#I don’t know what redemption looks like for her yet | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

itneverendshere · 3 months ago

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LOVED YOU AT YOUR WORST - r.c series - SEVEN

pairings: ex!sweethearts; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia. chapter warnings: mentions of pregnancy, abortion, alcohol, drug consumption.

MASTERLIST

You never spent much time on The Cut, unless you were being dragged by duty, mostly charity events for the local populations, fundraisers for their schools usually.

You always showed up in something tasteful but subtly expensive—pearls, understated Louboutin heels, and a blazer that whispered wealth without screaming it.

Your mother taught you that.

Now, you sat in Poguelandia, doing god knows what.

The name alone sounded like some bad beach-themed party game. But you kept the snark to yourself—mostly. Sarah swore to you this was her new "thing," her big redemption arc, and who were you to judge? It wasn’t where you pictured spending any afternoon, yet there you were.

Pregnant. On The Cut. Drinking—well, holding—a very flat ginger ale out of a plastic cup.

You smoothed your dress for the hundredth time, light linen in a neutral tone that looked effortless but cost more than most people’s rent, while pretending not to notice Pope and Cleo staring like you were a rare bird that had wandered into the wrong habitat.

Were they always this... intense? Did people on this side of the island not know how to look away when someone made eye contact? Your mother’s voice echoed in your head. They’re not staring at you, dear; they’re staring at themselves in relation to you.

Whatever that meant.

To their credit, they weren’t mean about it. Just... curious, as if you’d wandered in from a wildlife documentary called Kooks in the Wild.

You moved your weight around in your seat, hyper-aware of every grain of sand sticking to your hérmes sandals. Every time you shifted, you felt the grains grinding between the straps and your skin.

Should’ve worn the espadrilles, you thought ruefully, but even then, this wasn’t the world’s most glamorous venue. Sarah had begged you to stop by, though, and you owed her. It was also good for you to leave the house instead of being cupped up inside all alone.

“Okay, seriously, what’s with the staring? Do I have something on my face? Is my makeup smudged? Be honest.”

Cleo snorted. “No, you’re fine, princess. We’re just surprised to see you.”

You were still holding your sad little plastic cup. “Just thought I’d participate in—whatever this is.” You gestured vaguely at the mismatched chairs and string lights that looked like they’d been stolen from someone’s backyard wedding. “Community service?”

It was supposed to come off as witty. You weren’t sure it did.

Pope choked on his drink—sweet tea? soda?—and Cleo chuckled outright. “You’re funny,” she said, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if she meant it.

“Thanks?” It came out like a question, and you wanted to die just a little bit inside.

Pope grinned, leaning forward with a chip in his hand. “You don’t seem like the kind of person who hangs out in The Cut, that’s all.”

You blinked, feigning shock. “You don’t think I spend my weekends in—what is this, a glorified surf shack? I’m crushed.”

Cleo laughed again, which—fine—made you feel a little better.

“Nah, it’s just... you’re different up close. Not like, scary kook different. Just human. Y’know?”

“Great. That’s exactly what I was going for today.”

Pope gestured to the bar. “You want a snack? Chips? Cookies? We have...three options.”

You straightened, eyes narrowing like a hawk zeroing in on prey.

Food. Your stomach growled loudly, as if it had been cued by a stage director. “What kind of cookies?”

He blinked, not expecting you to care. “Uh... chocolate chip? Maybe oatmeal raisin?”

“And the chips?” You pressed, leaning forward now.

“Salt and vinegar,” Cleo piped up, eyeing you curiously. “Barbecue too, I think. Why?”

“Okay, shit, great.” You clapped your hands together decisively. “I’ll have all of it. All the chips, both kinds of cookies. Do you have anything else? Pretzels? Popcorn? Random condiments? I’m not picky.”

Cleo stared at you, her mouth slightly open. “Everything?”

“Yes, everything. Is that a problem?”

She blinked, her eyes darting to Pope like he had an explanation. He shrugged helplessly.

“Woman” she muttered under her breath. “Did you not eat for a week, or...?”

The salt and vinegar chips were divine, borderline transcendent, as you shoved another handful into your mouth. The truth was, you weren’t just hungry—you were still terrified. Every bite, every easy conversation with other people that weren’t Sarah, was a game of jenga to you. One wrong move, one offhand comment, and your secret could be out in the open.

Six more days until this would all be... over. Until the secret growing inside you—the one you’d barely admitted to yourself most mornings—would be gone.

The past three days had been the best you’d felt in ages, cravings and all, thanks to Sarah. She’d slept over, stayed up late talking with you, making you laugh, distracting you from the endless pit what-ifs and why-mes.

It was the longest you’d gone without crying in three months. The longest you’d lived without feeling like you could suffocate at any given moment. With her help, it had been easier to forget—to pretend that things were still okay.

But Sarah wasn’t there, she’d left earlier with John B, something about helping him with a tour.

“You good, princess?” Cleo’s voice cut through your thoughts.

You blinked at her, realizing you’d been crushing the chip bag in your hands like a stress ball. “What? Yeah, I’m fine.”

“You look like you’re about to fight that bag of chips,” Pope said, grinning.

You forced a laugh, leaning back and tossing the bag onto the table. “No fighting. Just... intense snacking."

You reached for the chocolate chip cookies he had offered earlier, focusing on the sweetness, the comfort of food that tasted good for once. Sweet, crumbly, safe. If only the rest of you life felt like that.

Pope and Cleo knew something was up, they all did, probably.

Sarah had been glued to your side, and it wasn’t exactly subtle.

Her sudden move to “stay over” at your place had obviously raised eyebrows, especially since you two hadn’t had a proper conversation in months before all this. And there was the beach clean-up, Kie and JJ had been there when you felt ill, and while you’d been too disoriented to keep up with the cover story once Rafe drove you away, Sarah had stepped in later to handle it.

Heat exhaustion. Overworked. Totally fine.

Still, to your relief, neither Pope nor Cleo seemed inclined to pry, perhaps it was pity, or maybe they were just decent enough to let you keep the little shred of privacy you had left. Either way, you were grateful.

“So,” Pope said, leaning back on his elbows and flashing you an easy grin, “How are you finding our place? I mean, other than our fine selection of snacks.”

You swallowed a bite of cookie, forcing a smile. “It’s...charming. Rustic. A real je ne sais quoi vibe.” You waved your hand vaguely, trying to mimic the way your mother used to describe terrible restaurants we’d never go back to.

Cleo snorted. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it.”

“It’s cute,” You offered, looking around, “I can tell you guys put your heart into it.”

Pope smirked, lifting a brow. "That's nice of you to say."

You gave a small shrug, feigning nonchalance, but you meant it.

For all the mismatched chairs and questionable decoration, there was something undeniably warm about the place. You weren't used to that—spaces filled with love instead of decorators and florists, it wasn’t bad. Just different.

“I mean it,” you said, brushing crumbs from your lap. “It’s very authentic. ‘Pogue Chic’ or something.”

Cleo laughed, loud and genuine, her grin lighting up her face. “Pogue Chic?"

Pope chimed in, “Hey, don’t knock it. We’re trendsetters. Ahead of its time.”

You smiled, but your mind was already falling back to the sand clinging to your dress and the ginger ale that tasted like disappointment. You’d never say it out loud, but you admired them, that ability to make joy out of scraps. It was something you didn’t quite know how to do. Not yet, anyway.

Cleo leaned forward, her elbows resting on the makeshift table. “So, are we going to see you around more? Or is this just a one-time royal visit?”

You hesitated, twirling the rim of your cup between your fingers. “I don’t know. Maybe. If Sarah keeps dragging me here, I guess I don’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

You didn't know if it was the way he said it, the tone he used, or just your hormones fucking you up, but suddenly there were tears in your eye sockets. You blinked rapidly, tilting your head back slightly and praying that the tears stayed put.

These kids, all of them, sitting here like they hadn’t spent their lives scraping by, like they hadn’t been hurt or abandoned or let down a hundred times over by people they loved and trusted. Yet somehow, they were still full of hope, full of life.

You envied that.

You wished you could bottle it, whatever it was that kept them laughing and fighting and welcoming someone like you—a result of privilege and mistakes and heartbreak—into their home. It was humbling in a way that made your chest hurt.

“Does that mean I can choose to order better snacks next time? Maybe some sparkling water? Flat ginger ale is a crime against humanity.”

Cleo snorted, still not fooled by your deflection, but she let it slide.

“Good luck with that, princess. Our snack budget’s about three bucks and whatever we can steal from Kie’s pantry.”

Pope chuckled, tossing a chip in his mouth. “And you’re welcome to contribute if you’re so concerned about the menu.”

It surprised you, how easy it was to talk to them.

On paper, you had nothing in common. They were younger, grew up in a completely different world, and you were used to the polished conversations of country club luncheons and charity galas.

Here, things were different.

They didn’t seem to care if you stumbled over your words, if your jokes were awkward or if you occasionally sounded like a walking trust fund catalog. They didn’t care about your last name, your family’s money, or any other things that had weighed you down for years.

That was disarming.

You’d spent your entire life around people who mirrored your upbringing—kids who summered in the Hamptons or Barbados, adults who measured their worth in stock portfolios and vacation homes. Now, you were here, in this cobbled-together haven with salt-stained cushions, sitting with people who’d grown up struggling for things you took for granted.

You thought it would feel more awkward or forced, but it didn’t.

It was easy.

Pope sat on the counter, gesturing with a half-eaten chip. “Serious question. How do you even survive on Figure Eight? Do they hand you iced lattes and designer handbags when you’re born, or do you have to work your way up to that?”

You raised a brow, smirking. “Oh, absolutely. The moment you’re born, they issue you a monogrammed diaper bag and a gold-plated pacifier. It’s very exclusive.”

Cleo nearly choked on her drink. “See, this is why we can’t take you seriously.”

Your phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with your cousins name, interrupting the fun. You sighed, rolling your eyes before picking it up. “Yes, Top?”

Topper’s slightly whiny tone spilled into your ear. “Can you believe Mom’s threatening to rent out the beach house for the summer? Actual strangers, staying there. What’s next? Turning it into a hostel?”

“Tragic,” you deadpanned, resting your chin in your hand. “Truly, a devastating blow for humanity.”

Pope fake-coughed, mumbling “white rich privilege problems,” while Cleo mouthed, “Hostel!” and shook her head, laughing silently.

“I know. Anyway, I’m coming over later.”

“Where’s your invitation?”

You heard him scoffing, “I’m family, I don’t need one.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, feeling the beginnings of a headache. “Top, you can’t just announce you’re coming over. I might have plans.”

“Yeah, and I’m your family, so those plans now include me,” Topper said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “Besides, I’ll bring food.”

Across from you, Pope was already gagging dramatically, holding his stomach as if the mere sound of Topper’s voice made him physically ill.

“I don’t know if—”

“See you at noon,” he interrupted. “Later!”

The call ended before you could even argue, and you set your phone down with a resigned sigh.

“Looks like I’m hosting a one-man Topper pity party,” you said, crossing your arms and slumping back in your chair.

Pope clutched his chest. “Will you survive?”

You only left once the sun dipped lower into the horizon, you gathered your things promising Sarah you’d drive safely and talk to her tomorrow.

Cleo, Pope and John B were mid-argument about the best way to fix something in the shack. You felt lighter than you had in weeks.

With a few more quips exchanged and goodbyes said, you walked back to your car. That night, the ache in your chest wasn’t completly unbearable. You weren’t okay, but you weren’t drowning, either.

You’d been terrified of this afternoon all day, worried you’d stick out like a sore thumb or say the wrong thing.

But the Pogues hadn’t cared about your awkwardness, your polished self, or even the giant invisible cloud you carried everywhere these days. They let you just be.

The drive home was quiet, but this time you even hummed along to a song on the radio, which was strange because you couldn’t remember the last time you cared about music or even turning on that thing. When you pulled into the driveway and stepped into your house, it didn’t feel as cold and empty as it did last week.

You set your bag down on the entryway table and kick off your sandals, the floors cool beneath your feet. Heading to the kitchen, you decided to see if there was anything decent for tonight’s impromptu early dinner with Topper. The fridge greeted you with a sad bag of lettuce, half a bottle of sparkling water, and a single container of leftover pasta you weren’t sure was still edible.

“Great,” you muttered, closing the door and moving to the pantry.

The situation there wasn’t much better. Sarah’s latest health-kick contributions—a bag of chia seeds and some organic trail mix—laughed at you from the top shelf. You frowned, pushing them aside to reveal a dusty box of crackers and a jar of Nutella.

“Guess we’re going shopping tomorrow,” you murmured, grabbing the crackers and Nutella to snack on now.

You placed them on the counter and glanced around. The sink held a few dishes from earlier —a couple of coffee mugs, a bowl, a plate.

You sighed, rolling up your sleeves, might as well get this out of the way.

Normally, you’d have had someone else to take care of this—stocking the pantry, cleaning the dishes, even deciding on the menu for your lunches. But lately, you’d been scaling back. You hadn’t let anyone go, of course. You could never do that; the staff had been with your family for years, and many of them felt more like extended family than employees. Still, you’d quietly rearranged their schedules, giving them more time off.

They didn’t question it—probably thought it was some new phase, another eccentricity of a bored, privileged young woman.

Truth was, you liked doing these things.

Focusing on something small, tangible, gave your brain a break from drilling itself into a million dark corners. Folding laundry, washing dishes, even the routine of chopping vegetables—it kept your hands busy and your thoughts manageable enough. It wasn’t that you’d suddenly become a domestic goddess or anything. Most of the time, you’d forget to pick up groceries or burn whatever you tried to cook.

It wasn’t about being good at it. It was about doing something.

You looked around the kitchen, noting the little imperfections you wouldn’t have noticed before. A small water stain on the counter from where your glass had sat too long, the scuff marks on the cabinets where your chair scraped when you leaned back. They weren’t problems to be fixed—they were just signs of life.

And right now at that very moment, life felt…okay.

The house didn’t seem as cold or empty when you were doing things for yourself, even if it was mundane work. You finish up wiping down the counters, glance at the time—definitely cutting it close—and head toward the dining room to tidy up a bit.

Topper was not the type to notice if the place is spotless, but you always liked things to look... presentable, yourself included.

You heard the doorbell ring in the distance, he was early as usual, probably checking his watch just to make sure he wasn't a second late.

"Of course he’s early," you muttered to yourself, a little smirk pulling at your lips.

You walked towards the front door, ready to greet him, but when you opened it, your eyes immediately locked onto the large takeout bag in his hand. It smelled... amazing.

Topper grinned at you, an exaggerated flourish as he held up the bag.

“Guess what I brought?”

“You brought... Korean chicken wings? Really?”

“Hell yeah, I did!” He stepped inside, completely ignoring any formalities and heading straight toward the kitchen, “They just opened.”

He placed the bag on the counter with the confidence of a man who knew he’s just won “Best Dinner Host” without even trying. You peeked inside, the crispy wings drenched in a glossy, sweet-spicy sauce that looked downright delicious.

Topper laughed and took a seat, pulling out the wings, not even bothering with plates. “You’re welcome.”

You rolled your eyes but sat next to him, picking up a wing, the heat of it still making your fingers tingle. The crispy exterior cracked open with a satisfying crunch as you bit into it. It was everything you'd hoped for—tangy, spicy, perfectly cooked. You nearly moaned in pleasure, not even caring that your cousin was watching you with that cocky grin on his face.

“You look like you’ve seen the light,” He teased, leaning back in his chair as he grabbed a wing of his own.

“I mean,” you said, savoring another bite, “this might make up for you barging in uninvited.”

“Barging?” He clutched his chest dramatically, mock offense radiating from every inch of him. “I'm saving you from a night of sad dinners, and this is the thanks I get?”

You gave him a pointed look, but the corner of your mouth tugged upward despite yourself.

“Fine. Thank you, Topper. You’re the hero of the day. Happy now?”

“Ecstatic,” he said, grinning as he reached for another wing. “What’s new? Still slumming it with my ex and the Pogues?”

“First of all,” you said, wiping your fingers on a napkin, “slumming it implies I’m suffering, which I’m not. And second, Sarah’s not a pogue. She’s pogue-adjacent.”

“Pogue-adjacent?” He snorted. “You’ve been spending too much time over there.”

“Like you’re one to talk,” you shot back. “You basically live at Kildare Brewing these days. That’s like, one pogue away from full assimilation.”

He opened his mouth to argue but then stopped, realizing you had a point. “Okay, fair. But only because they have good beer."

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you should even bring it up, but curiosity got the better of you. You hadn’t heard about her in a while, and you knew by experience, that was never a good thing.

“So... Ruthie,” you started, watching him over the rim of your glass as you took a sip.

Topper paused mid-chew, looking up at you like he wasn’t sure he wanted to have this conversation. “What about her?”

“I mean, you two are still together, aren’t you?”

He wiped his hands on a napkin. “We’re… not talking right now.”

You tried not to look pleased, but a rush of vindication bloomed in your chest. You'd grown to hate her, plain and simple. Her recent proximity to your cousin had always baffled you. He wasn’t perfect, but surely, he could do better.

“I’m surprised.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, reaching for another wing. But then he stopped, like whatever he was thinking was messing with his head.

“What happened?” You asked, trying to sound more curious, concerned, than nosy.

You weren’t sure if he’d tell you, but the look on his face made it clear something big had gone down.

He hesitated, debating whether to answer. Finally, he sighed. “She... started a rumor about you.”

Your head jerked back in surprise. “About me?”

“Yeah,” he grimaced like he’d swallowed something sour. “She said you passed out at the beach cleanup and decided to spread some bullshit about you doing drugs.”

You just stared at him. “She what?”

You weren’t sure why you were so surprised.

You knew what she was capable better than anyone, especially when she was bored out of her mind.

“I didn’t believe it,” he added quickly, his tone defensive, as if that made it better. “I told her to shut the fuck up about it, but you know how she is. She thought it was funny.”

“Funny?” Your voice was sharp now, “She thought it was funny to spread lies about me? About drugs? What the fuck?”

“Yeah, it’s so messed up. That’s why I’m not talking to her. I told her if she couldn’t act like a fucking decent human being, we were done.”

You blinked, stunned.

You weren’t sure what shocked you more—the fact that Ruthie had stooped so low or that Topper had finally stood up to her. You shook your head, biting back another nasty comment about how awful she was. You’d been saying it for months, and he hadn’t listened.

No point in beating a dead horse now.

“It’s about time you saw what she’s really like. She’s really bad fuckin’ news, Top. Always has been.”

He gave a low grunt, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the counter. “Yeah. Took me long enough, huh?”

You didn’t answer, just raised an eyebrow and sipped your water.

“She’s always been weird about Sarah,” Topper muttered, almost to himself. “Even when we were together, she’d find these ways to dig at her. Like that one time at Midsummers—”

“—When she ‘accidentally’ spilled her drink on Sarah’s dress,” you finished, rolling your eyes. “Yeah, I remember. She’s always had this thing about trying to one-up her. Honestly, it’s so pathetic. But you never listen to me, so.”

“Okay, ouch.” He threw a crumpled napkin at you, which you easily dodged. “I listen to you sometimes.”

“Do you, though?” You gave him a pointed look.

“Yeah, I do!” Topper protested, though the whine in his voice made him sound more like the teenager he used to be, back when he’d follow you around during family holidays like a puppy. “Just… selectively.”

“Selective listening isn’t listening, dumbass. You’re just proving my point.”

He narrowed his eyes at you but didn’t answer, reaching for another wing instead. He took a bite, chewing dramatically, as if the exaggerated crunch would somehow end the conversation.

“Look, I’ve been saying for months that Ruthie’s bad news. Since she showed up at last year’s Christmas party wearing a dress identical to Sarah’s, just in a different color. You thought that was a coincidence?”

Topper groaned, dropping the wing. “Okay, fine, you’re right. Are you happy now? Can you stop rubbing it in?”

You grinned, propping your chin on your hand.

“Oh, I could. But what kind of older cousin would I be if I didn’t remind you how often you’re wrong?”

“You’re not that much older than me.”

You shrugged. “Old enough to know better than to date someone that awful.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a genius. I get it.” He looked over at you again, his gaze softer, this time, “But seriously, you’ve been off lately. If there’s something going on, you can tell me, y’know? We’re family, even if I don’t listen to you half the time,” he added with a small smile, though his eyes were searching, hoping you’d let him in.

It would be so easy to tell him the truth—that you were pregnant, scheduled for an abortion in six days, and drowning in uncertainty and dread.

But he was still Rafe’s best friend, and the risk of this ever reaching him was too high. Instead, you forced a lightness into your voice.

“Nothing I can’t handle. And right now, I desperately need the bathroom.”

He looked at you skeptically, not fooled for a second.

“You’re really okay?” he pressed, his voice dropping to a level that told you he wasn’t going to let this go easily, "I texted and called before, you didn't answer. Thought you were resting from the scare."

You’d been having such a calm, easy time with Sarah, you almost forgot about everything else. The thought of picking up the phone, letting all that anxiety and worry back in, just wasn’t appealing—so you’d ignored his calls, but not on purpose. You were doing him a favor.

You plastered on a smile and gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as you passed. “I promise, I’m fine. Just felt a little light-headed and needed some peace."

His eyes narrowed slightly, unconvinced. “That’s all?”

You forced a giggle, hoping it would sound more genuine than it felt. “Yes, Dr. Thornton. Just needed to eat more or drink water or whatever the fuck it is you’re always telling me to do.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, crossing his arms, watching you closely. “Because you’ve never just fainted before.”

“I guess there’s a first time for everything. Besides, don’t you think I’d tell you if something serious was wrong?”

It took everything to maintain eye contact, your stomach twisting at the lie. He was family, and you wanted to trust him, to let him help you. But you couldn’t. He hadn’t even told you about Rafe and Sofia until you found out by yourself.

Topper tilted his head, considering you, then sighed and gave a reluctant nod. “Alright, fine.”

“Okay, if you’re done being weird,” You pushed back from the counter, grabbing your glass. “I gotta pee,” you announced casually, as if this was the most normal interjection in the world. The wings were good, but running away was tempting. And also, the pregnancy had made your bladder a ticking time bomb, and you really didn’t want to risk any accidents. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

You offered him one last smile, hoping it was convincing enough. He whined some sarcastic comment about your water consumption as you hurried away, but you barely heard him.

All you thought about was the blessed relief that awaited on the other side of that door.

You didn’t usually spend this much time with Top nowadays—your own tendency to avoid “close” family drama—but tonight had been oddly… nice.

Even if you wanted to wrap your hands around his neck half the time. Even if you hated lying to him. If he’d just pushed a little harder, maybe you would’ve folded, let it all spill right there in the kitchen.

Every time you thought you’d come to a decision, another doubt would take over you, leaving you back at square one. You knew what you wanted, so why was this so hard?

Topper had looked at you with such genuine concern back there. The “if you need me, I’m here” sentiment was the same one you’d grown up with, the kind of care only a cousin, practically a sibling, could have.

This was hard.

When you came back into the kitchen after taking your sweet time in the bathroom you immediately noticed something was off.

Topper was by the counter, staring at the half-eaten pile of wings by the table like they’d personally offended him. He looked paler, too—almost like he’d seen a ghost.

“Uh…” You stopped mid-step, furrowing your brow. “What’s with the stupid face? Did the wings betray you or something?”

He jolted slightly, as if he hadn’t even heard you come in. “What? No. No, the wings are fine. Great. Amazing, even.”

“Okay…” You gave him a skeptical look, setting your glass down and crossing your arms.

Topper laughed, but it was this oddly nervous, stilted sound. He glanced at his phone, tapping the screen for no real reason, then shoved it into his pocket.

“You know what, though? I totally forgot—I have something planned. Like, super important. In about… ten minutes.”

You stared at him, unimpressed. “You forgot you had plans? Sounds fake, but okay.”

“So unlike me!” He got up from his chair with such sudden energy that it made you take a step back. “Anyway, I should really get going. Don’t want to be late. Uh, thanks for… hanging out. And for, uh, letting me use your wings as a form of therapy. Yeah. Later!”

And with that, he was sprinting for the door.

“Topper!” you called after him, confused and mildly annoyed. “What the hell is going on? You’re acting fuckin’ weird!”

“Nope, not weird! Just busy!” he shot back over his shoulder, not even looking at you as he opened the door.

You didn’t have time to yell at him before he disappeared out the door, the sound of his Jeep starting up echoing from the driveway a moment later. You stood there bewildered, staring at the now-empty doorway.

Something was definitely up. He was many things—dramatic, stubborn, occasionally insufferable—but shifty wasn’t usually one of them.

You went back to the kitchen, glancing at the counter, ready to brush off his weird exit as just another of his dramatics, when your eyes landed on a random envelope— the one you’d been using to scribble down everything lately.

Extra small grocery lists, reminders, and, unfortunately, the number for the abortion clinic.

Rafe’s fingers curled loosely around the tumbler of bourbon, eyes set on nothing in particular. The lunch rush was winding down, country club regulars filing out.

He’d been there for over an hour—first, the meeting, listening to those finance guys ramble on about numbers, projections, all that bullshit he usually liked to hear.

He’d faked his interest well enough, but his mind had been miles away. Mostly thinking about you. And the company, of course, because that was his priority right now. Or, it should be.

The whole thing with you, three days ago, it was a slow-mind-burning headache he couldn’t ignore, even if he wanted to. And he had wanted to, tried to, in fact.

He took another slow sip, hardly tasting the bourbon. Across the room, Sofia was working between tables, balancing trays and forcing her best country club smile.

All he saw when he looked at her was you, it only made him force down another swallow, running his thumb over the rim of the glass, mind somewhere between the company projections and the mess he’d made of things with you.

It was ridiculous that you were still in his head. He should be thinking about that deal, about locking down his place in the Cameron empire.

Rafe pushed the glass aside, signaling for the check when something caught his ear—a conversation from a nearby table.

“Yeah, she actually passed out the other day. Pathetic.” The voice was loud, sneering.

A dude’s voice followed, fake sympathy dripping from his tone. “I heard she was a fuckin’ mess after the whole breakup.”

“Oh, totally.” A different girl laughed, high-pitched and cruel. “She’s probably on something. Can you blame her? I’d be desperate too if he dumped me.”

It didn’t take a fucking genius to know who they were talking about. Small town and all, of course, things got around, mostly turning into half-truths and petty rumors.

He stopped all his movements, jaw clenching. His fingers tightened around the edge of the table, the only thing keeping him from breaking something, preferably bones.

They were talking about you.

About some made-up version of you, the fact that these spoiled, airheaded brats thought they could shit talk about you like that, rip you apart for fun just because you weren’t there to defend yourself made him sick.

He pushed his chair back and stood, crossing the room with long strides. He didn’t care about the eyes following him as he walked up to their table, the laughter stopping the moment they looked up and saw the look on his face.

“What did you just say?”

The girl who’d been laughing, a petite brunette with too much makeup and a self-satisfied smirk, blinked up at him, her smile faltering.

“Oh, Rafe! We didn’t see you there. We were just…joking around,” she stammered, trying to backpedal.

“Joking?” He laughed, the sound making them flinch. “That what you call it? Spreading some bullshit rumor because it’s all your pathetic little lives have to offer?”

The brunette’s face went red. “I mean, we all heard about it. I’m just saying what everyone’s already thinking—”

His fists clenched and his patience, already thin, snapped the second he heard the guy—one of those trust fund preps with an overdone tan and a too-tight polo—chime in.

“Oh, come on, dude,” the guy smirked, leaning back in his chair, feigning nonchalance. “It’s not like she’s worth all that trouble, is she?”

His entire body went rigid, and before he registered it, he was leaning down, letting them feel the weight of his glare.

“Say that shit again,” Rafe taunted him, something almost amused twisting at the edge of his mouth, daring him to keep talking. “I’d love to hear you repeat yourself.”

“Relax, man—”

He didn’t even let him finish, eyes narrowed, his voice dropping to a near whisper, more dangerous than shouting ever could be.

“You think it’s funny? Talking about someone who’s not even here to defend herself?”

The guy’s face paled, and Rafe swore he was seconds away from landing a punch, from wiping that smug grin off his face. Just as he prepared his fist, ready to make good on his threat, he felt a hand on his arm, a small, insistent tug.

“Rafe,” a soft voice hissed. Sofia. He barely glanced at her, shrugging off her grip.

“Don’t,” he snapped, his voice sharp, dismissive.

He kept his eyes on the guy, who looked more uncomfortable by the second, squirming in his seat.

Sofia’s hand still hovering near his arm, cautious now. “Rafe, come on, this isn’t worth it. You’re better than this.”

She looked scared. Scared of him, scared of the situation. He wasn’t better than this.

He’d never been, and he’d been good enough at lying and pretending for her even to think that.

You would’ve known better.

Fuck, you wouldn’t have wasted time talking.

You would’ve yanked him back by his collar, shoved yourself between him and the guy, shot him that warning glare, daring him to keep pushing you so you’d have to drag him out by force. You always knew when he’d get like this, that edge in his voice, that look in his eye that told you he was seconds away from snapping. You knew better than anyone how to pull him back when he hit that switch.

But you’d never bothered with gentle.

Sofia’s eyes darted around the room, clearly embarrassed, maybe even afraid of drawing attention. He knew this wasn’t fair to her, that she hadn’t signed up for this part of him—the anger, the unpredictability. It wasn’t in his nature to stay silent, to ignore things and walk away.

He could almost see it—feel it, like a familiar bruise under his skin. You’d shove him hard enough that he’d stumble back, half-pissed and half-shocked. You’d get in his face, not even close to scared, cutting through his spiral. “What the hell is wrong with you, Rafe? You wanna end up in jail over some loser? Grow up.”

If you’d been here, you wouldn’t have given him a choice. You’d have grabbed his arm and dragged him away, kept a grip on him until he’d snapped out of whatever dark place he’d dropped into. You’d push him until he finally let go, forced him to come down from that blinding fury and face the mess he’d just caused. It was the only way he’d ever been able to listen—when you pushed him to wake up, forced him to look at himself and see just how reckless, just how stupid he was about to be.

But Sofia? She had no idea.

She thought saying “you’re better than this” was going to do anything, that with a light touch and some empty words, he’d suddenly be calm, reasonable, soft.

But he’d never been that way, never with you, never with anyone.

She hadn’t done anything wrong; she’d just seen the version of him he’d wanted her to see. The version he’d put together, patched up and polished, all so he could convince himself he was something he wasn’t.

With her, it was easy to pretend. He could smooth his sharp edges, show her just enough of himself to keep her interested without letting her close enough to see the mess underneath.

He’d let her believe he was the kind of guy who could just calm down, let things slide. The kind of guy who’d listen. He’d wanted her to believe he was controlled, calm. Sofia’s softness had appealed to him, but now, it only highlighted the differences between them.

With you, he’d never had the luxury of pretending.

You’d seen through him from the start, never let him get away with putting on some act.

You hadn’t let him pretend to be better than he was, hadn’t let him off easy when he’d tried to brush things off or shut down. You knew every side of him, even the ones he’d rather ignore. You’d always known exactly who he was, who he wasn’t, and you’d never been afraid to remind him.

He didn’t want to let it go, didn’t want to give the guy an inch of leeway to think he’d won this. Rafe sighed and released his grip, his hand falling from the table as he finally stepped back. Sofia relaxed, giving him a relieved smile, but it only made him feel emptier.

“You talk about her again and I’ll fucking kill you, you hear me?”

The guy sputtered, looking down, embarrassed and shaken. He muttered something under his breath that sounded like an apology, but Rafe didn’t care enough to hear it.

Sofia’s hand was still on his tail when he left, and as soon as he walked out of earshot of the table, she followed him, crossing her arms. Her eyes narrowed with an expression he’d never seen from her —disbelief.

“What was that?”

Everything.

Rafe didn’t speak. He was staring past her, back at the group, mind far from the confrontation and miles away with thoughts of you. She seemed to notice, her lips pressing together.

“I can’t believe you did that. You threatened to kill him, Rafe. Over what, a stupid rumor?”

A stupid rumor? She was making him feel like he was out of control, irrational—even though he couldn’t explain why this mattered so much.

“You wouldn’t get it. It’s not your problem.”

She flinched a little, her face falling, but to her credit, she didn’t look away. “You’re right. I don’t get it. Tell me.”

He wanted to believe that it could work with Sofia.

Nice girl, pretty too. She laughed at his jokes, and she didn’t call him out on his bullshit, because she didn’t even know that side of him existed. On paper, she was perfect. But she wasn't you.

He looked back at her, her worried eyes scanning his face.

It was frustrating—seeing the fear, feeling her judgment when she didn’t even know what she was judging.

To her, this was just some meaningless outburst, something he could turn on and off at will. This wasn’t her fault. He knew that. He hated how this wasn’t something he couldn't put into words, not in any way that would make sense to her.

“Forget it, alright?” his tone was harsher than he meant.

Sofia shook her head, clearly not willing to let it drop this time.

“Why would you get so worked up over something like this?"

To her, that’s all this was—just noise, harmless, inconsequential.

She looked up at him expectantly, her brows furrowed in confusion, waiting for some reasonable answer.

And it pissed him off, how she kept waiting, expecting him to offer some calm, measured response when he didn’t even understand it himself.

Sofia’s eyes softened, but it only irritated him further.

“She’s nice,” Her words drifted out casually like she didn’t know she’d just cracked him open. “She defended me, last week, when I was serving brunch.”

He couldn’t stop the self-loathing.

You had always been that way—ready to defend anyone, even when you were the one hurting. Rafe winced, hating himself for it, hating that you could still be so good even after everything. He swallowed hard, keeping his expression blank.

“Did she?” he muttered, trying to sound indifferent.

“Yeah,” Sofia replied, watching his reaction with mild curiosity. “Guess I wouldn’t have expected that.”

Rafe’s jaw clenched, that familiar hurt in his chest.

His mind was already conjuring all the times you’d jumped in, backed people up, and called out anyone who crossed a line. Even when it came to people you barely knew.

It made him feel like the worst person in the world, knowing that you’d been there for Sofia of all people, that you’d shown her that same loyalty. It made him hate himself even more.

His phone buzzed, saving him from the inevitable conversation, his hand brushed the side of his face as he glanced down at the unknown number flashing across the screen. He didn’t hesitate, before swiping the answer button.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Cameron, this is Dr. Harris from the hospital,” the voice on the other end said. “We’ve been trying to reach Miss Thornton about the blood work results from her visit three days ago. Unfortunately, there’s been an issue with our system and a few patient’s data has been deleted, except for the emergency contact information.”

Rafe’s stomach dropped.

He was still your emergency contact, not by choice probably. The hospital was calling about your blood work.

Was something wrong?

His blood ran cold. “Is she okay? Did something happen?” The urgency in his tone made Sofia’s eyes widen again, her confusion growing.

“We’re concerned about a possible infection. We need to run more tests to rule it out, but the symptoms suggest it could be more complicated. We must check thoroughly to be sure.”

“An infection?”

“Yes, but it could be nothing serious. We just need her to come in as soon as possible for a follow-up,” Dr. Harris explained.

There was a pause as if he expected Rafe to say something reassuring or offer to pass on the message.

Sofia’s brows knitted together as she watched him. “Rafe?”

“I’ll tell her,” he said, the words cracked in his throat. The doctor thanked him and hung up.

He stared at the phone waiting for it to ring again with more news, a reassurance that this wasn’t as serious as it sounded.

You probably hadn’t changed your emergency contact because it slipped your mind.

He couldn’t stand the idea that something could be wrong, and he was not the one you called when you needed someone. All he’d ever done was mess things up between you.

“What’s going on?”

How the fuck was he going to tell you when you'd blocked him everywhere?

He couldn’t call, couldn’t text, couldn’t even show up unannounced without risking the usual argument that would end with you screaming at him to get out, or worse, you looking at him with that unforgiving stare.

He knew you’d locked every door, bolted every window to keep him out, and he deserved it.

“It’s nothing,” he said, the lie slipping out automatically. He could feel her studying him, waiting for another explanation he also didn’t have the patience to give.

Maybe Topper could help.

The irony wasn’t lost on him—he’d given your cousin the mission of checking in on you, playing the careful messenger while Rafe kept his distance. That was supposed to be him.

But the reality was you hated him now, hated him enough that Topper was a safer option and yet, the private information still landed on his lap. As if he still had the right to be in your orbit, let alone the person trusted with this kind of news.

It felt wrong.

He knew you were going to hate him even more for still having access to your private details. It wasn’t really his fault—the hospital called him. He should have hung up the moment the hospital mentioned your name, told them they had the wrong guy. But he didn’t. He listened.

“If you need to go—” she started, trailing off when he didn’t answer. Her voice softened, tentative. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, and he looked away, out at the horizon where the sun was setting. “Yeah,” he muttered, not bothering to lie this time.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. He typed something out, then deleted it, then typed again.

Finally, he just went with the simplest thing he could think of and hit send.

Can we meet up? Tannyhill in 30. I think I know what’s wrong.

He half-expected some lame excuse or joke from Topper. Instead, the text he got made the deep lines across his forehead make an appearance.

Shit, you do???

Did the fucker already know?

Did he suspect? Or was this just the kind of baited question someone asked when they thought they were the last to know something big?

He frowned, gripping the phone tighter.

If Topper did know, why hadn’t he said anything?

TAGLIST: @maybankslover @october-baby25 @haruvalentine4321 @hopelesslydevoted2paige

@rafebb @rafesbby @whytheylosttheirminds

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@serrendiipty @sunny1616 @yootvi @ditzyzombiesblog

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@stoned-writer @justafangirls-blog-deactivated2

@starkeygirlposts @enjoymyloves @ijustwanttoreadlols @icaqttt

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claramelooo · 2 months ago

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I got crazy and write 4 thousand words non-stop! So, I still haven't revised it yet! But there we go! Remember that english isn't my first language, so be gentle 🙇🏻‍♀️

Minors do not must Interact

Paring: Dom Wanda x Fem reader

Summary: Wanda has her beliefs turned upside down the moment she sets eyes on you.

Read here: Prologue | Part 2 - The Prey

Velvet Chains

Predator

Sunday's worship service was an impeccably choreographed event, and Wanda Maximoff played her role masterfully. She sat in the front pew beside Vision, with her neatly dressed children beside her. The choir sang the hymn she had personally selected, their voices echoing through the stained glass of Wylie's small church.

Her hands rested, folded neatly on her lap, her gaze fixed on the pastor as he fervently preached about grace and redemption. Wanda knew precisely when to nod in agreement, murmur a soft “Amen,” or smile at those around her as though every word touched her deeply.

But that Sunday, something was different.

As the pastor paused dramatically in his sermon, Wanda glanced toward the congregation. Her eyes scanned the rows of familiar faces—regular families, ever-present elderly members, restless children. And then she saw...

You.

A few rows back, sitting beside your parents, was a new face. Young, delicate, with eyes that seemed to absorb the surroundings with cautious curiosity. You sat slightly hunched, fingers clasped in your lap, hair falling in effortless waves over your shoulders.

Wanda tilted her head almost imperceptibly, trying to get a better look. Who are you? Why had she never seen you before?

There was something about you that made her catch her breath for a moment. Maybe it was the contrast: a radiant, almost brutal youth placed in such a rigid, conservative setting. Or maybe it was your expression—timid and curious, yet exuding an air of superiority, as if you were too evolved for this, as if you were there against your will but determined to maintain a respectful facade.

A pang of curiosity stirred in Wanda’s chest, something rare in her meticulously planned life.

When your eyes met hers, it was fleeting, like a flicker. You immediately looked away, your heart pounding against your ribcage, your palms sweating after encountering the most intense green eyes you had ever seen. However, for Wanda, something sparked within her, a small ember she hadn’t felt in years. Something that compelled her.

The pastor resumed preaching, but Wanda barely listened. Her mind was fixed on the strange sensation you had awakened. Curiosity? Perhaps. Admiration? Why? It was something so profound, so unsettling...

At the end of the service, as everyone stood to bid each other farewell, Wanda observed from a distance. She saw you accompanying your parents, keeping your head down as they animatedly conversed with other congregation members.

“Who are you?” Wanda thought, a subtle, calculated smile curving her lips.

Concluding a conversation with a fellow member, Wanda began walking slowly toward you. Your parents… What were their names again? She tried to recall but came up empty. Ah yes, she’d spoken to them during last week’s choir rehearsal. Or was it before that? It didn’t matter. They were irrelevant, like nearly everyone in that circle.

But you...

Now, you were different.

Wanda straightened her posture, resting her hands behind her back, and began her approach. Her steps were slow, measured, as if she sought nothing more than casual conversation. Yet, inside her, every movement was strategic. She needed to know more.

When she reached your group, it was your parents who noticed her first. The man—always with his tie slightly askew—greeted Wanda with a goofy smile, while the woman, nervous as usual, began speaking quickly about the sermon.

“Oh, Wanda! Wasn’t the sermon wonderful? The pastor is so inspiring, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely,” Wanda replied with the sweetest smile she could muster. But her eyes, sharp and piercing, were locked on you.

To anyone watching, it was clear you didn’t belong here—the air of discomfort around you only heightened Wanda’s interest. You weren’t like the other young women in the congregation—girls who laughed loudly and gestured wildly. No. You seemed contained, but there was a wildness in your eyes, as if something deeper simmered beneath the surface.

“And you must be…?” Wanda finally spoke, directing her attention to you.

Your eyes lifted, startled to be addressed.

“I’m Y/n.”

Your voice was unexpectedly husky, with a slight accent that gave your name an intriguing edge. Wanda tilted her head slightly, as though savoring it.

“Y/n...” Wanda repeated, letting the syllables roll off her tongue. “What a lovely name.”

She extended her hand for a handshake, and you hesitated before accepting. When your fingers touched, her grip lingered just a second too long, her hold firmer than necessary.

“I see you’re a new face around here. Where are you from, dear?” Wanda asked, her tone casual but brimming with hidden intent.

“Ah, I… I was at boarding school,” you replied, shrugging.

Boarding school. The word reverberated in Wanda’s mind. You were something. Something she couldn’t quite name yet, but it piqued her curiosity even further.

“It’s nice to have you home, sweetheart. I’m sure your parents are thrilled to have you back,” Wanda said, casting a warm glance at the couple, who nodded eagerly.

But Wanda wasn’t speaking to them.

She was speaking to you.

Directly, and only to you.

The woman in front of you was beautiful, almost untouchable, perfect. Yet, something in her gaze felt brutal, completely clashing with the image of a typical American wife. Her intense stare made you tremble.

Wanda maintained her gentle smile as she spoke to your parents, but inside, her mind was working quickly, analyzing every detail about you. The way you kept your shoulders slightly hunched, as if trying to shield yourself from the environment, yet your eyes dared anyone to look for too long. It was a fascinating dichotomy: the shy young woman and the rebellious soul, coexisting in such a disconcerting way.

You were trying to control your breathing. That handshake—firm, warm, intentional—had stirred something deep within you. Wanda was charming in a way that felt almost artificial. Her green eyes glowed with kindness, but there was something else there, something you couldn’t name. Something that made your heart race, though you weren’t sure if it was fear or excitement.

As she spoke to your parents, her gaze flicked to you now and then, too quickly for others to notice. But you felt it. You felt every single time her eyes landed on you, like a hot blade slicing through your skin.

When she finally addressed you, her words were soft, but there was something more. She wanted to know more. She wanted to hear your voice, feel your response.

"It must have been an interesting experience, boarding school," Wanda commented, tilting her head in a nearly maternal way.

You shrugged, trying to appear indifferent, but felt your cheeks heat up. She seemed fascinated by you, and that made your mind flood with uncomfortable questions. Why was she so interested? Why was this woman—beautiful, flawless, almost unattainable—speaking to you as if you were important?

"It wasn’t a big deal," you replied, trying to downplay the word, even though you knew it was a big deal. It was painful and traumatic.

Wanda let out a small smile, something that felt like a secret shared just between the two of you.

"I’d like to hear more about it," she said, her voice sweet but laden with something deeper.

You didn’t know how to respond. Your hands fidgeted, and you shoved them into your coat pockets to hide them. Wanda noticed. She noticed everything.

"My mom wanted me back. Seems like they didn’t like me much at boarding school." Your reply was casual, almost insolent, but your fingers drummed against your crossed arm, betraying a hint of nervousness.

Wanda arched an eyebrow, amused.

"They didn’t like you? Or you made them not like you?" The question came with a venomous sweetness, and her smile widened just enough to be intimidating.

You blinked, surprised. No one had ever disarmed you so quickly. "Maybe a little of both," you replied, trying to keep your composure.

"Interesting." Wanda tilted her head, evaluating every microexpression, every movement. There was something fierce in you, something that still needed direction. And Wanda knew how to shape that energy.

She stepped back, but her presence somehow felt even more imposing.

"Well, Y/n, welcome back." Her voice carried a touch of irony, but also something you couldn’t decipher. Then Wanda turned to your parents, smiling broadly as if the conversation had been purely polite. "You have a delightful daughter," she said.

The couple smiled awkwardly, but—you knew deep down those words weren’t for them. They were for you, and there was something in her tone that made your heart race.

[...]

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at the ceiling as if it held all the answers you were looking for. It didn’t. The walls were exactly the same as before—cream-colored, impeccably boring—but everything felt different now.

Back home.

Home...

What a bullshit.

You had never wanted to be here. They sent you away because they couldn’t handle you, and now they brought you back because... why? Shame? Regret? It didn’t matter. It was all a never-ending cycle.

You ran your fingers through your hair, pulling lightly as if that would remove the persistent thoughts from your head. Closing your eyes, you let the memories flood in—flashes of that day at boarding school, muffled laughter, unexpected warmth, and the bittersweet taste that marked you more than it should have.

Was it a mistake? Of course not. But to them, everything about you was a mistake.

"Y/n!" Your mother’s voice echoed from the hallway, pulling you back to reality.

You didn’t respond immediately, instead looking out the window. The afternoon was sunny, the kind of day people used for picnics or gardening. But you? You were stuck here, surrounded by the crushing expectations of a family that wanted you to be someone you weren’t.

"Y/n, I’m talking to you!" Her voice was louder now, more impatient.

With an exaggerated sigh, you got up, dragging your feet to the door. Your mother was there, her face tense, as it always was when dealing with you.

"What?" you asked, crossing your arms.

She took a deep breath, as if she needed to remind herself to stay composed.

"I need you to be more... cooperative, you know? After everything that happened, the last thing we need is more problems."

You laughed, but not in a way that expressed humor.

"Problems? Oh, sure. Because I’m the big problem in this family."

Your mother narrowed her eyes, but before she could respond, her expression changed. Something more animated, almost euphoric, overtook her.

"Never mind. Listen to this: the Maximoffs invited us for dinner. Wanda and Vis really want to meet you. Isn’t that wonderful?"

Wonderful? You bit your lower lip to keep from laughing again. Of course, your mother was thrilled. Wanda Maximoff was practically royalty around here—perfect, beautiful, the model of everything your mother wished you could be.

You felt a wave of discomfort, but also something else, something you couldn’t name.

"Fine," you replied with disdain, though your mind was already racing with thoughts of the older woman.

The Maximoff home was immaculate, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a design magazine. Every detail, from the arrangement of the furniture to the soft hues on the walls, screamed perfection—a direct reflection of the woman now greeting everyone at the door.

Wanda was radiant, wearing a delicate blue dress that subtly but undeniably flattered her figure. The smile she gave your family seemed genuine, almost too warm to be real.

"Welcome! It’s such a pleasure to have you here," she said, her voice brimming with enthusiasm that felt authentic.

You watched as your mother, clearly enchanted, exchanged pleasantries and compliments, while your father stood awkwardly, offering little more than a polite smile. Wanda cast a glance in your direction, and something in her gaze made you swallow hard. It was curious, almost probing, as though she were studying you.

Inside, the dining table was perfectly set, with gleaming plates and neatly folded napkins. The aroma of home-cooked food was irresistible, the entire scene resembling a margarine commercial.

"Please, take a seat," Wanda said, gesturing toward the chairs.

You chose the farthest end of the table, but Wanda didn’t seem to mind. She took a seat directly across from you, her eyes fixed on you as if there were nothing else worth looking at.

The conversation started light, filled with small talk. Wanda asked questions about the church, the neighborhood, and community events. Your parents eagerly answered, oblivious to the fact that Wanda’s questions were never truly directed at them.

"And you, Y/n?" she asked at last, leaning forward slightly over the table. "How has it been, coming back home?"

You stopped chewing, caught by her gaze, which was almost suffocating in its intensity.

"Normal," you replied with a shrug, trying to keep your tone neutral.

"Ah, but coming home is never that simple, is it?" Wanda countered, her small smile more of a challenge than anything else.

"I guess it depends on the home," you shot back, letting a hint of acidity seep into your tone.

Your mother gave you a warning look, but Wanda merely laughed softly, as if she had expected no less from you.

"Of course. Every home has its... complexities," she said, savoring the words as she spoke them.

The conversation continued, but Wanda always found a way to steer it back to you.

"Your parents mentioned you were at a boarding school. What was that like?" Vision asked this time.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of Wanda’s gaze, as though every word you spoke was being scrutinized.

"It was... an experience," you replied vaguely, hoping to end the topic quickly.

But Wanda didn’t seem like someone who settled for vague answers.

"It must have been hard to be away from home for so long. Especially at such a... young age." Her tone was sweet, but the intensity in her eyes made you feel as if she were trying to pry open your mind with sheer will.

"Hard isn’t exactly the word," you said, straightening your posture as if that would give you more control over the situation.

Wanda smiled again, that layered smile, and leaned back slightly in her chair.

"A little girl full of secrets, aren’t you? That’s interesting."

You blinked, feeling heat rise to your face. Why did she say things like that? And why did it send waves of heat straight to your core?

The evening wore on, everyone mingling—except you, of course. Now your parents were in the living room with Vision, while Wanda was in the kitchen washing dishes. You felt like a moth drawn to a flame, approaching something that could destroy you—and you didn’t care.

The kitchen felt smaller than before, the air heavy with something invisible, something that made your skin tingle. Wanda was drying her hands with a dish towel, every movement meticulous, as if she had all the time in the world. When you entered, she didn’t look up immediately, but you knew she felt your presence. Wanda always seemed to know everything happening around her.

"Can I help?" you asked, your voice hesitant but firm enough not to sound weak.

Wanda looked up, and for a moment, it felt like she was measuring you. Her lips curved into a smile so perfect it almost seemed fake. She leaned casually against the sink, resting her wrists on the counter.

"No need, darling," she said, her tone as sweet as honey but with something sharp lurking beneath it. "I always take care of everything."

There was something in the way she said "I always take care of everything" that felt like a reminder, almost a warning. Still, you stayed.

"I insist," you replied, trying to mask your discomfort. "I don’t like standing around doing nothing."

"Oh, I’ve noticed," Wanda said, her voice light but her gaze intense. "Young people like you always need to be doing something, moving, talking... acting."

She took a step toward you, slow and almost casual, but it made you hold your breath.

"You seem... restless," Wanda continued, tilting her head slightly. "I wonder why that is."

You crossed your arms, trying to create some sort of barrier.

"Maybe I’m just not used to... this."

"This?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow. "And what exactly is 'this'?"

Wanda was close now, close enough that you could smell her faint floral perfume—delicate yet overwhelming. She ran her fingers along the edge of the counter, as if tracing something invisible.

"Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter," you said defensively, avoiding her gaze and trying not to seem intimidated.

"Look at me when I’m speaking to you." Her voice was firmer this time, a command impossible to ignore.

Your eyes snapped back to hers immediately, and you hated how automatic, how natural it felt.

"Better," Wanda said, her smile softening again, though the control in her tone remained unwavering. "I like your eyes."

You swallowed hard, feeling exposed in a way you’d never experienced before. You wanted to respond—something, anything—but your throat felt tight.

She laughed softly, a sound that sent shivers down your spine.

"I like this," she said, leaning in slightly. "A sharp tongue, someone who thinks they can... challenge."

You swallowed again, her eyes catching every small movement, every hint of hesitation.

"But let me tell you something, sweetheart," Wanda whispered, her voice low and dripping with authority. "Challenges are only interesting up to a point. After that, they become... tiresome."

There was a subtle threat in her tone, something that made you feel small, as if she held all the power in that moment.

"Are you saying I’m a nuisance?" you countered, your voice a little stronger now, trying to reclaim some control.

Her smile widened, but her eyes remained dark.

"No. I’m saying you need to learn when... to find your place."

She took another step closer, now nearly brushing against you, her presence overwhelming. Your heart raced, though you couldn’t tell if it was from fear, anger, or... something else.

"And where would that place be?" you challenged, hating the slight falter in your voice at the end.

Wanda laughed again, this time low and husky, carrying something that made your entire body tingle.

"Exactly where I want you to be," she replied, her words sounding like a promise.

And then, her expression shifted, softening as she turned to call the others, offering them a slice of her apple pie.

It was then you realized that the woman before you was a predator, and you were her prey.

~*~

Should I continue?

#wanda x reader #mommy wanda #wanda maximoff #mommy issues #mommy k1nk #mommy k!nk #lgbtq #lgbtqia #wlw #wlw smut

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milksnake-tea · 6 months ago

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━━ say you still dare to dream .

Sunday has lost everything. His status, his home, his sister, all of it has slipped through his fingers, all for a failed attempt at salvation. Now imprisoned and destined to live his life in shameful shadow, you, his former subordinate, appear to offer him one last chance of redemption.

sunday x gn!reader

contains: aftermath of 2.3, depression, sunday at his lowest

word count: 1.5k

a/n: depressed sunday is my favorite sunday. like damn bro you got BROKEN ig this is what being rammed by a train 8 times does to a man... ANYWAYS. DONT TAKE THIS TOO SERIOUSLY THIS IS JUST ME DOING SOME WRITING PRACTICE WITH BEING DRAMATIC hunches over and dies

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina

“I can only allow you a few minutes at most,” says the woman in purple.

A devil in velvet, that was what they called her. Although she may not look like much - from a distance, you’d mistake her as yet another filthy rich vacationer of Penacony - up close, her snake-like eyes and elegantly poised stature, always ready to strike unsuspecting prey, told you just how dangerous she was.

Lady Bonajade, the Stoneheart of Credit and the most deranged loan shark the galaxy had to offer. She who does the impossible and creates miracles for the price of one’s livelihood.

She, who is currently the master who holds the life of the fallen Oak Family Head in her perfectly manicured hands.

You meet her chilling gaze with steeled eyes. With a deep breath, you force down the lodge in your throat.

“I understand.”

Jade smiles. It is neither threatening nor comforting, although you cannot help but feel unsettled by her calm amusement.

“Most of the Family has turned their back on Mr. Sunday,” she comments, crossing her arms and tapping one nail against her arm. “Why haven’t you, I wonder? Surely, a mere subordinate wouldn’t be so loyal to a traitor of this degree.”

You know better than to answer her. After all, all of her questions are rhetorical - tests. She already knows their answers, she just wants to hear them come from your lips.

But you don’t give her that satisfaction. Your silence is answer enough.

You walk past her and come before a heavily armored vault door. A bit much, in your opinion, for a man who has spent the majority of his life asleep. But he is also the man who had taken control of the Asdana system and nearly ascended into Aeonhood, so this level of security is to be expected.

Hundreds of locks and gears turn before the doors open with a hiss and a billowing of smoke. With a mental prayer to Xipe for strength, you step into the dark cell.

There’s little to no light in the small room, leaving you to wonder how Sunday had managed to stay sane all this time. You already know the cells are essentially soundproof, and with so little light, the Family’s prisoners were shut off from the rest of the world and their senses.

The brief rustle of chains catches your attention, and you turn your gaze to the iron throne at the center of the room.

Oh, how far he has fallen.

Once gleaming gold has lost its luster, reflecting not sympathy nor love like you had known them to, but defeat and a resigned acceptance. Fair skin has become drained and faded like that of a corpse. Feather-like hair, once so meticulously cared for, is ruined and frayed.

Bound are the hands that would never raise against another, and shackled are the wings that have never known flight. Caged is the bird who has known no other home; only now, his gilded shackles have become sullied, ugly, disdainful.

He is hollow, empty in every sense of the word - drained of what little vitality he once had.

“Sir,” comes your whisper. He doesn’t respond.

Your footsteps are heavy as you approach. Sunday’s head is bowed - something his pride would’ve never allowed back in the day.

Once upon a time, you had found his arrogance annoying, hypocritical even. Yet at the same time, it was endearing, knowing that even the perfect and saint-like Sunday had his faults. In a sense, it had brought him down to earth, it had made him human.

Seeing him like this, so despondent and defeated, makes you long for the days where he’d scoff at the IPC or make back-handed compliments for his own sick pleasure.

“Sir,” you repeat. You stop before him, and kneel down to one knee.

Sunday’s eyes flick to meet yours, before dropping down to his lap, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. Out of guilt, or out of scorn, you don’t know.

“Why have you come?”

Your heart aches at his voice. It cracks from the days without use, deeper than his typical chirp.

“I am a sinner, a traitor to the Family.” Not once does he meet your gaze again as he speaks. “Visiting me…”

He exhales.

“You should leave.”

“I won’t.”

His hands clench from where they’re bound to the arms of his throne. Briefly, annoyance flashes over him, before he lets it wash away with a slump of his shoulders.

“It would be easier if you just- left me here,” he says painstakingly. “I am of no use to you anymore - if anything, I am a stain. Abandoning me… is the logical thing to do.”

“You and your logistics,” you sigh. “Did it never once occur to you that I cared for you as a person, and not just as my superior?”

His eyes are shaking. Sunday’s expression is pained, like that of a grieving mother.

“Why?” he asks again, his face straining as he tries to understand. “Why are you here?”

Your answer is simple. “To free you.”

Bitterly, the corners of his lips twitch in a cynical chuckle.

“You of all people should know that I was not meant for freedom,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “That is what you believe. Lady Bonajade and I agree that you deserve to have this chance.”

“Lady Jade, huh?” Resentment flashes in his irises as he scoffs. “So you intend to coerce me into accepting charity from the IPC?”

Hurt pangs at your chest and you flinch. “That isn’t-”

“Spare me the concern,” Sunday spits, turning his head. “I may have fallen, but I still have my pride. If that’s all you have to say, you can leave.”

For a moment, you are speechless. Then you are indignant, and you rise slightly, your brows furrowed.

“Why are you so willing to accept your fate?” you ask, almost angrily.

Sunday exhales. “What else am I expected do?”

“This can’t be how your story ends." Your fist balls up the fabric of your pants in its grip. “Locked away, isolated from the rest of the world - that can’t be what you want. It is too cruel a fate for you.”

For you, who loved humanity so deeply.

“Tell me,” you say, gazing up at the man who had torn his skin and carved his heart for the people. “Tell me you want to be freed, and I will do so. I’ll take care of everything. All I need is for you to say that you want it.”

He shakes his head, his eyes squeezing shut.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers after a moment of silence. “Why, for me…”

“What is there to understand?”

“This is unreasonable,” he starts.

“Not for me, it isn’t,” you say softly. “If it’s for you, nothing is unreasonable.”

His voice raises, trembling upon its crumbling pedestal, panic seeping into every word. “I don’t deserve that kindness - that mercy. I am a sinner, I am a traitor, I am-”

“You are a man worth saving.”

Sunday’s eyes fly open. He stares at you, eyes wide with surprise, his lips parted as to say something, only for the words to die on his tongue.

Your neck is beginning to hurt from how long you’ve been looking up at him, but you push the pain aside.

“The Sunday I knew was kind and gentle,” you say, subconsciously leaning forward. Pent-up emotions, cumulated through the years, begin to bleed into your voice, weighing it down. “He always looked out for the weak, and cared when no one else did. He put others before himself, and even if he was a little arrogant, he was selfless.”

“No,” Sunday protests weakly. “I am not- You- I-”

“You are so much more than you allow yourself to be.”

Rising from the floor, your knees aching slightly, you gently take the face of the fallen angel in your hand. Cradling him like glass, you force him to look at you, to look one of the many he’d betrayed in the face, and see the love for him despite it all.

“Sunday, do you wish for freedom?”

For the many years you’ve worked under him, his eyes have always been a cold gem, calm and unfettered. Never have you seen them glossy with tears, threatening to break at any moment.

You see fear and desire clashing as he grapples for the first time, a choice not for the people, but for himself. You see the beliefs that have been molded into him beginning to crack. You see the caged bird gaze at the world beyond his bars, and for the first time, want to soar beyond them.

Sunday’s lips open and close as he struggles to find the right words to say.

“Where will I go?” he asks instead, tearing his gaze away. It is answer enough.

You smile softly.

“Anywhere you desire.”

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

#—stellaronhvnters.#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #sunday hsr #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #hsr sunday x reader #sunday hsr x reader #honkai star rail sunday #honkai star rail sunday x reader #x reader #reader insert #y/n #archives 🏵️

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jestericulating · 23 days ago

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i feel like its my curse to fall in love with side characters but i feel like we dont appreciate mithara’s brilliance enough

like ur gonna look me in my eyes and tell me u willingly miss out on an incredibly written character just bc she doesn’t have as much content and you gotta murk a few twerps to get her. knock her out like the rest of us

like she’s such a fascinating woman. for someone so vindictive and evil she’s so willing to be immediately vulnerable with you and voice her concerns just because you decided to save her and she recognises that most people in their right mind would leave her for dead but You Don’t and she literally doesn’t waste a second expressing her gratitude. who else willingly does that without me having to wrench it out of them huh

and i think it’s so fascinating because she’s literally a commander And Also a noble and yet you can ask her about anything to do with home and her life before and she’ll tell you it all so willingly just because you asked. she doesn’t hide anything from you; everything is out in the open and straightforward from the get go. she’s a no nonsense woman and i deeply respect that

it could also just be a me thing but there’s something i really appreciate about her not really having any specifically romantic greetings. she’s stalwart and alert and ready to run into battle for you until you ask her for a kiss and then her voice softens and she’s sweet and teasing you and it just feels So Much More Natural you know?? i find some of the other romances dialogue to be a little too mushy or on the nose for my liking so minthara is hard Not to romance every time. even on a redemption durge run she doesn’t chastise or get upset with you for not taking the netherbrain for yourselves Even Though it was what she had been dying to do since she joined your party. she doesn’t even really need your apology, she’s just happy to be by your side more than anything and i think thats what makes her so Ride or Die because all that matters to her is you!!!! even at the reunion party that she says she doesn’t particularly care to be at (i dont believe her for a second i KNOW she likes some of the companions deep down) she hangs around and waits just so that you can hang out with your friends because she wants you to be happy. she is a very ambitious and selfish woman and yet as soon as you get with her she pushes all of her selfishness aside Just to account for you. if you dont wanna do it then it won’t happen. end of story. she’s not gonna force you even if it’s literally all that she wants. yeah the compromise is that instead of doing the Massively Evil Thing you just do a Smaller Evil Thing but i dont ever play characters that Aren’t in some way morally dubious so whatever

i fear there is no one so fiercely loyal and supportive of any decision you make than minthara and i’ll die on that hill

#this is a safe space for minthara truthers #i genuinely dont think ive ever loved a character as much as her #i dont wanna hear NOTHING about her hunger for power #we all know act 3 gale + astarion #i said so much no idea if any of it makes sense but whadeva #bg3 #minthara #minthara baenre #baldur's gate 3

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seongwars · 1 month ago

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strangers by nature | vi

Pairing: heir!Song Mingi x heir!Reader AU: non-idol | arranged marriage | enemies to lovers Genre: angst, humor, fluff in future chapters Rating: NC-17 Summary: After a life-altering car accident, Mingi is given one final shot at redemption—reborn as a fuzzy little puppy. To earn a second chance at life, he must complete three tasks or risk being doomed to the afterlife forever. Word Count: 6.6K Warnings: angst, character d*ath, attacks on animals, mentions of blood, swearing, mentions of mental health, only half proofread, use of crude language

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a/n: it hurt me to write this chapter 😭

You weren’t particularly close to your father. His life revolved around his work—the family business he hadn’t wanted but had accepted out of obligation when your uncles, San and Jongho’s fathers, stepped aside, unwilling to subject their sons to the challenges of running a conglomerate.

Sometimes you wished he had done the same too.

He was often away, traveling to meet clients or locked in endless board meetings. He wasn’t the type of man to swoop in with comforting words or a warm embrace. Instead, he listened without interrupting, nodded without judgment, and spoke only when he felt it was necessary. Despite the distance between you, his steady presence had a way of making you feel oddly secure.

And maybe that was why, as you paced the length of your penthouse, you found yourself dialing his number. Mingi followed your every move, his small body glued to your side. He kept glancing up at you, occasionally tripping you with how close he was.

“Come on, pick up, pick up…” You muttered to yourself. Your pacing carried you in a loop—through the kitchen, into the dining room you barely used, and then into the living room. Then, you wandered back into the kitchen, your footsteps quickening with every unanswered ring.

“Y/N?”

Your shoulders sagged in relief, and you stopped pacing, planting yourself in the middle of the kitchen as Mingi bumped up against your ankles.

“Dad!”

“Is everything alright?”

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly around the phone. How were you supposed to explain everything that had transpired the last few weeks without sounding unhinged?

What were you even supposed to say? Hi, Dad. Quick question: Are you sure the woman you’re married to is actually my mother?

Your parents’ marriage had always seemed like a curious thing to you. It was a product of an arrangement. Yet, over the years, your father’s quiet gestures of affection seemed to keep your mother content, even happy.

Surely, he couldn’t have had an affair.

The idea felt absurd, but then again, you’d always felt like a stranger in your own home, an outsider looking in at a family that didn’t quite seem to know where you fit.

“I-I need to talk to you about something. I didn’t want to call mom because…you know how she gets.”

Your mother had a flair for theatrics, a tendency to turn even the smallest inconvenience into a grand production. If you’d called her instead, the situation would have escalated before you even finished explaining.

“What’s going on?”

“I…” You faltered for a moment, running a hand through your hair before continuing your train of thought.

“There’s this woman who I think has been stalking me. A friend of mine was dogsitting Maro when she approached him at the park.” Your voice dropped slightly, recounting your conversation with Yeosang.

“She recognized Maro…and referred to me as her daughter.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and you took a moment to crouch down and stroke Mingi’s fur as he leaned into your side.

“I don’t know who she is,” you admitted softly. “But…something about her felt wrong. And it’s been bothering me ever since.”

“Did she hurt you or Maro?”

“No, but she tried to abduct a little girl a few weeks ago. We stopped her and she fled.”

“Y/N, I need you to listen to me carefully,” he said, his tone suddenly firm.

You froze mid-step, his words rooting you in place. “Okay,” you said hesitantly, your voice small.

“I need you to stay put,” he continued. “Don’t do anything or go anywhere, especially not alone. I’m going to call the lawyers and have them review the court order and police files.”

“Court order?” you repeated, confusion rising in your chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Call either San or Jongho,” he said instead, his tone softening just enough to sound like a plea.

“Let them know I’ve asked one of them to stay with you until we sort this out.”

“Dad, what court order?” you pressed, gripping the phone tighter as your heart raced.

Mingi, sensing your distress, pawed at you insistently, his soft whines urging you to sit down. But you couldn’t move, couldn’t tear your focus away from the ominous edge in your father’s voice.

“There was an incident when you were three. If she is who I think she is, she’s someone we dealt with a long time ago.”

“Who?”

“Your former nanny,” he admitted, his voice steady but grim. “She tried to take you,” he said bluntly.

“At first, she seemed fine. Kind, attentive, everything you’d want for a child. But things started escalating. Your mother noticed something was off right after she lost her own daughter in an accident. She’d grown too attached to you. Too possessive. We let her go, but before we could take any legal action, she attempted to abduct you.”

“She tried to kidnap me?”

“She managed to evade security at first. It was like any other day. But by the time we realized what was happening, she was already on her way to the airport with you.”

The room spun, and before you realized it, you had sunk to the floor. The color drained from your face as the weight of the revelation hit you. Mingi froze, his small body going still as he struggled to process the gravity of what he was hearing.

He let out a soft whine, curling closer to you. He hadn’t fully understood your fears, the reasons behind your walls, the way panic sometimes overtook you without warning.

Now, as a dog, powerless to do anything but sit beside you, the weight of guilt felt almost unbearable.

“We caught her in time,” he continued quickly, his tone shifting, as if trying to calm you.

“She didn’t make it far. Security intercepted her at the gate just as she was preparing to board a flight. We filed charges immediately and she was arrested.”

“But?” you scoffed. “Your money and influence couldn’t keep her behind bars?”

“We didn’t think she’d ever get out, Y/N. The charges were serious, and the evidence was solid. At the time, we were assured she’d be locked away for decades.” He hesitated, and for a moment, you thought you heard his voice waver.

“You were so young. We didn’t want to burden you with something you wouldn’t even remember. We thought we could protect you from it all.”

“So much for power,” you muttered bitterly, rubbing your temples. “She seems to be escalating. She’s openly trying to kidnap children now. Who knows what else she’s capable of?”

Your father’s sigh was heavy. “Which is why you’re not to go anywhere alone, Y/N. Not until this is resolved.”

“Dad—”

“I’ll be increasing the security presence around the penthouse as well. And before you ask, yes, I'll be coordinating with Mingi’s family to ensure their resources are aligned with ours.”

The mention of your in-laws made your stomach twist. They were probably unaware of the situation, but it wouldn’t stay that way for long. You could already imagine your mother-in-law spinning the story to her social circle about her damsel of a daughter-in-law and how her poor son was unable to save her. The thought of being the centerpiece of their gossip left you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“Make sure there’s a secure presence at the hospital too,” you said, cutting in before the conversation could linger on your in-laws.

“She might try something there.”

Your father arched a brow. He knew you didn’t particularly like being married to Mingi—he wasn’t blind to the strain in your relationship. Truthfully, he regretted agreeing to the arrangement in the first place. He’d witnessed firsthand the coldness with which Mingi had treated you, most notably the way he’d rebuffed your birthday gathering that first year of marriage. It had been a bitter reminder that not all alliances were worth the price they came with.

But upon hearing your request, it made him realize that you had always been kinder, and more compassionate than those around him. While he had always seemed distant, caught up in his own world of business and power, moments like these reminded him that you had grown into someone he was proud of. Someone who cared, even for those who didn’t deserve it.

“Is there anything else that you need?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“No,” you replied, shaking your head slightly. “But I’m not going to live in fear forever. She doesn’t get to have that power over me.”

“I don’t expect you to. I just want you to be safe.”

The line disconnected and you set the phone down, your hand lingering on it for a moment before turning back to Mingi. You felt a surge of emotions–anger, frustration, fear, and a flicker of determination.

But when you saw him sitting patiently on the floor, watching you intently with his big eyes, fluffy ears, and wrinkled nose, everything inside you softened. The weight of the world seemed to melt away in that moment, and your heart ached with affection.

“You’re so cute, I can’t stand it,” you squealed, the intensity of your emotions spilling out in a completely unexpected way.

Without thinking, you scooped him into your arms, pressing your face against his soft fur as you swayed back and forth with him. Mingi melted into your embrace, his small body going limp as he relished your warmth.

“I just want to squish you!” you exclaimed, giggling as you kissed him between the ears.

Mingi let out a soft, rumbling growl, not out of annoyance but because he didn’t know how else to respond to the flood of emotions washing over him. If only you knew how deeply he wanted to protect you, not just as a dog, but as the man who had failed to see your worth for far too long.

“I should probably text the group chat,” you murmured, reaching for your phone while balancing Mingi securely in your other arm.

[Y/N]: My dad said I can have a sleepover

[Grumpy Bear]: fuck yeah

[Mountain Mayne]: Can Kira come too?”

[Y/N]: Only Kira, you stay home

⋆

Mingi found himself scowling, scooped up in San’s arms, as the four of you lounged in your living room, covered in mountains of blankets, pillows, and snacks. He wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in this situation, but he was definitely not thrilled when your cousins and San’s fiancée came crashing into the penthouse after you summoned them with a single text.

“Why isn’t the dog distribution system working for us?” San asked, holding Mingi out toward Kira like he was some kind of offering. Mingi shot him a glare, but the effect was somewhat lost given his tiny size and the way his fur poofed up around his face.

“Because we already have three cats at home,” she replied, chomping on a piece of cheese without looking up from her phone. San sighed dramatically, pulling Mingi back to cradle him like a baby.

“Don’t worry, Maro, I'll save you from your owner and her evil husband.”

Mingi bristled, his fur puffing out even more. He barked indignantly, but it only made San laugh as he nuzzled Mingi’s fluffy face.

“Yeah, if the evil husband ever wakes up,” Jongho snorted from under his fortress of blankets.

The room fell silent, save for the faint sound of Howl’s Moving Castle playing in the background. Mingi froze, his small body tensing in San’s arms. His ears flattened against his head as Jongho’s words echoed in his mind.

Sure, he hadn’t been a perfect husband. He wasn’t even sure he’d been a good one. But…evil?

“Oh come on, that’s not fair,” you replied, albeit with an edge to your tone.

“What?” Jongho raised his hands defensively, his expression a mix of guilt and awkwardness.

“It was a joke. I mean, come on, the guy cheated, publicly humiliated you… you can do so much better, Y/N.”

“I know a good divorce lawyer,” Kira added, waving her phone as if the solution to your problems was just a call away.

The truth of their words clawed at Mingi, a painful reminder of everything he’d done wrong. He wanted to bark, to growl, to defend himself, but what could he even say? That they were wrong? They weren’t. Not completely.

You inhaled sharply, your lips pressing into a thin line as you plopped down next to San. He glanced at you, but you ignored it, your focus entirely on the small dog curled stiffly in his arms.

“I get it,” you said finally, your voice clipped as you reached out and gently plucked Maro out of your cousin’s arms. He went still in your hold, his small body tensing as he waited for what you’d say next.

“Mingi has his own problems, but right now, he doesn’t have anyone in his corner. I don’t know what will happen when he wakes up, but it’s not fair to say things like that when he’s not here.” You cradled him closer, your touch instinctively protective as if shielding him from their judgement.

Jongho exhaled loudly, his earlier confidence deflating as he sank deeper into the pile of blankets. “Fair point,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. That was out of line.”

Mingi stayed silent, nestled in your arms, his mind racing. You could have left him at the hospital. You could have walked away, started over. Hell, maybe you should have. You could have even entertained the thought of dating Seonghwa, or Yeosang, or anyone else. Anyone but him.

But you hadn’t.

You spent countless nights in that hospital room, talking to him, even when he couldn’t say anything back. You stood up for him, even now, when he didn’t deserve it.

Mingi could picture it so clearly: someone else making you laugh, someone else holding your hand, someone else seeing the best parts of you.

Maybe they were right, he thought bitterly. Maybe you really could do better.

But even if that was true, he couldn’t bring himself to accept it. Not when there was still a sliver of hope that he might wake up, make amends, and find a way back to being the man you once believed he could be.

“Well, I’m going to bed,” you announced, rising to your feet with an exaggerated stretch. “It’s way past bedtime.”

“I’ll stay here,” San declared. “In case your stalker tries anything.”

“Good for you, honey,” Kira patted his shoulder. “But I’m going into one of the guest rooms because that’s what sane people do.”

“You’ve got this covered,” Jongho muttered sleepily, dragging himself out of the blanket pile. He stretched with a loud yawn and shuffled toward his room without even waiting for a reply.

“We’re supposed to be in this together,” San grumbled, throwing a pillow halfheartedly at Jongho’s retreating figure. It missed by a wide margin, flopping harmlessly to the floor.

As you slipped into your room, the shift was immediate. The air turned quiet and soft, a reprieve from the playful chaos outside. You closed the door gently and set Mingi down on the bed, his fluffy body sinking into the plush comforter.

He sat perfectly still, watching you move around the room. You pulled back the covers on your side of the bed and fluffed the pillows before finally settling in.

Patting the space beside you, you called softly, “Time for bed.”

He padded over, his small paws making barely a sound as he climbed onto the blankets and curled up near your side. When he tucked his nose into the crook of your neck, you giggled.

“I love you. Night night, puppy,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

As you drifted off to sleep, Mingi stayed awake, tracing the gentle slope of your nose to the soft curve of your lips. It all seemed so fleeting, like everything could slip away in the blink of an eye.

He sighed softly, rolling onto his back and then to his side again, unable to find a comfortable position. San’s snores rumbled faintly through the door, a reminder of the others nearby. But Mingi’s mind was too restless to relax.

His mind drifted to his last task: What did it mean to offer you happiness without expecting anything in return?

Isn’t it about giving you what you wanted? Protecting you, making you laugh, or ensuring you were never alone? But the more he thought about it, the more complicated it became.

How could he possibly give you that when so much of his past had been spent hurting you?

He remembered the times he’d chosen his own pride over your feelings, the cruel words he couldn’t take back, the moments he’d walked away when you needed him most. He had made you feel small, like you were the one who didn’t belong, the one who wasn’t good enough for him, all while he continued living his life while you were left to pick up the pieces of your own.

“You’re home all the time, don’t you have any friends?”

Your response had been blunt, cold, almost dismissive.

“No, they’re dead.”

That was all you said to him. No explanation, just a heavy finality that left him speechless. He didn’t know what it meant then, but now, looking back, it felt like a confession, a glimpse into a part of you that was buried beneath the walls you’d built to protect yourself after losing Hongjoong.

Kim Hongjoong, the ghost of a man who had never left your heart. The man who had held a place there long before Mingi had even existed in your life. And in that moment, jealousy crept in. It was sharp, bitter, the thought of losing you to a ghost threatening to consume him.

He hated that Hongjoong would always carry that piece of your heart he couldn’t touch, a piece that belonged to someone who had once been your everything. Because in this moment, Mingi, more than anything, coveted that place in your heart.

No matter how much he tried to remind himself that he was here, that he was now, it didn’t quell the sense of inadequacy growing within him. He couldn’t love you with the expectation of erasing your past or taking what wasn’t his to have.

If he was to prove himself, to earn his humanity, it couldn’t be about him. It had to come from a place of selflessness. He had to love you for who you were, even if it meant living in the shadow of a ghost. Even if it meant never being able to fully claim a place in your heart.

Even if it might mean accepting that some parts of you could never belong to him, no matter how much he wanted them to. And as painful as that truth was, Mingi knew it was the only way forward.

He nestled into your side, his fluffy form fitting snugly against you as he placed a paw against your nose. The steady rise and fall of your chest soothed him, reminding him that he was yours, even if it was only as Maro.

“I’m so bored,” you groaned, hanging your head over the back of the couch dramatically. The ceiling wasn’t particularly interesting, but you were so desperate for stimulation that you started counting the corners of the crown molding.

Kira glanced over from the kitchen, her brow furrowing in concentration as she whisked a bowl of batter with a bit too much vigor.

“You should try being useful. Come help me bake.”

“I’d rather be anywhere but here,” you muttered, sliding further down the couch until you were almost horizontal. “I’ve seen every corner of this penthouse.”

“Drama queen,” she said lightly. “You’re safe here. That’s what matters. And besides, I thought you’d enjoy the time off.”

“Time off from what?”

“I don’t know? The hospital? The back and forth must be draining.”

You hummed in response, though that was all you could muster. Draining wasn’t quite the word for it. It was true the days spent at the hospital had a way of blurring together, but you didn’t mind staying there. In some strange way, it felt right.

At the hospital, you had a routine. You’d arrive in the evening, lay on the sofa and stare out into nothingness. Sometimes you’d read, talk to him about trivial things, or just sit quietly, the hum of the monitors filling the silence. It wasn’t much, but it was something. A way to show him that he wasn’t alone, even if he couldn’t respond.

Because deep down, you knew he needed someone on his side.

It wasn’t easy to admit, even to yourself, but a part of you still held out hope for reconciliation. Not the fairytale kind, where everything magically resolved and all wounds were healed, but something quieter. A mutual understanding, perhaps. A moment where he’d open up, even just a little, and let you see the person behind all the walls he’d built.

You knew he was hurting. You’d always known, even when he tried to mask it with anger or indifference. His actions, the coldness, the distance, the biting remarks, were all symptoms of something deeper.

But there was another part of you, a quieter voice that you couldn’t ignore. The part that braced for no change at all. That prepared for the possibility that when, if, he woke up, he’d still be the same person he was before. That he’d still look at you like you were the problem, the obstacle, the thing standing in the way of his happiness.

That part of you longed for freedom.

You’d spent so much time tangled up in his chaos, in his pain, that you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to just...be.

Maybe, if and when he woke up, he’d be willing to part ways. And maybe that would be for the best.

“I ran out of eggs!”

You blinked, momentarily disoriented. “What?”

“Eggs!” she repeated, holding up the empty carton. “I can’t believe I forgot them. I’m halfway through making this cake, and now I have to stop everything to run to the store.”

“I’ll go with you!” you said quickly, standing up from the couch so fast you nearly tripped over your own feet.

Kira froze, narrowing her eyes at you. “You know you’re not supposed to leave.”

“And you’re supposed to be at the courthouse, but here you are, baking a cake for a man.”

“First of all, it’s called paid time off,” she replied, narrowing her eyes further. “Secondly, San’s stroke game is top tier.”

“Oh my God, stop!” you cut her off, throwing your hands up.

“I do not want to hear about your sex life with my cousin. He used to eat mud as a kid.”

Kira rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she leaned against the counter. “Anyway,” she continued, “your dad would absolutely kill me. He gave strict orders to keep you here. And unlike you, I actually follow them.”

“Come on, Kira,” you pleaded. Your eyes landed on Maro, lounging nearby. You scooped him up in one swift motion, holding him up like a fluffy shield.

“Even Maro thinks it’s a good idea!”

Mingi tilted his head, his dark eyes widening as he gave Kira his best impression of a sad, helpless puppy.

“Look at him. He’s begging you.”

Kira groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s a quick trip. Five minutes, tops,” you promised, your tone bordering on desperate. “I won’t go anywhere, I’ll stay by your side the entire time!”

She sighed, clearly wavering. “Fine.”

The ding of the store’s bell announced your arrival, and the comforting smell of fried food from the deli counter made your stomach grumble. Kira grabbed a basket, striding purposefully toward the back where the eggs were stashed.

“Eggs,” she said firmly, shooting you a warning glance over her shoulder.

“Got it,” you replied, though your eyes immediately wandered to the chip aisle.

The small store was quiet, almost unnervingly still, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you. As you followed Kira, your gaze flicked around the store—a habit you’d picked up recently without fully realizing it. Your shoulders tensed, the faint prickling sensation at the back of your neck making you feel exposed. It was probably nothing, you told yourself, trying to brush it off.

Kira tossed a carton of eggs into the basket and turned to you with a raised brow. “Anything else?”

Her voice startled you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You blinked, momentarily disoriented, before grabbing a bag of chips from a nearby rack and a pack of chocolate-covered pretzels from the next shelf over.

“Alright, ready!” you chirped.

The cashier rang up your items without much fuss, and soon you were both on your way. But as the store door clicked shut behind you, that sense of discomfort returned. You glanced over your shoulder, your movements slow and deliberate, as if any sudden motion might draw unwanted attention.

Your eyes darted to the empty street ahead, scanning the familiar buildings and darkened windows. It looked deserted, but the nagging feeling told you otherwise.

“You okay?” Kira asked, noticing your hesitation.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, the word tumbling out a little too fast. You forced a smile, hoping it looked convincing.

You told yourself it was nothing, a stray thought feeding your paranoia. But as you turned the corner toward your apartment, your worst fears materialized. A shadow detached itself from the side of a building ahead, stepping into the weak glow of the nearest streetlamp. Your stomach dropped, and your chest tightened when you noticed the glint of the knife in hand.

“Y/N.”

Your stalker. Your former nanny.

Kira froze beside you, her posture immediately tense. Her free hand twitched toward her phone, but her other gripped your arm tightly, as if anchoring you in place. You shook her off with a small, almost imperceptible gesture, your lips moving silently to form the words: Call San.

Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn’t argue. She stepped back, her movements careful as she pulled her phone from her pocket.

“Hey…mom,” you said, your voice trembling but just steady enough to hold its own. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue, but it was all you could think of to buy yourself time.

The woman’s head tilted, her expression softening into something disturbingly tender. “Oh, my sweet Y/N,” she cooed, taking a step closer.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long,” she continued. “You’ve grown so much. You’re even more beautiful than I imagined.”

The delusion in her voice sent ice down your spine. She didn’t just see you as a person. You were a possession—something she believed she owned.

“It’s been a while,” you said cautiously, keeping your tone light, though your hands trembled at your sides.

“What…what are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to take you home!”

“Right…home,” you repeated, your stomach churning at the word. You took a step back, careful to keep your movements slow and nonthreatening.

“Why don’t we go for a walk and catch up? I just ate, and walking helps with digestion. Did you know that?”

The woman blinked, her head tilting further to the side. For a moment, she seemed caught off guard by the suggestion.

“A walk?” she echoed, suspicion flickering across her face before fading into hesitant curiosity. “You want to spend time with me?”

You nodded quickly, forcing a smile. “O-Of course! I mean, it’s been so long, right? We have so much to talk about.”

Behind you, Kira moved as quietly as possible, her phone pressed to her ear as she whispered into the receiver. The nanny walked ahead, still clutching the knife tightly in her hand as your figures disappeared into the darkness.

⋆

Mingi paced restlessly around the penthouse, his claws clicking softly against the floor. His tail flicked with agitation, and his ears twitched, straining to catch a sound that wasn’t there. Something felt wrong—deeply, inexplicably wrong. You were only supposed to be gone with Kira for five minutes.

But those five minutes had turned to an hour.

The door to the penthouse slammed open, and Jongho burst inside, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. His face was pale and his brow furrowed deeply as he listened to the voice on the other end.

“Yes, I’m here now,” he said hurriedly, his tone clipped and tense. Mingi froze mid-step, his ears flicking forward as Jongho’s words sank in. Looking for you? His heart dropped. Did something happen to you?

“I’ll stay here in case she comes back. Yes, San and Kira are out looking for her along with law enforcement.”

Mingi’s nose twitched, catching the faint remnants of Jongho’s scent. There was something else mingled with it—the sharp tang of fear. A shiver ran down his spine. Jongho wasn’t scared for himself; he was scared for you.

In his frenzy, Jongho forgot to shut the door completely. It clicked behind him, but the latch didn’t catch, leaving it slightly ajar as he retreated further into the penthouse.

Mingi knew you were most definitely scared, but were relying on your wit to keep your abductor as distracted for as long as possible. But it could only go so far. You needed help. You needed him.

He darted after Jongho, letting out a short, sharp yip that made him turn with a frown.

“Maro?” Jongho’s brow furrowed in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

Mingi barked again, more insistent this time. He jumped in place, then headbutted Jongho's leg with surprising force, urging him toward the hallway. When Jongho still didn’t move, Mingi let out a sharp yip, trotted to the door, and paused to bark over his shoulder. Come on, follow me!

Out in the hallway, Mingi’s incessant barking continued until Jongho relented, reaching out to push the call button for the elevator.

Jongho stared down at the little dog, confusion etched across his face. “Why are you so interested in the elevator?”

Mingi stayed silent in an attempt to get this timing right. Then, as soon as the doors began to close, he darted forward, squeezing inside at the last second. Jongho blinked, momentarily stunned, before the realization hit him.

“I just…got played by a dog.”

Outside, Mingi paused just long enough to pick up your scent on the breeze. Darting forward, Mingi weaved through the bustling crowd, his small frame slipping unnoticed between legs and around obstacles. His nose twitched, staying locked on the trail, as he took off into the night with the promise of finding you

“I’m coming,” he whispered under his breath, to keep himself moving. His legs burned, and his lungs ached, but he didn’t stop.

Your nanny stood a few feet away, as you guided her to a nearby park. Her body taut with a kind of unnatural stillness. Her expression was deceptively calm, but her eyes gleamed with something unhinged.

“How have you been? You’re married right? I see the ring on your finger.”

Your fingers twitched involuntarily, brushing against the cool platinum of your wedding band. It felt heavier than usual under her scrutinizing gaze. “I am,” you replied, keeping your tone calm and steady despite the way your stomach churned.

“Almost three years now.”

“Three years? That’s wonderful. What’s your husband like? Oh, I’d love to meet him!”

“Unfortunately, he’s on a business trip overseas. B-But when he comes back, maybe we could have dinner.”

Her smile stretched impossibly wider, her eyes glinting with a strange light as she clasped her hands together. “Dinner? Oh, how wonderful! Just like old times!”

“Y-Yeah, just like old times. You, me, um, Mingi and…dad.”

“Dad?” she echoed, her voice hollow and strained. “Your father?”

The moment the word "Dad" left your lips, her expression darkened and her grip on the knife tightened, turning her knuckles white as the blade trembled in her hand.

“No! Not him! Not while he’s married to that bitch!” she spat venomously.

“You know, his wife didn’t love you like I did! She didn’t raise you! She wasn’t there for you!”

Her face twisted with fury, her voice rising as she screamed. “She left you behind! Do you remember that? Do you? She didn’t care about you! She abandoned you—threw you away like trash! But me? I stayed. I cared. I’m your family!”

Mingi’s ears perked up at the sound of that voice. It was her—the same woman who had tried to abduct Yena weeks ago. A low growl rumbled in his throat, but he forced his down, shifting his focus to the sights and sounds around him. In the distance, he caught fragments of Kira’s raised voice, as she argued with the District Attorney.

“She should never have been released!”

“Her delusions weren’t just untreated, they were escalating. And instead of following protocol, the facility discharged her prematurely without an appropriate plan in place.”

Mingi’s ears flicked toward the sound as Kira’s voice grew louder, her pace quickening.

“The ruling was explicit! The family was to be notified of any changes in her care plan. But no one was! And now she’s out here, putting Y/N in danger!”

The echoes of Kira’s tirade faded into the background as Mingi tuned everything else out, his focus narrowing to a single goal. Find you. Protect you.

She won’t hurt you. I won’t let her, he promised.

You swallowed hard, your mind racing as you searched for the right words to diffuse the situation. “You’re right,” you said gently, taking a slow step forward as your eyes stayed locked on the blade.

“I should’ve done more to stay in touch. You were important to me, and I didn’t show that the way I should have.”

Mingi crept closer, staying low and moving with careful precision. His small frame blended with the shadows cast by the trees, his paws silent against the ground. His ears were pinned back as he watched the stalker. For a split second, her grip on the knife faltered. Her expression softened, dimming into something more fragile, almost childlike.

But then her face contorted again. “You’re lying!” she screamed, taking a step toward you.

“You don’t mean that! You’re just saying that to make me go away.” She took a step closer, the knife jerking with her erratic movements.

His nose twitched, catching the faint scent of your fear mingled with her unbridled rage. Her emotions were spiraling out of control, and with every step she took, the gap between you and danger grew smaller.

“I’m not,” you said firmly, taking a careful step backwards.

“I mean it. You were there for me when I needed someone, and I want to be here for you now. But I can’t do that if you don’t trust me.”

She hesitated, the knife wavering slightly in her grip. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed like your words might be getting through.

Mingi inched closer, his eyes tracking her trembling hand, and his body tensed, ready to spring.

“You’ll leave me again! Just like her!”

That was his cue. With a burst of speed, Mingi darted forward, his small body a blur of motion. His sharp teeth clamped down on her ankle, eliciting a startled cry. She stumbled, but her fury only intensified. She lashed out blindly, her hand sweeping through the air, the knife flashing dangerously.

“Maro!” you screamed.

Without hesitation, you lunged forward, your heart pounding as you reached for her wrist. Your grip was firm, fueled by adrenaline and sheer determination as you kicked her back, sending her stumbling slightly. With a swift motion, you scooped Mingi into your arms, cradling him against your chest.

As she steadied herself, her arm swung wildly and you raised your arm to shield Mingi. The knife sliced through your forearm leaving streaks of blood, but you didn’t let go, tightened your hold on him as you focused on the woman in front of you.

“I’m sorry you lost your daughter,” you began, your tone water as you tried to bite back the pain radiating down your arm.

“I can’t imagine the pain you’ve been carrying, or how much it’s changed you. I’m sure whatever happened broke you in ways no one can see. But trying to replace her won’t bring her back.”

You could see the tears threatening to spill over, but they did nothing to soften her. If anything, they seemed to fuel her anger. Her grip on the knife tightened as she took a shaky step toward you. Your heart pounded and Mingi whimpered softly, pressing his small body closer to yours, and you instinctively held him tighter, bracing yourself.

“Police! Drop your weapon!”

“Y/N!” your dad’s voice rang out. You turned your head just enough to see him running toward you, San and Kira close behind, flanked by a group of police officers.

The stalker froze, her head snapping toward the source of the commotion. Her grip on the knife faltered, and for a split second, you thought she might comply. But then her face contorted with fury once more, and she tightened her hold, her body tensing as if preparing to lunge.

“Stay back!” she screamed, her voice shrill and panicked.

The officers fanned out, their weapons drawn, their voices calm but firm as they repeated their commands. “Drop the knife! Put it down now!”

Your dad reached you first, his hand gripping your shoulder as he stepped slightly in front of you. “Are you hurt?” he asked urgently, his sharp eyes taking in the blood streaking down your arm and the puppy trembling in your hold.

“She cut me,” you admitted, glancing at the blood streaking down your arm. “It’s not deep, but—” You shifted Mingi slightly in your hold, cradling him closer.

Mingi let out a soft, sleepy sigh, his head resting heavily against your chest as your dad checked you over. His breaths came slower now, each one softer than the last. His little paws twitched as though he were trying to cling to you.

His mind wandered, a hazy string of thoughts pulling him along. He couldn’t wait to go home, to finally feel safe and warm. He imagined curling up in your lap, nuzzling into your arms while you stroked his fur. He thought about Hetmon and all the running around they’re going to do at the park.

Oh, and snacks, he thought sleepily. Lots of snacks. His little tail gave a faint twitch at the thought, but even that felt like too much effort now.

Just a nap, he thought. I’ll rest for a bit, then we’ll go home. We’ll be okay.

When Mingi woke, the air around him was...different. It wasn’t the plush sheets of your bed or the soft pillow he’d grown accustomed to sleeping on. Instead, he found himself in a small, cozy basket lined with a soft cushion, placed near a gently crackling fireplace.

He blinked, his vision adjusting to the soft light streaming through the windows of a small cottage. The space was intimate, with wooden walls lined with shelves overflowing with books, plants, and stacks of parchment. The scent of tea and ink hung in the air, faint but familiar, tugging at something deep in Mingi’s memory.

The atmosphere was comforting, nostalgic even, though Mingi couldn’t quite place why.

“Ah,” the man said, his lips curling into a soft smile. “You’re finally awake.”

Mingi’s ears perked up as he turned toward the sound. A man crouched next to him–his features were sharp but his expression was soft and kind. Mingi tilted his head, his ears twitching as he studied the man. He’d never met him before, but his scent was unmistakable.

It was audacious and bold, much like the jazz notes he remembered sitting on the piano back at home.

Kim Hongjoong?

<< v | vii >>

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#song mingi #cromernet #ateez mingi #mingi x reader #arranged marriage au #ateez #mingi x you #ateez fic #mingi angst #ateez angst #enemies to lovers #strangers to lovers

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urmum-lovesme · 1 month ago

Text

Angel Baby - Rafe Cameron x Kook!reader P10

pairing: Best Friend!Rafe Cameron x Kook!Best-Friend!reader

summary: Rafe and Reader have known each other since kindergarten, always side by side, the king and princess of Figure 8. So why now does he start feeling different towards her, when all she's ever been is his best friend?

a/n: I know the last chapter was pretty bad, but um, it gets worse. I'm sorry but it can only get worse before it gets better and I needed a way to give our man his redemption (it's not like a real redemption though). This is a pretty intense chpt and I won't lie but it took me a while because I didn't really know how to lay it out... but it's here noowwww. It's Halloween and Y/n my baby you look so cute in your outfit but I'm sorry I had to do it for the plot of the series :(

!!! TW THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS SA AND NON-CON !!!

please don't read it if that triggers you.

warnings: ANGST dark content, alcohol, smoking, partying, extreme violence, non-con, sa, injury.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Princess : I don’t know, Top.

T-man : C’monnnnn you haven’t been to a party in forever.

T-man : People are talking that the kook princess is losing her game.

Princess : Fuck people.

T-man : Alright, alright, but you could still get dressed up in that cute outfit what was it again

Princess : A dog?

Princess : A deer you asshole.

T-man : Right

T-man : So you coming or not

Princess : Who else is going

T-man : Me

Princess : …

Princess : Obviously

T-man : Okay diva

Princess : Stop that’s my thing :(

T-man : Okay me kelce cooper maybe sarah and her pogues amelie you like her don't you

Princess : Yh she's sweet

T-man : Some more of your gfs or whatever

T-man : Some of the guys from the country club

Princess : Maybe i’ll come

T-man : Rafe’s coming

Princess : I in fact will not be coming

T-man : Y/n

T-man : Can you please talk it out

Princess : What is there to talk about topper?

T-man : He's been so miserable

T-man : Like a kicked puppy

Princess : I don't care topper

Princess : I really don't

T-man : You and I both know you can’t just walk away from him like that

Princess : Well you clearly don't know me then?

T-man : I’m just asking you to come

T-man : For me.

Princess : For you?

T-man : Yes???

T-man : Let’s just have a normal night you don’t even have to talk to him if you don’t want to.

T-man : Just come and enjoy yourself.

Princess : Fine I'll think about it

T-man : Great

T-man : Can't wait to see your dog costume

Princess : *deer

T-man : Yes ma’am

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two months had passed since their argument and Y/n hadn't talked to Rafe ever since the night at the party. She refused to, she didn’t even know what to say to him.

She had no words left for him.

No apologies, no explanations.

Nothing.

After all, how do you even begin to talk to someone who can so easily say what he did? It had been easier, she’d realized, to just avoid him entirely. Leave his messages delivered, let his calls go to voicemail. She put up walls and pretended like it didn’t hurt.

But it did.

Every day.

And no amount of pretending could stop that gnawing feeling in her chest. Still, she stayed away because there was no way she could face him and pick up the pieces, not yet.

It was Halloween night, and the girl stood in front of her mirror, finishing the last details of her costume. Her lacy white tights were pulled up neatly, hugging her legs, and she adjusted the tiny bow sitting just above her ear, a delicate touch that completed the look. She had carefully painted a little deer nose on her face, a soft line of black across the tip of her nose. Her eyes were doe-like, accentuated with white on her waterline and a hint of soft brown eyeshadow, shimmering when it caught the light. Her lashes fluttered as she applied the blush against her cheeks. A pair of fluffy brown deer ears and antlers were perched atop her head.

Her white and brown lacy dress clung to her, its fabric light and airy that gave it a playful, yet delicate charm. The skirt flared out slightly, ending just above her upper thigh, giving her an ethereal, almost fairy-like quality. Fuzzy, cream coloured leg warmers wrapped snugly around her calves, adding a cozy yet whimsical touch, while her chunky Mary Jane heels, a shade of soft brown, clicked as she shifted her weight, completing the ensemble.

She stepped back from the mirror, as she admired her reflection.

Recently, Y/n had found herself spending more and more time with Cooper. Ever since her… fallout with Rafe, Cooper had been a consistent presence, and the two had grown closer in a way she hadn’t expected. Tonight, they were going to the Halloween party together, and they had decided to match outfits, it was the boys suggestion.

A Hunter and a Deer.

The girl had been skeptical at first, she thought it was a little odd but at the same time she did really want to be a deer so she couldn't argue. When she climbed into his car, the interior of his vehicle was filled with the soft hum of music and the faint scent of cologne.

Cooper was wearing his outfit, a rugged, green jacket hung loosely on his shoulders, a fur collar suggestive of his hobby, his dark camo cargos were accompanied by sturdy brown boots. To top it off, he wore a black cap with the words, ‘I like big racks’ and deer antlers embroidered underneath. She giggled as she saw the hat shaking her head.

Classic

Cooper caught her gaze, his eyes sparkling with mischief, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips.

“I like your cap,” she said, teasing but fond, her eyes flickering to the playful embroidery before meeting his eyes. “It’s... very you.”

He tilted his head back and smiled wide, his laughter filling the car. “Thanks,” he replied with a shrug, his voice playful yet sincere.

“I wore it for you.”

She raised an eyebrow, fighting off a grin. “Of course you did.” Her voice clearly captured a hint of amusement in her words. His gaze softened as he reached over, giving her hand a soft kiss. His lips brushed lightly against her skin, and he murmured under his breath,

“You look amazing tonight... couldn’t ask for a better costume partner.”

The simple gesture sent a warmth through her chest, the closeness they shared these past few weeks making it all feel more genuine. She smiled genuinely,

“Thanks Coop, I think we’re gonna make the best team tonight.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cooper and Y/n arrived at the party, the bass thumping through the walls, echoing the excitement of the people inside. They stepped through the door, and as they made their way through the sea of costumes, Cooper’s hand slid naturally to the small of her back. He let it rest there, his touch gentle but firm, as they walked toward the kitchen, he couldn’t help but glance down at her, his lips curling into a smile. She looked cute as a doe—her soft lace clothes, the little deer ears perched atop her head, and the delicate painted nose on her face. It suited her in a way that surprised him. His hand trailed down her back, skimming over the soft lace of her outfit, feeling the delicate fabric under his fingers. It was a touch that was possessive yet tender, an acknowledgment of how good it felt to have her close. Just as they turned a corner to the kitchen, they bumped into Kelce and Topper, both of them dressed in their Halloween costumes. Topper's eyes lit up when he saw her, and before she could even say a word, he was pulling her into a big, bear hug.

"Looky, looky who it is!"

Topper grinned, his voice warm as he squeezed her tightly. "It’s good to see you Princess," he said, his voice genuinely happy to see her. The girl chuckled as she pulled away, brushing her hair behind her ear.

"You too, Top."

She replied, smiling up at him, trying to ignore the familiar warmth in her chest. She turned to Kelce next, her eyes scanning his costume with a smirk.

"And what are you wearing, Kels?"

She asked, amusement lacing her voice. Kelce stood there for a moment, looking a little sheepish. He scratched the back of his neck, trying to look casual, but there was a clear hesitation.

"Sto—"

He started, but she cut him off, already laughing, he rolled his eyes, holding up his hands in mock surrender the blue scrubs moving with his bicep,

"I’m a dentist," he said, grinning. "Don't make fun of me."

Y/n burst into laughter, the sound bubbling up from her chest. "What?" she gasped between giggles. "A dentist?" She was shaking her head, her hands clutching her sides as she tried to stop laughing. Kelce seemed to take it all in stride though, his grin never faltering,

"C'mon, cut it out," Kelce said, feigning annoyance. "My girl's the tooth fairy."

Y/n’s eyes widened, her attention suddenly caught by a girl in the background, prancing around in a cute, sparkly fairy costume, clearly already tipsy she had little chocolate coins, offering them to people with a wide smile.

"Aww, you know what? That’s cute," she said, shaking her head but smiling. "I take it back, Kels you’re off the hook."

Kelce shot her a mock glare, though his smile never left. "Yeah, yeah. Just wait until I start handing out lollipops and toothbrushes," he teased, but the lightheartedness in his voice was clear. The girl shook her head humoured by his words and her eyes landed on Topper, who was standing off to the side in an extremely minimalistic devil costume, his red horns poking out from under his tousled hair. He looked up at her, noticing her gaze, and she couldn’t help but smirk.

“Sexy. I like it” she teased, her tone playful.

Topper grinned at her response, clearly enjoying the attention. “Thanks,” he said, his voice laced with amusement.

Cooper, standing just behind her, handed her a drink. She took it from him, her fingers brushing against his as she sipped gratefully, savoring the burn of the alcohol.

“Good choice”

She muttered, turning to Topper again, a teasing glint in her eyes. Topper raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“I like your costume, by the way,” he joked, his eyes flicking over to her deer outfit. “Looks like you're part of the canine family.”

Y/n rolled her eyes, a dramatic sigh escaping her lips. “It’s a deer, asshole,” she corrected him, shaking her head. Topper chuckled, his gaze flicking between her and Cooper. He asked, the tone of his voice teasing, as if trying to get a rise out of her.

“Couples costume, huh?”

“-not a couple.”

She blurted out a little too quickly and froze, her hand tightening around her drink as her mind raced. The words came out harsher than she intended, and she immediately regretted them.

Well shit

Her heart skipped a beat as she looked over at Cooper, praying he didn’t pick up on the sudden awkwardness that had settled between them. He simply glanced over at her for a brief moment, his expression unreadable, before turning his attention back to the conversation, not letting on that he’d noticed anything off. She let out a nervous laugh, her fingers tapping lightly on the rim of her cup,

“Just a duo, you know?” she added, trying to downplay her words.

Topper raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing the tension but not quite knowing what to make of it. He nodded slowly, his expression shifting to something more casual as he tried to smooth over the moment.

“Yeah, yeah. Me and Rafe are a duo too, had to bribe him though...”

He said, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. The mention of Rafe’s name was like a cold bucket of water being poured over her. Her throat tightened, and she could feel the sudden chill in the air, the weight of his name hanging between them. Her pulse quickened as the awkwardness seemed to settle even deeper. Cooper noticed the change in her posture immediately. He looked over at her, but his face remained neutral, giving nothing away. She cleared her throat, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that had crept over her.

“Right. Uh, what's he wearing?” she asked, her voice slightly strained as she forced the question out. Topper didn’t seem to notice her discomfort.

“He’s an angel.”

He said, casually shrugging his shoulders. Y/n nodded, forcing a smile as the conversation shifted away from her. Y/N heard laughter and a playful 'Catch you later' the sound of footsteps mixed with the music heavily thumping and before she could turn to look, she felt a subtle shift in the atmosphere. A hand clapped onto Toppers back, the sound sent a jolt through her, she looked up, and her breath caught.

Rafe

He stood by the boy with small horns on his head. He was dressed in a white wife-beater that clung to his toned body, his muscular arms exposed out to the warm air in the kitchen. His dark jeans hung low on his hips with a belt that had a cross-shaped buckle rested around his waist, adding to his costume. But it was the white, feathery fake angel wings strapped to his back that really caught her eye. The wings fluttered slightly as he moved, adding an almost ethereal quality to his presence.

My Angel Baby

Y/N froze, the last time she had seen him was... well, it didn’t matter. Rafe turned around as he made his way into the kitchen, his eyes scanning the room and landing on her almost instantly and for a moment, it felt as though time stopped.

Y/n

It was as if the world had shrunk down to just the two of them, with that heavy, suffocating silence closing in between them. Her heart did something strange in her chest as she tried to steady herself, trying to make sense of the feeling that suddenly rose within her. Rafe’s lips curled into a slow small, hesitant smile.

"Princess"

His words hung heavy, like a weight he’d thrown at her and now expected her to catch. Her throat tightened.

Princess? Is he for real right now…

The nickname left his mouth quietly, like he was testing it, unsure if it still belonged to her. It didn’t land the way it used to—it wasn’t warm, it wasn't teasing. It felt foreign, strange, like it didn’t fit anymore. She forced herself to meet his gaze,

"Rafe," she replied with a hint of frost in her voice.

Rafe shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his posture awkward, his usual confidence visibly faltering. His eyes swept over her, lingering briefly on her doe costume before flicking back up to her face. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then stopped, his jaw tightening.

Cooper and Topper, who had been standing beside her, seemed to sense the change in the air immediately. Cooper’s body subtly shifted closer to hers, a protective gesture, but she didn’t know if it was for her sake or his own. “Rafe,” he greeted him coolly, trying to steer the conversation. Topper cleared his throat;

“Looking angelic, man.”

Rafe’s eyes flicked over to Cooper, but he didn’t let his attention stray for long. He nodded at him briefly, the charm still evident in his tone. “Thanks.” The boy's hesitated before delving into their own conversation in attempt to fill the awkward silence. Rafe's gaze returned to Y/N, his eyes softening just a fraction, but that only made things worse. It made Y/N ache, wanting so badly to ignore the pull he still had on her, the familiarity she didn’t want to feel.

"It’s uh- been a while… how’s everything been?"

Rafe asked, his voice almost too casual, like they weren’t standing in the middle of a room full of people, pretending they didn’t both wish the ground would swallow them up.

A while? Are you serious right now? Oh I don't know I’ve been pretty fucking good ever since you shamed me in front of almost the whole islan-

“Been great.”

She replied, her voice cool, detached. It was the best she could muster, though it sounded more brittle than she intended. He spoke out to her again,

“I didn’t think I’d see you here,”

Seriously? That's the best you've got

Y/N glanced at him, her fingers tightening around her drink. She could feel the heat of his gaze, steady and unrelenting, and it only made her grip harder.

“I wasn’t planning on coming,” she replied, the words slipping out sharper than she intended.

Her tone cut through the air, but Rafe didn’t flinch. He stood there, unmovable, though the slight twitch in his jaw betrayed him. She took a slow sip of her drink, the cool liquid doing little to soothe the bitterness that curled in her chest. She lowered the cup and glanced at him again, her expression carefully guarded. “But here we are,” she added, her voice tinged with something she couldn’t quite name- resignation, maybe. She cleared her throat, breaking eye contact as she took another sip, but it didn’t help. The tension coiled tight in her chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Enjoying the party?” she asked, her tone light, almost dismissive.

He hesitated, his gaze still fixed on her, and for a moment, she thought he might let the question slide. But then he nodded.

“It’s fine,” he said simply.

Fine?

The word hung there, bland and empty. She hated how it felt, how the silence after it stretched and frayed at her nerves.

“You?” he asked after a moment, his voice quieter now. “Are you… enjoying yourself?”

She huffed out a short laugh, bitter and sharp. “Sure,” she said, the word biting, cutting.

“What’s not to enjoy?”

Rafe shifted, his hands sliding into his pockets as he looked down briefly, breaking the tension of his stare. His jaw tightened, and she could see him debating something, though he didn’t speak right away. When he finally looked up, his expression was unreadable, his voice steady but quieter than before.

“I didn’t mean to…” He stopped himself, exhaling through his nose as if searching for the right words. “I just—”

“You just what?” she interrupted, her tone flat.

Rafe’s mouth pressed into a thin line, his composure slipping for just a moment. His shoulders stiffened, and when he spoke again, his voice was tighter. “I didn’t mean for things to… happen the way they did.”

The words hit her like a punch, stealing the breath from her lungs. She stared at him, her heart pounding, but her face remained carefully blank. “Didn’t mean to?” she echoed, her voice low and incredulous.

Rafe stepped closer, his presence overwhelming, but she stood her ground, refusing to shrink under his gaze. “Y/N—”

“Don’t,” she said sharply, cutting him off. She straightened her spine, the cup in her hand trembling slightly despite her best efforts.

“I don’t want to do this. Not here. Not now.”

Her words seemed to hit him harder than she expected. He stopped in his tracks, his expression faltering. “Okay,” he said softly, shoving his hand's deeper into his pockets, but she could see the tremble in them. “Okay.... yeah.”

Fuck what do I say

Say something

Shit

“You look…” he started, but the words seemed to stick in his throat. He exhaled sharply through his nose, glancing away for a second before continuing,

“You look nice.”

Nice?

Y/N let out a bitter laugh, short and cutting, the sound making his shoulders stiffen. She tilted her head, her lips curling into a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Rafe’s eyes darted to hers, and for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to take the words back, to swallow them whole. But he didn’t get the chance.

“Funny,” she continued, her voice low as she looked down at the cup in her hand, trembling slightly, though she tried to mask it.

“You sure I don’t look like a slut?”

…

Her words hit like a bullet, and she watched as Rafe’s face fell, the tension in his jaw softening into something that almost resembled regret. His eyes flickered, searching hers, but she didn’t give him the chance to answer.

“Y/N—” he started, his voice quiet, almost pleading but she wasn’t about to let him finish.

“Excuse me,” she said sharply, brushing past him before he could say another word.

Her heart was pounding as she walked away, each step feeling heavier than the last. The kitchen felt stifling, the air too thick, too suffocating. She needed to get away—to breathe.

She didn’t dare look back, but she could feel his gaze on her, heavy and unrelenting, as though he was willing her to stop, to turn around. But she wouldn’t.

Couldn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world felt like it had slipped loose from its hinges, the room around her swayed in slow, nauseating waves, the walls bending and tilting as if they were trying to close in on her. Lights blurred into streaks of color, their sharp edges softened by the haze clouding her vision. Every sound- the music, the chatter, the occasional burst of laughter- felt distant and muffled, as though she were underwater. Her body felt heavy and weightless all at once, her limbs sluggish, uncooperative. She stumbled slightly, catching herself on the edge of the table in the living room, the cold surface grounding her for a brief moment before the spinning started again. Her thoughts were jumbled, fragmented. Every time she tried to focus on one, it slipped away, dissolving into a mess of fleeting emotions.

Forget. Just forget.

The alcohol coursing through her veins was doing its job, dulling the sharp ache in her chest, blurring the edges of her pain. But it wasn’t enough. Rafe’s face still flickered in her mind like a cruel, persistent ghost, and no matter how much she drank, she couldn’t drown it out completely. She tilted her head back and took another sip, no it was more like a gulp, of whatever was in her cup. She didn’t know what it was, and she didn’t care. It burned on the way down, but the warmth spread through her like a blanket, smothering her thoughts for a moment, but the spinning wouldn’t stop. It grew worse when she closed her eyes, the sensation of falling endless and disorienting. She blinked them open again, gripping the counter harder as a wave of dizziness washed over her.

“Y/N?”

Someone said, their voice distant, almost unintelligible. She turned her head too quickly, the movement making her stomach lurch. He stepped closer, his brows knit with concern as he took in her state.

“You okay? I think you’ve had enough to drink for one night.”

“Mmhmm”

She mumbled, nodding sluggishly, though her grip on the counter said otherwise. She tried to steady herself, but the ground beneath her felt like it was tilting, swaying, threatening to pull her under.

“I just…” She trailed off, her words slurring slightly. “-need the bathroom.”

Cooper hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line as he glanced around the room. “Alright,” he said finally, his voice soft but firm. “C’mon, let’s get you upstairs.”

He reached for her arm, his hand warm and steady as it wrapped around her elbow, but it felt unknown, not like the one she was used to, the one which would always lead her home at the end of the night.

Stop thinking about him

She stumbled slightly as she tried to move, her legs feeling like jelly beneath her. Cooper tightened his grip, his other hand moving to her lower back to steady her.

“Easy,” he murmured, guiding her through the crowded room. They reached the stairs, and Cooper paused, glancing down at her.

“Can you make it up, or…?”

She nodded, though the action made her head swim. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good,” she muttered, though her wobbling steps told a different story.

“Alright, I’ve got you,” Cooper said, as he kept a firm hold on her as they climbed the stairs, her hand gripping the banister tightly while his arm stayed steady around her. She hummed out as she walked through the door the boy had opened for her, her feet wobbly as she looked around. In front of her laid a bed, a bedside table, doors leading into an en suite and doors to a balcony.

Bedroom?

“This is a bedroom.”

She slurred, her words tumbling out as she glanced back at Cooper, who had just shut the door behind them. Her glassy eyes darted around the room, struggling to focus on its elegant decor. Cooper smiled, his expression amused but tinged with something else as he took her in. The top of her dress had slipped slightly, the loose ties revealing more than she probably realized in her current state. He stepped closer, steadying her as she swayed unsteadily on her feet. His hand found hers, firm yet careful.

“Yeah, it’s a bedroom,” he replied smoothly, his voice low. “One of the guest rooms, I think.” His chest brushed lightly against hers as he shifted closer, his grip tightening ever so slightly to keep her upright.

“Need to pee…” she mumbled, attempting to turn toward the en-suite bathroom but stumbling into him instead. Cooper chuckled softly, the sound warm.

“Careful princess,” he murmured, his arms circling her waist to steady her as her body pressed against his. He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, the faint scent of her perfume clinging to the air between them.

“Let me help you,” he added, guiding her gently toward the bathroom. His touch was steady, a contrast to her wavering steps, as he led her to the en-suite. Reaching the doorway, she leaned heavily against the frame, her head still spinning from the alcohol. “Give me a minute,” she slurred, trying to wave him off as she stumbled inside.

Cooper didn’t move far. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, watching her with a faint smirk. “You sure you’re gonna be okay in there?” he teased, his voice carrying an edge of amusement.

“You seem a little… unsteady.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, though her voice was far from convincing. Shutting the door behind her, she leaned her forehead against the cool wood, letting out a deep breath as she tried to ground herself. She gripped the counter, her reflection in the mirror blurry and unfamiliar. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she shut her eyes, trying to steady herself.

This is weird.

She’d never felt like this after drinking.

With a shaky hand, she turned the faucet on, splashing cold water onto her neck in an attempt to sober up. It didn’t help much. Her head was still swimming, her body heavy and uncooperative. Outside, Cooper waited, his eyes fixed on the door. He could hear the faint sounds of her fumbling around, the occasional clink of glass or the creak of the counter as she leaned on it. A small smile tugged at his lips as he listened. Her shaky breaths filtered through the door, and something about the sound made his expression shift, his gaze darkening. He leaned his head back against the frame, his thoughts clouded, though his posture remained calm and composed.

Y/N pressed her hands flat against the counter, willing the spinning to stop.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The back patio was quieter than the rest of the house, the thrum of bass from inside muffled by the sliding glass door. Rafe sat slouched in one of the chairs, a half-empty beer bottle dangling from his fingers. Kelce leaned against the railing, a joint pinched between his fingers, exhaling smoke lazily into the crisp night air. Topper stood nearby, sipping from a red Solo cup, his gaze flicking between the two of them. Rafe’s eyes were distant, scanning the groups of people inside as if he were looking for something- or someone. Topper sighed, breaking the silence.

“You tried, man.”

“I don’t know what to do”

Rafe’s gaze didn’t shift. He barely even blinked. Kelce snorted, the sound almost derisive.

“You fucked up so bad you’re gonna need… you’re gonna need a miracle—ha!”

He gestured lazily at Rafe with his joint, smirking at his own joke, clearly amused by the irony of the boy’s costume. Rafe shot him a look, his jaw tightening, Topper rolled his eyes at Kelce, clearly unimpressed. “Real helpful bro.” Kelce shrugged, taking another drag,

“I’m just saying. You can’t just say sorry for what you said and expect her to forgive you. That’s not how it works. You said some pretty fucked up shit”

I know

Rafe rubbed a hand over his face, letting out a frustrated sigh. The weight of the past two months pressed down on him like a physical thing. Every day without her felt wrong, like a part of him was missing. He’d thought the fight would blow over, that she’d come around eventually- but she hadn’t.

I miss her so much

“I just…” Rafe trailed off, shaking his head. “I can’t keep doing this.” He pushed himself up, setting his beer down on the table. “I’m going to find her.”

Kelce raised an eyebrow, flicking ash from his joint. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea, man.”

Topper glanced at Rafe, hesitating. “She’s had a lot to drink. Like, a lot,” he said, emphasizing the last word with a pointed look. Rafe’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowing,

“What do you mean? How much is a lot?”

Topper scratched the back of his neck, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Like, I had to make sure Matty banned her from the kitchen because she kept going back for more. She’s seriously drunk, Rafe.” Rafe’s expression changed, a flicker of worry crossing his features, heartbeat quickening slightly.

“Where is she? Who’s she with?”

Topper hesitated for a beat too long, glancing at Kelce. “She’s with Cooper,” Kelce finally said, his tone nonchalant. “Relax, dude. He’s keeping an eye on her. She’s fine.”

Are you fucking seriou-

Rafe’s jaw clenched, his unease growing. “And you’re okay with that?” he asked, his voice low, an edge creeping into it.

Kelce raised an eyebrow at him. “Okay with what?”

“You’re okay with her being alone with some guy we don’t even know?” Rafe snapped, his frustration boiling over.

Topper exchanged a glance with Kelce, his brow furrowing. “We know him pretty well, don’t we?”

Kelce let out a dry laugh. “Seems like she’s gotten to know him pretty well, if you ask me.”

Rafe stiffened, his hand tightening on the armrest of his seat. He didn’t say anything, but the tension radiating from him was palpable. Kelce smirked, leaning in slightly.

“Who do you think she’s been with while you’ve been gone, Rafe?”

The words hit like a slap, and Rafe’s jaw ticked as he ground his teeth together. He didn’t respond, but his knuckles whitened where they gripped the table. Before he could do anything, someone appeared at the edge of the patio holding a tray of shots. “Hey, boys! Shots on me!” the newcomer announced, grinning wide. Kelce perked up immediately, stepping forward to claim one. “Now that’s what I’m talking about!” Topper clapped Rafe on the shoulder, pulling him back toward the group.

“Come on, man. One shot won’t kill you. You need to loosen up.”

Rafe hesitated, glancing toward the house one last time and reluctantly, he let Topper guide him back to the table, though his mind was still somewhere else.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The door creaked as Y/N pulled it open, her hazy vision landing on Cooper seated on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his thighs, his gaze lifting to meet hers. The soft glow filtering in from the balcony doors illuminated his figure, casting dark shadows across his face.

Y/N let out a soft hum, almost to herself, as she stepped out of the ensuite, her movements unsteady and slow. She switched off the light behind her, plunging the room further into the warm, muted darkness. The gentle glow from outside danced across the room, Cooper’s eyes didn’t leave her, watching as she stumbled slightly, the alcohol clearly taking its toll. He straightened as she approached, his expression unreadable but his gaze heavy, lingering. His hands fidgeted in his lap for a moment before he stood, his tall frame now looming over hers as she swayed slightly.

“Careful,” he murmured, his voice low, almost a whisper.

Before she could respond, his hand found its way to her waist, the touch firm and steadying. Her breath hitched at the contact, and she instinctively placed her hands on his shoulders to steady herself, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

“You okay?” he asked, his head tilting slightly as he looked at her.

“Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, her sound slow and barely coherent.

His other hand came up, brushing against her arm as if to guide her closer. The proximity made her heart race- or was that the alcohol? She wasn’t sure anymore. Cooper’s touch was steady, grounding in contrast to the room spinning around her.

“You sure?” he asked again, his voice a little firmer this time, his brows furrowing slightly as he studied her face.

“Yeah,” she whispered, but even to her own ears, the word sounded weak.

She tried to focus on his face, the way the soft light carved out the sharp line of his jaw and highlighted the intensity in his eyes. Her head was still spinning, her body feeling both weightless and heavy at the same time. She shifted her weight slightly, leaning into him without realising it. Cooper’s grip on her waist tightened as he steadied her.

“You’re really drunk, Y/N.”

He said, his tone laced with something between concern and… desire?

Her lips parted as if to say something, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she blinked at him, her expression dazed, caught between wanting to push him away and being too exhausted to do anything but let him hold her up.

“I don’t know what’s wro-”

She was cut off as the boy pressed his lips against hers. She wasn’t expecting it but her hands now went to his chest trying to stabilise herself as she wobbled. Cooper deepened the kiss, his tongue slipping into her mouth, tasting and exploring, his hands moved from her waist to her hips, his fingers digging into her flesh. She could feel his need for her, the desperation in his touch as he pressed her closer against him.

“Taste so good princess” he mumbled against her lips, his voice hoarse with desire.

“Cooper-”

She breathed out barely audible as he pressed his lips against hers once more. His hands slid down her body grabbing at her ass harshly as he manoeuvred her around, pushing her down onto the bed, his body hovering over her as he looked down at her through hooded eyes. His hands moved to the tops of her legs, his fingers trailing up and down the soft lace material of her costume, his lips found the sensitive skin of her neck, his kisses hot and possessive as he moved down her body.

What is he doing

“Cooper-”

She tried to push against his chest but he continued working his lips against her neck. She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in. Her limbs felt so heavy, she felt life she was being weighed down, as though everything was moving in slow motion. The boy ignored her weak attempts to push him away, his lips continuing to trail down her neck and across her shoulder, his breath hot against her skin, hands moving across her body.

“Just let me take care of you” he mumbled against her skin, his voice heavy with need.

“-wait…”

Stop

She tried to slur out but the boy's lips were back on hers, his hands working on the ribbons of her dress, his hands moving down the material, easily undoing it, exposing her bare skin to the cool air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The shot glass hit the table with a clink, but Rafe barely noticed. His leg was bouncing under the table, a nervous rhythm that matched the tapping of his fingers against the wood. The others were laughing, chatting, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside him. Each second felt heavier than the last, his unease growing into something tangible, pressing against his chest.

“Dude, you good?” Topper asked, raising a brow as he noticed Rafe’s agitation.

Rafe ignored him, his jaw tightening. The urge to find Y/N was gnawing at him, sharper now than it had been minutes ago. He could feel it in his bones.

I always take her home at the end of the night, I'm always with her when she's drunk this is wron-

He couldn’t take it anymore. The chair scraped loudly against the floor as he shoved it back and stood abruptly.

“I’m going to find Y/N,” he said, his tone clipped and leaving no room for argument.

“Rafe, come on, man,” Kelce called after him, his voice carrying an edge of protest. “She’s fine!”

“Rafe!” Topper added, but he didn’t stop.

The party felt like a maze, the dim lighting and loud music making it harder to focus. He weaved through the crowd, his eyes scanning every face he passed. Most were unfamiliar, laughing and shouting over the music. His irritation mounted as he asked a couple of people, letting out a groan at every dead end,

“Have you seen Y/N?”

“Nah man my bad.”

“She was dressed as a deer right-?”

“Uhhhh no?”

“Oh she was so cute!”

"Sorry, I haven’t”

Fucking useless

“She’s with Cooper, I think,”

A girl answered, her tone casual, like it wasn’t a big deal. Rafe’s jaw clenched as he muttered a tense “Thanks” and moved on. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. Each answer only added to the tight coil of worry in his chest. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. Then he spotted Sarah, standing near the stairs, chatting with a group of girls. Relief surged through him as he strode over.

“Sarah-” he called, his voice cutting through the noise.

She turned, eyebrows shooting up in surprise at his tone. “Rafe?”

“Have you seen Y/N?” he asked. Her brows furrowed, a mixture of curiosity and skepticism crossing her face.

“Why? I thought you guys weren’t talking. Besides I don’t think that she’s going to want to talk to you-”

“Sarah!”

Please just tell me

“Listen I’m just saying, as her friend, that you really pissed her-"

“Sarah, don’t play with me right now. Where is she?” His voice dropped, laced with urgency.

“This is serious. She’s drunk, Sarah. She could get hurt.”

The shift in his tone made Sarah pause, her expression softening as realization dawned. “She went upstairs- to the bathroom or something.”

Rafe’s shoulders sagged slightly in relief before tensing again at her next words.

“I think she’s with Cooper,” she added, watching her brother’s face. He let out a flat, acknowledging hum, his lips pressing into a thin line as he turned toward the stairs. As he reached the top landing eyes looking over the busy hallway, he pulled his phone from his pocket, dialling her number. The ringing in his ear was deafening against the muffled thump of the music below, he was gripping the phone tightly as it rang.

Come on…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The faint hum of Y/N’s phone vibrated against the hardwood floor, the screen lighting up briefly before dimming again. It buzzed insistently, the sound barely audible over the girl's heavy breaths as she turned her head away from the boy above her. She weakly pressed against his shoulders, but he nudged her arms aside, capturing her wrists and pinning them to the bed once more. He groaned, flipping her onto her stomach, her cheek now pressed into the soft sheets beneath her which were anything but welcoming.

“C’mon Y/n, I’ve been so nice to you in the past two months. Don’t you think I deserve a reward?”

He said again, his voice softer yet his actions rough as his hands trailed down her sides, his touch both careful and controlled as he adjusted her beneath him. Her mind raced, the sharp sound of fabric being ripped snapping her out of the haze- her heart jumped in her chest.

Fuck

“No-”

She spoke louder now, the situation sobering her up, hands shakily pushing herself up only to be forced back down again by the boy, his hand clamping down over her mouth causing her eyes to widen.

“Shut up”

He grumbled out annoyed, the sound of his belt unbuckling causing her eyes to widen, her instincts screaming at her, making her lash out, arm coming back to elbow him in the stomach the boy letting out a groan, his hands releasing her wrists as he clutched at the spot where she had hit him. She shoved herself back, stumbling to the floor, her head hitting against the side of the bedside table causing her to let out a whimper.

Her vision was fuzzy as she tried to crawl over to the door, the light from underneath spilling out only for a hand on her ankle to stop her. The boy caught her, his grip strong and firm, preventing her from moving any further, his forehead wrinkled with irritation,

"Where do you think you're going, princess?"

“Get off of me-”

She croaked out, her hand coming up to her head as she touched it feeling a wet liquid where she’d touched it, her vision was hazy but she could make out the red on her fingertips. She kicked her foot out trying to get his grip off her as her hands reached out for the door.

“You want to do it on the floor like a dirty bitch? That’s fine-”

Please don't do this-

She was yanked back sharply by his grip, her breath hitching as panic clawed its way up her throat. The weight of his body pressed down on hers, suffocating and relentless. Her chest heaved with shallow, desperate gasps, the edges of her vision blurring with tears.

Her eyes darted to the soft glow of light spilling from beneath the door, shadows shifting behind it—a fleeting, fragile hope. Her body trembled violently as a choked cry escaped her lips, raw and broken. She managed to sob out a scream, her voice cracking with terror, but it was cut short as his hand clamped firmly over her mouth. Her muffled wails echoed in her ears, her struggles growing frantic as Cooper aggressively lifted her hips up to meet his.

Fabric ripping once more.

She shuddered as she felt his hands moving roughly along her inner thighs.

Quiet sobs racked her body as he moved, whimpers slipping past her lips as his hand pushed her hair away from her shoulder, his lips moving against her skin once more, the sounds she made only served to anger him further. He leaned down, pressing his body harder against hers,

“Please-”

Her eyes noticed the shadows under the door.

“HE-”

His hand lifted wrapping around her neck tightly causing her to gasp out her hand coming up to grip at his wrist, words caught in her throat as Cooper growled in irritation. He hissed into her ear,

"Just stop- …this will be a lot easier for both of us if you just be quiet."

Her eyes closed momentarily in acceptance.

Maybe if she didn’t fight it, the suffocating weight of it all would fade, the throbbing in her head, the pain between her thighs, and she could slip away into the numbness she craved. She tried to still her racing heartbeat, forcing herself to steady her breath as the reality of her helplessness settled over her like a heavy, suffocating blanket.

Maybe if I play along it will be over faster-

The sound of the door handle rattling caused her eyes to open immediately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Rafe’s patience was wearing thin, his fist collided with the bathroom door, a rapid, irritated pounding that echoed through the hall, causing people to turn their heads. He rattled the doorknob, a voice came from behind the door, deep and slurred, as a guy stumbled out, nearly knocking Rafe over.

“Yo, what the hell, man?”

Rafe clenched his jaw, trying to keep his cool. “Sorry, thought you were someone else,” he muttered before brushing past him, irritation flooding his veins. The hallway ahead was full of noise, bodies stumbling past him, the house buzzing with laughter and chaos. He moved past one door, trying the handle.

Locked

“Occupied!” came a giggling voice from within. Rafe groaned, frustration building, but he didn’t let it stop him. His fingers tapped the phone in his hand, waiting for the girl to pick up as he moved further down the hallway. His heart was hammering in his chest as the seconds ticked by. At the end of the hallway, the noise died down. It was quieter here, the last stretch of the floor empty. He approached the two doors at the end of the hall, both wide open, he stepped into one room, his eyes scanning it quickly.

Where is she

His hands gripped the edge of the desk near him, frustration bubbling up again. His breath was coming fast, chest tight as he stepped further into the room. And then, in a fit of rage, he grabbed the nearest vase, smashing it to the ground with a force that made the room reverberate.

“FUCK!”

He yelled, his voice raw with anger. He ran his hand over his face, gripping the bridge of his nose to steady himself, trying to regain control. The heavy breathing echoed in his ears as his mind raced, and that’s when he heard it. A faint sound in the distance, too soft to place at first.

The sound of crying.

His head snapped up, eyes darting around the room. Panic surged through him as his body moved before he could think. He stormed toward the ensuite, slamming the door open with a force that rattled the frame.

Empty

He stood still for a moment, his mind screaming, trying to make sense of everything that was happening. His fingers tapped against the screen of his phone again, the ringing breaking through the silence. He lifted it to his ear with shaky hands, the tension in his shoulders building with each passing second.

But then he heard it—vibrations, the faint buzz a phone ringing.

It was coming from somewhere else. His breath caught in his throat as he whipped his head around, eyes scanning the dark room, but there was nothing. No one. And that’s when it hit him.

It was coming from above him.

His body was already reacting before his mind could fully process. He clenched his fists and rushed for the stairs taking two at a time, leaving the room before the phone could stop ringing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cooper heard the sound of the door handle rattling and looked up, his eyes wide with panic. His grip on Y/N tightened, but as he glanced down at her, he saw the flicker of hope in her eyes as she looked toward the door. His jaw clenched, and he let out a low, frustrated growl. Her breath hitched against the boy's hand, which was now firmly pressed over her mouth. The weight of his body above hers felt suffocating, his other hand now rougher as it gripped her hip. She shivered under him, her body trembling in fear and desperation.

“Y/n?”

Rafe?

The door handle rattled again, louder this time.

Rafe’s voice rang out from the other side, cutting through the thick air. Y/N’s heart lurched at the sound, a tear rolling down her cheek in response.

“Y/N?!”

She sobbed out, but the sound was muffled, stifled by Cooper’s hand still firmly pressed against her mouth. Panic surged within her as she struggled against him, her eyes pleading. Cooper cursed under his breath, the realisation hitting him. He whispered harshly in her ear, his hand pressing harder over her mouth, his grip tightening on her hip.

“Stay quiet,”

The door rattled once more, but the lock prevented it from moving, leaving a silence that suffocated the room. Y/N let out a soft, muffled sob, her whole body aching for freedom.

This is my chance.

The thought screamed through her mind like a lifeline. In one swift motion, she threw her head back, slamming it into Cooper’s face. He fell backward, a grunt escaping his lips as he lost his balance and fell away from her, his hand slipping from her mouth. His name escaping her lips like a desperate prayer,

"RAF-"

The girl's voice was strangled in her throat, choked off by the sheer force as the boy’s hand slammed her head into the hard floor. The world blurred around her, and the sharp pain from the impact made everything go black for a second. Cooper swore under his breath, watching her head hit the floor with a sickening thud. The impact stopped her screams instantly, her body going limp beneath him as her mind tried to catch up to the chaos. Blood began to trickle from her nose, staining her lips and chin, but she couldn’t move, could barely breathe through the pain.

"Wrong move princess"

Cooper growled, his hands gripping her wrists tightly, holding her in place as she tried to slip away. He could feel her trembling beneath him, but it wasn’t fear now. She was just… too hurt to fight back. Outside the door, Rafe’s voice rang out, loud and frantic.

“Y/N please I know I fucked up please just- just open the door baby please”

Her heart seized at the sound of his voice, but all she could do was cry silently. She felt the blood drip from her nose, her hand shaking as it came up to touch it, her fingers slick with red. The pain was dizzying, but through it, she still heard the echo of a loud bang against the door. The sound reverberated through the room, making her heart pound. Cooper swore, his anger flaring as he hastily pulled up his trousers. His movements were rushed, irritated, and the loud bang against the door made him freeze. The force of it rattled the whole room, making him grit his teeth as he glanced down at the girl with disdain.

“You just had to make this difficult, didn’t you?”

Y/N lay on the floor, unable to move, her head pounding, the heat between her thighs burning uncomfortably. She could hear the banging on the door again, louder this time, before it suddenly stopped. Cooper stood behind her, a malicious glint in his eyes as silence filled the room. He straightened, brushing himself off as though nothing had happened.

The stillness was broken when the door swung open violently, Rafe rushing in with anger etched into every line of his face. His eyes scanned the scene, flickering between Y/N’s crumpled figure on the floor and Cooper standing next other hand on her arm the other on her back. Cooper tensed, forcing a fake calm as Rafe’s gaze lingered on the blood on her face and the tears streaking her cheeks.

“Oh princess- here let me help you up, that was a nasty fall wasn't it?”

Liar

Cooper said, attempting to feigned concern, though his voice betrayed a hint of unease. Her voice was barely a whisper, weak and trembling as she tried to speak through the haze of pain.

“Rafe-”

Rafe’s brows narrowed as he heard her. His gaze immediately shifted to her again, taking in every detail- her tear-streaked face, the blood dripping from her nose, and the trembling of her fragile frame.

“Y/n”

He began, stepping toward her instinctively, only for Cooper to step in his path, bumping into the boy blocking his way. The boy spoke, his tone sharp as his stance shifted to block Rafe completely.

“This doesn’t concern you Cameron,”

“Get out of my way before I fucking move you myself.”

Rafe snapped, his voice laced with venom as he squared his shoulders.

“I’m not moving anywhere,”

Behind them, Y/N shakily moved her arms, trying to push herself upright despite the pain. Blood from her nose dripped onto the floor, mixing with her tears. She winced as she leaned back, gasping audibly when the sharp, searing pain between her thighs flared. Her weak cry drew Rafe’s attention, his anger spiking as he noticed her efforts to sit up. His jaw clenched as he took in her disheveled state. Her hand reached up to wipe the blood beneath her nose, but the gesture only made it more apparent to Rafe what had happened.

Topless, her hair tangled, her tights ripped, her thighs marked with angry handprints.

Liar

Something in the boy snapped, and the sickening crack of his fist colliding with Cooper’s face echoed through the room. Cooper stumbled back, clutching his nose as blood poured between his fingers, his eyes wide with shock and pain.

“What the fuck?!”

He choked out, glaring up at Rafe through watering eyes. His attempt to stand was cut short as Rafe surged forward, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him back against the nearest wall.

“What the fuck did you do huh?”

Rafe snarled, his voice trembling with barely-contained fury. His fist connected with Cooper’s face again, the impact sending a fresh spray of blood down his chin. Cooper groaned, his legs giving way as Rafe shoved him harder against the wall.

“Rafe-”

Y/N’s frail voice cracked as she tried to get his attention, her trembling arms weakly reaching out. Her body screamed in protest, every movement amplifying the pain radiating through her but Rafe didn’t stop. Her words barely registered in his ears, drowned out by the sound of his ragged breathing and Cooper’s groans of pain. Cooper’s arms flailed, trying in vain to push Rafe off him. His words were a garbled mess, punctuated by coughs and gasps as Rafe’s fists repeatedly found their target. The thuds of bone against flesh echoed in the room, each hit fueled by a deeper, darker rage.

He threw Cooper to the floor with a force that rattled the furniture, the boy crumpling in a heap at his feet. Cooper groaned, trying to crawl away, but Rafe was on him again in an instant. He grabbed him by the shirt, hauling him up just enough to land another punishing blow to his jaw.

He's going to kill him

I'm going to kill him

“Rafe, please!”

Y/N cried out, tears streaming down her face. Her voice finally broke through to him, but only for a moment. He paused, looking over his shoulder at her, his chest heaving as his eyes flickered over her frame, eyes taking notice of her ripped tights. His fists clenched tighter, his knuckles white as he turned back to Cooper. He wailed out in agony, blood dripping past his lips,

“Stop-”

“Did you?”

He growled, his voice quieter now but no less dangerous as he held the boy up to look in his eye as he spoke.

“Did you stop? ”

“I didn’t- she-”

Cooper coughed, spitting blood onto the floor but Rafe didn’t let him finish. His hand came down wrapping around Cooper’s neck, pinning him to the ground as he leaned in close, the boy’s eyes widened in fear, his hands weakly clawing at Rafe's skin.

Y/N’s sobs filled the room, her broken cries pulling at Rafe’s fraying control. His hand loosened slightly trembling as he looked back at her. She was slumped against the bed, her arms wrapped around her chest as if trying to shield herself from the world. The sight of her- so vulnerable- made something inside him snap again, but this time it wasn’t rage.

It was guilt.

Guilt that clawed at his chest, threatening to crush him under its weight. He had been so blinded by his own pride, his own anger, the words he’d spat out at her in their argument echoing in his ears like a haunting refrain.

“You’re just a fucking slut.”

That was the reason she was here now, the reason she was stuck in this situation. If he hadn’t said those things to her, maybe they would be in his car, driving her home, maybe stopping to get ice-cream from that spot near the beach she loves so much.

The girl in front of him- was the consequence of his actions.

Of his words.

She should have never been in this position, he should’ve made it right before it ever came to this.

Her cries fell on deaf ears now. Rafe’s fists were slick with Cooper’s blood as he kept going, his knuckles slamming into flesh and bone. Y/N’s vision blurred as her sobs grew louder, her voice breaking as she begged him to stop.

“Rafe! You’re going to kill him!”

The commotion in the room had drawn a crowd. People gathered in the doorway and spilled into the hall, pushing against each other to see what was happening in the room, their whispers and gasps growing louder with each passing second. Someone muttered, “We need to call the police,” and Y/N’s heart clenched in panic, shaking her head weakly as tears streamed down her face.

No- no police

Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around Rafe’s chest, pulling him off Cooper. It was Topper, who struggled to drag the boy back as he thrashed against him.

“Rafe- RAFE! That’s enough man-” Topper grunted, his arms straining to hold him. “You’re gonna kill him!”

Kelce rushed in, grabbing Rafe’s arm to help Topper haul him away from Cooper’s lifeless form on the floor. Cooper lay unconscious, blood pooling beneath his head as his chest rose and fell shallowly.

"I'm gonna kill you- did you hear me? I'm going to fucking kill you-YOU ASSHOLE!"

Sarah burst into the room, her eyes immediately landed on Y/N, and she froze, her face paling as she let out a quiet gasp, John B following after her, realising what was going on and quickly walking over and crouching down near the unconscious boy on the floor.

“Oh my God-”

Sarah gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. She looked back at Rafe, her voice trembling with shock.

“-what did you do, Rafe?”

Sarah turned back to Y/n, her heart breaking at the sight of the girl’s tear-streaked face. She knelt down beside her, grabbing the blanket off the bed and placing it over her shoulders to cover her bare frame, her voice soft and soothing despite her own panic,

“Hey, Hey it’s okay-”

But Y/N couldn’t stop crying, her hands clutching the blanket tighter as she shook under the girl's touch. Rafe finally stopped struggling, his chest heaving as he watched Y/n. Topper and Kelce let go of him cautiously, their hands still hovering near his shoulders in case he snapped again, Rafe moved toward her slowly, his bloodied hands trembling as he knelt in front of her.

“Y/N…”

His voice was low, as he reached out hesitantly. She flinched at his touch, the boy pulling his hand away from her shoulder. Y/N’s shook slightly, watching as the boy walked back to Topper and Kelce, John B standing up to look at the brunette, they mumbled something that she couldn't hear, her ears still ringing. John B nodded as he walked over to the door, the Pogue put his hands up standing in the door way as he spoke shutting out the flashlights of the videos being recorded,

"Okay party's over guys get out of the hallway-"

His voice muffled in Y/n's ears as she looked at Rafe through watery eyes, her lips trembling as she whispered,

"Don’t leave”

The boy turned around at the sound of her voice, hesitating as he looked to the girl then back at John B, the Pogue gave him a nod before slipping past the door ushering people away.

Rafe walked back towards the girl crouching down next to her, his hand trembled as it brushed a strand of hair away from Y/N’s face, his eyes scanning her battered form. His gaze dropped to the cut on her forehead and the blood still dripped from her nose, her chest rising and falling in shaky breaths as she trembled against him.

“Sarah,” Rafe said quietly, his voice wavering as he turned to his sister, “- you need to call an ambulance.”

Sarah hesitated for just a moment, looking between her brother and Y/N, her hands hovering over the phone as if unsure what to do, but she nodded and quickly dialled the emergency number.

“Yeah, we need an ambulance,” Sarah spoke into the phone, her voice quiet but firm. “There’s a girl… She’s badly hurt-”

Y/N’s hand trembled as it gripped his shirt causing the boy's head to turn to her not expecting the touch, her gaze flickering up at him, but she shook her head weakly, her breath hitching as she winced in pain.

“No… no ambulance.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, hoarse and broken from the sobbing that had wracked her body earlier,

“I don’t need one… I’ll be fine.”

Rafe’s heart clenched as he looked at her, feeling the weight of her words. He could see the panic in her eyes, the terror that held her back from accepting help.

“Please,” he said, his voice soft but full of desperation, “You need help- don’t do this to yourself.”

Y/n’s hand gripped his shirt tighter as she shakes her head.

“I can’t… I can’t… I don’t want them to- know what happened.”

Rafe felt his chest tighten at her words. It wasn’t just the physical pain she was enduring; it was the emotional weight, the shame, the fear of having to confront what she had been through, but Rafe couldn’t let her keep suffering.

Please

Please don't be scared- I'm right here

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice low and filled with compassion, “I understand but you’re in pain. But you’re hurt. Please let them help you.”

She didn’t respond, just clung to him tighter, shaking her head again but Rafe was too stubborn to let go. Before he could say anything else, he heard Sarah’s voice behind him,

“Please, just let them come,” her voice now softer but still resolute, “They’ll help you”

Y/N’s eyes shot up to Sarah, and she opened her mouth to protest, but no words came out. She could feel her body weakening, the pain between her legs, the aching in her head, and the nauseating dizziness threatening to overwhelm her. She wanted to resist, but her strength was slipping away faster than she could fight it. Y/N’s eyes blurred with more tears as she looked back at Rafe, her hands coming up to wipe them away, wincing as she hit her nose.

“I don’t want them to know… I can’t…”

“Shh, it’s okay,”

Rafe said gently, Sarah, despite Y/N’s protests, remained firm. The sound of the ambulance operator’s voice came through the phone, confirming that there was an ambulance dispatched and already on the way. Sarah hung up, setting the phone down. Y/N finally nodded weakly, her eyes closing for a moment as she tried to steady her breathing. Rafe’s hand hesitantly pressed against her back waiting for her reaction but nothing came, so he started rubbing soothing circles as he whispered comforting words in her ear.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away from the girl.

The boy could hear Topper and Kelce talking behind him, but their words felt distant. He didn’t care about Cooper right now- not when Y/N was in this state. The last time he’d seen her like this-

When her brother died...

If Topper and Kelce hadn’t pulled him off, he would’ve killed Cooper, he was sure of it. However it didn't worry him, the thought didn't repulse him either. The boy's voice broke through his thoughts, his tone low as he looked at Cooper’s unconscious body.

“Man, you really fucked him up”

Kelce muttered, his eyes lingering on Cooper’s bloody face. Topper, kneeling beside Cooper, was checking his pulse with his brow furrowed in concern.

“He’s still breathing…” Topper said.

Rafe didn’t respond, his attention still completely focused on Y/N. He kept replaying what had happened in his head- how he’d snapped, how he’d lost control… how he could’ve seriously hurt her too.

Her soft, labored breaths were the only thing keeping him tethered to reality.

He couldn’t look at Cooper, he didn't want to.

The image of the boy kneeled next to Y/n replayed in his mind and it made his stomach churn.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wailing sound of sirens cut through the tension in the room.

Police.

Someone from the party had called, Y/N’s eyes snapped open at the sound of the sirens, her heart racing in fear. Panic surged through her, breath quickening as she realised what that meant.

They’re going to arrest Rafe for what he’s done to Cooper.

“No…”

Y/N whispered frantically, her voice barely audible through her panicked breaths. She tried to push herself off the floor, her body trembling with exhaustion and pain, but the effort was too much. Her head spun, and she let out a small, pained sob as a sharp ache shot through her body.

“Princess, don’t move,” Rafe he spoke softly, his hand gripping her shoulder to steady her.

Don’t call me that don't call me that don’t-

“Rafe, you have to leave-”

Her body trembled violently as the pressure of the movement became too much, her knees buckling slightly as she tried to stand.

“Y/N, stop—”

Rafe’s voice was more desperate now, but his hands were still gentle as he kept her from falling.

“I’m not leaving”

Y/N sniffled, her entire body shaking as she finally gave in and let Rafe pull her back against him. Yet the fear of Rafe being arrested made her chest constrict. She didn’t want him to go to jail. She couldn’t bear the thought of it.

“Please,” she whimpered weakly, tears rolling down her face, “I don’t want you to get arrested. You can’t… you can’t go to jail because of me, Ward would be so mad an-”

Rafe’s heart broke at her words, but he was willing to do anything for her. His touch on her back stayed firm as he sat on the floor next to her

“I’ll take care of it okay?” he whispered, his voice filled with certainty, though his mind was racing.

Rafe’s hand moved cautiously and was now resting on top of hers. She’d calmed a little since the sirens, but the weight of the situation was far from gone, her breath was shaky, uneven, her chest rising and falling in panicked gasps as she tried to steady herself. Every sound felt too loud. The distant sirens still echoed in her ears, a reminder that it wasn’t over yet and now, she could hear the unmistakable sound of heavy boots on the stairs, getting closer with every passing second. Her heart hammered in her chest.

Please please please please-

“Rafe, please…” she whispered under her breath, her voice barely audible as her body tensed again, the fear settling deep into her bones.

He didn’t need to ask. He could feel the change in her instantly- the way her body stiffened, the way her breath hitched with a renewed urgency. Her panic was coming back, sharper now, harder to suppress. He shuffled slightly closer, still careful not to overstep any boundaries which would trigger the girl, as he whispered her name trying to keep her grounded, but it wasn’t working. She was hyperventilating now, her chest constricting as she struggled to breathe through the overwhelming anxiety and fear. Her vision blurred at the edges, and she felt dizzy, detached from everything except the sharp, overwhelming pain that coursed through her and the thought that everything was falling apart around her.

“Y/N, hey, look at me,” Rafe said, his voice soft but firm as he tried to catch her eyes “Breathe. Come on, you need to breathe, princess. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Please stop calling me that

Her breath came in rapid, shallow bursts, and her hands were shaking as they gripped her thighs, her nails digging into her skin. She could feel the pressure in her chest, the tightness that wouldn’t release, as the sound of those boots grew louder, closer. Shoupe walked in, making the floorboards creak beneath him as he stepped inside. His eyes immediately locked on the scene before him: Cooper, unconscious on the floor.

Y/N felt her entire body go cold at the sight of the sheriff. She couldn’t look at him. She didn’t want to look at anyone, she felt ashamed. She was so tired- she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force the tears away, but it was useless. The panic was too much, and she could hear herself sobbing, the sound raw and desperate.

“What in the hell happened here?”

Shoupe's voice called out, his tone a mix of confusion and frustration as he looked at the scene before him. Rafe’s expression hardened, his jaw clenching as he turned toward the sheriff, he could feel Y/N’s cries seeping through him.

“I didn’t do this,” Rafe muttered, his voice low and defensive as he met the sheriff’s gaze.

“Cooper he…”

He trailed off, his eyes flicking to Y/N, he wasn’t sure what he was doing...

What the fuck am I supposed to say?

Don’t say it

Shoupe looked between Cooper and Y/N, the blood and the bruises on her face, the visible signs of trauma. His eyes flickered back to Rafe, then to Sarah, who was standing in the doorway, her face a picture of concern.

It was clear that no one had a good answer to what had happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was quiet now, the chaos of moments before replaced with the steady, measured voices of the paramedics as they worked on Y/N. She sat still, her body sore and exhausted, her mind still spinning with the memories of everything that had just happened. The paramedics were gentle with her, trying to assess her injuries without causing further pain, they’d already cleaned up the blood from her face and checked for any other signs of trauma, their movements swift and practiced as they worked efficiently.

Rafe sat next to her, his hand resting on her arm, offering what little comfort he could. His eyes were focused on her, but his attention also flickered toward the corner where Shoupe, Topper, Kelce, and Sarah were talking quietly. He could hear snippets of their conversation, the low hum of murmurs drifting through the air. Every so often, one of them would sigh or shake their head, this whole situation being something none of them wanted to face.

Sarah stood a little apart from the group, arms crossed, looking at the ground as she processed the gravity of what had just happened. Her eyes flickered to Y/N for a moment, but she quickly looked away, clearly uncomfortable with the sight of her, even more so with the knowledge of how much pain she was in.

Shoupe’s voice followed, a tone of regret in his words. He sounded almost apologetic, but his authority still carried the weight of someone who had seen too much and wasn’t quite used to witnessing this level of violence from people he knew personally.

“I don’t want to do this, but… I have to.”

Y/N’s eyes were closed now, her face emotionless, she could hear the conversations, the occasional sighs of disbelief, but it felt distant. Her head ached, her body ached, and she was exhausted in a way she had never known before. She nodded slowly when one of the paramedics asked her something, her body so heavy it felt like she could barely move. Her breath came in shallow measured intervals, her voice barely above a whisper as she responded to their questions.

I'm so tired

Rafe offered the occasional smile or reassuring nod when the paramedics addressed her, trying to keep her grounded in the moment. She didn’t speak much more, not even when the paramedic asked her about the pain. She simply shook her head. There were too many emotions swirling inside of her- too many things she wasn’t ready to voice.

“We’re going to take care of you, okay?” One of the paramedics said gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to take you to the hospital, get you checked out.”

Y/N nodded weakly, her eyes fluttering open briefly before closing again, the coolness of the paramedic’s hand against her skin felt soothing, but it didn’t stop the constant, nagging thought in the back of her mind- the reminder that things weren’t going to go back to normal.

From the corner, Rafe could hear more murmurs from the group. Topper, Kelce, and Sarah were still talking, their voices a little more animated now, though there was a sense of heaviness in the air. Rafe could sense the tension between them, the way they all seemed to know what had happened, but no one knew what to say next. No one could quite wrap their heads around the situation that had unfolded.

“Rafe, man, if you didn't kill him after what he did then I…” Kelce started, but he trailed off, glancing toward the paramedics who were still working on Y/N. There was no easy way to finish that sentence. They all knew what had happened, but it wasn’t something anyone wanted to openly discuss.

Not now, not in front of her

Sarah’s gaze was still fixed on the floor, but she glanced up at Rafe, her eyes filled with something close to sadness.

“Is she going to be okay?”

Topper’s voice cut through the quiet, his tone serious but there was a tone of hesitance under the facade, the girl was like his sister and he didn’t know how to react. His eyes weren’t on the Y/n, but on the paramedics, trying to gauge how dire the situation really was. The paramedic replied, her voice professional but with a hint of concern.

“She needs to be seen by a doctor. There’s some... - trauma, and we need to make sure she’s stable.”

The paramedics and Rafe helped Y/N slowly to her feet, the movement slow and careful as they supported her fragile form. She could barely hold herself up, her body shaking, a low wince escaping her lips as the pain between her thighs flared up. She didn’t want to show it, but the agony was almost too much to bear, and her breath hitched in the process. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, trying to push through the pain. The paramedics exchanged a glance, a subtle shift in their eyes that Y/N didn’t catch, but Rafe did. One of them spoke quietly, though not loudly enough for her to hear.

“We’ll give her a minute,” the paramedic murmured, her voice low but firm. They moved away from Y/N and Rafe, walking toward Shoupe, speaking in hushed voices. Y/N could barely focus on what they were saying, her head still spinning from the overwhelming pain and fear. She leaned heavily against Rafe, her body shaking slightly, trying to steady herself. He looked down at her, concern flashing in his eyes as he gently cupped her shoulder, holding her steady.

“You okay?”

Obviously she's not idiot

He asked softly, his voice a little rough, though gentle. The sound of it grounded her for a second, giving her something to hold onto in the chaos of her mind. Y/N sniffled softly, her eyes glossy with unshed tears as she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Her voice was barely a whisper, a tremor lacing her words.

“Hurts.”

She managed to say, her voice cracking slightly, her body was so weak, she couldn’t seem to find the strength to do anything more than breathe, and even that felt like a struggle. Rafe nodded, a simple, wordless acknowledgment of her pain. His gaze softened as he stayed by her side, letting her lean against him, offering his steady presence.

Her body felt like it was made of lead, and she could barely keep her eyes open as Rafe guided her toward the stairs. As they reached the door, the house was eerily quiet. The loud music and laughter from the party were long gone, replaced by an uncomfortable silence. The lights were dim, the place now abandoned.

The cool night air hit her, and she winced, feeling her body react to the change in temperature. The ambulance was parked right outside the house, its lights flashing in a rhythmic pattern, casting eerie shadows over the driveway. Rafe led Y/N to the open doors of the ambulance, and with careful precision, he helped her inside. She barely reacted, her mind too numb to feel anything beyond the persistent ache in her body, she whimpered as she sat down, causing the boy to grit his teeth.

Rafe sat beside Y/N, his body leaning slightly toward hers but not touching her, trying to provide the comfort she so desperately needed. She was quiet now, her breathing slow as the two of them were left in an uncomfortable silence. Her body trembled, her mind still reeling from the night. Rafe watched her closely, his hand gently moving over to try and rest on hers, fingers hovering but not quite touching. She met his gaze, he could feel her anxiety pulsing through the air,

“You’re gonna be okay”

He whispered, his voice low and soothing, trying to calm her down. He could see the way she stiffened, she didn’t respond, but after a moment, she moved her hand towards his which was resting on the bed. Her fingers trembled, but she intertwined them between his cautiously. Rafe froze slightly in surprise of her actions but he squeezed her fingers between his softly, offering her a sense of stability.

I love you, I'm sorry

For the first time in what felt like hours, Y/N managed the smallest of smiles, so faint it was almost imperceptible, but Rafe saw it, and it made something in his chest tighten. They sat there in silence, their eyes locked for a moment. It was strange, comforting even, just to be there together, without words but before either of them could say anything more, the silence was broken by someone clearing their throat.

They both looked over and saw Shoupe standing there, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. His expression wasn’t one of anger, but it was far from calm. He stood, his sheriff’s hat in his hands, rubbing a hand over his face in frustration.

“Listen, I really don’t want to do this, alright?” Shoupe began, his voice deep and weary, though there was a tone of regret in his words.

“But I gotta follow the regulations.”

Y/N’s heart began to race, and confusion flashed across her face as she looked between Rafe and the sheriff. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening. Rafe bit the inside of his mouth, the weight of what was coming slowly sinking in. He didn’t want to look at Y/N, not now- not when he saw the panic beginning to build in her eyes.

Rafe knew what he was about to say. “Rafe, son…” Shoupe’s voice softened just a bit.

“You’re going to have to come with me.”

What?

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening as the realization hit her like a cold wave. Her eyes widened as panic spread through her body. Her fingers tightened around Rafe’s hand, her grip desperate.

“What?” her voice was trembling. “No… you can’t do that—”

“Y/N, I’m sorry,” Shoupe said, his tone not unkind, but firm. “But the law’s the law. I’m just doing my job.”

Sarah, having noticed the change in Y/N’s demeanor, rushed over and she gently placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her down, “it’s okay.” she said, her voice soft but reassuring.

Shoupe sighed heavily, his expression sympathetic as he looked down at Y/N.

“Look, if he did the right thing, you’ve got nothing to worry about. He’ll be out soon, alright? He won’t be gone long.”

But Y/N didn’t seem to hear him. She was shaking her head, tears threatening to spill as she looked up at Rafe, her eyes wide with panic.

“No, please don’t leave-” she whispered, her voice breaking, “Please I-” the words got caught in her throat.

I can’t do this without you

Rafe looked down at her, his jaw tight as he fought to keep his emotions in check. He didn’t want to leave but he had no choice, he had to face the consequences. His gaze softened as he spoke,

“I’ll come see you at the hospital, yeah?” he promised, his voice steady, though there was a quiet sadness behind the words because he knew it was a lie. He'd be lucky if his dad could even find a was to bribe him out of this.

“You’ve got Sarah, she’ll be with you the whole time.”

Y/N nodded, but the fear in her eyes didn’t dissipate. She reached for his hand again properly this time, gripping it with everything she had left. Rafe paused for a moment, then raised their conjoined hands, pressing a soft kiss to the back of her hand.

He reluctantly let her hand go, and as he stood, he met Shoupe’s gaze. The sheriff gave a small, nod, and Rafe turned to leave, casting one last glance at Y/N as he was escorted away, the lights of the police car flickering against his face.

The door to the ambulance closed, and Y/N felt the weight of everything crash down on her all over again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

taglist: @evermorx89 @bellaed1t @user381953 @lovemanheim @loves0phelia @yourcrackleflame @kundaquarius @matthewswifeyy @pillowprincess4him @lilithblackkk @sunny1616 @slut-4-gojo @louxmcl @stelleduarte @p0gue420

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absolute-flaming-trash · 11 months ago

Text

Pairing: Yandere!Alastor x Reader

SFW

Word Count: 2'627

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, Implied forced relationship, Implied captivity, Toxic relationship, Possessiveness, Invasion of personal space, Non-consensual touching.

Additional Notes: Do be kind, I have not written for this man before and find him exceedingly difficult.

Every week at the Hotel, there was something new Charlie had planned.

Trust exercises. Ice breakers. Activities meant to bring everybody closer together as a group. To try and get people to open up and show a side of vulnerability that - she believed - would help sinners take one step closer to salvation.

Most of them were awkward, and a lot of them never went as planned. A fact she realized and, after a near mental breakdown, had her promptly take advice from Vaggie and agree to try something different.

The task was very simple compared to the previous activities. She requested everybody to think about redemption and what it meant to them.

Thinking about the definition itself took little to no effort.

Redemption (noun): The action of saving or being saved from sin, error, or evil.

But it was clear that Charlie wanted more than just a quote from the dictionary. She wanted residents of the Hotel to mull over it while looking deep down into themselves so they could share their stance on the matter later on.

That was the tricky part.

From how you saw it, “saving yourself” from sin was easy enough to accomplish. ‘Just don’t be a dick and avoid the bad shit.’ was the first thought that came to mind, but where you hit a snag was based on what Charlie had shared about Heaven. According to her, even so much as breathing in Hell was enough to solidify your place in the inferno, yet she made it clear that actively resisting sin wasn’t something to go unrecognized.

It took a lot of effort, energy, and courage to do so, and it was hard to disagree even if Heaven didn’t see it that way.

Error was a bit harder. In your opinion, nobody could be saved from that, at least not entirely. Eventually, inevitably, you or someone else would do something wrong, it was just a matter of degree. It could be something as minor as bumping into somebody by accident or as major as Angel relapsing for what felt like the hundredth time, but it would happen and it was only a matter of time.

Charlie did bring up a rather good point, though. Apologizing when you realized you had done something wrong was the best thing someone could do, and it was the first step in the right direction.

You had to give her credit where it was due for that.

But evil was a different matter entirely.

Evil lurked everywhere in Hell. Across every street, around every corner, evil was out in the open for everyone to bear witness and see. None of it was hidden. None of it was meant to be hidden.

What would be the point? You and every other sinner were already in Hell - and many would argue that hiding it would be counterintuitive to being there in the first place.

Charlie tried to plead the case that everyone had good in them. A good that could be tweezed out if given the right chance, and the right environment, which the Hotel was perfect for.

You wish you could agree.

Evil was in the hotel itself, not that Charlie was fully willing to see it.

You believed she was careless there. Little Miss Bleeding Heart wanted to see the best in people, and by god did you ever want to know what it was like to see through such rose-tinted glasses, but you knew you never could. Not in this place.

Stepping a foot into the building was the worst thing you’d ever done because it showed you just how wrong you were about evil being so out in the open. It still had the ability to lurk, something you learned the moment you shook hands with Alastor.

You could see it on his face upon meeting him for the first time - the way Alastor’s perpetual grin widened upon seeing the goosebumps that lined your arms when he clasped your hand in his. No comment was ever made on the matter, but the way his lips peeled back to reveal the black of his gums before he pressed a brief kiss to your knuckles said enough.

Something utterly sinister reeked from him in a manner you couldn’t describe, so you took your own advice and applied the same thing you did when it came to sin.

Avoidance. As much as you could, at least.

Some moments were easier than others. The distinct metallic clack of Alastor’s microphone against the floor combined with a surge of radio static usually bought enough time for you to make whatever excuse you needed in order to leave before he arrived.

Other times you weren’t so lucky, and Charlie’s group meetings were usually to blame in that regard.

At first, you made a great deal of effort to put as much distance between yourself and the Radio Demon as you could, which worked for a time. Unfortunately, Alastor caught onto what you were doing much faster than you would’ve liked.

He reveled in it. You knew he did. After a while you had the gnawing suspicion he was purposefully going out of his way to make you as uncomfortable as possible for his own entertainment. You saw no other reason as to why he’d consistently move so close to you that you could literally feel him breathing down your neck.

Lately, he had adopted the skin-crawling habit of locking eyes with you the moment you stepped foot in the room and patting the seat beside him - reserved specifically for you. Accepting the gesture felt like swallowing nails, but being openly rude to Alastor was something that you knew better than to do.

Instead, you began to find excuses for skipping the meetings entirely and have Angel or Husker fill you in later, which was exactly what you were doing now.

“To be honest I wasn’t payin’ much attention,” Angel said while he scrolled through his phone, resting his chin in his upper left hand while his lower right swirled alcohol around in a glass. “Was the kind of thing that could’ve been sent in an email.”

You traced your finger around the rim of your own glass, its contents untouched. “Still, I want to know what I missed.”

“He’s right, it wasn’t anything special,” Husker replied, slinging a cloth over his shoulder from behind the bar. “Same old bullshit about salvation with a new coat of paint on top.”

A pang went through your chest, but you pushed it down. “So nothing new?”

Angel scoffed and looked up from his phone. “Trust me, dollface, you did yourself a favor.” He downed the rest of his drink in one go. “What were you doing anyways?”

“You know…” You replied with a shrug, glancing down. “I went out.”

Angel smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Out?”

“Yeah.” You tapped your nails against the edge of the glass. “Things were feeling a little claustrophobic, so I went out for some air.”

Husker made a noise in the back of his throat. “Yeah, I know how you feel, kid. This place is a mess.”

Angel tilted his head, placing his phone down on the bar and leaning forward a bit. “So where’d you go? Anywhere fun?”

“Where indeed~.”

All your movements went rigid. After a few seconds, you slowly turned your head to look over your shoulder to see Alastor standing barely a foot away from you, staring down at you with a tight, closed-lipped smile. You hadn’t heard him coming in the slightest, which you immediately could tell was intentional.

Whether he’d used his shadow or had actually stalked up behind you wasn’t something you wanted to think about, and if Angel or Husker picked up on the immediate tension, neither of them said anything about it.

“Hey, Smiles.” Angel greeted with his usual flirtation, placing the elbows of his upper arms on the bartop as he turned to face Alastor. “Fancy a drink? You look a little stiff” He gave Alastor a very long once over, “and I’ll have you know I know a few ways I can help relieve some… tension.”

Alastor’s lips curled back to reveal his teeth, the muscle in his cheek spasming for a moment.

Mentally you were kissing Angel on the cheek for the save as you slowly picked your coat up off the bar and slipped it on, concealing the goosebumps already present on your skin. Husker gave you a glance from the side and gave a very slight shake of his head, silently advising you against your unspoken desire to leave.

“I assure you, such a thing is never going to happen.~”

“You sure?” Angel rested his lower right arm on his hip. “I have a few tricks that can loosen you up.”

The leather in Alastor’s gloves audibly squeaked as his grip tightened around the staff of his microphone and his attention immediately shifted back to you, ignoring Angel entirely.

“My dear,” His voice dripped with such a saccharine sweetness it made you feel sick, “Could I speak with you for a moment?”

Fewer combinations of words could instill such a unique feeling of encroaching dread all at once, but you refused to let it show as you nodded and turned your body on the bar stool to face him fully; waiting for him to say the first word.

His eye twitched ever so slightly.

“Privately.”

That made you swallow.

“Sure.” You slid off the bar stool, doing your best not to appear as reluctant as you felt.

“Lovely.~” He said, promptly turning on his heel and walking towards the staircase - expecting you to follow.

You glanced back towards Husker and Angel, each giving you looks of grim sympathy and confusion respectively before you took a deep breath and forced one foot in front of the other, following Alastor up the steps.

You thought he would talk along the way. Engage in some form of idle chit-chat where he’d be pulling the strings, or even hum along to the countless jazz tunes that he played in the halls over the Hotel’s sound system.

But no such music played and he remained silent. A few minutes into the walk you gathered enough courage to glance up at him and found his eyes locked straight forward, not even sparing you so much as a glance.

You averted your gaze, the hem of your sleeves suddenly the most fascinating thing you’d ever seen.

Eventually, he came to a stop, and he held out the end of his microphone to prevent you from going any further down the hallway.

“Here we are!” Rather than producing a key from his coat, a green flash emanated from the lock when he placed his hand on the handle and opened the door.

He all but leered at you as he gave a small bow that didn’t feel genuine in the slightest.

“After you.~”

Like the alleged gentleman he was, Alastor held the door open for you, eyes never leaving your form as you walked inside his suite.

The smell of dampness and soil hit you immediately.

Alastor’s suite wasn’t the worst thing you’d seen in Hell by a mile, however, it was still eerie beyond words. The skeletons that hung along the walls and mantlepiece of his fireplace became less complete and increasingly disorganized as they led further into the room - which itself gave way to a swamp-like environment halfway through. Undoubtedly a result of whatever hoodoo, voodoo bullshit he was capable of, and while it still wasn’t the worst you’d seen, it served its purpose thoroughly.

It creeped the shit out of you.

“Now, then.” Alastor clicked the door shut, his body half-facing yours as his hand still lingered on the doorknob. “I'm sure you have a good explanation for what you’ve been doing.~”

The immediate dryness in your throat was hard to ignore. You knew what he was talking about, and you knew that he knew, but you still attempted to buy some time as you tried to figure out what to do.

You cleared your throat. “I was just catching up with Angel and Husk-”

He chuckled, the sound like that of a radio shifting stations. “Don’t be coy.” His head turned towards you with a sickening, ossified crackle that bent his neck in a manner that made your stomach lurch. “You’ve been avoiding me, and I’d like to know why.”

Fuck.

“I haven’t.” Lying to Alastor was a mistake, but you still decided to risk it since it wasn’t entirely false. “There’s just been a lot on my mind recently.”

“Hmm.” Interest and something much worse flickered behind his eyes as he faced you fully with another crack of his vertebrae. “Such as~?”

You shook your head, looking away from him. “That’s private.”

There was a quick flash of red, and the tip of his microphone turned your face back towards him - the cool metal of the edge digging into the skin of your cheek. You had to bite back a grimace.

“Not when it concerns me.” His tone was sharp, a stark contrast to the faux politeness he was putting on before. He kept the tip of his microphone where it was to prevent your eyes from looking anywhere but him. “And trust me darling, when it comes to you, everything concerns me.”

His words twisted in your gut. “...I’m not sure what you mean.”

Alastor tutted, his smile widening once more. “Don’t be stupid, darling, it’s unbecoming of you.” The way he said it was patronizing, like he was scolding a child. “You know precisely what I mean, so I’m going to ask again, as much as I hate repeating myself.~”

Cool metal was replaced with the warmth of his hand as he tilted your head up and brought his face frighteningly close to yours.

“Why are you keeping yourself from me?”

It was an odd sensation. Being backed into a corner, both metaphorically and physically. A frightening one that all but yanked on your instincts to do whatever it meant to get the fuck out of there, but you knew that was the worst thing you could do.

Alastor was a predator, a creature designed to prey on those he deemed weaker, and turning your back on a predator would almost certainly trigger a series of events that would not bode well for you.

So you did the next worst thing.

You told him the truth.

“Because I can see you.” The words felt wrong to say out loud. “I can see you for what you are, I can feel the absolute malevolence that radiates off you in waves, and it’s suffocating.”

Saying any more was a horrendous idea, but you couldn’t help but add one last thing.

“And if I want any chance at leaving this god-forsaken place, I can’t be around you.”

The silence that stretched on afterward was deafening.

Mentally, you were bracing yourself. Alastor had killed people for far less, and you expected nothing different for saying something so daring to his face.

You could see it too, the anger that simmered underneath his gaze. You expected the red of his sclera to flash black and his antlers to extend with his body in a grotesque display before you were ripped to pieces while he laughed.

What you didn’t expect was for his eyes to narrow into slits and his expression shift into one that was far more genuine than you wanted it to be, and it was then you knew that being saved from this kind of evil was never going to happen.

“Oh, my dear, you don’t need to worry about something silly like that.” Alastor all but cooed.

“After all, what makes you think I’d ever let you leave?~”

#riri writes #Alastor #Alastor x Reader #Hazbin Hotel #Yandere x Reader #tw yandere #tw implied forced relationship #tw implied captivity #tw toxic relationship #tw possessiveness #tw invasion of personal space #tw noncon touching #I return to my lil nest now. adeu.

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buttercandy16 · 23 days ago

Note

Hii, can you please do Villain Agatha Harkness x Shield Agent reader?

Agatha kidnaps Reader when Reader was on a reconnaissance mission and all her teammates can hear over the radio is how Reader struggles to avoid being captured. Villain Agatha wants to have Reader's full attention

Love over Duty

PAIRING(s): Agatha Harkness x ShieldAgent!Reader

SUMMARY: Thrown in a mission to stop an evil witch with a supposedly redeemed evil witch, what could go wrong?

WARNING(s): Dark Themes

A/N: I don't think this is what anon was really asking for and i'll probably write a new one that fits with anons request, but for now, the reader being a shield agent inspired me to write this. So, thank you muchly!

The Quinjet hummed low, the vibration a constant backdrop to the murmur of your team’s preparations. Sitting across the cramped cabin, Agatha Harkness leaned back in her seat like she belonged there, a sly, knowing smile curling her lips. She was out of place among you and your team, her cool composure and midnight gaze contrasting sharply with your tight-knit unit’s precision and control. Fury had sworn that she was your best weapon against the dark witch wreaking havoc across the globe, but trusting her didn’t come easily.

Not to you.

Her lavender eyes followed you constantly, every movement observed with a smugness that crawled under your skin. You were the team’s second-in-command, always focused, always sharp. But the way she looked at you, like she’d peeled back every layer you kept hidden from the world—it made you feel exposed in a way you hated.

“Keep staring, darling,” she said finally, breaking the silence, her voice cutting through the dull murmur like silk over steel. “I don’t mind.”

“I wasn’t,” you shot back flatly, tightening the straps of your tactical vest.

“Sure you weren’t.” She crossed her legs, the fabric of her black coat falling away to reveal the sleek boots beneath. “It’s cute how you try so hard to ignore me. But I can feel it, you know.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, jaw clenching. “Feel what?”

Her smirk deepened. “How much you already want me.”

“Focus,” your captain growled from across the cabin, breaking the tension. You felt your face heat as Agatha’s throaty laugh followed you to your station.

The mission hadn’t even started yet, and she was already making it unbearable.

The dark witch’s magic spread like a sickness across the globe, destabilizing entire governments and reducing cities to rubble. No one had yet survived an encounter with her to tell the story, and all magical traces only left more questions—odd pulses of energy, erratic weather, nightmares rippling across entire regions.

When Fury brought Agatha in, he’d admitted it was desperate. She was one of the few people powerful enough to even begin to understand the dark witch's methods. Agatha’s "redemption," as she called it, was still murky territory. No one was sure what compelled her to switch sides—or if she truly had.

Days into the mission, the weight of Agatha’s presence became inescapable. She seemed to slide effortlessly into the gaps in your team. She always had the answers—spotting hidden traps, deciphering magical signatures, dismissing your concerns with that infuriating smirk.

But she was particularly persistent with you.

“You’re tense,” she said one evening, watching you clean your weapon. You were alone at camp; the others had retired, leaving you on watch.

“Don’t start,” you warned without looking up.

“You should let me help with that,” she said, ignoring your tone. She crouched beside you, her hand brushing yours as she picked up a spare magazine. The warmth of her skin sent a spark up your arm, and you jerked away.

“I don’t need your help.”

“But you do.” Her voice softened, the playfulness slipping away to reveal something heavier, darker. She leaned in, her lips almost brushing your ear as she murmured, “You’re wound so tight, darling. It must be exhausting to fight me every second of the day.”

Your breath hitched, but you kept your focus on the rifle in your lap. “I’m not fighting anything.”

Her chuckle was low and dark. “If you say so. But I’ll wait. I’m very patient when it comes to things I want.”

The following weeks were chaos.

Your team fell apart piece by piece, and though there was no concrete evidence to tie her to it, you couldn’t shake the suspicion that Agatha was at the center of it. Disagreements turned into fights. Perfectly calibrated tech malfunctioned at the worst moments. Some of your teammates grew paranoid, plagued by vivid nightmares they swore weren’t natural.

When you woke from a dream of your family—burning alive while you were forced to watch—the sound of your screams sent your team rushing into your tent. Agatha followed them in, moving as if she had no reason to be alarmed.

“Nightmare?” she asked softly, her voice strangely gentle as she knelt beside you.

Your skin felt clammy, and your hands shook as you grabbed the edge of the cot. “I’m fine.”

She tilted her head, dark curls framing her face. “No, you’re not. But you will be.”

Her hand brushed against yours as she stood, and for once, you didn’t flinch.

You’d never wanted to believe it, but she was undeniable. A cold night by the campfire became the turning point. Agatha sat beside you, uninvited, as the others slept. She spoke little that night, her gaze flicking between the fire and you. The usual teasing remarks were absent, replaced by a thoughtful quietness you hadn’t seen before.

“I don’t believe in second chances,” you muttered, surprising even yourself. The words slipped out before you could stop them.

“I know.” Her voice was low, barely above a whisper. “That’s what I like about you. You have your rules, your righteousness. And you’d burn yourself alive to keep them.”

“You don’t know me.”

“But I do.” She looked at you then, her lavender eyes almost mournful. “That’s why you terrify me. And why I adore you.”

You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. “Adore me? You don’t even—”

“I do.” She leaned closer, her lips brushing the curve of your jaw as she whispered, “I know every stubborn inch of you. Every layer you try to hide. And I love every single one.”

Heat shot through you, your resolve fraying with every word. When she finally pulled back, her eyes boring into yours, you were left breathless.

You couldn’t deny it anymore: she’d wormed her way into your heart. The mission had become more about surviving Agatha than surviving the dark witch. You should have known how dangerous it was to let your guard down around her, but it was too late.

It all came crashing down in that cursed castle.

When the dark witch stepped from the shadows and her hood fell, your knees almost gave out.

“Agatha?”

She tilted her head, smiling—not with warmth but with something predatory. “Surprise, darling.”

The truth hit you like a truck. Every strange event, every bit of chaos that ripped through your team—it had been her all along.

“No.” You staggered back, disbelief clouding your senses. “You…you lied to us. To me.”

Her laugh echoed in the hall, sharp and mocking. “Lied? No, darling. Everything I said was true. My feelings for you? Completely real. But I did say I’d win this war by any means necessary.”

Her magic surged, disarming your team, binding them in glowing tendrils of energy. When she turned back to you, her gaze softened, that false tenderness piercing through the chaos.

“But you, my love,” she murmured, stepping closer. “You’re different. You’ll see why this is right. Why we’re right.”

Your heart shattered. Her words felt like poison, weaving through the love you still couldn’t destroy.

“Agatha…” Your voice cracked as you aimed your weapon at her.

She didn’t flinch. “You won’t hurt me.” She cupped your cheek with one gloved hand. “Because you love me. Even if you won’t admit it yet.”

Her lips ghosted over yours, and when the tears began to fall, they burned like fire.

Your finger hovered over the trigger, trembling as her face stayed inches from yours. The rest of your team struggled against their bindings, shouting your name, pleading for you to come to your senses, but their voices sounded distant—muffled by the rapid pounding of your heart.

“You lied to me,” you said again, your voice breaking as the truth choked the words.

“Maybe,” she admitted softly, tilting her head as if weighing her confession. “But I wasn’t lying when I said you’re the only thing I truly desire.” Her hand slid along the barrel of your gun until her fingers gently circled your wrist, coaxing your aim away. “You don’t belong with them, darling. You belong with me.”

Her touch sent a jolt through you, a mix of rage and longing that left you breathless. Every instinct told you to pull away, to fight, to resist—but your body betrayed you. Your weapon slipped from your hand, clattering to the cold stone floor.

A wicked grin tugged at her lips as she leaned in closer, her magic swirling like a storm behind her. “I knew you couldn’t hurt me,” she purred, her thumb brushing away the tear streaking down your cheek. “Even after everything. That’s what makes you so precious.”

“You’re wrong,” you whispered, barely recognizing your own voice.

“Am I?” Her free hand settled against your waist, pulling you closer, and her lips hovered just over yours, agonizingly close. “You were made for this—made for me. You’ve been fighting it, fighting me, but it’s pointless now, isn’t it?”

She kissed you then.

It wasn’t soft or tender; it was a claiming, a searing collision of lips that left you drowning in her. Heat and darkness curled around you like chains, and you felt yourself sinking deeper and deeper.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice screamed at you to fight, to push her away, to remember everything she’d done—but her kiss silenced that voice, snuffing it out like a dying flame.

When she finally pulled back, her lips curled into a satisfied smile as you stood there, dazed and trembling.

“See?” she murmured. “I was right all along.”

Your legs buckled, but she caught you effortlessly, cradling you against her chest as if you were fragile, as if she hadn’t just shattered you in ways you didn’t think possible. Her magic swirled around the two of you, cutting you off from everything else—your team, the mission, the world.

“Let’s leave them behind,” she whispered into your ear. “They never really understood you, not like I do. They’d betray you the moment you slipped up. But me?” Her fingers tilted your chin up to meet her gaze, her lavender eyes burning with an intensity that both terrified and enthralled you. “I would burn the world down for you.”

The days that followed were a haze.

She whisked you away to some hidden realm—a dark, sprawling fortress carved from stone and shadow. There were no windows, no clocks, no sense of time. You couldn’t even tell if it was day or night, only that every moment was hers.

Agatha didn’t need chains to keep you; her magic made sure of that. The castle itself obeyed her commands, the walls shifting to keep you from finding a way out. She didn’t keep you locked in a cell, though—no, she wanted you to feel at home.

You hated her for it. And yet, her care was insidious. She’d appear at odd hours, bringing warm food, soft blankets, or whispered reassurances that you couldn’t help but latch onto in your confusion. Her magic was everywhere, dulling your mind and wrapping you in a sense of safety so false it made your skin crawl.

Still, there were moments when her cruelty slipped through, sharp and cutting like shards of glass.

“You’re thinking of them again, aren’t you?” she’d ask one evening, her voice as calm as ever while you stared out at nothing, lost in thought.

You stiffened. “I’m not.”

“Oh, but you are.” She appeared behind you, her hands sliding around your waist as she rested her chin on your shoulder. Her touch sent shivers down your spine, and you hated how easily your body responded to her. “Your little team. The ones you think will come save you.”

“They will.”

Her laugh was dark, amused. “I’d like to see them try. Do you really think they care? After you hesitated back there? After they saw you drop the weapon?”

Her words dug into you like claws, pulling apart the fabric of your resolve. She turned you to face her, and the way she looked at you—possessive, hungry, almost reverent—made your chest tighten.

“You’re mine now,” she said, her voice low and final. “The sooner you accept that, the sooner you’ll see how much better it is here with me.”

Her lips found yours again, and this time you didn’t resist.

She wanted to break you. That much was clear.

But in some twisted, horrifying way, she loved you. Not just as a prize or a possession, but with a depth that bordered on obsession. It was in the way she touched you—her hands lingering as if memorizing every inch of your skin. In the way her eyes softened when you finally let yourself cry, her fingers carding through your hair as she murmured, “There, there, my love. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

She knew exactly when to push and when to pull, when to smother you with love and when to strip you bare with her words.

“You’re the only thing that matters,” she told you one night, lying beside you in the massive, canopied bed she’d conjured for you both. Her fingers traced lazy circles along your arm, her magic humming faintly against your skin. “The world can burn for all I care, as long as I have you.”

And as the days turned to weeks, your resistance crumbled piece by piece.

You hated yourself for it.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her.

When the time came to fully join her—to stand by her side as she unveiled her plans to the world—you didn’t hesitate.

Agatha’s smile when you took her hand was brighter than the sun. “You’ve made me so happy, my love.”

Your heart clenched, the shadows of your betrayal pressing down on you, but you pushed them away. You couldn’t go back now. Not after everything.

Not when her hand felt so warm in yours.

Agatha finally had what she wanted: you. And with you at her side, the world would bow—or burn.

The air in the throne room crackled with energy as Agatha stood at its center, her presence commanding and undeniable. You were at her side, the shadows dancing across her face and casting her sharp features in a sinister, ethereal light. Around the room, magical constructs—nightmarish creations of her design—moved like sentinels, guarding the space where she intended to enact the final phase of her plan.

"Are you ready?" she asked, turning to you with a look that sent a shiver down your spine. Her voice was soft, but it carried an edge that demanded loyalty.

You swallowed hard, your gaze flitting to the towering window where the sky churned unnaturally, her power distorting the very fabric of the world. You weren’t sure if you’d ever truly feel ready, but your heart and mind were no longer your own. You nodded.

"Good," she purred, her hand caressing your cheek. The touch sent a flood of warmth through your body, but it only deepened the void inside you where guilt and doubt festered. "With you at my side, there's nothing I can't accomplish."

Her fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face up so your eyes met hers. That look of devotion, almost manic in its intensity, was impossible to break away from. "You’ve chosen wisely, darling," she said, her lips brushing against yours in a feather-light touch. "This world will kneel before us. No more war, no more suffering. It’ll be perfect. Don’t you want that?"

Her words stirred something in you—hope, twisted and malformed, warped by her manipulations. You wanted to believe her, to cling to her promises of a better world. But deep down, something fragile and human still screamed against the suffocating darkness.

"I do," you whispered, though your voice felt like it belonged to someone else. "I want to believe you."

Agatha’s smile widened, radiant and terrifying. She kissed you again, this time with a ferocity that left you breathless. "And you will, my love. Soon, you’ll see I’ve done all of this for you."

The day of reckoning began at sunrise—or what should have been sunrise. The sky was an unnatural shade of deep purple, fissures of light and shadow splitting the horizon as Agatha summoned her magic into a pulsating sphere high above her fortress. It crackled with dark energy, absorbing the power from every corner of the globe as her control expanded.

You stood beside her, dressed in darkened tactical armor that she had crafted for you, a blend of your old life and her domain. Your team’s absence hung like a heavy weight on your soul, but you hadn’t seen or heard from them since the castle’s takeover weeks ago.

As you watched Agatha weave her spells, you couldn’t shake the growing unease gnawing at you. The world was breaking apart under her power, and even though she looked at you with such overwhelming love, her madness was undeniable.

"Tell me something," you said softly, your voice barely cutting through the din of energy surging around the room. "Why me? Why go through all this trouble?"

Agatha froze mid-motion, her hands glowing faintly as she lowered them. Her head tilted, and for a moment, you thought she might lash out at you. Instead, she stepped closer, her expression softening with something close to vulnerability.

"You’re the only light I’ve ever known," she said simply. Her hands cupped your face, her thumb tracing your jawline as she spoke. "The world is ugly and cruel. No one can be trusted. But you… you were different. You burned so brightly, so purely. Even when you hated me, I could see the goodness in you. And I couldn’t let it go."

Her words hit something raw inside you, but they carried a disturbing undercurrent of possession. You weren’t sure if she loved you or if she simply couldn’t stand the thought of losing you. Maybe it was both.

When your team finally arrived, you felt their presence before you saw them. The tension shifted, a familiar, sharp energy cutting through Agatha’s magic. Her attention snapped to the entrance as the sound of boots echoed down the long corridor.

"You called them here," she hissed, rounding on you, suspicion flashing in her eyes.

"I didn’t!" you insisted, hands raised defensively.

She didn’t look convinced, but before she could press further, the double doors at the far end of the room burst open. Your captain stormed in first, weapon raised, followed by the rest of your battered but determined team. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes blazing with fury as they took in the sight of you standing by Agatha’s side.

"Stand down!" your captain shouted, his voice ringing through the chamber. "We’re here to bring you home. This isn’t who you are!"

Your chest tightened, your gaze flickering to Agatha, whose sneer deepened as she raised a hand to conjure a barrier between them and her.

"They don’t understand you like I do," she whispered, her tone dripping with venom. "They’d throw you away in a heartbeat. They don’t deserve you, my love."

"You’re wrong," you said, though your voice faltered.

"Am I?" she pressed, her hand gripping yours tightly. Her magic rippled through you, intoxicating and numbing all at once. "Tell me, darling. Who’s been by your side this entire time? Who understands the depths of who you are? They abandoned you. I saved you."

The weight of her words crushed down on you, but your captain’s voice cut through the haze. "You don’t have to do this. Whatever she’s done to you, we’ll undo it. You can come back to us. Please."

For a split second, you hesitated.

Agatha noticed.

Her grip on your hand tightened painfully, and her magic surged, coiling around you like chains. "Don’t listen to them!" she snarled, her voice sharper now, desperate. "You’re mine. You belong to me. And if I have to tear this world apart to prove it, I will."

The choice was suffocating, unbearable. You could feel the pull of your old life, the camaraderie, the trust you once had with your team. But then there was Agatha, her presence a blazing inferno of passion, possessiveness, and twisted love.

You opened your mouth to speak, but the words that came out weren’t your own:

"I choose her."

The devastation on your team’s faces would haunt you forever. But as Agatha pulled you into her arms, her triumphant laughter echoing through the chamber, you knew there was no turning back.

You belonged to her now—utterly, irrevocably. And the world would kneel before you both.

The world did kneel.

Agatha’s conquest unfolded with a relentless, merciless precision. With you at her side, she unleashed her magic across nations, bending governments and armies to her will. The fissures she created in reality itself carved through cities, marking the end of resistance. Darkness swept the planet, but to her, it was a new dawn—your dawn.

And you were her beloved crown jewel.

You couldn’t pinpoint the moment you stopped struggling. Maybe it was during the endless nights spent at her side, wrapped in her arms as she whispered dreams of your eternal reign. Maybe it was the way she smiled so sweetly at you, like you were the only thing in the universe that mattered. Or maybe it was her power, subtle and insidious, weaving its way into your very soul until it became impossible to know where she ended and you began.

Your team tried one last desperate attack against her empire.

It was brutal, swift, and inevitable.

You saw them fall, one by one, as Agatha watched with a calm, satisfied smile. She let you witness the devastation, ensuring you were there to deliver the final blow that shattered their hope entirely. When the captain, battered and broken, looked up at you with disbelief and betrayal in his eyes, his final words carved into you like a brand.

"We were your family."

You hesitated for a fleeting moment—but then Agatha’s hand brushed yours, and the doubt faded like smoke on the wind. You struck the blow that ended him, the silence that followed so deafening you thought the earth had swallowed you whole.

Agatha pulled you into her arms as your knees gave way, cradling you like a child. "Hush now, my love," she cooed, her fingers threading through your hair as tears slipped silently down your face. "It had to be this way. They would never have let us be together."

You couldn’t speak.

Her lips ghosted over your ear, her voice soothing, almost tender. "This is the world I promised you—a world where we can be free. No one will ever stand between us again."

Years passed, though time in the world she’d created seemed to move differently. Her kingdom stretched far and wide, a dark utopia shaped by her vision and your unwavering place at her side. The sun rarely broke through the constant storm-churned skies, but Agatha insisted it was beautiful—a reflection of her power and devotion.

You’d become a myth among her people: the warrior who stood beside the dark queen, her chosen beloved, as much a god in their eyes as she was.

Still, late at night, when the castle was quiet, and her magic draped around you like a suffocating shroud, you couldn’t stop the ghostly echoes of the life you’d left behind from haunting you.

"What are you thinking about, darling?" Agatha’s voice would break the stillness, soft but edged with a hint of suspicion.

"Nothing," you’d reply, your voice hollow.

Her hand would tilt your face toward hers, her expression unreadable as her lavender eyes searched your own. There was always an edge to her affection, a warning that you belonged to her and her alone.

She kissed you then, as if sealing that ownership—a kiss that left you drowning in the storm of her power, drowning in her love.

It didn’t matter that a part of you still whispered of regret, still longed for something lost.

She had won.

And in the end, so had you.

A dark queen and her devoted consort, ruling a broken world, eternally bound by love, obsession, and betrayal.

_-_-_

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