Discover Top Posts Tagged with #sweet pea

✃ the plan - part 3

✃ pairing: rhiannon lewis x fem!reader

✃ additional tags/warnings: nsfw, cheating, violence, obsessive rhiannon

✃ summary: it's been months since your wedding night, and rhiannon's infatuation is starting to look a lot like an obsession.

✃ word count: 14.2k

part 2

fic masterlist

Rhiannon was a patient woman.

Or so she'd learned to be. As it turned out, a lifetime of being treated as furniture and idly waiting for her turn did work as a great way of building tolerance.

Sure, she’d picked up a few coping mechanisms over the years — none she was particularly proud of, as they’d often end up leaving bald spots on her head and bloodstains on her clothes —, but she still wasn’t one to simply cave if things didn’t go her way. Slow and steady, love, her dad used to say, pulling a smile from her lips that for once wouldn’t be forced. To this day she could still hear his voice, could still feel his gentle hand on her shoulder and see his warm smile behind her eyelids, the lesson evergreen even after he was gone.

Patience. It was a virtue she took pride in.

With that being said, this situation was getting ridiculous.

She could handle the engagement, sure. She’d surprisingly survived the wedding. She’d gone through the honeymoon in the way she could — getting by on ice cream and sporadic killing sprees when the sugar didn’t do anything to ease her spirit, but still. She’d been patient. She’d stuck to what she’d always known.

It had been five months since you’d become Mrs. Blenkingsopp — a name you didn’t actually take, though you might as well have since that’s what everybody called you now. Five months since she’d fucked you in your wedding dress, since you’d melted into her just outside of the venue, since you’d looked her in the eyes and whispered the words I don’t want to be married to Julia with tears falling down your face.

And you still had that fucking ring around your finger.

Rhiannon wasn’t stupid, she didn’t expect you to pack it up on your wedding night and ride off into the sunset with her, but she did think you’d have at least hinted at it by now.

You’d been different with her since you got back from your honeymoon — more intimate, more open, as if the desperate conversation you’d had on your wedding night had somehow broken a barrier you’d been careful not to cross before. Your kisses lasted longer now, you hardly ever rushed to go back home after sex anymore, you’d actually stay and talk to her instead of fucking her like an animal and shutting down afterwards. She remembered how it used to be — you’d get to her house, hurriedly and unceremoniously bend her over the counter, and she’d consider herself lucky if she got a goodbye kiss or an offhand comment about your day. But now things were different. Now you’d stretch an arm out for her to lie on and you’d hear all about her workplace gossip with a smile on your face. Now you’d come over on nights when Julia was away with a packed bag and actually sleep next to her instead of coming up with an excuse to leave. Now you’d play with her hair, telling her all about what a prick your boss was, stealing shoulder kisses as she tried desperately not to giggle like a teenager every time her eyes met yours.

Still, you hadn’t said a word about leaving your wife.

You were treating Rhiannon like a girlfriend in all the ways that mattered except the one she truly hoped you would have by now. You were spending time with her and opening up to her and fucking her and it still wasn’t enough. Because, even if it felt so real she could taste it sometimes, you eventually left and wound up right back in Julia’s arms, and Rhiannon was forced to sit miserable and watch someone else take the spot that should be hers.

She didn’t know what to do anymore.

She’d thought about bringing it up — hey, have you changed your mind about, um, not wanting to be married to Julia? —, but she didn’t want you to feel pressured. Rhiannon was well aware she could come on a bit too strong sometimes, and the worst part was that she wouldn’t even notice it until the damage was already done. It’d cost her relationships in the past and, even if she wasn’t exactly sure what the two of you were at this point, she simply couldn’t risk it, not this time, not with you.

Killing Julia was the other idea she’d managed to come up with, but, as attractive as the possibility seemed, she figured she’d discard it. Not because she didn’t want to — oh, she wanted to. She knew exactly how she’d do it, having gone over it in her head about a billion times already. She would stick her knife in Julia’s chest right after showing her the video she’d taken of you in bed, hands on the mattress, pounding your strap into Rhiannon as she clutched onto your wife’s precious linen sheets like a fucking slut. She would watch the life leave Julia’s eyes with the satisfaction of knowing that the image of her perfect little wife absolutely destroying none other than Rhiannon Lewis, the weak and pathetic loser she had always been so good at humiliating, would be the last thing she’d ever see.

But she couldn’t. Not because of Julia, not because of some sense of morality she’d long abandoned by now.

Because of you.

Even if you wouldn’t explicitly mention it, she’d been around you long enough to understand how you operated. How you carried guilt like a second skin. How you punished yourself whenever you thought too long about the lie you’d been telling for over a year now.

If Julia were to die while you were still married — nonetheless while you were actively fucking around behind her back —, Rhiannon knew chances were you’d never forgive yourself. You’d never give yourself a chance to be truly happy, carrying the guilt around like a cross, probably ditching her as soon as it all got too much to bear just as you’d done the week of your wedding.

So she needed to be patient, even if she didn't know how long she could stand it anymore.

Rhiannon, who let herself enjoy the fantasy in the little moments when she had you alone.

It had been nicer lately. Julia was in the process of upsizing her company, and that meant investing time and resources that left you with a whole lot of freedom to seek attention in Rhiannon’s arms. Sleeping over every time your wife went on business trips, sneaking little moments and quickies in the kitchen whenever Julia was over at the construction site for the new office — it'd been happening more and more lately, and though the sting of watching you leave only worsened after spending so much time together, Rhiannon wouldn't change it. She'd take what she could get, when she could get it.

“Rhee, this is incredible,” you said with a smile, looking at her over the table as you took a bite of the food she'd made you. “Like, Michelin star worthy. You could charge two-hundred pounds for it at a restaurant.”

Rhiannon laughed, endeared by the exaggeration, trying her best to play it cool like she hadn't spent the past three hours working on this dish before you got to her house.

“It's just a roast,” she waved dismissively, really hoping to convey nonchalance even if there was nothing nonchalant about the way she felt. “Nothing too fancy.”

“Mm, it's amazing, really. I didn't know you were such a good cook, wow. You're gonna have to share the recipe sometime.”

No need, she wanted to say — if you actually liked it as much as you said you did, she wouldn't mind making it for you. Whenever you wanted it. Every single night if she could — she'd get off work early, buy all the expensive ingredients from the fancy section at the store and spend three hours over the stove, fussing over seasonings, trying it a thousand times to make sure it was good enough. She'd have it ready the moment you walked through the door, hearing all about your day at work with a hand on your thigh under the table, possessive and caring, just because she could. Do the dishes after like a good little housewife. She'd give it all to you better than Julia ever could, if only you'd offer her the chance.

But of course she didn't say it.

“Sure. It’s, um, just something I saw online.”

“Well, it's unbelievable. Seriously. I'm gonna want to come over for dinner every night if this is what I get.”

The words landed somewhere in Rhiannon's chest, warm and cruel all at once, almost making her believe that it could be real. That you could be hers. That her pathetic, schoolgirl vision of wining and dining you every single night could turn into something more than a stupid dream. She knew it couldn't, she knew you had a wife you'd run back home to, she knew that wedding ring lay somewhere in your purse or your car or wherever it was that you'd placed it so she wouldn't have to look at it, ready to be put back on your hand the moment you left.

Still, your smile was gorgeous and honest, your lips were wine-stained, and your hand was soft as it met hers over the table, squeezing gently — a silent gesture that showed her you did appreciate the effort, even if you didn't know just how much it took. So she smiled back, and she let herself believe it. Maybe just tonight.

Maybe just today, she caught herself thinking again the next morning, tangled in the sheets with you, waking up to cheek and neck kisses as your naked body pressed warmly against hers.

It was nice, a rare Saturday when Julia’s flight wouldn't land until later in the day so you didn't need to set alarms, an actual lazy morning with you instead of rushed kisses and your feet out of the door before she even asked if you wanted coffee.

Rhiannon smiled blissfully, placing her hand on your forearm as it circled her body, leaning back against you like a spoiled cat.

“Mm,” she purred, completely gone before even waking up, because that's the effect you had on her. “Good morning.”

“Good indeed,” you pressed your lips against her jaw, her neck, her shoulder. “You look really good in the morning light, you know. I like your hair like that, all messy.”

Rhiannon opened her eyes, blinking a few times just to make sure she wasn't still dreaming.

“And whose fault is that?”

You let your hand wander under the covers, sliding down her waist slowly, meeting her stomach for a moment before drifting back up to cup her tit — still marked with your teeth from the night before.

“I’m not sure,” you whispered raspily, squeezing, claiming. “You might have to refresh my memory.”

Rhiannon melted at the way you sounded, honey sweet and still sleepy, needy, wanting her first thing in the morning like you couldn't get enough. She grinned, delighted, ignoring the voice in her head that kept warning this was borrowed time. That you'd leave eventually, that Julia would expect you to pick her up at the airport. It didn't matter. That wasn't until later. Now, you were here — in her bed, under her sheets, pulling her closer after holding her against you all night long.

She'd be insane not to take advantage of it.

“Maybe after coffee,” Rhiannon motioned to get out of bed, not really intending to, just looking to get a reaction out of you. “You know how it is, not myself until I've had it.”

“No,” you growled as you pulled her back immediately, pressing even closer, making her smile as she realized her plan worked like a charm. “Don't go.”

She soaked in the victory, grinning smugly as she looked back at you, taking in your puffy eyes and your cute face and the warmth of your body against hers.

“So demanding this morning.”

“Just want you to stay right here,” you muttered, soft but with a possessive edge to it that nearly made Rhiannon groan, hand sliding down her stomach again. “With me in bed a little longer.”

“Mm,” she dragged the act out, as much as you'd already won the moment she woke up to your kisses, loving to see you work for it — loving to hear you beg for her. “I might have to think about it, you know, I’m not as easy as you—”

You didn't let her finish — hand finding its way between her legs before she could, the sheer amount of warm slick there denouncing the weakness of her resistance, pulling an immediate gasp from her parted lips.

“You were saying?” You teased, lips brushing against her ear, and Rhiannon could hear the fucking smirk.

Rhiannon, who didn't like anybody who dared mess with you.

“It's alright, baby,” she ran a gentle hand through your back as you lay in her arms, the most vulnerable she'd seen you since the wedding, crying quietly in the backseat of your car in some sketchy alleyway. “It's alright, let it out.”

“It was just— I mean, who would do something like that?” You sobbed, wetting her shirt but she didn't mind it, as long as she was the one you came to for comfort.

“I know. I know, it's fucked up. It's fucked up.”

“They… God, you should've seen the police report, Rhee,” you sniffled, sinking further into her, shivering in shock. “Stabs all over. Chest, neck, even his face. In the dumpster behind the office. Jesus, it's all just so fucking horrible.”

Rhiannon knew it. She didn't need a description, she didn't need to see the police report, she could've written it herself — she knew exactly where she'd stabbed the fucking bastard.

She'd do it a hundred times if it meant you'd never have to deal with pricks like him again. She'd relive it over and over, pulling his unreasonably heavy corpse into the dumpster every night if she had to, just for the reward of hearing you breathe easier.

You'd complained about him a few times, and it'd been getting worse after that promotion you got a couple of weeks back — the comments, the disrespect. The dismissal. The way he'd mutter insensitive jokes under his breath when he thought you weren't listening, the way he'd make sexual gestures whenever you left your boss’s office. The nickname he had for you, Legs, like you'd been getting by only on the way your body looked.

He was a bully, and she hated bullies. Especially when you were their target. You were kind, gentle, polite like you belonged in a fucking palace instead of that stupid office. Why would anybody do that to you? Who did he think he was, messing with you like that, thinking he had the right to make your life any harder than it already was?

Rhiannon wouldn't have it.

So she picked a quiet night, one when you being with Julia wouldn't for once be such an inconvenience, and she acted. The bastard will have to stay late tomorrow, she'd reread your text over and over, fixing some spreadsheet he fucked up. Serves him right. Oh, you had no idea. You had no idea what you'd handed her on a silver platter, a window, an opportunity. And she took it. She took it over and over, relishing in the blood that splattered on her face, repeatedly telling him this is what you get when you mess with her as the life left his body and her head buzzed with the adrenaline of killing for you.

And now here she was, comforting you, letting you cry it out not because you actually grieved the prick, but because it was one of those things that happened so close and so abruptly no one really understood. But that was fine — she didn't need you to understand. She just needed him not to bother you again.

Rhiannon, who took every opportunity she had to see you, even if it didn't necessarily mean you'd be seeing her back.

It started out innocently.

At the park one morning, walking Tink before work in a rare attempt to live that healthy life she always saw Julia brag about on Instagram, knowing she looked like a zombie as she strolled around still half-asleep.

And then she saw you.

From a distance, flushed and sweaty, glistening in the morning sun as you jogged in those micro-shorts she'd never seen before. Alone, no Julia in sight, headphones on and that focused look on your face like you were trying to run off the weight of being married to someone you didn't love. You looked good — effortlessly beautiful, all disheveled like that, hair pushed back in a ponytail she wanted to tangle around her hand and pull on as she moaned your name.

You didn't see her — to be fair, she didn't think you'd seen anything aside from your own trainers on the concrete, so lost in your jog she figured everyone that walked by must've looked like a faceless blur in your eyes. You were right there, so close yet so out of reach, and as much as Rhiannon wanted to jump in your way and press a kiss against those parted lips, she decided to keep to herself. She knew she didn't look her best — no effort whatsoever put into her unflattering ensemble, hair a mess, bags under her eyes she didn’t bother trying to cover with cheap concealer. But it was more than that. Sure, she didn't want you to see her like that, but she'd surprisingly… enjoyed catching you that way, distracted, unaware of her eyes on you. Going about your day without knowing how closely she watched everything you did. It brought a thrill to the pit of her stomach — getting to see you do something so mundane, looking so incredibly hot, making her feel like a lion that sneakily preyed on a gazelle from behind a tree.

After that, she didn't really stop.

First, it was mornings at the park with Tink as her cover-up, just in case you happened to see her lurking. She'd learned the hard way you only ever jogged that early on Wednesdays and Fridays, sometimes Mondays if you had the time — but never Tuesdays or Thursdays. Then came the outings with your colleagues, lunches you wouldn't catch with her, happy hour to appease your boss. She'd stare from a corner table, hiding behind a menu or a hat or her mastered skill to blend in among a crowd, watching as you laughed at a coworker's joke and as that obvious cunt from marketing kept leaning too close whenever you said something.

Once, when you and Julia both came down with the flu at the same time, Rhiannon decided that four whole days without seeing your face was way too long for her to bear it. So she figured she'd find a way to, even if you were basically on house arrest with your wife.

She put on her black coat, hood up, and waited till after dark to leave the house. With her hands in her pockets, basically disappearing into the silhouette as she stood by a tall fence across the street, she watched.

You and Julia had moved into a bigger house after the wedding, a nice one, big glass panels everywhere that thankfully left very little to the imagination. You'd done most of the work for her, honestly, she didn't even have to try — you and your wife apparently didn't care for pulling the curtains closed, that enormous window in your bedroom that faced right into the street giving her a view of everything like she sat front row at the movie theater.

God, you were sick. Lying in bed all weak, blanket up to your chest, curled against Julia as you both watched something on the TV you didn't seem to pay much attention to. Your wife said something but you didn't answer — nothing apart from a quick, absent laugh, eyes turning away, a cough that made you seem even more exhausted than before.

The sight broke Rhiannon's heart, you were already sick, you shouldn't have to look so small too. She wanted to barge into your house unannounced, take down every door until she got to you, yank Julia out of bed and lie there herself, stroking your hair, making sure you took your medicine at the right time. She'd make you soup, or maybe even some of that roast you loved so much once you were a bit better. She'd take your temperature and run you a nice, relaxing bath, and she’d get in it with you if that's what you wanted. She'd grab your face gently and kiss your lips, even if that meant she'd get sick too — it didn't matter. She wanted to take care of you, regardless of what it'd do to her own health, because the person who was supposed to do that for you seemed to only be making it worse.

She kept coming back after that night.

Even after you were better, even if she'd already seen you during the day. She'd walk to your street and watch from afar, it was pathetic, but she couldn't get enough. After a while, already having mapped out the area well enough, she figured she could take her father's truck instead — there was a perfect spot to park it, hidden in the shadow of some trees, and she'd sit there for hours with the engine off, so dark anybody who walked by wouldn't notice someone was inside.

She watched you have dinner with Julia at the living room table, she watched you read alone on the couch, she watched you vacuum the guest room even if you weren't expecting any visitors. She caught bits and snippets, little habits you had when you thought no one was watching — the way you'd talk to yourself or mutter the words to a song or even do a little dance sometimes, cute and clumsy, stopping when you heard Julia's car on the driveway.

Rhiannon sat there and watched as you fucked Julia, propped on your elbow, hand moving robotically between your wife's legs like you might as well be folding laundry. She noticed how little it lasted, one half-assed round Julia seemed to like just enough not to suspect anything was wrong, your head shaking slightly when she offered to return the favor.

There was one time that really stood out to her — you were alone in the bedroom, Julia working on something in the living room, and you'd just gotten out of the shower. You walked around naked, pulling the towel out of your hair and tossing it on a chair nearby, all wet and flushed and bare — beautiful, so fucking beautiful Rhiannon wouldn't have noticed if the entire street had caught on fire in that moment. You listened out for a second, leaning close to the door, and Julia didn't move downstairs. Then you walked right to the bed, spread your legs wide, and started touching yourself like your wife wasn't in the same fucking house.

She almost blew the cover. Almost threw the whole dynamic you'd both taken so long to build down the drain. She wanted to march inside your house, walk straight past your wife in the living room and touch you herself in your bed, knowing how you liked it, knowing just how much you must be fucking needing it from the way your face scrunched up in pleasure as you ran your fingers slowly up your slit.

But she couldn't risk it. She couldn't be that obvious.

She also couldn't stand to sit there and watch without doing anything.

So she picked up her phone, knowing it was a long shot with you so lost in the moment, but she figured it wouldn't hurt to try.

In bed thinking about last night

Touching myself wishing it was you instead

Sure, it wasn’t exactly true, but how honest could she be? Hey, I’m across the street watching you fuck yourself and I’m so wet I’m a second away from ringing the bell. She figured you wouldn’t like that.

Rhiannon watched in real time as, against all odds, you noticed your phone buzzing on the nightstand and smiled so filthily once you read the words on the screen she thought she might have a heart attack.

Your fingers slowed down between your legs as you struggled to text back with just one hand, and soon enough she got the answer she'd been craving.

i'm doing the same thing

so wet just thinking about how fucking good you were to me

Rhiannon almost dropped her phone, seeing the evidence of what you told her, wondering how many times this exact thing had happened before without her knowing. You touching yourself as you thought about her, with your wife just in the other room, completely unaware of what you were up to.

She couldn't help herself anymore — her own hand slid up her skirt in the dark as she kept messaging you, every word you sent back bringing her closer and closer, until eventually you both came, but only one of you was aware of just how intimate the moment had been.

Rhiannon, who wanted to feel close to you in every way she could.

She loved the days Julia spent away almost as much as she dreaded the ones she stayed home.

Of course, a part of Rhiannon lit up every time she watched you from her truck, fucking Julia with barely half of the enthusiasm you showed her, but sometimes you just… didn’t look like you completely hated it. She’d seen you cry at the wedding like your life was over, she’d been there for every time you put her through the mattress like Julia didn't even exist, she’d noticed the furrow in your brow whenever your wife called or texted — the way you flinched as if you'd been reached by a loan shark instead of the woman you were supposed to love. Logically, she knew you weren’t happy in your marriage.

But then there were the moments when all that dread seemed to vanish and you just seemed… settled. Content, even. A small touch to Julia's shoulder when you walked by her at the living room table, a laugh at something she said late at night on the couch, the rare times Rhiannon saw you kiss her like you meant it when you let her fuck you back. She told herself it didn't mean anything — you were married to her, for some reason still dragging it out while you couldn't leave yet, simply waiting for the right time to pack it up and get gone. You had to make it believable. You had to survive somehow, just for the meantime, just until you could make a clean break. You didn't mean it. You weren't settling.

Still, Rhiannon had been hurt before. She'd seen things that weren't there, she'd loved people who didn't love her back. She knew that wasn't the case with you — she could feel it in her bones every time you touched her, every time you looked at her like you wanted to stop time and stay in her arms forever, she felt it. But she couldn't risk it. She needed you to feel it too, at all times — especially when she wasn't there to remind you herself.

So she started making herself present in the ways she could. Leaving little marks everywhere for you to see, subtle enough that you'd enjoy them instead of scolding her for taking the risk. Voice notes with your favorite song playing in the background so you'd think of her every time you heard it. “Forgetting” something in your car uncharacteristic enough that Julia wouldn't realize wasn’t yours, but you would. Texting you how she missed your face between her legs if you spent more than a few days without seeing each other so you wouldn't forget she was an option.

It was good, but it wasn't enough. No, she needed to be in your head, in your brain, she needed you thinking about her every second.

That's why she started sneaking into your office — the place where you probably spent more time than you did in your own home.

It wasn't hard to get the key. That intern was so stupid he didn't even realize it when she slipped a hand into his backpack, sitting beside him on the bus, knowing exactly where he'd be after watching him from afar the past couple of days.

Rhiannon sprayed her perfume all over your stuff, left a copy of some book you knew she'd been reading on the break room table like it was someone else's, even bought some of that iced tea she liked and left it in the fridge because you always teased her about how sugary it was. She wanted you to think of her while she was gone. She wanted to carve her name into every single corner of your life, making you miss her, making you see all of it and think it must be some type of sign.

She had to cover her mouth at her own desk at The Gazette one day, when her phone buzzed with one of your texts right after she'd gotten back from an unexciting lunch break with her unexciting coworkers.

someone at my work has apparently been drinking that god awful tea you like. i see you're making disciples…

God, it was working, it was so easy, and you didn't even realize it. You were thinking of her. You were telling her.

The recognition made her dizzy with power, with possessiveness, and she figured she'd have to step it up if she really wanted to keep your attention.

So she snuck into your office one night, not with personal belongings she could plant where you’d see — but with her mind set on something entirely better.

Rhiannon lifted her skirt all the way to her belly button and took her panties off, sitting with her legs spread wide on your chair, touching herself to soft cries of your name until she came all over the leather. She didn't bother cleaning up the mess. She knew it'd dry by the time you arrived the next morning, focused and unsuspecting, and she hoped her traces would somehow condition you to think of her all day long, even if you weren't exactly sure why.

Did it work? Well, she couldn't know, not for sure. All she knew was she felt the victory when you showed up at her door the next night, hungry and desperate, barely stepping inside before your hands flew to her hips and pushed her hard against the wall.

“I've been thinking about this all day,” you whispered, hot in her ear, impatient fingers crawling up her thigh. “Couldn't focus on anything else, just kept thinking about how you'd taste on my tongue.”

Rhiannon’s lips curled in a filthy smile, pushing your head down, letting you do whatever you wanted. Sounds fucking right, she thought, but of course she didn’t say it.

Rhiannon, who went weak every time you proved that you saw her.

It was a boring Saturday afternoon. She'd been alone at the house, busying herself with laundry and piled up work and depressing reruns of a 90s show that wasn't even that good when she decided it was too nice out for her to hide in like a vampire all day. You were Julia's for the weekend, so who knows, maybe a nice walk with Tink would tone down the murderous impulses that kept tugging at the back of her mind. She'd been getting a bit too carried away lately, with your shitty coworker and the guy who'd bumped into her on the way back from your house and that one man who happened to cross her after she saw that picture Julia posted on her socials the week before. You in the tub, back to the camera, looking over your shoulder with a cute smile and your eyes crinkling and suds all over your hair. She couldn't bear to lose control again so soon and risk getting caught.

A walk would have to do.

It was nice, really. Most mornings she'd only do it for the sake of seeing you in those dangerously small shorts, but she'd sort of taken a liking to it. Fresh air in her lungs, some vitamin D, good exercise for Tink. Even if the violent thoughts didn't fade, Rhiannon figured it couldn't cause any harm.

She was walking distractedly, bobbing her head along to the song stuck in her head, and for a moment she thought huh. I like this. This feels good, I actually do feel a little better. Things weren't ideal, but at least she managed to drown out the urges a bit. Ah, the wonders of sunlight, the miracle of nature, the absolute beauty of taking some time to—

“Tink? Tink, how did you— come back here!”

Rhiannon ran after Tink, the sneaky little dog, who'd somehow found a way to free herself from the leash and zoom across the park like she was on a mission. A few other dogs barked at the small hurricane, having Rhiannon fear she'd go after them and get herself torn to shreds by a drooling St. Bernard, but she didn't stop.

The leash swung uselessly in Rhiannon's hand when she finally saw it — familiar trainers, and even more familiar hands sinking into Tink's fur, carefully petting as the dog jumped up and down and excitedly clawed at those pretty shins.

You looked confused, half-crouched as you babbled something, still gentle enough not to push the dog away. Next to you, Julia. Outraged, staring at Tink like she was a sewer rat, shaking her head in utter disapproval — oh my— whose dog is this? It should be on a leash!

Rhiannon's heart dropped as your eyes met hers, wider now that you had confirmation that that was indeed Tink, as if you could have any doubt with the way the little traitor basically worshiped you. She circled you relentlessly, begging for the pets she was used to getting from you anytime you were at the house, which you'd never been one to hold out on. Rhiannon loved it, usually — the sight of you there, lying on the floor, Tink on your stomach as you laughed freely and repeatedly called her a good girl, rubbing her belly like she was your own. But now it was different. You were still good, still kind, but you weren't quite as warm. You pet Tink like a stranger would, hand shaking slightly, and Rhiannon understood the poor dog's desperation to be seen — the way she pawed at you as if to scream please, please give me your love. Please treat me like you did yesterday. She felt the same. Especially when you looked at her with those panicked eyes, clearly wanting nothing more than for the moment to end.

“Sorry,” she stepped up, clumsy and awkward, clearing her throat as her eyes drifted between you and your wife. “She— I don't know how she got away, she's never done this before and I—”

“That's okay,” you interrupted, still tamely rubbing Tink’s fur, perfectly polite. “She's a… cute dog. Very friendly.”

“A little too friendly. God, she's all over you,” Julia cut in dismissively, shaking her head, giving Rhiannon a quick once-over before landing on her face. “You should really get a stronger leash, Rianne.”

Rhiannon's blood ran cold at the fucking name, she knew Julia remembered it — they'd known each other since they were six years old, for fuck's sake, how hard was it to just get it right? She bent down to click Tink's leash back on, defeated and embarrassed, especially because Julia had pulled this shit in front of you. She hated it. She hated to be put down like that, and it stung a thousand times worse when you were there to witness it. To see how much of a loser she really was. The kind of loser who let girls like Julia walk all over her her entire life, the kind that could never stand up for herself, the kind that never had the guts to—

“Rhiannon.”

You corrected, casual but firm, and Rhiannon swore for a moment that she was hearing things. But she wasn't. There you were, straightening yourself as she pulled Tink, now safely strapped but still reaching for your feet, saying her name in front of your wife like you hadn't just been screaming it the night before.

For a second, she thought you might confess. Dump Julia on the spot. Spill out everything and leave the park with her on your arm instead.

But you just smiled. Tucked your trembling hands in your pockets. Ignored Julia's annoyed huff at the correction.

“Rhiannon Lewis, right? From that Gazette interview.”

Rhiannon blinked once, twice, staring dumbly at you for a second before catching on.

“Right. Right, you’re the one who saved that kid,” she played along, composing herself, smiling politely even though her mind was still on the way you'd stood up for her. “It’s Y/N, right? Nice to see you.”

“Yeah,” you nodded back, returning the grin like you tried to speak a secret language Julia was locked out of, perfectly sweet on the outside but with a hint of something only she saw. “Nice to see you too. Adorable dog.”

“Thanks,” she returned naturally, doing her best not to let her voice falter, shaking her head to really sell the part. “Sorry again. I don't know how she managed to get out of this thing,” Rhiannon lifted the leash with an awkward shrug.

“It's fine. Don't worry about it, really. She didn’t do any harm, it was a nice surprise.”

“I mean, she could have bitten someone,” Julia interrupted again, seemingly unaware of any hidden tension, crossing her arms as she looked at Rhiannon with that same face she used to wear back in school. “You should be more careful next time.”

You looked at Julia with that smile still on your lips, calm and appeasing.

“Be nice, babe,” you muttered, gentle but with a slight edge to it — like a mother who discreetly scolded a misbehaved toddler. Your eyes landed back on Rhiannon one last time, patient, beautiful. “I get it, don’t worry. She's lovely. Have a nice day.”

“Thanks. You too.”

Rhiannon watched you walk away with your wife, watched you shrug and mutter something when she shot you a glare, watched you go about your day like you hadn't just defended her like some perfect knight in shining armor she'd been praying for ever since Julia first decided it'd be a good idea to pick on her as kids.

Sure, you hadn't done much. You'd simply corrected the wrong name, told her to be nice. But it was more than anyone had ever done for her before.

Rhiannon wondered if things would've been different if she'd met you earlier, if you'd have been there to stop Julia when you were still kids — back before she developed all those unhealthy habits to cope with the bullying. She wondered how her life might have looked then, with you in it from the beginning, hers and only hers, never Julia's. Maybe she could have been saved. Maybe she could have grown into someone more successful or more fulfilled or at least happier. She wasn't sure. She couldn't really know.

What she did know, however, was that the words would be echoing in her mind all day, long after the moment was gone, the delicious melody of her name on your lips and Julia's annoyance making her burn hotter than any touch ever could.

You knocked on her door later that night, soft and apologetic, wearing that sweater she always loved seeing you in.

“Hey, I'm sorry about earlier,” you said as you entered her house, gentle, kicking your shoes off like you already knew the drill. “I panicked. I didn't expect to see you there. And Julia was so rude that I just got a little—”

Rhiannon didn't let you finish.

She pounced on you, launching herself into your arms like she'd die if she didn't jump your bones right that second, wanting to show you just how grateful she was for the little show earlier.

And you — you just met her back with the same intensity, because that's what you did. You understood her in a way no one ever could. You saw her in a way no one ever tried to.

Rhiannon, who knew something shifted between the both of you that night.

It simply felt different.

You'd fucked her hard and relentlessly before, you'd done it gentle and romantic, you'd given it to her in every single way she could possibly think of, but it'd never been like this.

You had her pressed against the mattress, back arched underneath you as her legs circled your hips, strap so deep inside her she believed she might start seeing stars soon if you kept it up. Her hands were glued to you — to your shoulders, your back, nails sinking into skin because what else was she supposed to do when you had her like that, lost in pleasure, replaying those words from the park every time you pushed back in?

You created a dizzying rhythm, deep and sensual and filthy, incredible, heightened by her moans and the squelching noise of the strap moving in and out and your sounds — those fucking grunts leaving the bottom of your throat like you could actually feel her clench around you —, and she met you right back. Rhiannon pushed her hips further up with every thrust, wanting to be a good girl and take as much of you as she possibly could, throwing her head back and closing her eyes when it all got too much to handle.

But you didn't let her get away that easily.

You supported your weight on one hand only, the other moving to her chin and pulling it back down, forcing her to look at you without a single word. Rhiannon's eyes opened obediently, immediately finding yours — and God, she'd never seen you like that before. Eyes shining with a new intensity, lips parted, staring so deep into her soul it was like you both became one. Lewd sounds dying in your throats and giving room to heavy pants and breaths that mingled in the small space between your mouths. You went even deeper somehow, making her legs tighten around you, and you felt it. She knew you felt it from the way you moved your hand from her chin, trusting her to keep looking at you at her own will, and pulled one of hers from behind your back — fingers locking tightly against the mattress as you never once turned away from her face.

You moved intensely, sensually, looking at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered — and the most dangerous part was that she let herself believe it. Her other hand drifted from your back, needing to steady herself somehow, and met your face — not grabbing, not slapping. Cradling. Gently cupping, brushing some hair away from your eyes, rubbing your cheek with her thumb like you were something precious, because you were.

Rhiannon thought she might die when you slowed down, still moving just as deeply, wanting the moment to last. She could see it all over your face. The way your breath hitched, the words that hung unspoken between the two of you. The way your lips parted and you almost let yourself say it, eyes on hers, melting into her touch like you were just as trapped in the moment as she was.

“Rhiannon…” was what you settled for, hushed and whispered, fading into the air like a secret meant only for the both of you to hear.

She wanted to push. Say it, she wanted to tell you. Tell me what you're thinking, say what you want to say, just once, please, just let me have it this one time. But she didn't. Instead, she simply nodded — soft and slow, twice, subtly letting you know she saw exactly what was going through your head, all while still leaving enough room for you to deny it later when the moment ended.

You gasped as you picked the rhythm back up, leaning down to kiss her like your life depended on it, needing an excuse to shut up before you said something you couldn't take back. You didn't have to tell her, she saw it. She knew you. And for now, that was enough.

So she kissed you back.

Rhiannon, who started losing faith after a while.

The night after the park incident replayed in her head for weeks.

Your desperate stare, the whisper of her name, the way you looked at her like you were this close to saying everything she'd ever wanted to hear.

You'd been so different since. If she thought she had it good before, God, she hadn't seen anything yet. You were perfect, so attentive, so gentle she thought she might melt every time you pulled her close. Making even more time to see her, whispering sweet compliments even if you were just lounging around on lazy moments, showing her with actions that this was no longer just about sex for you — that you wanted it just as much as her.

It terrified her.

Because it was nice, it was good, it was perfect and real and everything it should be— yet you were still married to Julia.

What else did she have to do? If things were as amazing as she thought they were, what were you waiting for? It’d been weeks, for fuck's sake — weeks of this, of you doing everything but straight up saying it, of Rhiannon's wildest dreams slowly coming true only to be taken away right after.

She’d started to think you were never going to do it. You'd just stay with Julia forever, ignoring the elephant in the room, coming to her when you needed comfort or affection or a good fuck — all the things you weren't getting at home. And the worst part was Rhiannon was willing to keep giving it to you. If that's what you wanted, so be it. As much as it made her want to die, sharing you was better than not having you at all. She'd been through it once, the week of your wedding, and she didn't think she could stand to live it again.

So she played the part. She kept on being the person you came to when you needed everything Julia couldn't give. And that's how it stayed for weeks.

“I don't know,” you laughed softly, leaned against Rhiannon, fingers intertwined as your hair fanned out across her shoulder, “it can't possibly be that good, Rhee. I've tried the peach one, it's shit. Pure sugar, I got diabetes just from looking at it.”

“I'm telling you, cranberry is the scene stealer. It’s not that sweet,” she nudged you like that was normal, as if you didn’t only let her lie on your bed like that because your wife was away for the weekend. “You'd know if you gave it a shot, old lady, but you refuse to try anything new.”

“I'm not an old lady,” you protested, but the kiss you left on her arm proved you weren't actually mad. “I just know what I like.”

“Well, you'd be surprised.”

You sighed, defeated, playful.

“Fine. I'll try that sugar bomb you're always advocating so passionately for. Happy?”

Rhiannon kissed your temple, content not because of the answer, but because of the way you cuddled closer against her like a needy puppy.

“Delighted.”

You let out a soft sigh, the comfortable silence stretching between the both of you for a moment before you shifted slightly in her arms. You looked up at her, beautiful, those gorgeous eyes assessing her face.

“Hey, uh… I think I know when I'm gonna do it.”

Rhiannon let out a laugh.

“You know when you're gonna try cranberry iced tea?”

You shook your head, more serious this time, pulling back enough to sit up and look at her properly.

“No. Not that, not— not the tea,” you said, cautious, lower than before. “Julia. I… think I know when I'm gonna tell her.”

The joke died in Rhiannon's throat.

She stared at you for a second, a long second, unsure if she'd heard the words right. If she'd interpreted them right. She kept waiting for you to finish, to add more to your sentence in a cruel twist — when I'm gonna tell her we should get a dog, when I'm gonna tell her where I wanna go over the holiday, when I'm gonna tell her that I scratched her car on the curb. But you didn't say anything. You just looked back at her face — hesitant, nervous but excited, like you wanted confirmation that she was in this with you.

“You're gonna… tell Julia?”

You tilted your head, and Rhiannon could practically hear the racing heartbeat in your chest.

“I mean— not about us,” your voice was shaky but far from small, with an edge to it that made her want to believe you so hard she could almost taste it. “She doesn't need to… you know. Know that. But, yeah, I'm… I'm gonna tell her I want a divorce. I just… I'm done, Rhee. I can't stay in this marriage anymore.”

Rhiannon's breathing faltered, head going dizzy because that was it. Everything she'd ever wanted to hear you say. And it was finally coming true.

“That's… that's amazing, I'm… happy for you. Really. It's— it's great,” she said the words like she'd read them off a card, way too contained for someone who'd wanted to hear it for this long.

As much as she wanted to lunge forward and kiss the quiver off your lips, she was still processing, still making sure it wasn't just a dream, a soft breath leaving her mouth as it all took a moment to sink in.

You hesitated for a second, clearly underwhelmed by her reaction, and Rhiannon's heart broke at the thought that you might feel like she didn't want this too.

“I…” You looked at her face, careful and attentive, pushing through the nerves. “I want to give this a shot. A real shot. You and me, I— I just think that we work, Rhee, and I understand that it's complicated and we're gonna have to lay low for a while and maybe it's not— ideal right now, but…”

“Yes,” Rhiannon cut through your speech before you could ramble on any further, not needing to hear anything else. You didn't have to convince her. You'd had her all along, ever since that alley, she'd always been yours. “Yes, I wanna take a shot too. I don't care that it's not ideal, I want it. We can do it. God, just— I've wanted this for so fucking long, you have no idea...”

And she didn't wait anymore before launching herself into your arms, hiding her face in your shoulder, letting out a relieved sigh when you held her back just as hard. You stayed like that a while, wrapped up in each other with the perspective of a happy future hanging above you, exchanging hugs and kisses and words of affection she knew she'd hold onto for as long as she could.

God, it was finally happening. It was finally coming true. The thing she'd waited so long for, the thing she thought might never happen, and it was finally fucking here.

Your hands wound up on her cheeks, cupping affectionately as you looked into her eyes with nothing but hope.

“God. I'm fucking shaking,” you breathed, pulling a wet chuckle from her. “I feel like I'm gonna explode.”

“Stay calm,” she whispered, turning her head to place a gentle kiss on your wrist. “I need you alive and well if we're gonna do this thing. You hear me?”

You laughed too, nodding, leaning in for another kiss.

“Don't worry, I'm not— I'm not gonna die. Just… excited. Nervous. A little impatient.”

Rhiannon smiled, still relishing in the absolute high of knowing she'd have you all to herself soon.

“So…” She dared to ask the question that had been hammering in the back of her head for months now, finally feeling like she could. “When are you gonna tell her?”

You sighed, eyes still on Rhiannon's, shining with pure determination.

“She's under a lot of stress,” you muttered, careful, holding her face like it was suddenly your whole world. “With the new office space. The construction process is taking a bit longer than she anticipated, she's been working like a dog, she's been… snappy. She's relying on a bunch of people and if one backs out… it all falls through. I think it'll be a mess if I do it now.”

Rhiannon listened carefully, nodding, memorizing every word like a mantra.

“They said the place will be done by the end of next month,” you continued. “When that’s over, she'll be happy. She'll grow out her empire, she'll finalize deals, she'll… I don't know, get thousands and thousands of pounds richer. She'll be in a good mood. I think I should wait until then, let her be appeased, talk gently. Tell her I'm the problem. Let her know she can have the house and the car and the business… Do it in a way that's nice, you know? While it's still early. While we're both still young.”

And so Rhiannon smiled, because she could do it. She just had to wait until Julia's new office was ready? That'd be, what, a month and a half from now? A month and a half, she could wait that long. Six weeks. God, she'd waited so long for you that it felt like a second in comparison.

She could do it. Six weeks and you would finally, finally be all hers.

Rhiannon, who was there for you when you needed her the most.

After that talk in your bedroom — the best fucking night of her life, as Rhiannon liked to call it —, she was practically counting down the days like a prisoner until she finally had you to herself.

It was good. So fucking good. She was so happy she couldn't go two minutes without doing a little happy dance whenever she thought about it — it'd gotten to a point where ever Norman noticed, raising a brow when he saw her in the break room, muttering a low “you look different, sweetpea” that had her smiling in response.

Things were finally looking up for Rhiannon, and she didn't even know what to do about it, because she couldn't remember ever living a life that she actually liked. And now here it was, just a few weeks away, waiting for her — everything she had ever wanted.

She was at home, chopping up vegetables with a huge grin on her face as she thought about you. It was going to be a quiet night, dinner in as Julia worked late — and as if on cue, her phone lit up on the counter with your name on it.

“Hello,” she answered the call chipperly, almost singing. “Was just thinking about everything you're gonna do to me tonight.”

You chuckled on the other end, breathy and cute, and Rhiannon could feel her heart swell up at the sound.

“Hey, Rhee. Been thinking about you too,” you cleared your throat, and for a moment she could hear traffic noises around your voice. “But, uh, listen. Something came up with Julia. I'm not sure I'm gonna be able to make it tonight after all, maybe we can push it till tomorrow?”

Rhiannon paused the knife mid-chop, grin faltering just slightly — but she caught it before it fell completely. Things came up with Julia all the time. You hadn't left her yet, she was still your wife, you were just being cautious until the day finally came. Rhiannon understood it, she wouldn't push. She wouldn't drive you away. She'd simply let you put out your fires, trusting you’d still be there by the time you'd promised.

She couldn't afford to lose hope, not when she was so close to having everything she’d ever wanted.

“Oh,” she muttered, trying not to sound as disappointed as she was, “that's alright. Sure. Tomorrow works.”

You sighed softly, clearly stressed.

“Thanks. I'm sorry, I know you’ve probably already started, I'll… I'll make up for it. I promise.”

Rhiannon smiled tenderly, even through the disappointment. God, you were thoughtful.

“You better,” she slung the dish towel over her shoulder, already figuring she'd store the ingredients away and have them ready for tomorrow night instead. She tried sounding playful, but the edge to your voice and your sharp pauses made her unable to keep the concern all the way in. “Hey. Is everything okay?”

You were quiet for a moment, and from the honk Rhiannon heard on your end of the line, she could tell you were spacing out, struggling to focus on driving and whatever went through your head at the same time.

“Yeah. Yeah, it's just…” Your answer came a few seconds later, the stress nearly palpable through the phone. “Julia texted me to meet her at the site, apparently this huge investor’s backing out and she's gonna lose a lot of money. Like, six figures. She was pretty vague about it, but…”

Rhiannon's chest tightened — six fucking figures, that was a lot. Way too much not to cause a huge impact. Did that mean things were going to take longer to change? Did that mean she'd have to wait even more?

She was clinging onto those six weeks — well, three more to go now — with everything she had, with every inch of her body. Were you about to tell her to forget it? That you'd have to reconsider? That you'd go back to not talking about it, not having a deadline, leaving her sitting around, waiting forever for something that might not even come?

Rhiannon swallowed her concerns, trying to stay positive, trying to be the person you needed. You weren't like that anymore. You were decisive, you'd set a fucking date, everything would be fine. Everything would be fine.

“Shit, baby. That sounds like a nightmare,” Rhiannon did her very best to hide the shake in her voice, the uncertainty, to be perfectly good for you and not add to your worries. “They're just not doing it anymore, just like that?”

“I don't know. All she said was to go to the site, and that they backed out. I think she's in a crisis,” you stopped talking for a moment, letting out a soft breath. “Listen, Rhee, I should go now. Sorry for canceling tonight. And don't worry, our plan is… it's still up. I just have to go take care of this right now.”

Rhiannon clung to the words it's still up like a lifeline, wanting to believe you more than anything in the world. You wanted this too, she repeated to herself, you weren't going to let her down.

“Of course, yeah, don't apologize. Go… do what you have to do. Good luck. And drive safe, yeah?”

“I will. Thanks, baby. I'll see you tomorrow, then.”

Rhiannon put the ingredients away, the half-chopped carrots, the defrosted meat. She filled Tink's food bowl, pulled the laundry out of the dryer, thought about eating something processed and microwaved instead of the homemade meal she'd planned — but she just wasn't hungry anymore. Something gnawed at her stomach, tight and sharp and nauseating, and as much as she tried to keep busy with chores, she simply couldn't seem to focus. Her mind kept drifting back to you, to the crisis you were headed to manage, to the promise you'd repeated over the phone that she tried so hard to believe without question. Without doubt. She shouldn't wonder, she shouldn't, you wouldn't do that to her.

Would you?

Well, you had before. Not like this, but close. The night of your wedding, that dress bunched up around your hips, your cries of Julia is not the one I want. And you'd still made Rhiannon wait all those months without a word about it. And you'd still stayed married, treating her like a secret to be kept in the dark while Julia paraded you around for everyone to see.

Rhiannon knew she shouldn't, she was so close she could taste it in her mouth, but the pull was stronger. It always was. It was like something took over her body and left her watching from the outside, aware of the trouble she could cause but unable to do anything to stop it.

So she put on her coat, the black one with the hood up, and she went over to the site of Julia's new firm. All she wanted was to watch, nothing more. She just had to see it for herself.

The site was dark, a two-story shell of what Julia had envisioned, powerful at first sight but still lacking the touches that'd make it feel real. Rhiannon saw your car outside, already parked, and her heart dropped. She shouldn't be doing this, but now it was too late, she was already here. She might as well find a spot where she could go unseen.

She stepped into the building like a cat, quiet and nimble, trying to steer clear of the spots illuminated by the floodlights — seeking shelter in the corners instead, hidden in the shadows, like she'd never even been there in the first place. She smelled the damp earth where the foundation had been laid, taking in the dust covered floors and the wobbly staircase, which she stared at for a brief second before making the decision to walk up. The first floor was too bright, too evident. She needed to stick to the dark.

Rhiannon saw you there, touching a banister like you didn't trust it enough to lean on, right on the balcony of what she assumed would come to be Julia's office. Your wife — for the meantime, she reassured herself — was near you, pacing, shaking her head in exasperation as you stood back like a scared dog.

“And they just left the deal, just like that?” You asked, cautious and controlled, a far cry from Julia's all-over-the-place energy. “Did they say why?”

Julia's hands cut through the air, hyper, impatient. She laughed like she was on the brink of losing control, heels clacking against the floor in a way that made the air feel colder. Rhiannon pulled back instinctively, just as she would anytime she spotted Julia back in school, finding a corner where she'd be able to see you without making herself seen. She'd become good at it, she'd had a lot of practice.

“Apparently they're having second thoughts about how profitable it'll be. Said they'd rather pay the contract fee than risk losing more down the line,” Julia walked in circles, spiraling, sharp. “I've been putting so much time and money into this! How the fuck can they tell me it won't be profitable? Are they fucking kidding?”

You took a shaky breath, chewing on your cheek for a second.

“There are more investors,” you offered, trying to keep her calm. Bless you, Rhiannon thought. She still didn't know how someone as sweet as you had ended up married to Julia fucking Blenkingsopp. “It's not all lost, a lot of people still believe in your business, Jules.”

“They were the biggest investor, Y/N. It's gonna be a horrible loss, not to mention all the shit publicity it'll fucking bring!”

Julia snapped, and Rhiannon wanted to step out of the shadows and make her pay for yelling at you. She felt her fists clench, her head spin, her feet ache with the urge to just move. But she caught herself and stayed in place. She couldn't risk it.

“Well,” you looked down, ignoring the disrespect like you'd long learned to endure it, and Rhiannon felt so close to you in that moment she could break down in tears. “You sure there's absolutely no way to pull them back in? Make calls, have a meeting, let the projections speak for themselves?”

“I don't know. I don't fucking know, I can't— I can't think of anything, I'm just…” Julia's rhythm slowed down like she actually considered what you said for once, making her stop where she stood and finally look at your face. “Unless I buy some more time.”

Rhiannon's stomach dropped, seeing the calculated look on Julia's face, the way she quickly composed herself. She had a sense it wasn't going to be good.

“God, yes. Yes,” Julia kept talking, moving closer to you as you stayed perfectly put, looking at her with confusion in your eyes. “This could work. We put off construction for a few more weeks just as an excuse for them to think a little longer. I can get my marketing team working hard on building up hype. Have accounting update the projections. Take you on holiday somewhere nice just so they'll see on my socials how confident I am about this, so confident I'm splurging out with my wife on a private beach somewhere.”

Rhiannon's entire world shook. Put off construction, take you on holiday. Things that would ruin the deadline, mess up the date she'd already had engraved in her brain. Keep you away from her longer, God knows how long, somewhere on a beach in Julia's arms while she stayed in fucking Carnsham with a dark cloud above her head.

That couldn't happen.

You pushed off the spot where you stood, hands moving to your pockets, and it was like Rhiannon could see you shrink right before her eyes.

“Go on— on holiday?” You stammered. “What does that have to do with—”

“It's just good, I mean, they think I'm worried about not making enough profit? I'll show them how unbothered I am. It's all in the image you put of yourself out there, babe, and maybe I've come a bit too strong. Too desperate. They need to see me as the… collected, confident businesswoman I am. Loaded. Secure about her empire. Treating her wife to a fancy holiday like it's nothing.”

“Well, Julia, it's not—” You slurred over words, clearly having your mind set on the exact same thing as Rhiannon. “I'm sure they already respect you enough, it's probably not necessary to—”

“It's business, babe. It's brutal out there as entrepreneur, image is everything,” Julia shook her head dismissively, like she was speaking to a toddler instead of her fucking wife. “We can leave in two weeks. Stay for a month or so. Let my team handle things here while we live it up there.”

Leave in two weeks, stay for a month — Rhiannon's stomach churned with every word Julia said, every damper put on the plan she'd been clinging so hard to. This couldn't be happening, it couldn't, not when things had been going so well. Not when she was finally happy. It was like Julia sensed it, like she smelled it — once again swooping in at the last minute and making sure she found another way to completely ruin Rhiannon's life.

You were probably gonna comply. Let yourself fall right back into Julia's web, delay what you truly wanted, bend over backwards for a marriage you didn't even want to be in. Rhiannon had seen it happen more times than she could count now, and as much as she'd like to believe it’d be different this time, she couldn't really find a reason to anymore.

But you took a step forward.

“I can't just… put my life on hold for a month, Jules. I have a job. I have… I have things here in Carnsham.”

“Oh, please. Your boss loves me. Badgertons brings a lot of money in, he'll give you as long as you need.”

You sighed, shaking your head reluctantly, and Rhiannon could see the effort it took for you to lift your chin and stand your ground.

“No, Julia. I can't, I'm sorry.”

Julia took a step back like she'd been pushed, confused, definitely not used to the boldness.

“What do you mean no? It's a month in Greece or Spain or whatever, it’s gonna be fun, babe. Your job will be there waiting when you get back.”

But you didn't budge.

“I said no, Julia. I can't go. I won't go.”

Julia stayed frozen in place, chuckling in disbelief, clearly put off by this version of you. But Rhiannon couldn't tear her eyes away. She loved it. Her heart pounded so strongly in her chest she thought it might leap out her mouth, hammering, knees so weak it was a surprise she still managed to stand on them.

“You won't go?” Julia asked, more pointed now, confrontational.

You shook your head firmly, the fear still just as present in your eyes as the determination.

“I won't. I'm sorry, but I won't.”

“Care to explain why?”

You hesitated, breath faltering for just a second before you took another step.

“I— I've been feeling… weird for a while,” you started, Rhiannon's legs trembling with every word you said, a hot ache creeping low in her stomach she definitely didn't have time for right now. “Just— unfulfilled and… distant, and I feel like I haven't really been there even when I am— and there's things that…”

You definitely weren't gracious, stumbling over words in a way Rhiannon attributed to the abruptness of the situation, but you were bold. And you were doing it. That was more than enough to get her completely hypnotized in the corner where she hid, wanting nothing more than to blow the cover and jump you right that second, giving Julia the answer she wanted with actions instead of words.

Rhiannon hadn't even realized the absolute need had muffled out the words you stammered through until Julia's chuckle cut through the air, thick and sharp, pulling her attention back to the conversation.

“Wait— what the actual fuck?” Julia rasped. “Are you leaving me?”

“I'm sorry,” you answered, cautious, trying to remain cool. “I know this is a bad time, and I wasn't going to bring it up tonight, but when you talked about—”

“Oh, my God,” Julia snorted, arms falling heavily against her sides. “You are. You are leaving me. Where is this— Jesus, why are you talking about this all of a sudden?”

You hesitated for a second, but you didn't stop. It was too late for that.

“Like I was saying, Jules, I— I think I just went in over my head. I set myself up for something I wasn't ready for, and I can't be the person you deserve. I love you, and I want us to stay friends, and you can have the house, and the business, I— I don't want any of that. I just want a clean break, a chance for us both to be happy.”

Rhiannon watched as something shifted in Julia's face while you talked, like the words didn't reach her ears, her head miles away from everything you said. She stared through you, silent even after you were done speaking, the damp air in the construction site suddenly feeling heavier (though Rhiannon felt like lighting fireworks and popping champagne at this point).

You didn't say a word, waiting, biting your lip in that nervous way you did whenever you weren't sure what to do. Rhiannon's mind drifted. She thought about everything she'd do to you tonight. Maybe she would cook that dinner after all. Maybe she'd skip the pleasantries and lead you straight to the bedroom, put on that fancy lingerie she'd gotten at the store just for you, get you on all fours and press your face down on the mattress in the way you liked. Her heart fluttered at the thought that, well, she didn’t have to choose anymore. She didn't have to plan. You'd have enough time to do it all — the dinners, the lovemaking, the lazy conversations on the couch with your feet up on the coffee table and her head on your lap. You'd have forever, you'd have days and nights and cozy afternoons, she'd have you completely to herself, for as long as she wanted.

But then Julia cut through the silence with another breath, and Rhiannon figured the fantasy would have to wait just a little longer.

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” your wife (which, well, Rhiannon wasn’t sure she should call her by anymore) spat, smiling in disbelief. “It's her, isn't it? Rhiannon Lewis. That day at the park when you corrected me. I thought— I thought you were just being polite. In that… annoying way that you are, I thought that's what it was. Oh, my God. I'm a fucking idiot.”

The color left your face like you'd seen a ghost.

“Julia…”

“No. No, don't even— don't even try to tell me that's not what's happening, I'm not fucking stupid,” she took a step forward, confronting you, getting in your space. “All this talk about the house, the business, that— that fucking guilty look on your face. That day, I thought— I thought I'd sensed a weird vibe, but I let it go, it's fucking Rhiannon Lewis, I didn't think you would. I really didn't think you would. So I let it go. Fuck, you're leaving me for that…” Julia let out an incredulous laugh. “I can't fucking believe this.”

Rhiannon's name on Julia's lips hit her like a slap — spat out dismissively, like it was something dirty, like it was something beneath her. Like it was beneath you. It made Rhiannon's blood boil with rage, almost as fiery as the burning victory that coiled up her chest, because not only were you actually leaving Julia, but now she knew just who you were leaving her for. For Rhiannon. The girl she used to call a dyke and corner in school hallways. The girl she'd been so fucking horrible to all those years, and now she was finally getting what she deserved.

“Julia, stop, at least let me—”

“You know she used to wear a wig, right? That she was some freak that got all sad because she had no friends and pulled her hair out?” Julia got close to your face, mean and cutting, enraged. “But you know, that suits you. You're just as pathetic. You'd actually make a good couple now that I think about it, sad fucking losers that have nothing interesting going on for them.”

Rhiannon went dizzy, the victory losing its edge when Julia mentioned her past, the things she'd tried so hard to keep, the things she'd never mentioned in front of you before. She was afraid you'd think of her differently. That you'd see her in the same light the rest of the world did, that your wife did, and you'd get repulsed and pull away. She wouldn't blame you if you did — not now that you knew it, not when one else ever bothered to stay.

“Stop, Julia,” you pushed forward, and Rhiannon's breath hitched a little when you did. She could see your fists clench, your jaw lock. She’d never seen you like that before — you weren't backing down. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm sorry, it just happened, and I know that's no excuse. But I'm also not gonna stand here and let you—”

“What, talk about your little girlfriend like that?” Julia scoffed, sharp, sarcastic. “She's probably only with you to get to me, anyway. It's all gonna wear off once she sees I'm not in the way anymore. You know, she probably gets off on it, that little freak, fucking my wife, trying to live my life. What, does she ask if she can wear my clothes? Does she ask you to call her my name? Is that what this is about, that fucking loser getting off on some wish to—”

“God— shut up!”

The words seemed to cut through your throat before you could stop them — loud and shrill, raw, desperate in a way Rhiannon never thought she'd hear. And then there was a thud.

It was all too fast to process, and from where she stood she couldn't really make out what she saw that well. There was you, body pushing forward as you screamed, hands flying in the air. Contact. Julia close to you, fuming, and then poof. Gone. Just like that. And now you stood alone on the balcony.

Your hands trembled as you stared at them, the sound of your shaky breaths being the only thing to fill the silence now that the yelling had stopped. You leaned over, wide eyes turning down as you fell to your knees, and that's when Rhiannon saw it — a space. A gap. Emptiness where the banister should be, the unfinished railing that left just enough room for a person to slip through.

Rhiannon took a step forward in the dark, still hidden, but she didn't think you would have noticed if she'd gone further. Not with that look on your face — horrified, desperate, taken over by the fear that came with realizing what you had done.

You killed Julia. In a fit of rage, of exhaustion, of finally having had enough of all the shit you'd taken over the years. You'd lost your head for a moment, one second when you couldn't hold onto the steadiness you carried yourself with, and it'd been all it took. Julia was gone, dead, lying on the floor of that construction site that’d probably never come to be now.

For a moment, Rhiannon felt relieved. Julia was gone. The person who'd made her life hell, the one she deemed responsible for everything that had ever gone wrong. She used to dream of this day long before she met you, even as a kid — she fantasized about finding out, about going to the funeral just to see the body, about watching them lower the casket into the ground and seeing Julia disappear forever, and then everything would be fine. Things would be good. Rhiannon would finally be normal.

But when her eyes fell on you again, broken and shaking with choked sobs, the relief was soon replaced with panic.

You had killed Julia. You had pushed her off a balcony, even if you didn't mean to, even if you probably wished you could take it back. It had happened. It'd have consequences.

Just when things were about to be perfect, Julia Blenkingsopp had to go and ruin everything one last time.

Rhiannon's body shook with the crippling fear that everything was over, that all she'd been waiting for had slipped from her fingers before she ever got to truly have it. You were panicking. You were guilty. Soon enough the construction workers would clock in for another shift and see Julia's body, broken and cold on the floor, and you'd be taken away.

Think, Rhiannon, think, she kept repeating in her head, hoping for a miracle, for a shooting star, for anything that could make it all go away.

And then she had an idea.

It was a long shot, but she was desperate — and desperate times called for desperate measures. Plus, she had nothing left to lose at this point. If she didn't do anything, you'd be taken away, it'd be over. At least this way she'd still have a chance.

So she pushed off the dark, stepping into the light, marching over to where you knelt and crouching down beside you.

Her hands found your shoulders, grounding you, pulling your attention away from the emptiness below — away from Julia, who, yep, was definitely, definitely dead. Your eyes fell on Rhiannon, red-rimmed and wide, your entire body shaking like you'd seen a ghost. She spotted it in your face — the confusion, the surprise, the lack of understanding as to how she had ended up there at your side. But it didn't matter. It was all overshadowed by the panic. By the guilt. By the utter shock of the terrible thing you'd just done.

“I— I didn't—” You looked at her through tears, trembling, breaking down. “I didn't mean to, Rhee, I— she was— and I just—”

Rhiannon's eyes drifted from your shoulders to your face, cupping, holding, brushing a strand of hair away gently — just like she had that night after the park in her bed. Her eyes were tender as they stared into yours, reassuring that she believed you, that she wasn't afraid. That she was here to help.

“She jumped,” Rhiannon whispered, soft and gentle, slow so that you'd understand even in such a state. “She was depressed. Worried about the money she lost. Burnt out from all the work. She couldn't take it anymore, so she jumped.”

You shook your head incessantly, still horrified by your own action.

“She— she didn't, I pushed her—”

“She jumped, Y/N. You didn't do anything. There was nothing you could do to stop it.”

“Rhiannon, I—”

“Shh,” Rhiannon pressed her thumb to your lips, catching your attention, holding your head just firmly enough so that you'd have no choice but to look at her. “Listen to me. I need you to listen carefully, yeah? Can you do that?”

Your breath hitched, wet face glowing under the floodlights, and you seemed to steady just a tiny bit when your eyes found hers. You nodded hesitantly, which Rhiannon took as a good sign.

“You said she texted you to come here. That she was vague. That she said something about a big investor backing out of a deal.”

You nodded again.

“Yeah, that's— I don't know what this has to—”

“Listen,” Rhiannon said firmly, needing you to hear her out. “She texted you, you came. It was a plan. Her plan. She was pressured, she lost a huge deal, she had a plan to end it all. But you were her wife. She couldn't leave you wondering what had happened to her, so she texted you. She wanted you to find her. To find out for yourself and not through some police officer.” She looked around the site, scanning the walls, checking the corners. “Are there any cameras here?”

You shook your head, sniffling.

“No, Julia was— she was going to have them installed, but there— there was a problem with the company and—”

“Perfect,” Rhiannon nodded, rubbing your damp cheek with her thumb. “Then that's it. She jumped. If anybody asks, you have her text on your phone, it's there. It's all the proof you're gonna need.”

“...Proof?” You asked, eyes wide, still in shock.

Rhiannon sighed, knowing this was her only chance, knowing she couldn't fuck this up. She brought one hand down, letting it meet yours, squeezing tightly. She needed you to be in this with her.

“This is your chance, Y/N. Your chance to be free. To start over, to live a life for yourself, to never have to answer to Julia or to anything related to her ever again. She said horrible things, she pushed you to the edge, you had no choice. You didn't mean to, I saw it, you didn't mean to. You shouldn't have to pay for it your whole life, you shouldn't have to punish yourself for it. You're free. She's taken over your life too long. You shouldn't let her do it anymore,” Rhiannon gripped your hand tightly, the other one gently caressing your face. “So she jumped.”

You looked at her, silent aside from the unsteady breathing, and for a moment Rhiannon thought you were going to break down and confess it all. Call the police and have them arrest you, sulk in the pit of your own guilt for the rest of your life. Never see her again. Never see anybody again, dedicating the rest of your days to cleaning up Julia's final mess.

But then you nodded. Small, tame, still shaky. But it was there. Rhiannon saw it — the slight move, the determination that crossed your gaze. You were scared, sure, but deep down… you were also relieved. Because now you were free. Because Julia was gone, and even if the guilt would always live somewhere in the back of your head, at least now you could breathe.

“She jumped,” you repeated. “She jumped, and I found her.”

And so Rhiannon held you. She let you cry in her arms for a minute before stepping out, before making sure no one saw her when she left, before going over the story with you again so you could call the police.

On her way home, she walked by the canal, a bright smile taking over her lips, because it was done. You were hers, finally hers, and now Julia would never have the chance to take you away. No one would. She saw the flicker in your face when you pushed Julia, when you saw Rhiannon on the site, when you agreed to her plan. You were the same. And that's why you worked together so well.

She fiddled in her pocket, searching, grabbing the knife she'd packed just in case before leaving the house earlier, and she stared at it for a moment. Then she dumped it in the water without looking back.

She wouldn't need it, not anymore.

She already had everything she’d ever wanted.

#sweet pea

Trending Tags

Recently Viewed Tags

#sweet pea