned on you that your clothes were gone, that you’d been stripped down to your thin, flimsy tank top and not much else.
a low grumble sounded from beside you.
he was there on your right, settled back into the cushions of an old armchair with his thighs spread wide, the weight of his stare heavy as he watched you sluggishly drift into consciousness. you caught sight of your pistol glinting softly in his hand, his pointer finger tapping rhythmically on the steel barrel. ice ran cold in your veins.
“there she is,” he murmured, tilting his head when your gaze found him. his voice was even and lullingly slow. he might have seemed at ease, but his eyes betrayed him — seething, molten ire all but dripping down his cheeks.
“the fuck is this?” you croaked, the sound grating in your throat. the cuffs jangled against the metal rods of the headboard when you tried to sit up. “rick? what—?”
he cut you off with a wry laugh. scoffed and looked away, shaking his head like you’d said something amusing. it was unsettling, the way his face contorted — jaw tensing, eyes twitching. he scratched his temple with the muzzle of your gun.
“you’re good… had us for a while, there.” his eyes dropped to the weapon in his hand. “y’know, i remember you havin’ a different gun when we met. cute little .38 with a sleek handle. remember you losin’ it too.
“i take stock of the armory everyday — i know what comes in, what goes out, who carries what — but this…” he said, holding it up for you, shaking it in consideration, “i can’t say i’ve seen this one before.”
you frowned the same time he did. dread curled thick in your stomach once you realized what he was getting at. your lips parted in protest, scrambling to plead or persuade. this is a mistake. you’ve got the wrong idea. anything you could to grasp at whatever shreds of your lie remained—
“no— no i have, actually,” he continued. “yeah… ‘bout a week ago, we got in a fight with a bunch of stragglers down by the train tracks. said their names were ‘negan’ — every one of ‘em. and, what’s funny is, they all had this exact same gun.”
his eyes slid back to yours, tongue tracing the grooves of his teeth. “d’you know anything about that?”
your lashes fluttered as you tried to think, but you couldn’t. you couldn’t think. everything moved like molasses under his gaze. the words rose like cotton in your throat, sticking and stretching as they tumbled from your lips.
“i don’t— no. i don’t know what— no.”
“so how’d you get this then?” he asked, waving the pistol at you.
shit. you blinked stupidly, every possible excuse running through your head and dying on your tongue. “i— aaron. aaron brought it back for me.”
his eyes narrowed. he was getting some sick sort of kick out of this — the way you kept squirming and tugging at the cuffs around your wrists, that wide, shifty look in your eyes, darting around like you were a cornered animal. his lips quirked up and he leaned forward.
“liar.”
“what— i’m not lying,” you sputtered. your chest seized. “if you don’t believe me, let’s go ask him. both of us. you and me, let’s go ask him right now.”
“right now?”
“right now,” you nodded. “yeah, just— just take these off, and we can—“
“nah, i think those can stay on,” he hummed, leaning back with a satisfied grunt when you froze. your face twisted in confusion. or fear. he didn’t care for the difference. your lips parted, jaw falling open and stuttering shut.
“rick, i’m not…” you tapered off, staring at him wide-eyed.
“not what?”
your patience was growing thin. he knew it. maybe that was his goal, but you were getting more panicked by the second and you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. you tugged your fists forward, feeling the metal press into your skin.
“i don’t know,” you panted. “i don’t know what ‘cause you won’t explain anything to me. like, why you fucking choked me out and— and chained me to a bed. or where where the hell we are or why my fucking clothes are gone...”
his eyes fluttered at the last part, shifting down from your face as if you’d reminded him. you watched his jaw clench when your thighs squeezed together, your knees tilting away from him. he met your gaze again.
“y’know, i’ll tell you what. i think you’re a fuckin’ rat,” he spit, the word landing cold and sudden like a glob of saliva on your cheek. “chewed your way in though our walls, duckin’ out whenever you can to go report to this ‘negan’ guy. that’s why you’re here. so you can’t keep running that pretty mouth of yours.”
there it was. your secret, unraveled and stripped raw, out in the open, sitting between you two. his chin ticked up when you didn’t say anything, when that soft look in your face dripped away, shed like a second skin. his tongue dipped out to wet his lips.
“and as for your clothes, that was, uh…” his mouth lifted at the corner. “a safety precaution.”
he watched your nose flare, your lips twitching into a snarl. seems the ‘nice girl’ act was done with. your eyes burned straight through his.
“oh, quit cryin’. y’still got some clothes on, don’t you?” he taunted. he seemed delighted in the way your chest had started to heave, the way your arms pulled and pulled at the restraints, doing nothing but rubbing deep, sore grooves into your skin. “be grateful you’re not lyin’ there naked.”
your struggling slowed when you watched his gaze drop. a dewy sheen had broken out on your skin, your chest and shoulders gleaming in the soft light. his eyes were dark. pale blue gone, absorbed by the black hole of his pupils.
“they’ll come for me,” you breathed. “they’ll come looking for me.”
his eyes tore away from the curve of your neck, sliding back to yours with a glare like you’d interrupted him doing something important. he sighed. “will they?”
your head tipped in a nod — a twitchy, vehement thing that made his teeth ache, his tongue suck at his canines. he leered at you and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. your pistol dangled from his hands, hanging between his legs.
“yeah, well, they don’t know where you are,” he murmured, his voice low. “no one does.”
he stood from the chair with a grunt, looming over the bed and looking down at you. he could see that spark of fear starting to creep its way through your body, like a smoldering ember settling in a field of dry grass.
something passed behind his eyes, some silent, internal dispute and its quiet resolution both burrowing deep inside his head. he nodded to himself, still lingering above you. then, he backed away. stepped toward the door.
“be good.”
your lungs seized. your fists pulled at the handcuffs. “rick? hold on, rick, i— so what, you’re just gonna leave me here?”
he slowed, rounding the foot of the bed. you had your feet planted on the mattress, your legs folded up as you tried to tug yourself upright. you looked at him with crazed, wide eyes, your chest heaving and your knees falling apart.
something sick twisted inside him at the sight — you, all nice and splayed out for him, your thighs soft and open and your skin glowing, your eyes, wide and wet and pleading. all for him.
he cleared his throat. gave a gruff nod. “‘til i figure out what to do with you.”
he forced himself to turn around, to reach for the door knob. a panicked huff escaped your lips, stuttering as you fervently tore at your restraints. anxiety crawled over your skin.
what if he wasn’t coming back? was rick that cruel? would he let you starve to death on this bed? lay there waiting for some walker to wander inside and ravage you?
“you’re not gonna kill me?”
he stopped again, just underneath the doorway. his hand — the one wrapped around your pistol — rose to grip the wood. you watched him tilt his head sideways, his profile sharp and nauseating as he barely took a look at you.
“i don’t know yet.”
you fought with your handcuffs until your wrists were rubbed raw. the rest of the day and all through the night, you writhed around on the bed, contorting your body, stretching your legs, pulling your arms until your shoulders popped in their sockets.
hours and hours of that resulted in several fits of tears, which only exhausted you further. you passed out at some point. cried yourself to sleep imagining all the horrific ways you were bound to die.
dehydration, starvation, being eaten alive, torture…
you still weren’t sure if rick was coming back or not. but you knew that if he was, it wouldn’t end well for you anyway.
you’d seen what he did to jessie’s husband pete. heard all the stories of the things he’d done to others. the more you thought about it — your mind conjuring up gruesome images of him tearing a man’s throat out with his teeth and spitting out the blood, or him covered in gore after slaughtering ten men with a single machete — the more you were starting to believe that dehydration would be a mercy.
the room was stuffy and hot when you finally woke up, the sound of the door creaking open startling you awake.
“afternoon.”
rick shuffled into the room, his steady, confident gait all but mocking you as you laid there on the bed waiting for him. you knew what a mess you’d made of the place — blankets kicked off onto the floor, armchair pushed up against the wall, both nightstands tipped over on their sides.
you knew you looked a mess too, with your eyes swollen and puffy from crying, and your hair tangled from fighting against the mattress all night. though, the way he looked at you, you wouldn’t have known it.
”you here to let me go?” you mumbled, your voice still thick with sleep.
“hah, no,” he scoffed softly, stepping beside you and righting the chair you’d kicked away. he set down a heavy bag and dug through it with his back to you. “no, i’m here to make sure you’re alright, check in on ya’.”
you blinked. you might have laughed if your wrists weren’t throbbing were the metal cut into them. “are you fucking serious?”
he ignored you, still sifting through whatever he’d brought with him. you gave up glaring and chose to stare glumly at the rotting boards of the ceiling. better fucking sight than him.
“here.”
when you looked back, you found a plate waiting in his hands, torn chunks of meat and bread piled on top. he’d turned around, holding it in front of you for you to see. you eyed it warily, turning your nose up at it.
“what, d’you put rat poison in it or something?”
‘aloof’ was what you were going for. ‘cool’ and ‘unbothered’, even in the face of being kidnapped — and possibly tortured and killed, it was still early — but he shut that down real quick.
“yeah, that’d be fitting, wouldn’t it?” he laughed lightly.
fucking idiot. heat washed over you as you remembered the conversation from the day before. ‘i think you’re a fuckin’ rat…’ he paid little mind to your embarrassment, much to your relief.
“no, it’s just food. regular food,” he sighed, stepping closer. he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, the mattress caving under his weight. you pushed yourself away, as far as you could, to avoid touching him.
he pinched some of the food between his fingers and held it to your lips. your head jerked back and you grimaced. “don’t—“
“what?” he asked flatly, drawing his hand back an inch. he tipped his chin to nod at the cuffs around your wrists. “don’t have hands, do you? would y’rather me set it down, let you lick it off the plate like a dog, ‘cause i can do that—“
“okay. fine. just— fine,” you huffed.
you missed the grin that tugged at his lips when he took in the furrow in your brow, the embarrassed pout playing on your own lips making his chest heave.
he pressed his fingers further into your mouth than you’d expected, face twitching at the salty taste of his skin on your tongue. with every bite, he would linger just a second longer, dip in a little deeper, waiting for you to lick the grease from his digits before bringing them back to the plate.
the weight of his eyes on you was oppressive. you could feel them prodding at the side of your face, drifting along your lashes, your cheekbones, your lips closing around the pads of his fingers. you felt them drop lower, emboldened by your refusal to call him out on it, or to even look him in the eye.
his hands kept steady, bringing the food to your mouth without pause, but his focus was on your body, sprawled out limp beside him. the slope of your neck, the shift of your throat every time you swallowed, the sweaty sheen glowing on the curves of your chest, the tense way you had your knees knocked together.
the repetitiveness of it lulled you into a sort of daze after a while. you’d settled so deeply into it that the sudden sound of his voice made you jolt, your restraints clinking against the metal rods of the headboard.
“been thinkin’,” he drawled, breaking the silence. his fingers were still in your mouth, unconsciously petting your bottom lip. he nodded at the room, “about this, ‘bout you.”
your eyes narrowed.
“you’re more useful to us alive than dead, so what i’m gonna do is keep you tucked away here for a bit,” he lilted, his attention refocusing on you. “i promise to keep you all safe an’ sound, but — i’m gonna need somethin’ else in exchange.”
it felt like the air had been lit on fire, like flames were licking down your throat and burning the oxygen right out of your lungs, your breath trapped smoldering in your chest. it scalded when you swallowed, the shift of it under your skin drawing his scorching gaze.
you weren’t stupid. it was the end of the world, and you were half-naked and chained up to a bed, and he wouldn’t stop looking at you with those eyes, and the pads of his fingers were still wet and shining with your spit.
your thighs squeezed together before you could stop them, and shame dripped down your spine when his eyes followed. you felt it curl though your loins and drool from your core and you hated yourself for it. you should have been repulsed. you should have reared back your foot and kicked him off the bed. you should have leaned forward and snapped your teeth around his hand. anything.
instead, you pressed yourself into the mattress and did everything you could to ignore the slick slipping between your thighs. and he fucking smiled.
“information, sweetheart,” he said in a patronizing tone, watching the way your chest stuttered. his grin only grew when your expression remained the same, totally unconvinced. you flinched when he groaned and patted your knee. “what i want is for you to tell me everything you got in that pretty little head of yours about these ‘saviors’ you’ve been snitchin’ on us to.”
your head felt hot. too hot to think. you couldn’t. not with his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin. not with how you could feel your panties — the last bit of fabric hiding you from his eyes — growing damp, sticking to you as you twitched. you cleared your throat.
“and then?”
“‘and then’ what?”
“i tell you what i know, and then what?” you asked. your voice was quiet — any louder and he would have heard what was broiling inside of you, frothing up your throat. “you kill me? you keep me chained up here? that’s the deal?”
he squinted, tilting his head to the side. “deal? wasn’t aware we were bargaining.”
“isn’t that what this is?”
his thumb stilled, grin faltered. you felt his palm settle around your knee, tendons wavering under the force it took for him to keep his touch light. you felt it threaten to snap when you instinctively twitched further into his hand. a sharp sigh escaped his nose and he looked away. anywhere but at you.
“listen kid, what i want is what you know,” his voice was low, grumbling. he shook his head. “now, i don’t wanna have to kill you, believe me, but it’s gonna take a hell of a lot of convincing for me to take these cuffs off of you — and seein’ as you’re stuck here ‘til i get what i want outta you, it doesn’t look like you’ve got much else to offer me.”
“… don’t i?”
he went rigid. his eyes dragged back to yours, dark and guarded. you could see his resolve slipping. you could see it fracture where his fingers pressed into your skin, the cracks webbing over his knuckles and shattering up his arm. he clenched his jaw and looked down.
“you’re— hah… got no fuckin’ shame, do you?” he scoffed. but he didn’t move his hand away — just shifted, only slightly. his palm passed over the slope of your knee, fingertips now dimpling on the inside of your thigh. you tensed. “s’this what you do with them? with negan?”
he looked up at you through his lashes and you shook your head. the corner of his lips lifted. “oh, no? just for me, then?”
your eyes fell to your lap in embarrassment. his mocking had started to burrow under your skin, each new cruel jab leaving you mortified and throbbing between your legs. your brows knit together and you huffed.
“so?” you mumbled softly. “i tell you what i know, and you don’t kill me, right? i— we do this… and you let me go. deal?”
heat crept up the back of your neck when you glanced up at him. rick’s grip on your knee tightened the moment you laid eyes on the mean twist of his lips as he tried to smother his grin.
“yeah, and what’s ‘this’?” he taunted, relishing in the sheepish look on your face. “huh? wanna be a businesswoman so bad, gotta make it clear what it is you’re sellin’.”
you scowled. “don’t be a dick.”
“y’want those cuffs off, don’t you?”
the glare you gave him pulled a soft, rumbling laugh from his chest. “okay, fine. why don’t we make a game out of it, then. no more bartering.”
you eyed him curiously as he rose from the bed and turned his back to you. it was unnerving, how quietly he stood there, rubbing a hand over his chin as he mulled over whatever it was he was going to do to you. it made your pulse flutter, your breaths come slower and slick gather between your legs. the metal around your wrists clattered against the headboard when you shifted, drawing his attention back to you.
rick appraised you as you laid before him, pale eyes trailing over where your knees pressed together, the plush line of your thighs where they bent at your hip, the stuttery rise and fall of your chest.
he sniffed, swallowing hard. “rules are simple — just keep talking. if y’stop talking, you lose. easy.”
“… and if i win, you’ll let me go?” you asked, warily watching as he took a slow step forward.
“if you win,” he drawled, sucking his teeth, “i’m thinkin’, i’ll bring you back with me to alexandria — see if you’ve got any use to us there.”
he set a knee on the bed. pushed himself up to loom over you. your brows furrowed and you gave him a look. “that’s not letting me go.”
“maybe not. y’won’t be chained up, though,” he said, reaching over to tug at the links hooking you to the bed. you drew your legs in as he kneeled in front of you, tucking them into your chest, but he wasn’t going to have that.
his hands circled your ankles and tugged your feet back to sit on either side of him. he held them there too, palms sliding up to take a firm hold of your calves, keeping you still and spread for him.
“so, tell me,” he started, “who’s negan?”
your voice abandoned you when his hands shifted, smoothing over your knees and pressing into your inner thighs. your lips parted when he started to pet over your skin.
“he, uh… he’s the leader,” you murmured, breathing shallowly. you could feel yourself pulsing as his fingers brushed lower, tracing down over your skin, inching closer and closer to your cunt. heat rushed up to your head, making your thoughts swim. “s’the leader of the saviors.”
he hummed thoughtfully, prying your legs apart another inch. you could have kicked him away, knocked him square in the chest and battered him off the bed. but you stayed still. stayed pliant.
extra points for you.
“right, and these ‘saviors’ — where’s their community? where are they based?”
your lashes fluttered. “uh, i don’t— i would need to look at a map, i don’t know—”
“landmarks? street names? anything?” his hands slipped lower, ghosting over your soft skin. your brain short-circuited. “hey. don’t go quittin’ already. talk to me.”
you blinked at him, eyes pulling away from where his fingers dimpled in the fat of your thighs. “sorry.”
your words died on your tongue when he pushed your knees flat against the mattress, your thighs twitching where his legs pressed into yours. you could feel his stare lingering where he held you open, and you prayed he couldn’t see how much he was affecting you, how much slick had drooled into the flimsy clutch of your underwear from him doing nothing at all.
“it’s a factory— the sanctuary, it’s this, uh, old, run-down factory. somewhere near here, i don’t know,” you mumbled. “there’s others too. there’s this— this place with like, a massive satellite on it, and a, uh, a chemical plant, or something...”
you hated how anxious you felt waiting for his approval. though, not more than how quickly that anxiety dissipated at his proud, gentle smile.
“that’s a girl,” he murmured. you should have been repulsed by yourself with how easily you were turning to mush in his hold. but his hand had drifted lower again, thumb now petting softly at your clit over the wet, clinging fabric of your panties, and you lost all ability to think. “see? not so hard.”
you jolted at his touch, thighs jerking up, only for him to push them down to the mattress again. your hands tugged uselessly at the restraints, and he bit back a laugh. “stay focused, sweetheart. you wanna win, don’t you?”
the frown you gave him was short-lived, as he trailed his thumb lower, over your seam, pressing cruelly into the sticky cloth covering you. it pulled an embarrassed mewl from you, one that had you biting your tongue and twisting your lips together in efforts to stifle any more that threatened to slip from your throat.
“next question, y’ready?” he asked, ignoring the way your hips twitched into his hand. sensitive thing. “how many people do they have? what’s their fightin’ force like?”
you huffed, glowering at him. how could he expect you to think with his finger tugging at the gusset of your underwear? with your blood runny and pounding in your ears? your throat bobbed when you swallowed.
“i don’t know. i was never there for very long. i know they’ve got— oh fuck, rick—” you broke off. he had pulled the fabric back while you were speaking, and was now dragging his fingers through the sticky mess between your folds. he caught on your clit, grinning when you jumped.
“yeah? go on.”
“i— okay… uh,” you sniffed, trying to swallow down the feeling of him stroking your cunt. your fists balled together at the headboard. “he’s got a bunch of, uh, people, hah… um, it’s like, two— two hundred, or s-something, at, uh—“
the tip of his finger teased past your puffy lips and crooked into your entrance. your breath shuddered. he was slow, deliberate and taunting with how he pet over your velvety walls. slick spilled over his knuckles, all but streaming down his wrist with how wet you were for him.
blood ran thin, circling through your brain pointlessly. it sat viscid in your veins, sluggishly pulsing to the steady pump of his hand. he bullied in another thick digit, making you wince at the squelch that sounded through the air.
you sucked in a sharp breath. nodded. “um, two hundred at the sanctuary. but— but there’s a lot more at the other places. s’lot more…”
breathy whines were slipping through your lips, no matter how hard you tried to bite them back. he could see the filmy glaze that was covering your eyes, the tight pinch of your brows drawn together. you yelped when his thumb came to knead at your swollen bud.
he had to bring his other hand to your hip to stop your squirming. writhing around, bucking into his touch like a novice whore with her first customer. you were getting close, as much as you tried to fight it — your belly clenching, thighs twitching. you could feel it slithering down the back of your throat, curling around your spine, making you shiver.
he grunted when you squeezed around his fingers, walls clamping down on him like you didn’t want him to leave. you were gushing around him, your slick dripping down the cleft of you and smearing between your thighs. it pooled in the clammy grooves of his palm, pulling a wet slap with every crook of his hand.
“there we go, baby,” he cooed when your eyes slipped shut, your face scrunching up as you tried to twist away from him. “doin’ so good, telling me all the right things.”
he pulled you further down the bed, laying you flat with your legs spread wide on either side of him. you couldn’t move — couldn’t move your arms, couldn’t press your thighs together, could barely wriggle your hips enough to get away from his touch. he held you down, held you still, so that he could wring your release out of you.
“rick, wait—” you gasped, feeling it spike through your nerves. his thumb moved quicker, slipping faster over the throbbing swell of your clit, and you sobbed. you tugged at the handcuffs around your wrists, ignoring the bite of metal cutting into your skin.
your head fell back into the pillows in frustration, tears prickling at your eyes. you just had to take it — the curl of his fingers, coaxing you closer and closer to your breaking point, the pass of his thumb swirling around your swollen bundle of nerves — he wasn’t going to let you do anything else.
your core tightened up, and you keened, feeling it surge in like the tide, the wave of pleasure tumbling over itself, barreling straight towards you. your back arched off the bed, and rick’s hand was there the whole time to steady you.
“s’alright,” he murmured, rubbing small, gentle circles into the smooth skin of your hip, “just let it happen.”
the vehement way you shook your head meant nothing to either of you when you came. your orgasm crashed into you, cresting over your head — syrupy and saccharine, heat cascaded through your body, flowing fast as flood waters like a rush of molten molasses.
you felt the way you convulsed around him as he bullied his fingers into your cunt, fucking you through your release. he curled them inside of you, cruelly dragging along that soft, spongy spot that made you cry out and dig your knees into his sides. he kept up the twist of his wrist, steadily pumping into you until you were whining and thrashing against the mattress.
there was a ringing in your ears when he finally pulled away, left trembling and dazed, a hazy fog clouding your vision. you were barely aware of him wiping his hand off on you, smearing your mess over the inside of your thigh, or of him reaching up over you to fiddle with the clasps binding you to the headboard.
relief instantly flooded the sore muscles of your arms. you moaned, absentmindedly, when he gently lowered one hand to the pillow beside your head, wincing at the rush of blood prickling back into your palms. he removed the other cuff and sat back on his knees, looking down at you.
you pouted and rubbed at the grooves imprinted on your wrists. a soft laugh grumbled in his chest. “c’mon, then.”
a soft line pinched between your brows and you looked up at him, your eyes catching on the press of him chubbed up against his thigh in their search for his face. “i thought… you’re not gonna—?”
“what, fuck you?” he rumbled. he grinned when you gave him a shy, sheepish nod. his head tilted to the side, and he hummed in feigned consideration. “yeah, i thought about it. i’ve got a bed at home, though, don’t i?”
you blinked slowly at the hand he extended to you. “you gonna be good?”
it wavered in front of you for less than a second before your palm slipped over his. if you had let your mind wander away from where you were in that moment, you might have been confused with yourself. ashamed. disappointed. but rick had been nice to you. he was gentle, in the end. that was more than you could say for the saviors — for negan. maybe rick was your ticket out.
you’d won, after all.
⤷ oops. sorry if this has too much plot and that it’s like 70% dialogue lol. i kinda got carried away ;-;
romaincrisis
annaxmalina
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