#and i just don’t care??? bc the only way to get me to care is if you’re eveyrhing i want

[itshardtobeagoddess]

I have my own story to add to this!

So, ​I am not someone who can just exist in silence and I never have been, but several years ago, in late winter, I was hanging out in my bedroom late at night. It was getting too cold in there, so I had to turn off the fan that I usually use for white noise, and I heard something that i couldn’t quite place. I sat really still and listened for a while. I heard a scrabbling sort of sound coming from the upper part of one of my bedroom walls. This has freaked me out terribly, bc I have a severe phobia of mice, rats, bats, and all related animals that may take refuge in a wall. So I am freaking out and sobbing and I go to get my dad to have him listen and he looks at me like I am insane saying he doesn’t hear anything. Bc of this, I am unable to sleep for literal days. Eventually, I am able to sleep, but only during the day. This is bc I know that most of the creepy animals that could potentially be in my walls are only active at night, therefore the safest time for me to sleep is during the day when they would also be asleep.

Then one day in the midst of all of this after like a week of not sleeping, my doorbell goes off. I check and no one is outside that I can see, so in my sleep deprived mind this can only be the result of whatever is living in my walls. This causes me to break down in absolute hysterics bc I am sleep deprived and terrified and am very loudly sobbing. In retrospect, this was very clearly kids playing a prank and they for sure heard my breakdown and thought it was hilarious bc they did it again a short while later (causing even more hysterical crying on my part). Either way, after I had calmed down from the mental breakdown, I have decided enough is enough. I am not going to be terrorized in my own home. I am going to call a pest control company to figure out what this is and get it taken care of whether my parents believed me or not.

When someone finally came over another week later, they had to go up into the attic which was accessed from my bedroom closet and they inspect everything. Once they come back down they tell me that we have 3 (😟) bats in the attic, showed me a picture of them sleeping in the rafters, and say that they are surprised it’s only 3 saying most people don’t notice until they have a whole colony of bats. We were able to get rid of them fairly easily and with no harm to the bats (bc even though I am terrified of them I know they are an important part of the ecosystem and I would feel bad if they got hurt). I felt so vindicated after though that I wasn’t crazy and there really was something in the walls and my parents had shit hearing.

Moral of the story is listen to your kids.

bees?

[comikbook]

Im unable to go to school for art, bc my parents cant afford it and my family in general wouldnt be too supportive of it (I live with them)

I dont mind that, I still do art as a hobby, but it kind of hurts. I like what I am in college for actually, but I just love art

Is there a way to better my art while not having the tools art students have? I dont care if its harder, I would just like hope :/

hi !! so i can totally relate to this

i did not grow up with a wealthy family, i got into my highschool (which was a specialty art highschool) thru application. After that, i was kind of lost with art education. I had no money to go to a big art school, so i did community college.

here is what my art looked like in highschool

However, that was kind of a waste. It was pretty much a repeat of what i learned in highschool and to be honest the entire time i was in highschool i didnt improve at ALL. not one bit. This continued into college. In fact i didnt improve at all in college either except for the times i took a gap.

as of this point in the timeline my art looked like this

now i havent been in college now for a couple years, and let me tell you my art has gotten the biggest improvement ive ever seen. Hell i didnt even finish school, I owe money and cant return until i pay it. But honestly ? its hard to find the motivation.

What im getting at is all of my improvement has been done thru my own means. School did not help me improve. And everything you learn in art school can easily be found online via videos and tutorials.

So what made me improve so much out of school ? Honestly ? Passion. I hated being told what to do, I always have. I do not like cookie cutter assignments, boring studies, all of the subjects that are rinsed and repeated every semester. I stopped caring, and during the last bit of time i was in school, I went to my professor. I said I didn’t care, I hated the assignments, I had no desire. You know what she told me ? To ignore them then. She pushed me to make what i WANTED to make, she made assignments specifically for me, she gave me full creative freedom. THATS WHEN I IMMEDIATELY IMPROVED. School isnt what helped me, what helped me is being given an environment where i could be passionate and raw and make art i wanted to make. And you dont need thousands of dollars and a studio to make that happen.

You don’t need those tools. And remember, when it comes to art school, its never the students who are naturally talented or only have technical skill that succeed, its the ones that give a shit. the ones who love art, who love to create, and have a story to tell.

one you realize that it gets so much better.

Anyways, as a last update, heres my art now that im out of school and doing my own thing

[listleven]

A SUCCESS STORY FROM POWERFUL LITTLE ME

Heres a little wake up call. Before learning about the law I used to be so delusional. So far gone from reality like. Ignorance was fucking bliss I was manifesting crazy shit and when I realized this was the work of loa, I doom scrolled to educate myself on something I was already good at. Let me show you a glimpse of what I used to do.

When I was in middle school I had learned about manifesting. And I went about it in a strange way. I was a really good student up studying always made me a little crazy. School made me a little crazy. And I would pick myself up and go every morning because I had to. I preferred school over home but I hated both. So I was kind of indifferent to it. At this time I heard of manifesting. It was the end of December and I was just sick of school. So utterly sick I wanted to never come back. And I don’t know what made me do this but I would swear up and down that something was going to happen to me and I wasn’t going to school. And I kept saying this to myself to motivate me to pick myself up. (I have no idea what I was on, I was so delusional) I didn’t know what I was doing like I still went to school everyday but i was just joking around a little off my hinges you know. Anyway i got appendicitis 💀. And I stayed home for a the whole of February 💀.

I didn’t connect this to manifesting bc it seemed like a coincidence and I had been having stomach pain + frequent hospital trips for a few months so it was like it already happened. Anyway I went back to school and my home room teacher was my English teacher. And in English we had this thing where we wrote a book entry everyday and after two weeks we turned them in. Now I was always on time with this but since I had surgery I didn’t do mine and procrastinated on it even when I went back to school. So the Friday I woke up and figured she’d check them I was so scared it was the due date. But again idk what possessed me but I woke up shook my head and decided she wouldn’t come to school even though she never specifically skips Fridays.

I turned out she fell down some stairs and didn’t return for the rest of the year. The guilt ate me up. I confessed 😭. I told my friends it was me. She was already over weight and I was so worried. I did this with my math teacher when I didn’t do the hw but she always came back the next day. From that day manifesting scared me. I didn’t use subs, meditations or anything I just knew in a disregarding way.

After a horrific few months of introspection. I’m understanding things and have been consistently manifesting things for myself the past few days. Now I want to point a few things out. Me manifesting getting appendicitis took ignoring my life and having a “feeling”(It was NOT a feeling I was delusional asf and made things up to help me cope) but I persisted without knowing it would ACTUALLY happen. It took a month of persistence while manifesting my teacher not coming took an hour. There was no goal. I already had what I had wanted and in both cases didn’t care for the 3d. I didn’t do anything wrong to delay my manifestations the first time. I simply did not care about time. Or about 3d. Because i didn't even know what i was doing at the time id never heard of loa just manifesting. It didn’t matter that it manifested in a month and the other in an hour. I didn’t waver during either. I was a delusional ahh kid. I didnt do any of those things bc I didn't know what i was doing. I think it was escapism. Trying not to identify with my reality in order to bear it. And on feb 1st i had gotten surgery.

Another thing. I was religious during this time bc of my family. So I definitely had limiting beliefs but that did not stop anything. Despite having them I manifested what I wanted. When we only focus on tackling limiting beliefs we make them worse by giving them value and over stressing them. I will get more into this in a future post just wanted to point out that if 12 year old stubborn, crazy, delusional, religious, me could do it so can you.

~ With love Jyspire

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review by @zyafics

LITERALLY FINISHED AN ASSIGNMENT AND NOW I CAN TAKE A BREATH LETS GOOOO (long annotations below ⬇️)

Arrogant, volatile, downright psychotic — Rafe was a walking disaster.

my psychopath lets gooo

The cabin was small and sparsely furnished: a bunk, a tiny porthole high on the wall, and a single chair bolted to the floor.There was a faint hum of the ship's engines, a constant reminder that you were far from land and any chance of immediate rescue.

ur descriptions paints the scene of s2ep10 when they were on the ship so well, like i remember staring at your words going: wow 😦

"They left. Now, you're my problem. Lucky me.""Now, what am I going to do with you?"

why r all the crazy ones so fine

“To you? Or Ward? Do you only get this cocky when daddy’s not around to rein you in?”

i love LOVE when the reader provokes rafe using his father like bro that's such a trigger for him rein it in 😭

The punch came so fast, you didn’t see it coming. Pain exploded across your jaw, and you tasted blood. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t fucking talk about her, dirty pogue. Ever.”

YOOOOOO 😡

The path led deeper into the heart of the island, the dense foliage casting long shadows as the sun began to set.

god, i love ur descriptions so much u don't understand i'm taking notes as i read this 📝

He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard by your words, “Stay out my fucking way or I’ll kill you myself.”

i love how much of a psychopath he is in this fic, like yes, this is the crazy man of s2 (i can fix him 🤞🏻)

He was a product of his environment, molded by a father who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end.

YES, i love maybank!reader's deep analysis of rafe bc we know and that doesn't excuse his behavior but it helps us understand him 🥹

But beneath it all, there was something else. Something you’d seen before, when you looked at yourself in the mirror after you took the biggest beating of your life and Luke finally got thrown into jail: hope. 

i love her lore so so much!!

And you began to see a way out, not just for yourself, but for Rafe too.

she's a love not a fighter fr 😩

"Because he's family. And sometimes, family is all you have. Even when they’re terrible, even when they hurt you, sometimes you can’t just walk away.""Family's supposed to be everything, right?"

my daddy issues babies, sometimes i wanna push u two together like barbie and ken during play sessions (am i making sense idk anymore)

The sight of the blood staining your arm made his expression shift from bewilderment to fury.

I LOVE LOVE LITTLE DETAILS LIKE THIS

“Shut up. Just… shut up.” He turned back to you, his eyes softening slightly as he took in the sight of your injured arm

he has a heart !!!!

"So this is all about you, then? Your precious ass and how it looks to Ward? Typical Cameron bullshit, only caring about themselves."You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You think this is easy for me? Keeping you safe, dealing with all this? It's not just about me. It's about keeping everything under control."

one of the things i admire so heavily with your writing is ur ability to write tense dialogues, the way they fight back and forth with words!! like i love it so so much!!

"You're impossible," he hissed, his voice a raw whisper."And you’re a coward," you shot back, your voice equally low but no less fierce.The next moment happened in a blur. Rafe’s grip tightened, and before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed into yours with a ferocity that left you breathless.

LOVE LOVE A HATE KISS

The kiss was rough and desperate, fueled by anger and frustration, a collision of two souls too damaged to recognize the depths of their own pain.And yet, beneath the layers of animosity and resentment, there was a spark—as if you were both too messed up to understand how much you needed each other.

the poetry!!! shakespeare!!! u can write hamlet but can william write this?!?!?

"You're impossible," he muttered against your lips, the words barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing."And you’re an asshole,” you shot back, your voice breathless, your body arching into his touch.He pulled back just enough to look at you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly "Drive me fucking crazy.”

i love when they're making out but they find ways to take shots at each other "I hate you," you panted, pouring as much venom into your words as possible. Your thighs tightened around his hips, feeling every inch of him against you. “Your body doesn’t,” He replies coldly, each syllable slowly drawn from his throat, "“Fucking asshole.”“Fucking brat.”

he's such a prick 😭 i want him in my bed

"Eyes on me,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. "Let me see you.”

one of the hottest things a man can say to me

“Y-You—“ He sighed, pausing, “Don’t pull that shit again. I’ll get you out, okay? 

one of my favorite scenes got me kicking my feet like a school girl (dude u CARE stfu 😭)

“We’re getting out.”You wanted to believe in him more than anything. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered, “Yeah?"“Yeah, pretty Maybank. You and me."“Okay.”“Okay.”

I'M OBSESSED WITH YOUR WORDS OH MY GOD

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

FINAL THOUGHTS | okay okay, let me catch my breath because that smut (their banter!!) was so fucking hot 🥵 (why do i use emojis like a middle school boy? anyways) i think what i truly noticed from this fic is how compelling you can make a scene. the way you built transitions so seamlessly through strong descriptions about what's going on (plot wise!) and it's such an admirable skill that i deeply deeply wish i have. especially because the language and vocabulary you use are so clean and expressive without making the audience (like me) feel dumb about not knowing the definition (does that make sense?) also also. as i always point out, i'm obsessed with your build-up dialogues. right before we hit the intense parts, you manage to build up this anticipation and adrenaline from reader and rafe arguing back and forth. and what i appreciate is how you kept the enemies part of enemies to lovers all the way through, only concluding that reader feels complicated near the end. like i love that she didn't fold; she continues to be defiant and her and that brings me to another trait i love about ur writing: ur consistency in your readers. if u plan on making a certain reader rebellious, you keep it to the very end and i love that. oops, this is getting a little too long. anyways, as always, incredible work gigi, i would love to see more of maybank!reader from you especially a second part to their escape (and what it means for them to be back in obx together?? her brother's reaction?? 🫠)

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18)

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛" + "def some little smut during the enemies part and a long story"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; kidnapping; smut!; violence!; rafe is a red flag; guns and blood; p in v; they tell each other to shut the fuck up a lot lmao;

word count: 8k...im sorry

The sun dipped low, painting the Outer Banks marshes in shades of fiery orange. Tensions between the Kooks and the Pogues had hit a fever pitch, and in the middle of it all? Rafe Cameron, the last person you'd want to encounter. Ever. 

Every run-in with him left a bitter taste in your mouth, lingering for days. It was like he had a knack for getting under your skin. Arrogant, volatile, downright psychotic — Rafe was a walking disaster. Each interaction with him sucked the life out of you. You were convinced that nothing good could ever come from being around him. And yet, there you were, another Maybank, caught in the chaos of the island's most influential family feud.

You knew the risks, but loyalty drove you forward. And now? Well, now you were in deep shit.

Your plan had been reckless, fueled by the desperate need to save Sarah from her deranged family and retrieve Pope's stolen cross. Everything had gone smoothly until chaos erupted, and you found yourself abruptly yanked away from the corridor by a strong grip on your arm, before you could even call out for your brother and Kie. Another hand clamped over your mouth, stifling any attempts to scream. In a blur, you were dragged into a dimly lit cabin, the men's hold on you unyielding. Struggling was futile against his iron grip. He tossed you inside, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him. The gravity of your situation hit hard immediately – you were alone, at the mercy of Ward Cameron. The man who'd silenced anyone who dared oppose him, even going as far as faking his own death, kidnapping his own daughter, and manipulating his son into committing murder. 

Because in his twisted world, family trumped everything. Even murder.

Your mind raced as you took in your surroundings. The cabin was small and sparsely furnished: a bunk, a tiny porthole high on the wall, and a single chair bolted to the floor. There was a faint hum of the ship's engines, a constant reminder that you were far from land and any chance of immediate rescue. You quickly assessed your options. The door was solid, and you didn't have anything strong enough to force it open. Fuck, fuck fuck. 

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves. Panic wouldn't help; you needed a plan. But then, like a nightmare come to life, the devil himself stepped into the room, his eyes piercing as they landed on you. The man who had captured you stood behind him, a smug grin on his face. 

Rafe was visibly surprised to see you, but he quickly concealed it behind a cold, calculating expression. His forehead glistened with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his temples. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through from the scorching heat, and beads of perspiration trickled down his face. He wiped his brow with a weary hand and his gun gleamed ominously in the dim light.

"Well shit,” Rafe said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look what we have here. Didn't expect to see ya again so soon pretty Maybank.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing with questions. Where were your friends? Were they safe? Was your brother even alive? Before you could ask, Rafe continued, his tone mocking. 

"Your brother really did a number on you, huh? Left you behind without a second thought. Typical Maybank shit, huh? Always knew you were unreliable."

Son of a bitch. You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your composure. "You're lying," you countered, your voice steady despite the fear gnawing at you, "He wouldn't leave me."

Not unless he was forced to.

Rafe chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Believe what you want. They left. Now, you're my problem. Lucky me."

“You’re lying.”

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint as he advanced towards you. You took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. The cold, metal wall pressed against your back, mirroring the chill that had settled in your bones.

"Now, what am I going to do with you?" he mused, tilting his head as if genuinely contemplating your fate. The gun in his hand swung lazily at his side, but you knew better than to think it wasn't ready to be used at a moment's notice. You swallowed hard, your mind frantically searching for a way out of this hellhole. He was unpredictable and volatile; years of snorting cocaine and family trauma did that to some people. 

But maybe, just maybe, you could reason with him. 

“Rafe, listen. You don't have to do this. Let me go and we can both walk away from this. No one has to get hurt."

Again. 

His laugh was sharp and bitter. "You think I'm going to let you go just because you asked nicely?" He stepped closer, his breath hot against your face. "Nah. You're going to stay right here until I decide what to do with you.“ 

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but fear clawed at your chest. The odds were against you, as they had always been your entire life.

"What do you want, Rafe? The cross? We can make a deal."

His eyes narrowed, the amusement fading. 

"You think this is about money? About that fucking cross? This is about power. Control. And right now...huh, shit, I control you." He leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "The cross is mine now. How do you feel about the Bahamas?”

Your top lip curled in disgust, “I’d rather drown.”

His smile twisted into something even darker. “I think you’re worth more alive, at least for now.”

You refused to show him any more fear. “To you? Or Ward? Do you only get this cocky when daddy’s not around to rein you in?”

Rafe’s expression hardened, and for a moment, you thought you’d pushed him too far. He leaned in close, his eyes cold and unforgiving. 

“Watch your fucking mouth, Maybank. You don’t know anything about my family.”

You laughed bitterly, unable to stop yourself. “Yeah, no. You're right. Just that you're dad’s little lapdog, doing his dirty work while he pretends to be some upstanding citizen. And where’s your mom in all this? Oh! She left.”

The punch came so fast, you didn’t see it coming. Pain exploded across your jaw, and you tasted blood. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t fucking talk about her, dirty pogue. Ever.”

Anger took over you like wildfire, burning hotter than the pain. Your jaw throbbed, but the rage was stronger. You wanted to hit him back, to wipe that smug look off his face, to make him feel the hurt he had inflicted on you. Your fists clenched at your sides, every muscle in your body taut with the desire for retribution. The fury in your eyes matched the darkness in his.

You spat blood at his face, glaring up at him defiantly. “You’re just a puppet. Your sister hates you, your dad uses you, and deep down, you know it. You’ll never be more than his bitch.” 

His grip tightened painfully, rough fingers digging into your flesh, lips twitching into a snarl, but you didn’t flinch. If you were going down, you’d go down fighting. His eyes flickered with something you’d never seen in him, before he released you, stepping back. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? So tough.”

“Smarter than you,” you shot back. “At least I know who I am. What are you, Rafe?“

He stared at you, tongue pressed against his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. Then he laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent chills down your spine. His hand reached out, and your breath stilled throat tightening as he fiddled with a lock of your hair. He’d let out another laugh, entirely dismissive of the trepidation you’d felt stuck.

“You’ve got guts, Maybank. It's gonna get you killed.“

You wiped the blood from your mouth, meeting his gaze with unwavering defiance. “I’ve survived worse than you.”

And you had. If anything prepared you for violence, drugs, and pain, was living with Luke Maybank your entire life. And maybe, if you didn’t hate Rafe with every fiber of your being, after everything he’d done, you’d feel sorry for him. But you didn’t, and he sure as hell didn't feel sorry for you. 

For a moment, the room was silent except for the low hum of the ship’s engines. Then Rafe turned on his heel, motioning to the man by the door. “Watch her. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Do I look like fucking Michael Phelps? Where the fuck would I go? We’re on a ship you crazy bastar—Hey! Rafe! Open the fucking door!” 

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the small, dimly lit cabin. You listened to his footsteps fade away, feeling a sense of relief and dread settle in your chest. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into? They could kill you, dispose your body in the ocean and no would give a single fuck. No one would think you’d gone missing, because you’re a Maybank and that’s what your kind of people did, apparently. Your brother would probably assume you’re dead, he’d try to get justice and fail in the end, because the rich always won.

The musty air of the cabin felt oppressive as you turned away from the small porthole, where the bright sun and endless expanse of blue ocean taunted you from beyond. Days had melded into one another, each marked only by the arrival of meals and the sporadic presence of Rafe. You had hoped for some sense of clarity, some hint of what your future held, but his visits offered nothing but insults and foreboding silence.

You paced the small room, your mind racing with the possibilities of what they had planned for you. The guard remained a silent sentinel, a constant reminder that escape was not an option. But then, the cabin door creaked open again, and you tensed as Ward Cameron stepped in, his presence commanding immediate attention. 

He gave a nod to the guard, who stepped out, leaving you alone with the man who held your fate in his hands. A fucking lunatic with enough means to play for all the dramatics he enjoyed. Great.

"Get comfortable," Ward said, his voice smooth but carrying an edge that set your nerves on edge. "We're almost there."

"Almost where?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

"The Bahamas," he replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "A little slice of paradise, if you will."

"And what happens then?" you pressed, needing to know more.

Ward studied you for a moment, as if weighing how much to reveal. “Keep out of sight, stay quiet. Rafe and I have some business to attend to, and we can't afford any distractions."

"And if I refuse?" you challenged, though you knew the answer.

Ward's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. "Let's not be stupid, sweetheart. You're here because you know too much. Refusing isn't an option. Cooperation, however…”

A chill ran down your spine at his words. The stakes were clear, and you realized that your only chance was to play along, at least until you could figure out a way to escape this nightmare.

The rest of the day passed in a tense haze. Eventually, you felt the ship slow, the engines quieting as you approached your destination. When the door opened again, Rafe was there, his expression unreadable.

"Time to go," he said simply, motioning for you to follow, "Move."

You stepped out onto the deck, the warm, salty breeze hitting your face as you looked around. The sight of the lush, tropical landscape did little to ease your anxiety. You were led to a smaller boat, and soon you were speeding towards a secluded island, the main landmass of the Bahamas visible in the distance. This was a world away from the familiar streets and faces of The Cut. It was straight out of a postcard. Something you and JJ would fantasize about while high of your asses and writing bucklists. 

God, JJ. You only hoped he made it. You’d never gone a day without each other before you were dragged into this mess last summer. It wasn’t fair. You only wanted enough money to get by, an easy fix to get everything sorted, finish college, ship your dad somewhere far away from you two. But Ward’s greedy ass had to ruin everything for you. 

As the boat neared the shore, you couldn't shake the feeling of impending doom. The island loomed closer, its pristine beaches and swaying palm trees offering a stark contrast to the danger that lurked just beneath the surface.

Rafe’s hand gripped your arm, his grasp tight and unyielding as he led you onto the sandy beach. Ward followed close behind, his expression unreadable as he surveyed the scene before him.

"This way," he said, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves crashing against the shore. You followed obediently, your mind racing with possibilities. Escape seemed unlikely, but you clung to the slim hope that you could find a way out of this mess. As you walked, you couldn't help but wonder what awaited you on this remote island.

The path led deeper into the heart of the island, the dense foliage casting long shadows as the sun began to set. You could feel the weight of Ward and Rafe's gazes on you, their presence a constant reminder of the mess you were in.

Finally, you reached a clearing, and your heart sank as you saw what awaited you. A small house. In the middle of nowhere. Oh god, you were a dead woman. 

“This will be your home for the time being," Ward said, his voice cold and unfeeling, as if he was offering you a vacation rental and not kidnapping you. You wanted to protest, to demand answers, but you knew it was futile, there was a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach, it practically swallow you whole. 

“My son will be keeping you company, don’t get too excited.” 

The way Rafe’s head snapped in his father’s direction told you more than what you needed to know. Once again, daddy dearest was calling the shots without taking his opinion into consideration. Ward’s casual cruelty was suffocating, a stark reminder of the power he wielded over everyone. As he turned to leave, leaving no space of negotiations or pleadings, Rafe’s eyes bored into yours. No questions asked, only blind devotion to his father. 

The door slammed shut, leaving you alone with Rafe once more. He looked at you, resentment playing across his face and something inside you urged you to fight. 

“I’m not going to make this easy for you," you said, your voice a low growl, “I’m not dying here. Not with you.” 

Rafe chuckled, greasy bangs moving as he shook his head, “You really think you have a choice here?” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space, “You think you’re special? Nah, Maybank. He’ll get rid of you eventually, don’t worry.”

“Exactly. He will, not you. You don’t have any control either and I think you hate being here as much as I do. That shit makes us both prisoners.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard by your words, “Stay out my fucking way or I’ll kill you myself.”

You were sure he wouldn't, only if Ward asked him to. He’d fucked up enough before, when he accidentally shot Sarah and didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. You know he wouldn’t do it again, not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulder and his trust fund. Ward Cameron hated slips ups, hated even more the monster he raised, but he sure came in handy when he needed him. 

Rafe’s words hung in the air like a noose, but you refused to let them tighten around your neck. "Empty threats," you shot back, squaring your shoulders. "I've dealt with bigger monsters than you, Rafe."

For a moment, a flicker of doubt passed through his blue eyes. They were bloodshot red, perhaps from the lack of sleep or maybe because he was high off his mind, you didn’t care to ask. But just as quickly, his usual sneer returned. "Enjoy your stay, Maybank.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Him and the stupid slamming of doors. You were alone again, your pulse racing but your resolve intact. You had to get out of here. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were a Maybank—survival was in your blood. You took stock of your surroundings once more, this time with a sharper eye. The walls were thin, the windows barred, but there had to be some weakness, some way to exploit the situation. You ran your fingers along the seams of the walls, looking for anything that might give. Your mind raced through every piece of advice JJ had ever given you about breaking and entering. You’d done a lot of that over the years, and while most people thought you pogues were simply criminals, they never cared enough to ask why you and your brother spent so much time in and out of the sheriff’s department. 

So, what if two dirty, no-good kids were barely hanging on for dear life? No one gave a shit. 

Weeks blurred into each other, each one marked by the same routine. Rafe's visits, Ward's looming threats, and the endless search for an opportunity to escape. You watched Rafe carefully, noting his every move, his every interaction with Ward. You noticed the way Ward belittled him, treating him more like a tool than a son. It was a toxic dynamic, one that made you wonder if Rafe was as much a victim as you were. You’d seen bits and pieces before, but Sarah had described Ward as some sort of saint up until recently. Rafe on the other hand? Their dynamic was so different from what you were used to. You and JJ were like two peas in a pod, you’d die for him and you know he would do the same, no questions asked. If there was one good thing in your life, it was your brother. 

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of pity for Rafe, despite everything he'd done. He was a product of his environment, molded by a father who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end. 

You saw the cracks in his armor, the moments of doubt and vulnerability. The way his hands would shake every time Ward raised his voice, the way he would bite his nails to hide the embarrassment booming in his cheeks. How he never walked into his father’s space or any other room without announcing his presence. It gave you whiplash. 

You began to argue less with him, your animosity slowly giving way to a grudging understanding. You hated feeling so…forgiving. This boy had done unspeakable things to you and your friends, to your family…and there you were. Feeling sorry for him like you didn’t know better. 

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the small house, Rafe brought you dinner. He placed the plate on the table, his movements tense, his expression unusually subdued. Strangely so, you’d memorized that expression. You didn’t even have to ask to understand what had gotten under his skin. You watched him for a moment before speaking.

"Why do you let him treat you like that?" you asked, your voice softer than usual. You didn’t understand why you did it. You regretted the words the moment they came out of your lips, but there was something inside itching you to ask. 

Rafe's eyes snapped to yours, rage and something else—pain—flashing in them. "What the hell do you know about it?" he snapped, but there was less bite in his words. 

At this point he just sounded tired. 

"I understand,” you replied, thinking of your own father. "I know what it's like to want to prove yourself, to be more than what they think you are."

Rafe's jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to the floor. For a moment, he looked lost, like a boy searching for something he could never find. "You don't know shit," he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice.

"I know enough," you said quietly. "You don't have to keep doing this. You don't have to be his puppet."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You think it's that simple?"

"Maybe not. But you can choose to be better than him. You can choose to stop this.”

Rafe looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time. It was borderline unnerving. The weight of his stare. The way your stomach flip-flops under his attention. 

“Shut the fuck up and eat, Maybank."

But beneath it all, there was something else. Something you’d seen before, when you looked at yourself in the mirror after you took the biggest beating of your life and Luke finally got thrown into jail: hope. 

He didn't say anything, just turned and walked out, leaving you alone. 

Again. 

The days continued to pass, but something had shifted. Rafe was less hostile, more contemplative. He didn't treat you as roughly, didn't hurl as many insults. It was a small change, but it was there. And you began to see a way out, not just for yourself, but for Rafe too. You knew what he did, knew what he was capable of, but no one deserved to rot in hell with someone like Ward. You needed to bide your time, to wait for the right moment. And when that moment came, you had to be ready to act. 

Another day began with the same oppressive heat. The sun had just started to rise, casting a golden hue over the island. You were in the small kitchen of the house, preparing a meager breakfast from the limited supplies you had. The routine had become almost mechanical, a way to keep your mind occupied and stave off the rising panic.

Rafe entered the kitchen, eyes barely open as he wiped the sleep away. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the sound of the liquid hitting the glass breaking the silence. He stood with his back to you, staring out the window. 

“What’s Luke like?”

You froze, your hands pausing mid-motion. It was an unexpected question, one that cut deep and made you want to hurl on the spot even though you hadn’t had anything to eat yet. 

“Why do you want to know?" you asked cautiously, trying to keep your voice steady.

Rafe shrugged, still not turning to face you. "Just curious. You Maybanks are a tight bunch, right? So what's he like?"

Tight bunch…that was one way to put it. 

You took a deep breath, trying to decide how much to reveal. "He’s a drunk, a thief. But he's still my dad."

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing. "So why do you stick around? Why not just leave him?"

You knew what he was trying to do, giving you a taste of your own medicine. You couldn’t blame him. 

You met his gaze, the raw honesty of your answer surprising even you. "Because he's family. And sometimes, family is all you have. Even when they’re terrible, even when they hurt you, sometimes you can’t just walk away."

Rafe seemed to consider this, his expression unreadable. "Family's supposed to be everything, right?" His voice carried a bitter edge, hinting at his own unresolved conflicts.

"That's what they say," you replied quietly.

He took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving yours. "Must be tough, having a dad like that."

Tough? It’s heartbreaking. Knowing that the one person who was supposed to love you, cherish you and protect you for life never gave a single fuck about his kids? Yeah, sure it’s “tough”

You nodded, a sad smile playing on your lips. "Guess we have that in common.”

Rafe looked away, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, we do." He set his glass down with a heavy thud, the sound resonating in the small kitchen.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, but then he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I get it," he said quietly. "More than you know."

You watched him, the way his fingers ran along the rim of the glass. "Then why do you keep doing this? You don’t have to."

His eyes blazed with anger. “It's not that simple," he snapped. "You think I have a choice? I killed someone. For him.” 

It was the first time he had said those words out loud. And it made him sick to his stomach. That he’d been scared and high enough to do something so reckless, just so they wouldn’t take away his dad. 

"We always have a choice," you countered, your voice firm. "Maybe not the best ones, but we can always choose to be better."

He stared at you for a long moment, his expression a tumult of emotions. Then he shook his head, turning away. "You don't know anything," he muttered, but there was less conviction in his words than before.

"I know enough," you said softly, watching his retreating back. "And so do you."

He paused at the doorway, his hand gripping the frame tightly. Without turning around, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "I'll see you later."

As he left, the kitchen felt colder, but you knew you had reached him, even if just a little. And that gave you hope.

After that, Rafe’s visits were less frequent, and when he did come by, there was an uneasy tension between you both. You couldn't tell if it was the weight of your conversations or the sheer exhaustion of being trapped in this toxic cycle. Still, every interaction chipped away at the walls he'd built around himself, revealing glimpses of the person he might have been, had his life taken a different path.

Tonight, the air was still, the only sound was the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. You had been biding your time, watching for the perfect moment to make your escape. The house was quiet, Ward was gone and you hadn’t seen Rafe in two days. By now, you knew how the guards outside fell asleep before 2am like clockwork. 

You could it. 

This was your chance, and you couldn't afford to waste it.

You moved silently, slipping out of the small bedroom and into the hallway. Every creak of the wooden floorboards seemed to echo in the stillness, and you held your breath, praying you wouldn't be caught. The front door loomed ahead, your path to freedom. Your heart raced as you slowly turned the handle, wincing at the faint click that accompanied the action.

The night air hit you like a wave as you stepped outside, the cool breeze a stark contrast to the oppressive heat that had been your constant companion. You glanced around, ensuring the coast was clear, then made your way towards the small boat moored at the edge of the beach. The plan was simple: get to the boat, start the engine, and head for the main island where you could find help.

You kept low, moving quickly but cautiously, every step bringing you closer to your goal. The boat was within reach when a noise behind you made your blood run cold. 

The crunch of gravel underfoot was unmistakable. You turned sharply, and in the dim moonlight, the silhouette of one of the guards emerged from the shadows. The asshole who’d gotten you here in the first place. He was closer than you had anticipated. Your heart pounded, adrenaline surging through your veins as you broke into a sprint, abandoning stealth for speed.

"Stop!" the guard shouted, his voice carrying across the trees. You didn't dare look back, your eyes locked on the boat. A sharp crack split the night—a gunshot. You felt a searing pain in your arm, but you couldn't stop. You pushed through the pain, your goal now just a few yards away.

Another gunshot rang out, but you were too focused to determine where it landed. You reached the boat, hands trembling as you fumbled with the ropes. The pain in your arm intensified, but you forced yourself to keep moving. Suddenly, a heavy hand grabbed your shoulder, spinning you around. You struggled, kicking and thrashing, but he was stronger. He pulled you to the ground, pinning you down as he radioed for backup.

"Got her," he said into the radio, his breath hot against your ear. You tried to wriggle free, but his grip tightened. Moments later, two more guards arrived, hauling you to your feet and dragging you back towards the house.

Your mind raced the sting in your arm a painful reminder of your failed attempt. As they pulled you inside, the walls seemed to close in around you, your brief taste of freedom slipping away.

Moments felt like hours as you sat in the chair, the pain in your arm throbbing with each heartbeat. The quiet murmurs of the guards outside were interrupted by the heavy, hurried footsteps of someone approaching. The door flew open, and there stood Rafe, disheveled and wild-eyed, a gun clutched tightly in his hand.

“What the fuck is going on?” he barked, his voice a volatile mix of anger and confusion. His gaze scanned the room, landing on you. 

The sight of the blood staining your arm made his expression shift from bewilderment to fury.

He stormed towards you, his eyes blazing. “What happened?” he demanded, his voice low but dangerous. Before you could answer, he whirled around to face the guards who had re-entered the room. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Rafe shouted, waving his gun erratically. “She’s bleeding! I try to sleep in peace and this is what I come back to?”

The guards exchanged nervous glances, shifting uncomfortably under Rafe’s glare. “She was trying to escape, Mr. Cameron,” one of them stammered. “We had to stop her.”

His expression twisted with rage. “So you fucking shot her?” His voice dripped with incredulity and disdain. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? My father wants her in once piece.”

The guard who had caught you tried to explain, but Rafe cut him off. “Shut up. Just... shut up.” He turned back to you, his eyes softening slightly as he took in the sight of your injured arm. Or maybe the pain was making you delirious.

 “We need to get that cleaned up,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. Without another word, he holstered his gun and gently took your uninjured arm, pulling you to your feet. The guards looked on, unsure of what to do or say. 

Rafe shot them a deadly look. “Get out,” he snapped. “Before I shoot you bitches myself.”

Once Ward’s men had left, Rafe's demeanor changed. His concern, which had briefly softened his striking features, hardened back into anger. He ran a hand through his long hair, pacing the small bathroom before finally stopping in front of you. His eyes were intense, burning with frustration.

He sneered at you, his voice dripping with disappointment and exasperation, "I thought you had some brains in that pretty little head of yours," he spat out, his frustration palpable. "What were you even thinking? Do you realize how close you came to getting yourself killed?"

You tried to speak, to defend yourself, but he didn't give you the chance. His words came fast, each one like a dagger aimed at my heart. "You could've died out there! A bullet barely missed you—do you even understand how lucky you are?"

His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes burning into yours. "I just don't get it. Do you think you're invincible? Because you're not. You're just..." He stopped himself, taking a deep breath as if trying to regain control of his temper. "You're just reckless," he continued, his voice quieter but still seething with anger. "You didn’t think about the consequences, about what it would do to..."

He trailed off, his attention faltering for a moment before snapping back to you. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between knocking you out cold and something else—maybe concern, maybe fear.

"Don't act like you give a shit about me," you called after him, your voice trembling with both pain and defiance.

He stopped in his tracks, his back stiffening for a moment before slowly turning to face you. The fury in his eyes was matched only by the bitterness in your own. "I don't," he retorted, his tone icy. "But my ass is on the line too. You think Ward won't come down on me if something happens to you?"

You stood up, despite the throbbing pain in your arm, facing him head-on. "So this is all about you, then? Your precious ass and how it looks to Ward? Typical Cameron bullshit, only caring about themselves."

Rafe's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching. "You don't know what you're talking about," he said, his voice dangerously low. "You think this is easy for me? Keeping you safe, dealing with all this? It's not just about me. It's about keeping everything under control."

You scoff through your nose "Here we go again. Control? You think dragging me back here, shooting at me, is control? It's chaos, Rafe. You're just as trapped as I am, and you can't stand it."

His face twisted showcasing his wrath, and he took a step towards you, closing the distance. "Shut up!” he growled. "You don’t understand the pressure I'm under. The expectations, the demands. I didn’t ask for any of this."

"And neither did I," you shot back, a strict finger aimed at his face in warning, “So shut the fuck up.”

He took another step towards you, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "You think this is just about me? It's about keeping everything from falling apart. It's about—"

Before he could finish, you grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer, your faces almost touching. "I don’t care about your excuses, Rafe. I don’t care about your pressures or your fucking control. All I know is I’m not staying here.”

The look he gave you was filled with enough ire to have a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, the hollow beneath his dark brows deepening as his classical features twisted into an expression of silent hatred. His breath came in short, sharp bursts. His hands came up, gripping your waist, not gently but not roughly either, as if he couldn’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

"You're impossible," he hissed, his voice a raw whisper.

"And you’re a coward," you shot back, your voice equally low but no less fierce.

The next moment happened in a blur. Rafe’s grip tightened, and before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed into yours with a ferocity that left you breathless. His mouth was demanding, almost punishing, and you responded, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as you wanted to push him away.

The kiss was rough and desperate, fueled by anger and frustration, a collision of two souls too damaged to recognize the depths of their own pain. And yet, beneath the layers of animosity and resentment, there was a spark—as if you were both too messed up to understand how much you needed each other. Each fingertip left an imprint, a silent declaration of the strength he was restraining. It was like he was fighting to contain this force within him, to keep it from overwhelming you both. 

If someone told you you’d be kissing Rafe fucking Cameron of all people just a month ago, you’d think they were crazy. And yet… All you wanted were his hands on your body, his warm skin against your own.

Oh his hands.

They roamed slowly yet purposefully over your lower back, over your waist. You breathed out a sigh of relief, taking the collar of his shirt in both your hands as you pulled him closer, relishing in his warmth. He smelled like whiskey and cigarettes. 

He pulled away slowly, your lips the last to part, and blinked down at you. You watched him lick his bottom lip, taking in the sight of you.

“’You’re bleeding—“

“Shut the fuck up.”

His eyes flared with renewed anger, but also with something else—something darker, more primal. Your words were like a match to gasoline. He didn't respond verbally; instead, he took a half step back before swooping you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly.

With a swift, decisive motion, Rafe carried you to the dining table, and you barely had time to register the cool wood against your back before he was on you again, his body pressing down on yours with a desperation that matched your own. There was no tenderness there, only raw need and a desire to consume. He pried your lips apart again, his tongue sweeping in as he kissed you deeply, his mouth moving invasively over yours. His fingers gripped your jaw with a vice-like hold. A strange sensation fluttered beneath your skin, and you wrapped your legs around his hips, closing the distance between your bodies as he pressed flush against your center.

His hands moved with such intent, slipping under your shirt, his fingers tracing every curve with a delicious blend of roughness and urgency. You reciprocated eagerly, your own hands tangling in his hair, urging him closer as your kiss deepened. Everything around you blurred as the room spun, his warmth against you making you breathless, his taste lingering on your lips, intoxicating and irresistible.

You tugged at his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons because you just couldn't wait. He let out that deep, sexy growl that made a shiver run down your spine. His hands were all over you, touching your skin and leaving fiery trails wherever they went. It felt like he was trying to memorize every inch of you, wanting to claim you in a way that words could never capture.

"You're impossible," he muttered against your lips, the words barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. He leaned down closer to your collarbone, to catch the scent on your skin, and he couldn't tell if you were amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks rounded as you narrowed your eyes at him.

"And you’re an asshole,” you shot back, your voice breathless, your body arching into his touch.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly "Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Good," you replied, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him down again. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back, trying to maintain some semblance of control. But you didn't want control. You wanted to lose yourself in this moment, to forget everything you'd been trough and just feel.

Rafe seemed to sense this, his hands becoming more insistent, his touch more possessive. He lifted you slightly, positioning you better on the table, his body slotting perfectly between your legs. The friction was exquisite, a delicious tease that left you craving more.

"Rafe," you breathed, and he almost fell to his knees at the soft whimper that left your lips when he couldn’t help but jerk his hips forward. He responded instantly, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as he kissed you with a fervor that left you dizzy. The table creaked under your combined weight, but neither of you cared. Your hand grabbed his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin exposed.

You broke the kiss, gasping for air, your eyes locking with his. There was a wildness there, a reflection of the storm inside you. You reached up, tracing his jaw with your fingers, feeling the stubble beneath your touch as his mouth, hot and demanding, left a trail of fire in its wake on your neck. A noise of pleasure slipped from your mouth as he palmed at your breast, thumb grazing across your nipple as his teeth grazed your collarbone, kissing down, littering your skin bite marks.

"I hate you," you panted, pouring as much venom into your words as possible. Your thighs tightened around his hips, feeling every inch of him against you. 

“Your body doesn’t,” He replies coldly, each syllable slowly drawn from his throat, "

“Fucking asshole.”

“Fucking brat.”

You opened your mouth to hiss something at him, to fight back, show him that you were the one in charge, but the intention died the moment Rafe cupped you through your shorts. A pathetic excuse of shorts due to the heat. Heat bloomed in your stomach, melting into a torrent want that flooded your skin and left you breathless. His determined blue eyes pierced into yours, watching as he pressed the heel of his palm against the apex of your thighs, his middle finger tracing your entrance and applying light pressure to the sensitive dip between your legs.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty?” He asked, lips brushing over your mouth, loose bangs brushing against your brow “Thought you had more fire in you.” he rasped coldly, moving your shorts and underwear out of the way and your lips parted on a sharp inhale as you felt him touch you for the first time, “Yeah, thought so.” 

Every nerve ending seemed to come alive under his hands, and the room around you blurred into insignificance. All that mattered was the man in front of you, his relentless grip on your senses, his unwavering control over your body.

"God, I hate you," you whispered again, the words almost a prayer, a futile attempt to cling to the anger that had fueled you for so long. But even as you said it, you knew it was a lie. You hated how much you needed him, how much you craved his touch, his dominance. Perhaps you’d been locked away from society for too long. That was the only plausible reason for you to let Rafe Cameron touch you.

Rafe smirked, a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes. "No, you don’t.” 

You did. At least you used to, everything’s confusing now.

He teased you, his touch light and teasing, drawing out your frustration, your need. "Tell me what you want," he murmured against your lips, his voice a seductive growl that made your heart race.

You bit back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. But the need was overwhelming, a fierce ache that demanded release. 

“Fuck you," you spat, your defiance crumbling under the weight of your desire.

He chuckled darkly, his fingers finally slipping inside you, curling and stroking in a way that made your hips buck against his hand. "That's right," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me hear you."

A broken moan escaped your lips, and you arched into his touch, your body writhing with need. His fingers moved expertly, finding all the right spots, driving you near the edge with a skill that left you breathless. Every touch, every stroke was designed to push you closer to the brink, to break you down until you were nothing but a trembling, pleading mess.

"Rafe, please," you finally gasped, the words ripped from your throat by the overwhelming pleasure. "Please, I need you."

His smirk widened, and he pulled his fingers away, making you whimper in frustration. He didn't make you wait long, though. With swift, practiced movements, he freed himself from his pants, the sight of him hard and ready making your mouth water. 

Without a word, he positioned himself between your legs, the head of his pretty cock teasing your entrance. "You ready for me?" he asked, his voice a rough whisper that made your heart skip a beat. 

You nodded, your eyes locking with his, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. "Yes," you breathed, your voice trembling with anticipation. "Please, Rafe."

He didn't need any further encouragement. With a single, powerful thrust, he buried himself inside you. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that made you cry out. Your back arched involuntarily, your lips parting as he entered you, filling you completely in a way you had never imagined.

He rolled his hips firmly against yours, and your head tipped back as his cock rubs perfectly against you. You’d never felt so full. He didn’t give you a moment to catch your breath. After another firm roll of his hips, testing you out, figuring out his rhythm. His movements were hard and relentless, pounding into you, knocking the breath from your lungs with each forceful thrust, barely giving you time to adjust. 

You clung to him, your nails digging into his muscular back, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his. The table creaked and groaned beneath you, but you didn't care. All that mattered was the man above you, his relentless drive, his unwavering control. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You could feel him losing control, his need matching your own. 

Your eyes squeezed shut, blocking him out so you could pretend you weren’t stupid enough to let the man that ruined your life fuck the living hell out of you.

"Eyes on me,” he growled, his voice rough and commanding. "Let me see you.”

Even though you really wanted to shut him out, you just couldn’t fight the crazy pull he had over you. His voice was like a force of nature. You opened your eyes and locked onto his intense gaze. Seeing him above you, his face twisted with raw need and determination sent chills down your spine. His eyes were locked onto yours, filled with this dark, unyielding intensity that left you totally breathless. 

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with approval and something deeper, something that made your heart race even more. It made you want to run for the hills, "Fucki—Oh, fuck"

With each thrust, he drove you closer to the edge, your body responding to him in ways you couldn’t control. The pleasure was overwhelming, a torrent of sensations that left you gasping, moaning, begging for more. His name slipped from your lips in a broken, desperate plea, and he answered with a renewed vigor, his movements becoming more frenzied, more primal.

"Fuck," he growled, his voice rough and strained. "You're so tight... feels so fucking good."

You could barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. Your entire world had narrowed to this moment, to the feel of him inside you, to the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you. Your body arched beneath him, your nails digging into his skin, leaving marks that would undoubtedly linger.

"Rafe," you whimpered, the sound barely more than a breath. "I'm... I can't..."

He understood. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming almost brutal in their intensity. "Come for me," he commanded his voice a raw whisper that sent shivers down your spine. "Let go."

His words pushed you over the edge, and you came with a scream, your body convulsing around him. The intensity of your release was like nothing you'd ever felt before, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that left you trembling and breathless.

Rafe followed you over the edge, his own release crashing through him with a force that left him shaking. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rode out his orgasm, his movements slowing until he finally stilled, still buried deep inside you.

For a moment, everything was still, the only sound the ragged breaths but then Rafe lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, there was something almost tender in his gaze. 

“Y-You—“ He sighed, pausing, “Don’t pull that shit again. I’ll get you out, okay? 

“Rafe...“

Before you could process his words, before you could question or argue, his lips were on yours again. Differently this time. Gentle. 

Devastating almost. 

“You’re still bleeding Maybank.”

Rafe’s words snapped you back to reality, the pain in your arm a sharp reminder of your injury. The moment of vulnerability between you evaporated, leaving you with the stark realization of your situation. You pushed at his chest, forcing him to back off slightly, and hissed through clenched teeth, "Then do something about it."

He just stood there, staring at you as if he had never seen you before. As if he was truly seeing you for the first time despite having known you since you were seven, despite all the moments marked by violence and terror. And you hated every second of it because your heart was practically leaping out of your chest. No one had ever looked at you like that before.

And then he simply shook his head, drew closer again, resting his forehead against yours, hands back on your thighs, fingers pressing as if he needed to ensure that you were real, that everything was real.

“We’re getting out.”

You wanted to believe in him more than anything. In that moment, it was the only thing that mattered, “Yeah?"

“Yeah, pretty Maybank. You and me."

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

[ssaemilyhotchner]

Hey congratulations on the milestone 🥳

Can I request letter A 🫶🏻

hope you enjoy & ty for participating! 🌹

OTHER 1K DRABBLES | Read on AO3 Join the celebration by requesting a letter!

letter: A | prompt: adrenaline | wc: 2.1k | cw: alcohol, mostly just them making out bc Emily doesn't get her way lol | a/n: Post-ep for 7x15, "A Thin Line."

Please do not repost (reblogs welcome) or otherwise claim as your own.

--

“Prentiss.”

Without looking up from her desk, Emily simply made an unintelligible noise in response.

“Come on, Emily.” Hotch’s voice was gentle yet insistent. He’d been watching her stare blankly at her after-action report for nearly an hour, her leg bouncing rapidly all the while. Idly, he wondered if she’d even be able to bear weight on the leg and found himself moving in a little closer in case he needed to steady her. “I’m taking you home.”

Emily finally raised her gaze to meet his. “I don’t want to go home.”

He nodded knowingly. He had expected as much, knew what the weight of silence in an empty apartment felt like, especially after a case like this one. “Then let’s get a drink. You shouldn’t be alone right now.”

Emily studied him for a long while: the strength in the set of his jaw, the sharp angle of his body, his hand heavy on the back of her chair. What she really wanted was to be reckless, anything to stave off the dread that had weaseled its way under her skin. Running herself ragged at the gym, maybe, or getting into a fight, or fucking a stranger.

But, she conceded, in lieu of those, there were worse ways to cap the evening than at O’Keefe’s with Hotch. 

--

From the moment they set foot in the bar, their eyes were everywhere but on each other. Even with the bass of the unrecognizable song pounding through them like a heartbeat, silence pressed pointedly between them as Hotch’s mind raced. As he thought about how everything had narrowed to the sight of her emerging from Hilary Ross’s home, blood snaking bright red down her fingers. As he thought about the way fear had dried his mouth, tasting bitter on his tongue.

She had been quick to reassure everyone that she was okay, of course, a demonstration of overcompensation that had only made him more apprehensive. He knew she could feel his eyes on her during their flight home, especially as Morgan had moved to sit by her, clutching her good hand in apology. He had watched Emily’s lips twist teasingly as she once again assured the other man that San Bernardino was not an echo of that warehouse in Boston just a year before.

He had watched as Morgan rose and returned to his previous seat, and Emily’s careful mask crumpled ever so slightly around the edges.

He had watched as her gaze found his and held it, a challenge.

“I’m okay.”

Hotch blinked in surprise; he hadn’t expected she would be the one to broach the topic. He took a long pull of his beer. “It’s okay if you’re not.”

That earned him a trademark Prentiss glare. His lips twitched at the sight, glad her fight wasn’t gone entirely. “I know,” she replied testily.

“Do you? Because your thumb is bleeding from where you’re picking and I don’t think you’ve noticed.” He watched as she snapped back into her body and reached across their small booth for a napkin to staunch the small crescent of blood. “Your first injury in the field since Doyle, and with Morgan as your partner nonetheless,” he said carefully. “What you’re feeling is understandable, Emily.”

“Hotch,” she warned, before downing the rest of her negroni. “Your projecting isn’t exactly making me feel better.”

He raised his hands slightly. “I’m not projecting. I’m just looking out for a friend.”

She knew he was right, of course; no amount of overcompensating could make her do Morgan’s healing for him, but when she closed her eyes, she could still see the all too familiar look on his face as he registered her injury. She didn’t want to be thinking about any of that right now, though, and she certainly didn’t want the play-by-play of her boss profiling her in real time. 

Emily grumbled something that sounded a lot like who died and made you my therapist then pushed herself up onto her feet. “I need another drink.”

--

“I want to dance,” Emily said, several shots later. “And I want you to come with me.”

Hotch frowned pointedly at her sling. “Emily, you need to go home and rest.”

“You’re so serious,” she whined. “Come on, Hotch. Loosen up for a night,” she said with a devious smile. She traced a slender finger around the rim of his glass of whiskey, toying with the idea of getting him another drink—anything to get the tension out of his body. “Please? For me?”

Hotch eyed her pretty pout warily—he had always been a sucker for her doe eyes, and he was beginning to think she knew—then stood and extended his hand. “One dance.”

“Excellent.”

They both knew it wouldn’t just be one. 

Emily hummed contently as they moved in tandem to the beat of the music. His touch was light and respectful but warm, and she found herself leaning into it more and more. Inhibitions blissfully lowered, she dropped her fingers to the curve of his arm to trace a vein there, causing his hip to stutter accidentally against hers. Her gaze snapped up to his then, and her heart pounded at the look of obvious want in his eyes. Her resulting smile was beatific.

“What’s making you smile like that?” Hotch murmured, the low thrum of his voice only stoking her need.

“Nothing,” she said sweetly, biting her bottom lip and watching as his eyes flicked down to her mouth, then back up.

He chuckled. “You’re not a very good liar when you’re tipsy.”

“But you have to admit, I’m a pretty good dancer for someone who got shot less than 24 hours ago,” she said brightly, before looping her good arm around his neck and closing the space between them—the space he’d been trying diligently, if not half-heartedly, to keep.

“That you are.”

Fuck, she felt good as she moved against him. He vaguely registered the alarm bells sounding at the back of his mind at the heat building between them, but Hotch couldn’t think beyond the fact that this was Emily and she was in his arms, just like he had wanted for years. Every glance through his blinds at her in the bullpen, every cup of coffee delivered to him with a smile, every swish of her ponytail when they were paired together in the field, all of it building and cooling and culminating here.

“You were right, by the way,” he said eventually. She made a curious noise in response, the sound turning into a giggle at the shiver she pulled from him as her thumb traced mindless little patterns at the very top of his spine. “I was projecting. I didn’t want you to be alone this evening…but I didn’t want to be, either. I needed to see that you were okay.”

Emily looked up at him, besotted, then took his hand in hers and placed it over her chest. He clenched his jaw at the action; he could feel her heart, strong and racing at his touch, and was instantly consumed by the need to find every way he could elevate her heartbeat. To feel her heartbeat at every join of her, every join of them.

“Feel that?” she whispered, cutting through his reverie. “I’m okay.”

--

He hadn’t meant to kiss her back. Really, he hadn’t.

One minute, they were dancing, their bodies moving in sync as they toed the line of propriety with stolen touches, a nose against a cheek; the next, she was silencing his laugh by pressing her lips to his, rejoicing at the groan that rattled in the back of his throat as he felt her tongue coaxing his mouth open.

Hotch’s grip on her hips tightened, but the taste of gin and campari in her sweet mouth made him channel all of his restraint and pull away. “Emily—”

She moved her lips to the corner of his mouth. “If you even try to stop this,” she whispered, “I will break your jaw.”

Hotch barked out a surprised laugh. “Sweet talker,” he said dryly. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Emily grinned widely. “I like the sound of that.”

As he piled her into the car, Hotch felt a pang of guilt at the victorious expression that had flickered across Emily’s face. He knew what she was craving; she needed a release, she needed him, but no matter how much he wanted the same, he knew he couldn’t follow through. Not tonight.

Finally reaching Emily’s place after much giggling and wandering fingers at stop lights, Hotch watched amusedly as she threw herself onto her couch. “Can I get you anything?” He eyed the Bialetti on her stovetop before sitting down beside her. “Some espresso to sober you up?”

“I’m not drunk,” she countered unconvincingly.

He snorted. “How about a different method? Dave shared a hangover trick with me when I was still fresh out of the Seattle field office. You’d just need amaro, which feels like something Emily Prentiss would keep around.”

She gave a throaty laugh at that and the sound shot straight to his groin. “I do have amaro. You are not the only one Dave has ever plied with expensive alcohol and gotten drunk. But,” she said, holding his gaze, “I don’t want to talk about Dave anymore.”

And at that, she straddled him. 

Hotch’s eyes fell shut at the press of Emily’s body against his. There was something about her that triggered the most visceral reactions from him, his throat constricting and chest tightening as her teeth found the shell of his ear, the sensitive spot right below it. Perhaps it was that he had imagined this so many times before: imagined unraveling her carefully constructed exterior and coming undone to her, with her, imagined finding her pulse point with his mouth and sucking hard enough to leave a bruise, only now he was actually doing it and she was whining and it was the most exquisite sound he had ever heard. 

Emboldened by the sear of his mouth on her neck, Emily reached for him with renewed determination and urgency, fisting a hand in his shirt and making to tug it upwards over his head. It was the jolt to the present that Hotch needed, and he forced himself away, panting heavily. He wanted her to keep going, wanted to feel her, wanted to press his mouth to more of her, cut through her anxiety and adrenaline right to the core of her and make her fly apart; but instead he dropped his face in the curve of her collarbone and left a kiss there. “Emily, you have no idea how hard it is for me to stop you right now,” he ground out, “but we shouldn’t do this tonight.”

“I think I have a pretty good idea how hard you are,” she purred, rocking her hips against his and rejoicing in his resulting whispered fuck. “I want you, Hotch.”

“And I want you, too. I have for years.” Hotch smiled a little at the pretty blush that colored her already ruddy cheeks at his words. “But regardless of how eloquently you protest, I’m going to feel like I’m taking advantage of you right now,” he said as she opened her mouth to interject, “and I don’t want this to be something you regret tomorrow morning.”

Ghosting her lips against his in a barely-there kiss, Emily slowly shook her head. “I could never regret this,” she whispered. 

“Please, Emily,” Hotch said a final time, stilling her hand as she tried taking her own shirt off this time. He rose to his feet, Emily still wrapped snugly around him. “Not like this. We need to get you to bed.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do this whole time,” she said cheekily; but she followed him obediently, flashing him an inviting smile once she had stretched out across her bed. She watched him hungrily as he raked his gaze over her and swallowed thickly. 

Needing the distraction, Hotch slipped away to find ibuprofen and fill her a glass of water. When he returned, she had dressed down and removed her sling, and was staring at him as if he were stupid, but he just shook his head and sat in bed beside her. “You’ve had a really hard day,” he said gently, running a hand through her silky hair. “When the alcohol and adrenaline wear off tomorrow, I’ll be right here, okay?”

“Sometimes I hate that you’re such a good guy,” she said with a concessional sigh; but when she looked at him, all he saw reflected in her gaze was admiration.

Hotch couldn’t help but crack a smile at that. “I’m sorry.”

Emily laughed then, lolling her head to the side to peer at him with tired eyes. “Thanks, Hotch,” she said softly.

“Of course, Emily.”

She was out in a matter of minutes.

[randomalistic]

Wait you guys are actually buying Disney products I thought it was a joke

(READ TAGS FOR FULL CONTEXT Sorry it’s long dies

[underwaterspiderbird]

look in the media literacy mirror fuckwad, and no trolling here, i mean every word with unfathomable sincerity. the jedi literally other and vilify anybody who doesn’t agree with them, justifying their genocide with “they’re an evil abomination! they would’ve harmed ppl if we didn’t invade and kill them.” just like the catholics, AND buddhists, and any other organized religion.

pulling the nuh uh card and playing dumb to that just makes you look like a complete doofus thinking you did something when everybody’s wondering who even invited you.

the jedi are a systemically dominant cult, not a valid group of ppl, all of their ppl come from “dark & unnatural” families who’s they glorified tore them from & told them the way they are is bad & wrong “but its okay bc the jedi will fix them”. if they didn’t glorified kidnap kids under the pretense of their family’s consent they wouldn’t have any members. literally a high control religion that exists only to preserve their hive-minded status quos. not beating those allegations.

idc what any poindexter ass definition says, not a genocide. if the jedi didn’t steal & brainwash “dark & unholy” children & then throw them away when they don’t mold to their box, they wouldn’t have any members to kill. the jedi are not a valid group of ppl, they’re a romanticized cult. are the members who died victims of circumstance? absolutely. is it a genocide? fuck no. if anything, they slowly killed themselves every moment they stayed in the jedi & melted away their brain trying to force themselves into being something they’re not. not sorry.

and the sith are not based on nazis, they never were. that’s a lie, it was palpatine’s empire that was based on nazis, which is entirely separate from the sith & basically just palpatine’s excuse to jerk himself off like trump & use the term sith as a justifying shield for doing so. just like the jedi in their “galactic peace”. if anything, the jedi are more nazi like than the sith could ever be, they’re just sneakier about it & hide behind a halo.

sure there’ve always been fuckin’ weirdos in the sith, like ANY group of ppl but their core beliefs are about personal freedom and self-empowerment. not nazism. weird mfs/bad apples just take those concepts and use them as an excuse to be jackasses for every greater majority of sensible sith focused on survival. it is what it is, & all you can control is what you do.

sith concepts themselves are genuinely great. all i learned from the jedi is that my feelings & who i am as a person are bad and wrong & that i “need their saving”. sith taught me to finally love myself & stand up for my world & existence. the sith are bigger symbols of hope & freedom to me than the jedi ever claimed to be.

for the millionth time, the sith are not nazis. they never were and never will be. far from it. the very first sith were former jedi who broke away because they didn’t agree with their dogma, which the jedi didn’t like so they threw away the “filthy heretics” like moldy leftovers. if you really cared about fascism & oppression you’d see how much the jedi are like catholics & nazis themselves, even beyond their veneer of “peaceful monks”. idk if you know this but the jedi are known liars; they’ve had the systemic power to lie & do whatever they want for eons and in that respect, are even worse than the sith.

in other words, you’re the media illiterate one here. you’re the sad one here. you’re the one who doesn’t know what they’re talking about. not us. you. have a drink, hit your bong, whatever you gotta to cope with that & get over it.

nobody likes explaining to you weirdos why shit in fact stinks & having a different point of view from you doesn’t make us “fascists” or “genocidal” or whatever other word’s hot that day. you’re the weird church kid in school that tells all the non believers they’re gonna burn in hell for all eternity & then cries “persecution” when met with consequence. fuck off 🖕🏼

order 66 was NOT a genocide. you can only genocide people & cultures, you can’t genocide a systemically deified super-religion that wants everyone in existence to either agree with them & exist their way or burn in hell for eternity. any decent ppl who went down with the purge forfeit their lives down the drain along with their family, home & very sense of self. they. had. it. fucking. coming.

from an indigenous person, fuck y’all for even comparing order 66 to genocide & talking all over survivors of real genocides to save face for your evangelical faith & the people you think are good guys. you are not about to disrespect the continent-sized OCEANS of blood that make up our ancestors & loved ones who were lost to real genocide. fuck off.

[sevenines]

i saw this tweet and found it interesting for two reasons. one is that some people base how good cartoon network would be to toh by how it treated su, and despite the fact that su’s treatment by the network was considered poor at the time, now its thought to be exceptionally good in comparison to modern shows.

two is how exactly su got impacted by a limited budget. a common criticism is how characters like connie, peridot, and lapis are left out of missions. but balancing a lot of characters is not only hard but also costly (extra animation, extra voices—it’s been revealed that the show is limited to a set number of characters per episode otherwise they’re over budget). animation mistakes are not uncommon since retakes cost extra. the entire reason the original show got cut short was due to loss of funding!

[mkzmerryfriend]

*cracks knuckles* we know Tyler isn’t the original Clancy right? Y’all caught that? Clancy’s bishop was Keons, Tyler’s is Nico, and now “Clancy” is Tyler. Because “scaled and icy” is an anagram for “Clancy is dead” and that album was the one where dema was using Tyler’s popularity for their own purposes. Clancy failed to stop the cycle on his own, and despite already being used as a figurehead for dema, Tyler decided to take up the role of “Clancy” in the wake of what seemed like a total collapse of the Banditos. Their leader had been taken out, and now they had no one to organize them.

But Tyler taking on the name Clancy isn’t him taking on the role of leader or even organizer. He is showing us (the Banditos) that we all can be our own inspiration, we don’t need a figure to follow, we don’t need a leader to lead us. We can do this, fight dema, ourselves.

Y’all got that, right?

[bxriles]

I’m sure that this is not a hot take and that a lot of people feel the same way but like…

The question “does it have spice?!🌶️🔥” makes me want to jump off a cliff. I’m out here looking for gothic book recommendations on Reddit, tumblr, and goodreads and WHY is this the first question so many people ask 😭

Look, I love erotica as much as the next person but come on. There have got to be other things that matter when recommending books or choosing to pick one up, my GOD.

[zyafics-recs]

reblogging comment review from @zyafics

i lied (warning i don't think my commentary r that good) ⬇️

JJ cheered in the background, almost face-planting the ground as he struggled to get off his chair and call Pope.

that’s his bf fr

But watching Rafe Cameron—the boy who had idolized his father for years, now a man—sit in a chair facing countless cameras and strangers for hours as he recounted his life under Ward's control? That was a different kind of heartache.

he’s just a baby boy

ALT

View on Twitter

The barriers between you two seemed insurmountable.

climb that wall

Luke laughed, a deranged sound, and lunged. You swung the skillet with all your might. It connected with his shoulder, the impact reverberating up your arm

this scene is supposed to be serious but i imagined tommy and jerry where jerrry hit jerry with a pan or smth and the thing bounces off of him wobbly 😭😭ok back to reading (i wanna let u know the lengths i went through to make this gif bc i literally downloaded it and made it myself)

(i wanna let u know the lengths i went through to make this gif bc i literally downloaded it and made it myself)

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, a sob escaping instead. Your knees gave out, and you sank to the floor, the phone slipping slightly in your grasp. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the walls pressing down, the silence deafening except for your labored breathing.

this is claustrophobic

"Sit here," Rafe said, motioning to the edge of the bed. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a first-aid kit. He kneeled in front of you again, this time with a different purpose. "Lemme see your hands."

MY BABY TAKING CARE OF MY OTHER BABY

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against the barrier you'd built around your heart. “Why—Why did you pick up the phone?”“You know why.”

can we please just fuck and make up

Without a word, he slipped off his shoes

this took me out white boy why do u have shoes in the HOUSEEEEE

“…I don’t care what it fucking takes,” Rafe all but spat, his tone filled with determination. “Yeah, I know the charges will stick. Just make sure he doesn’t get out on bail. I don’t want him anywhere near her again.”

rafe is such an action man we love 💕

"I owe you everything," he murmured.

screeching under my pillow 🦅

“You’ve been alone?” You all but sob, “You’ve been here all this time? By yourself?”

the way ur dialogue is like a movie SOMEONE GET GIGI INTO THE WRITERS ROOM STAT

Your heart pounded in your chest as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was as if he was testing the waters, ensuring you were okay with this, and when you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as his lips explored yours.

SEXYYY TIMEEE 💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻💃🏻 i am so unserious

“I don’t care,” you replied, shaking your head. “You fucked me after I got shot.”

say it

"That night was different. We were different."

oh fuck off being a gentleman pls ✋🏼🤨

His voice trailed off, but his hands spoke for him, tracing patterns along your sides, sending shivers through you. His touch was reverent as if he was rediscovering you, piece by piece.

why is this so beautiful

"I love the way you look at me," he continued, his hands slipping under your shirt, his shirt, caressing the bare skin beneath. "Like I'm the only person in the world. Like I matter."

ohmygod 🙈 i feel like i am interrupting something

"You do matter," you whispered, your voice breaking. “You matter to me.”

BABIES ALL OF THEM !!!!!!!!!!!

Rafe's hands found your hips, his touch firm and reassuring. "I love you," he said again,  "And I need you to know that. Shit, I need you to feel it."

put it in already 🙄 (kidding i love this)

"My perfect girl," he growled against your lips.

ur making me blush

“Fuck, yes,” he whimpered, his grip on your hips tightening. “You feel amazing.”

RAFE WHIMPERING I WONNN

"I can't believe you're real."

i swear to god if this turns out to be a dream i’m booking the next flight to ur city n murdering u in ur sleep (real)

final thoughts — this is so tender and sweet, i love this. i think i can offer no true words to have much i appreciate this series (also because i used it all up in the last review) but yes, like i said. compliments to the chefs for her dialogue and beautiful imagery. additionally, i wanna let u know that u give me so much inspiration. whenever i finish one of ur work, i'm like "i gotta get my ass up and work" because i always feel so motivated to write whenever i read ur stuff. <3 truly, t💘💘hank u for everything, i'm so excited (and sad... and horny...?) to see them come to a delightful end next part

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - six

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: domestic violence; blood; injuries; angst; smut;

word count: 7.6k

You saw it on the news before Sarah told you.

Ward was officially in police custody.

They were calling it the biggest crime operation in years, plastering his face on every corner of every newspaper in the country. You saw it first on your busted-up TV, the morning news anchor's serious tone making the gravity of the situation clear before Sarah had a chance to call.

He was stopped.

The man who caused so much pain and chaos to everyone you cared about was finally behind bars.

But your relief came with a bit of caution.

This was just the beginning. There was still a trial to face, and you knew how slippery Ward could be. He had enough money to buy whoever he wanted, and the justice system wasn’t always as just as you hoped. Trials could take months, even years before he was sentenced.

JJ cheered in the background, almost face-planting the ground as he struggled to get off his chair and call Pope. You hadn’t seen him this ecstatic in years, the hallways of your home echoing with “let’s fucking go, baby!” as he made his way upstairs.

You were content.

Was there really anything to be happy about?

Sure, a bad guy was getting what he deserved, but the destruction he left behind was still very much there.

Months ago, when the police contacted you again, you had refused to testify. What Ward did to you was terrifying, but what he did to Sarah, John B, and Rafe? They were the true witnesses to his evil. You barely got a taste of his wrath. You were lucky. You wanted to be there, of course. Every person Ward hurt deserved all the support they could get. But watching Rafe Cameron—the boy who had idolized his father for years, now a man—sit in a chair facing countless cameras and strangers for hours as he recounted his life under Ward's control? That was a different kind of heartache.

Rafe.

You hadn’t seen him since that day he dropped by, and it felt like he vanished into thin air. You didn’t see him around town, not at the beach, and he never stopped by your job. You started wondering if he’d been cooped up in that awful house all this time.

You couldn’t shake this feeling of worry, knowing he was stuck in the shadow of his dad’s mess.

Did he feel abandoned by you?

The thought of him, alone in that house, haunted you. You knew you should’ve reached out, found him as the town buzzed with the details of Ward’s arrest. More stories came out, each more horrifying than the last.

You almost gave in.

One evening, you found yourself riding past the Cameron estate, its looming structure a dark silhouette against the fading light. You almost went in, stopping by the gigantic gate, but then you saw movement inside and sped away on your bike.

You couldn’t do it. 

The barriers between you two seemed insurmountable.

As you walked home from your shift as a lifeguard at the beach, the sun setting behind you cast long shadows on the sand. The rhythmic crashing of the waves had always been your favorite soundtrack. You’ve spent most of your life inside the water, it was in your nature. 

Growing up, surf and swimming were your outlets to get away from your violent father and deadbeat mother. The ocean was your sanctuary, a place where you could forget the shouting matches, the broken furniture, and the empty bottles scattered around the house. When you were out there riding the waves or just floating on your back, everything else melted away. The water had a way of washing off the grime of your home life, even if just temporarily.

Unfortunately, once you set your feet on the sand and walked home, that feeling always vanished.

Tonight, as you made your way home, the familiar dread began to creep in. Both your parents were long gone, but the sense of dread would never leave you, always attached to that stupid house.

Even though the yelling had stopped, and the bottles were gone, the walls seemed to hold on to the echoes of your past. The creaky floorboards, the dim lighting, the chipped paint—You hated it.

You had considered moving out many times, but something always held you back. JJ. Money.

When you got there, the air felt unusually still.

JJ’s truck wasn’t parked in its usual spot, which was strange, but not entirely unheard of. What really unsettled you were the closed windows. You always left them open to let the ocean breeze in, but now they were all shut tight.

You called out your brother’s name, hoping to hear his usual welcoming shout, but there was only silence. You shrugged it off, thinking he was probably out on the boat or lost in his video games.

You dropped your bag by the door and walked further inside.

"JJ?" You called again.

As you stepped into the living room, the sight of your father, Luke, froze you in place. 

He seemed worse than you remembered—disheveled, eyes bloodshot, and reeking of alcohol.

Luke had been gone for a year, no contact, nothing. But the memories of his drunken rages and the bruises he left behind were still fresh. He was supposed to be miles away. JJ made sure of that, paying him off and helping him get off the island.

Seeing him was the last thing you were expecting.

"You shouldn’t be here,” You warned him, trying to mask the fear rising in your chest.

He laughed, a hollow, chilling sound. "I’m just here to see my kids. Is that so wrong?”

Liar.

You knew better than to trust him. “You need to leave. Now.”

His expression darkened, the smirk fading. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Watch me. Out.”

He took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender, “I just need a little loan.”

You tightened your grip on the edge of the doorframe, “No. You need to go, for good.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you thought he might listen. But then he took a step closer, and you could smell the stale alcohol on his breath.

“I’m not leaving without what I came for.”

“I don’t care,” You snapped, no longer the scared girl he was used to, “Get your ass out of my house before I call the cops.”

“This is my house!” He all but screamed, the veins in his neck visible.

“Not anymore,” Your heart pounded in your chest, and every fiber of your being screamed for JJ, wishing he was here, “I’m not afraid of you,” you said, more to convince yourself than him.

He took another step forward, his face twisted in anger. “You always were a stubborn little brat.”

“And you’re a piece of shit.”

He lunged. 

You barely dodged his grasp, stumbling back into the living room.

“Stay away from me!” you shouted, desperately looking for something to defend yourself with. 

Luke laughed, a dark, hollow sound, and came at you again. This time, he grabbed your arm, his grip painfully tight. You barely had time to react, instinctively raising your arms to block his advance. 

“You little bitch,” he snarled, pushing you against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of you, but you fought to stay focused. You couldn’t let him win, not again.

“You’re going to give me what I want,” he hissed, his breath hot and foul on your face.

“No, I’m not,” you spat back, summoning every ounce of courage you had.

With your free hand, you grabbed a nearby lamp and swung it at him. The base connected with his head, and he stumbled back, cursing.

“Bitch!” he roared, holding his head. Blood trickled down the side of his face, but the sight only seemed to enrage him further.

He charged at you, knocking the lamp from your hands and pinning you to the floor.

You were panicking, resorting to kicking and thrashing, trying to throw him off. “Get off me!” you screamed, clawing at his face.

He slapped you hard, the force of the blow making your vision blur. “You think you can fight me?” he snarled, his hands wrapping around your throat.

Gasping for air, you felt the desperation claw its way out. You’d been here too many times. Your hand groped blindly on the floor, finding a heavy candlestick. Your mom’s candlestick. With the last of your strength, you brought it down on his head.

Luke’s grip loosened, and he slumped to the side, groaning. You scrambled to your feet, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

He tried to get up, but you struck him again, this time with all your strength. The candlestick connected with a sickening thud, and your father collapsed, blood pooling around his head.

You stood over him, panting, the weight of what you’d done sinking in.

But then, with a guttural growl, he stirred and reached for your ankle. You staggered back, your heart hammering. 

“Stay down goddamit!” you shouted, raising the candlestick again.

He pushed himself up, eyes wild with rage. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he spat, lunging once more.

This time, you were ready.

As he reached for you, you twisted to the side, bringing your knee up sharply into his stomach. He grunted in pain, doubling over, and you seized the opportunity to land a sharp elbow to his nose. The crack was satisfying, but brief; he roared and grabbed at you blindly.

You ducked under his arm, grabbing a chair and shoving it between you. Luke, half-blind with fury, kicked the chair aside, but it gave you enough time to reach the kitchen. You grabbed the first thing you could find—a cast-iron skillet.

He stumbled into the kitchen after you, a trickle of blood from his nose mingling with the sweat and grime on his face.

“You just had to put up a fight, huh? Just like her.” he snarled.

“Stay back,” you warned, brandishing the skillet, “I’ll fucking do it.”

Luke laughed, a deranged sound, and lunged. You swung the skillet with all your might. It connected with his shoulder, the impact reverberating up your arm. He staggered, and you swung again, aiming for his head. The skillet hit with his temple, the sound echoing through the room and he collapsed, finally unmoving.

Oh fuck.

For a moment, the house was deathly silent.

You dropped the skillet, your hands trembling.

Kneeling down, you checked for a pulse. It was faint, but there. Relief and horror flooded through you simultaneously.  You almost killed him. There was so much blood. It stained the old carpet, the candlestick, your hands.

You backed away, your mind racing. 

What if he died? What if you’d killed him? Oh god, oh god. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You just wanted him gone, out of your life for good.

With trembling fingers, you picked up your phone, the weight of what had just happened settling heavily on your shoulders. Your heart raced with adrenaline and fear, each breath feeling labored as you scrolled through your contacts. You needed help, someone who could make sense of the chaos now consuming your life.

The screen lit up with familiar names, but your vision was blurred with tears.

Without fully realizing it, your finger landed on a contact you hadn’t called ever before. The phone rang, and you kept an eye on Luke, praying he wouldn’t move. It rang for only ten seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

“Maybank?”

“Rafe?” You gasped out, your voice breaking as you clutched the phone to your ear.

There was a brief pause, and then his voice came through, “Hey, hey. What's wrong? Are you okay?”

But you couldn't speak.

Hearing his voice after all this time, after everything that had happened, it was too much.

The fear, the relief, the chaos, all of it came crashing down, and your breath hitched.

You couldn’t think.

“Hey! Are you there? Talk to me!” Rafe's voice grew more urgent.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, a sob escaping instead. Your knees gave out, and you sank to the floor, the phone slipping slightly in your grasp. The room felt like it was closing in on you, the walls pressing down, the silence deafening except for your labored breathing.

“Where are you?!”

You focused on his words, trying to match your breath to his timbre.

In. Out. In. Out.

It helped, if only a little. The shaking in your hands lessened, but the fear never eased.

“I think... I think I killed my dad.”

You looked at the bloodstained carpet, the unconscious body of your father still lying there, and the horror of it all washed over you again. 

“Are you home? Are you safe?”

You glanced around the living room, the familiar space now a scene of violence.

“I’m home. JJ isn’t here. I-I don’t know where he is.”

“I’m coming,” Rafe said firmly. “Stay there. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

“Rafe—” You began, but he cut you off.

“I’ll be there soon. Just hang on, okay?”

The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself staring at the door, willing Rafe to appear.

What were you going to do? How were you going to live with yourself if Luke died? This wasn’t you.

You didn’t hurt people. You just wanted a little bit of peace in your life, some quiet. Why did things never work out the way you wanted them to?

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, you heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. Moments later, the door burst open, and there he was.

“Maybank?”

He called out for you as he stepped inside.

Seconds later, he was standing in front of you, scanning the room, analyzing the scene before him. He rushed to your side, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. 

“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple as he guided you away from the scene, his eyes lingering briefly on your father’s motionless figure.

“What happened?” He asked softly, leading you to sit on the couch. 

“He just showed up out of nowhere. He wanted money. I told him to leave, but he wouldn’t. He got violent, and I... “

“It’s okay.”

His warmth helped.

But you still felt the overwhelming weight guilt eating you alive. The blood on your hands—it all felt surreal, like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

“Have you called 911?”

You shook your head, lips trembling as you tried not to cry.

“Do you want me to?”

The thought of police cars and paramedics filling the house, made your stomach churn. The fear of what might happen if Luke woke up, or if he didn't, paralyzed you. It took you a second to realize he already had his phone out, pressed to his ear.

"I need an ambulance.”

He stayed on the line with the dispatcher, giving them your address and the details. Your ears were ringing, unable to make out exactly what he was saying. 

"They're on their way," he reassured softly. "It’s gonna be okay."

You nodded weakly, grappling with the aftermath. Rafe stayed close, seated next to you.

"They'll take him to the hospital," He murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "He'll get the help he needs."

"I... I didn't mean to..." you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

Rafe’s hands griped your own, despite the blood coating it, "I know.”

The minutes felt like hours as you waited for the ambulance. You just wanted it to be over.

When the paramedics finally arrived, Rafe guided them to Luke's unconscious form while you sat numbly on the couch. They immediately went to work, assessing his condition and preparing him for transport. Police officers soon followed, asking questions, and taking statements. Rafe handled most of the interaction, shielding you from the brunt of their inquiries. You watched in stunned silence as they worked.

He stayed close by, offering quiet reassurances and answering the paramedics’ questions.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally moved Luke onto a stretcher and carried him out of the house. Rafe followed them to the door, speaking briefly with one of the paramedics before they loaded Luke into the ambulance and drove away.

He kneeled in front of you, “You can’t say here, okay? They called JJ, he’s on the mainland, but he’ll take the first ferry down here tomorrow.”

You nodded weakly, your body feeling as if it had been drained of all energy.

"Come on," Rafe urged, helping you to your feet. "Let's get you out of here."

He guided you out of the house and into his truck, the engine already running. The drive was quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you.

Rafe reached over, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. You slumped back in the plush seat, eyes closed, trying to steady your breathing, too embarrassed to look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

You didn't even register where you were headed until the truck pulled to a stop. When you finally opened your eyes, you realized you were at Rafe’s place.

Tanneyhill.

It felt odd, being there after so long, and under such circumstances. He helped you out of the truck, guiding you inside with a protective arm around your shoulders. 

"Sit down," he said gently, leading you to the living room. "I'll get you some water."

You sank into the expensive couch, feeling the soft cushions envelop you. It was weird sitting in Rafe’s home after everything that had happened.

He returned quickly with a glass of water, pressing it into your trembling hands.

"Drink," he instructed, sitting beside you.

You took a small sip, the cool water soothing your dry throat. Rafe watched you closely, concern etched across his features.

"You need to rest," he said. "I’ll be right here."

"But I—"

"You need to rest," he repeated firmly, but not unkindly. "We can talk more in the morning.”

There was a part of you that wanted to argue, to insist that you were fine, that you didn’t need his help. You’d done this for years, alone.

And yet, here he was, offering you help. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe you just missed him, but for once in your life, you didn’t fight him. 

You nodded, letting him take you upstairs.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, noticing the blood still on your skin and clothes. "You can’t go to bed like this."

At this point, you were too tired to speak, simply following his instructions as he led you inside, guiding you to the bathroom.

"Here," he said, turning on the shower and adjusting the temperature. "Take your time. I'll leave some clean clothes for you right outside the door."

You nodded gratefully, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind you.

The sound of the water running was comforting, a small sense of normalcy. You stripped off your clothes, your hands trembling slightly as you pulled your shorts off.

The sight of the dried blood on your hands and shirt made you want to burst into tears, again.

Stepping into the shower, you let the warm water cascade over you, washing away the grime and blood. The heat soothed your tense muscles, and you stood there for a long time, eyes closed, letting the water work its magic. 

Slowly, you began to wash yourself, scrubbing away the remnants of your father’s presence. The soap smelled of lavender, and somehow you found yourself smiling for a second, realizing this was Rafe’s scent earlier. You washed your hair, the routine bringing you back to the present. As the water rinsed off, clarity slowly returned. You were still scared shitless, but that shower gave you a moment of peace. Stepping out, you wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel and took a deep breath.

Rafe had left a pair of sweatpants, boxers and a t-shirt outside the door, just as he said he would.

You dried off and changed into them, feeling a bit more like yourself. They were a little big, but they were warm and comfortable.

They were Rafe’s. 

You opened the bathroom door to find him waiting in the hallway. He seemed relieved to see you and you hated yourself for making him worry so bad.

"Feeling better?" 

"A little," you admitted. "Thank you."

He nodded. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

He led you to what you assumed was a guest room, the bed already made up with fresh sheets. 

"Sit here," Rafe said, motioning to the edge of the bed. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a first-aid kit. He kneeled in front of you again, this time with a different purpose. "Lemme see your hands."

You hesitated, then slowly extended them. They were scratched and bruised, remnants of how fucked up your father was.

Rafe’s touch was gentle as he cleaned the wounds, using antiseptic wipes to carefully remove the blood that you hadn’t been able to get rid of in the shower. 

“This might sting a bit,” he murmured, his voice soothing despite the warning.

It made you wince, but you bit your lip, staying silent.

"I’m sorry," he said, noticing your discomfort.

"’M used to it. It’s okay,” You nodded, biting your lip as he cleaned the wound. 

The antiseptic burned, but you focused on Rafe’s face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the softness in his eyes as he wrapped your hand with practiced care. 

“I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

Rafe paused, his hands stilling for a moment.

“You’re not a mess.”

Your chuckle was short and stifled, “Right.”

His fingers continued their work, securing the bandage with gentle precision. “I mean it.”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his words pressing against the barrier you'd built around your heart. “Why—Why did you pick up the phone?”

“You know why.”

Rafe’s tone was final, leaving no room for conversation as he finished wrapping your hand and set it gently in your lap.

“There,” he said, “All done.”

You sank into the mattress as he pulled the blankets over you.

He was tucking you to bed, so…lovely, so not like the Rafe you met years ago. It made your heart hurt. No one had ever cleaned your wounds. 

“C-Can you stay here?”

Rafe paused, turning from where he was adjusting the pillows, "I don’t think—”

“Please.”

Without a word, he slipped off his shoes, climbing into bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. The warmth of his body against yours, his steady heartbeat, the scent of lavender and something uniquely Rafe—it all made you feel safer than you had in a long time.

"It's okay. I'm here. You're safe."

You buried your face in his chest, feeling the tears start to flow again, but this time they were tears of release, of letting go. Rafe held you tighter, his hands gently rubbing your back, his touch tender.

He didn't say anything more, just held you. As the minutes passed, your breathing gradually slowed, matching the rhythm of his. The tension in your body began to melt away, your eyes grew heavy. 

"Thank you," Your voice was muffled against his chest. "For everything."

Rafe pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

"Sleep.”

You snuggled closer, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, finally feeling at home.

You woke up the next morning to an empty bed, the warmth of Rafe’s embrace replaced by the cold reality of the previous night’s events. The room was dimly lit, the morning sun casting soft rays through the curtains. You sat up, your mind hazy with sleep, and glanced around, your heart sinking as you realized Rafe was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, you wondered if it had all been a dream, but the dried blood on your clothes, lying by the floor and the faint echo of fear told you otherwise. You took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. 

Your father, the struggle, the blood—Rafe’s comforting presence.

You felt an immense amount of guilt as you remembered how you had leaned on him for support after you cut him out of your life.

He was already dealing with so much because of his own father, and now you had burdened him with your problems.

You rose from the bed, the oversized sweatpants and t-shirt Rafe had given you hanging loosely on your frame. You made your way to the door, listening for any sounds that might indicate where he had gone. As you walked down the hallway, you heard a faint voice coming from the kitchen. Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized Rafe’s voice, speaking in low, urgent tones.

You hesitated for a moment, your curiosity getting the better of you. Slowly, you made your way towards the kitchen, the sound of Rafe’s voice growing clearer with each step.

“…I don’t care what it fucking takes,” Rafe all but spat, his tone filled with determination. “Yeah, I know the charges will stick. Just make sure he doesn’t get out on bail. I don’t want him anywhere near her again.”

He paused, listening intently. You took a step closer, peering around the corner to see him standing by the kitchen counter, his phone pressed to his ear. The intensity in his eyes was unlike anything you’d seen before.

“No, she’s fine,” he continued, “But I want to make sure she stays that way.”

You stopped in your tracks, your breath catching in your throat. Rafe was talking about your father, and the realization hit you in the face.

He was trying to protect you, even now.

“Rafe…” 

Rafe turned around, his eyes widening as he saw you standing there.

“I’ll call you later." He quickly ended the call, slipping his phone into his pocket as he approached you, “Hey, you’re awake,” he said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

“What were you doing?” you asked, “Who were you talking to?”

“Hmm?”

“Rafe,” You warn, too tired to play games, “Who were you talking to?”

He sighed, looking impossibly uncomfortable as you sized him up, “My lawyer. Getting a restraining order for you.”

The confirmation nearly made your brain split into two.

“What?”

Rafe hesitated, knowing he couldn't hide the truth from you. Not that he even tried lately. He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, a gesture you recognized as a sign of his unease. 

"I'm trying to get a restraining order against your father."

"Why?"

His eyes bore into yours, a silent plea for you to understand, “Because you need one.”

Rafe was going to bat for you, putting himself in the line of fire to protect you from the man who had haunted your life for so long. Tears welled up in your eyes as the enormity of his actions sank in.

“I’m sorry.”

He ran a hand over his face.

“Maybank, what happened last night… it’s not something you should ever have to deal with. I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve—"

“You couldn’t have known.”

Rafe shook his head, "I should've been here.”

You walked closer, closing the distance between you. "Rafe, you don't owe me anything."

He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before he gently cupped your cheek. His touch was familiar, comforting and you leaned into it, closing your eyes briefly.

"I owe you everything," he murmured. 

You let out a shaky breath, “Don’t say that.”

He tilted your face up, forcing you to look into his eyes, his thumb brushing away a stray tear, “You think I’d be there if it wasn’t for you? Shit— Pretty, look around. It’s just me.”

Your heart pounded in your ribcage, the sincerity in his eyes making it hard to breathe.

You had spent so long building walls, convincing yourself that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle everything on your own.

“You’ve been alone?” You all but sob, “You’ve been here all this time? By yourself?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” His hand on your cheek trembled slightly, the vulnerability in his voice laying his heart bare. “I’m okay, see?”

You reached up, covering his hand with yours, “I was so angry at you.”

“Baby—”

“You don’t understand,” you explained, voice cracking slightly, “I just... I didn’t know what to do.”

He drew you closer, his other arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him. You melted into him instantly. 

"I deserved it,” Rafe muttered, his breath warm against your ear.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"You told me you were getting clean, that you were seeing a psychologist, and I-I wasn’t there.”

Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading with you to understand. “I was a train wreck, and I hurt you. You needed to protect yourself.”

“But I should’ve been there for you,” you insisted, your voice breaking. “You were trying to get better, and I just... walked away.”

“Jesus Christ Maybank” He tried to laugh, but it sounded more like a groan, “Stop the waterfloods, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Shut up,” You let out a genuine laugh, despite the ugly crying, “’M trying to apologize—“

“You don’t have to, baby,” He cut you off, shaking his head, “Not to me, or anyone else.”

His breath mingled with yours, his presence soothing you in a way you hadn’t felt in months.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was as if he was testing the waters, ensuring you were okay with this, and when you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as his lips explored yours.

You felt yourself give in to him, your hands gripping his shirt to make sure it was real.

You’d dreamed about him for too damn long to understand the difference. The kiss was slow, deliberate…loving. Each touch, each movement, was a reassurance, a silent promise that he was here, that he wouldn’t let go. 

As you broke apart, gasping for air, lips swollen and shining, Rafe rested his forehead against yours again, his breathing ragged.

“Can’t believe you made me fall in love with a pogue.”

Oh.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“In love?”

Rafe bit his lower lip, “Yeah.”

You could see the anxiety roaring inside him. The way his shoulders seemed to squeeze back in, eyes dropping to your lips. 

"I never thought I'd fall for a kook," you teased gently, brushing your fingers lightly against his cheek.

“Don’t play with me,” He huffed, dropping his head against your shoulder, teeth grazing against your skin, “Fucking hell.”

You tilted his chin up gently, meeting his gaze with sincerity, “I mean it, Cameron.”

His eyes examined yours for a long moment as if confirming your words. Then, without a word, he closed the distance between you once more. This time, there was no hesitation, no uncertainty.

His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough. The kiss was so different from the one before. You could feel the heat building between you, that undeniable chemistry pulling you together.

His hands slipped under your shirt, his shirt, the touch of his fingertips on your bare skin sending shivers down your spine. Rafe’s lips trailed down your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You gasped, tilting your head to give him better access. His hands were everywhere, exploring, caressing, making you dizzy with want.

“I need you,” your voice's breathless, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

He paused, lifting his head to look at you, blue eyes darken with desire.

“You’re hurt,” he gulped, “Last night—”

“I don’t care,” you replied, shaking your head. “You fucked me after I got shot.”

"That night was different. We were different."

You nodded, the memory of that night vivid in your mind. The urgency, the desperation, the way you had clung to each other as if you were drowning.

He hesitated for a moment longer, his thumb brushing over the bruise on your cheek. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you promised, pulling him back to you. “I trust you.”

That seemed to be all the encouragement he needed. His restrain visibly slipped away as his lips found yours again as he lifted you effortlessly, carrying you upstairs, to bed and then laying you down gently as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

Rafe hovered over you, his eyes never leaving yours as he stripped off his shirt. You reached up, tracing the lines of his muscles, marveling at the way they moved under your touch. He leaned down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss, his hands working on the buttons of your shirt.

The clothes disappeared in a blur, and then it was just the two of you, skin against skin, only underwear. His hands and lips were everywhere.

“Y’know how much I missed you?”

You sighed, a smile playing at your lips as you cupped his face, “Tell me.”

Rafe’s breath hitched, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with a mixture of tenderness and desperation.

“Every damn day. Every fucking minute. I’d close my eyes and all I could see was you.”

His voice trailed off, but his hands spoke for him, tracing patterns along your sides, sending shivers through you. His touch was reverent as if he was rediscovering you, piece by piece.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, your bodies aligning perfectly. 

“I’m here now.”

Rafe’s lips curved into a smile against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, holding you steady. “You sure you’re okay?” 

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “More than okay. I want this. I want you.”

He kissed his way down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of heat as they moved lower.

“I love the way you laugh," he purred against your skin, his lips trailing down your collarbone. "The way your eyes light up when you talk about something you care about. How strong you are, even when you don't realize it."

You shivered at his words, your heart swelling with love for the man holding you so tenderly. "Rafe..."

He kissed your lips softly, silencing you.

"I love the way you look at me," he continued, his hands slipping under your shirt, his shirt, caressing the bare skin beneath. "Like I'm the only person in the world. Like I matter."

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words, his touch.

"You do matter," you whispered, your voice breaking. “You matter to me.”

Rafe's hands moved lower, teasing the waistband of your, his, boxers.

“I love how brave you are," he said, his voice husky, "How you face everything, even when it's terrifying."

He slid them down slowly, his eyes never leaving your face.

"Last night," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I was terrified. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You reached for him, your fingers tangling in his grown-out hair, pulling him closer. "I'm here," your lips brushed against his, "I'm right here."

Rafe's hands found your hips, his touch firm and reassuring. "I love you," he said again,  "And I need you to know that. Shit, I need you to feel it."

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I do. I feel it."

He kissed you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth with a desperate urgency. He took his time, worshiping you with every touch, every kiss, making sure you knew exactly how much you meant to him.

His lips found your breasts, kissing and teasing, his hands caressing your sides, your hips. You moaned, arching into his touch, your body trembling with need. "Rafe..."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, a small smile playing at his lips.

"I love the way you say my name. Like it's the only word that matters."

He kissed his way down your stomach, his hands sliding lower, teasing you, driving you wild with anticipation. "I love the way you taste," he breathed, hot against your skin. "The way you feel."

You gasped, your body arching off the bed as his fingers found you, teasing, exploring. 

"Rafe, please..."

He kissed his way back up your body, his lips finding yours in a searing kiss.

"I've got you. I'm here. Tell me if you want me to stop."

You shook your head, urging him on. "Don't stop.”

He kissed your hip bones, his hands gently spreading your legs wider. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your breath catch. He moved lower, his lips trailing down your inner thigh, his fingers lightly caressing your other leg.

When his mouth finally reached your core, you gasped, your body arching off the bed. His tongue flicked out, teasing you, tasting you.

The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Fuck you missed this.

Rafe’s grip on your thighs tightened, holding you in place as he continued his slow, deliberate assault.

He explored you with his tongue, each movement precise, intentional. He found a rhythm that made your head spin, alternating between gentle flicks and firm strokes. You moaned, your fingers tightening in his short strands, pulling him closer, needing more.

Rafe responded to your silent plea, his tongue delving deeper, his hands gripping your thighs harder. The pressure built, an overwhelming wave of pleasure that threatened to consume you. He groaned against you, the vibration sending you even higher.

"Oh, Rafe," you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. "Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

He didn't.

He increased his pace, his tongue moving faster, his hands sliding under your hips, lifting you slightly to give him better access. You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak.

Rafe’s mouth never left you, his tongue driving you to the brink. You cried out his name, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He sucked gently, his tongue flicking rapidly, and that was all it took. You shattered, not a wave, but an entire ocean of ecstasy crashing over you, your vision going white as the pleasure consumed you.

He continued his ministrations, guiding you through your orgasm, his tongue and lips never slowing, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

When you finally came down, your body spent and trembling, Rafe kissed his way back up your body, his hands soothing the aftershocks with gentle caresses.

He hovered over you, his lips capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the intimacy of it making your heart swell.

"My perfect girl," he growled against your lips.

Your bruised hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles as he held himself back. He shifted, pressing his hips against yours, letting you feel his arousal. You moaned into his mouth, your hands moving lower, wanting to touch him, to feel him inside you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as your fingers brushed against the waistband of his boxers, teasing him.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked again. 

He cared so much it nearly sent you into an emotional spiral again.

 “I’ve never been more sure.”

That was all he needed.

In one swift motion, he shed his boxers, and you took in the sight of him, hard and ready. He moved over you, positioning himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. He took his time, teasing you with his fingers, making sure you were ready for him.

You gasped, arching your back as he entered you slowly, his movements deliberate, and controlled.

God, you missed feeling every inch of him. 

He paused, giving you a moment to adjust, his forehead resting against yours. “Fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, his voice strained with restraint.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to move. “Don’t hold back,” you almost sobbed, your breath hot against his ear. “I want all of you.”

Rafe needed no further encouragement.

He began to move, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm, each thrust deep and controlled. The pleasure built with every movement, the sensation of him filling you completely driving you wild. Your fingers dug into his back, your nails leaving marks as you clung to him, needing the connection.

He kissed you deeply, his tongue mimicking the movements of his hips, the sensation of his lips on yours amplifying the pleasure. His hands roamed over your body, one sliding under your back to pull you closer, the other tangling in your hair, holding you in place as he devoured you. You matched his rhythm, you bodies moving together in perfect harmony. Rafe’s pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more urgent, his control slipping.

His words, the sound of his voice, sent shivers down your spine.

“Don't stop, baby- Oh, fuckkk. Please, d-don't stop."

"I won't," he promised, his voice a low growl. “Never stopping."

With those words, he lost the last of his restraint, his thrusts becoming harder, faster, driving you both toward the edge. The room filled with the sounds of your passion, the slap of skin against skin that made you absolute feral for him, the desperate moans and gasps of pleasure.

You didn’t understand the sudden urge, but before you could think about it, you were pushing against Rafe’s chest.

“Your turn,” you murmured, flipping him onto his back with ease and straddling him. 

He looked up at you slightly startled, hands resting on your plush hips as you settled over him and you swore he never looked prettier.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his hands sliding up your sides, over your tits, cupping them gently. “Every part of you.”

You leaned down, his stubble grazing your skin, burning you most deliciously. You feel him rubbing against you, his tip touching your clit just right and you couldn’t help the satisfied moan that escaped your lips. You broke the kiss, sitting up and grinding your hips against his, feeling the heat building between you again.

“You like that?” you teased, your voice low and sultry, your fingers trailing down his chest.

“Fuck, yes,” he whimpered, his grip on your hips tightening. “You feel amazing.”

You reached between you, guiding him to your entrance. The sensation of him sliding back inside you was electric, drawing a gasp from both of you. You started to move, slow at first, savoring the feeling of him filling you completely.

Rafe’s hands roamed over your body, caressing, teasing, driving you wild. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his eyes locked onto yours. “Ride me, baby. I want to see you come again.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, spurring you on. You increased your pace, rolling your hips, finding the angle that drove you both to the edge. Your hands braced against his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you rode him harder, faster.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. “You feel so good inside me.”

He groaned, “You can’t be real,” his hands guided your hips, urging you to move faster. “This can’t be real—Shit, keep doing that.”

The pleasure built with every movement, your bodies moving together like they never parted.

You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the tension building, ready to snap. Rafe’s hands slid up to your breasts, teasing your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“Come for me, baby,” Rafe urged, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words pushed you over the edge. You cried out, your body arching, your vision going white as the orgasm crashed over you. Rafe groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet yours as he followed you into ecstasy, his release filling you, pretty hisses and groans filling your ears.

You collapsed against him, both of you breathless, spent, and completely satisfied. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, his lips brushing against your ear.

You buried your face in his neck, overwhelmed by how loved you felt. You’d never felt anything like this before. His heartbeat echoed against your chest.

As you started to shift to look at him, you noticed he was staring at you with an expression that caught you off guard. His eyes were wide, intense and unwavering, almost as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"What?" you asked softly, a smile tugging at your lips despite the slight confusion.

Rafe blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. His hand reached up to gently trace your cheekbone.

"I can't believe you're real."

"Rafe..." 

He silenced you with a gentle kiss, his lips brushing against yours in a tender caress. "I love you, Pretty Maybank."

"I love you too.”

[imaybe5tupid]

if you see absolutely anything that has kabru in it. And are unable to stop yourself from making it about L/abru (even when Laios doesn’t even appear or is irrelevant to the content in question!) and reduce kabrus entire deuteragonist-level character into wanting to fuck laios. I’m stealing something out of your house!!!!!

disclaimer: If you ship l/abru and gaf about kabru and don’t do this then this post isn’t about you 🤓

[witchinatree]

making a list of my favorite quote/ones that stuck with me from each season 1 episode because i feel like it

(i'm starting this after episode 4 but it will be a WHILE before i post it)

episode 1: "bones are a lie peddled by Big Milk" - alice

i love this one because it's a great introduction to alice i think. also it radiates spiral so i hope we get avatar alice not dead alice (isnt there a podcast called alice isnt dead?)

episode 2: "If I wanted to clear the canvas, I would have used turpentine." - statement

this one was just fucking powerful and caught me so off guard like 😶

episode 3: "What would I do without her?" - statement

the norris statement <3 it feels like martin asking what he would do without jon which makes mag200 a lot sadder and i love them

episode 4: "Perhaps you shall prove a stronger will than I, and will yet find it within yourself to destroy this hungry thing of wood and cat-gut." - statement

augustus sighting #1 and we immediately get jonah magnus expressing that it may be possible for gwen bouchard unknown family member to overcome the eye's hunger spooky violin

episode 5: "Voyeur needs to be seen to be believed." - statement

i feel like this one is pretty reflective of how the seasons gonna go? like if you explain the events of tma (mag200 specifically) no one's gonna believe you, it must be seen to be believed!! and also seen!! like the eye!!!

episode 6: "Not sca- This isn’t some poxy blood test, some little pinprick, this is hundreds, thousands of razor sharp points pushing into your flesh." - needles

i love needles so much and i thought this was really funny because it was like "you dont find me scary!! what the fuck!!!" just kind of toddler michael energy

episode 7: "It’s not like we’re wrestling with tape recorders and manila folders." - celia

STOP IT. celia you can't say that you just cannot!!!!!! you Know™ too much maam i cant with you

episode 8: "Pleasure to meet you both. I’m Gerry!"

RAGHHHHH OH MY GOD GERRY!!!! i love him so much and idk how to handle him being alive in the tmagp universe!! gertrude too but idk we got so much of her in tma and not nearly enough of gerry

episode 9: "And honestly, it’s kind of compelling by this point." - sam

they got him 😔😔 the horrors got sam 😔😔 also i found this to be an interesting contrast to jon's heavy resistance in season 1 like he was being compelled but he wasn't going to let anyone know that vs sam "its kinda compelling to trauma dump on this paperwork :]" how is he somehow even more victim material

episode 10: "Gosh you’re sexy, here’s a twenty for your trouble.” - alice

does this count as a quote if shes also quoting what she thinks sam should say? idk anyway i love her i would say that to her if given the chance and it was very silly. i will not be addressing bonzo i am scared.

episode 11: "...Thank you, Alice" - gwen

dyhard dyhard dyhard dyhard dyhard. okay also, the way she CRUMBLED at the idea of anyone doing anything nice for her please someone give her a hug and let it be ME. this series is tossing me back and forth between sam & alice (what is their ship name) and dyhard but this put me back to dyhard

episode 12: "You know it's rude to have absolutely no game?" - alice

she's so fucking funny i need her to be okay so badly!!!! i don't think even tim made me laugh as much as she makes me chuckle and this one really got me. it's hard to write such a comedic character in a podcast since you only have the voice but they really nailed it i adore her

episode 13: "Is it my fault?" - gwen

each of these episodes just reveal a little bit more about how loving and soft gwen is and idk i love her so unbelievably much so seeing that she felt guilt about the bonzo stuff just made her so much more real :(

episode 14: "Christ, they’re in the walls…" - statement

theyre in the walls!!! theyre in the goddamn walls!!!!! anyway that got me because i realized the hole before the statement said it. made more sad than scared tbh

episode 15: "Babies are cool!" - alice this entire interaction between her and sam & celia was so awkward, she is so obvious and i love her anyway

episode 16: "It’s not like I was holding doors open for Mr Bonzo or anything." - gwen my wife is so so so stupid but i adore her AND this gives room for character development. i wish she did not do that though. i love when characters are flawed and have depth but i struggled to get past THIS flaw of hers

episode 17: "Thanks, I guess. Not exactly the same, though, is it?" - celia shes talking TO JON IN THE COMPUTER. SHE KNOWS. i lost my damn mind i love her i love her. get the gay people out of the puter please queen

episode 18: "Why would I need to talk to you? Your work is satisfactory. Unless you have a work-related issue I could assist you with?" - lena solidified my opinion that lena is the best boss to ever have, i adore her and i would want to work for her if she wasn't the boss of Creepy Establishment #1

episode 19: "You’re going to throw it in the fishtank, aren’t you?" - alice colin's behavior is like really worrying BUT i'm glad he's back. i was not convinced he was still alive

episode 20: "I suppose it’s too late for remorse, isn’t it? And why should I be sorry? This is what I deserve!" - ink5oul/statement they reminded me of jon a lot, like especially his season 3/4 transformation when he doesn't quite know everything but he knows he isn't who he was in season 1 anymore, i hope we see more of their life and they can be helped :(

episode 21: [Tape Recorder Bites Ink5oul] - audio description i know it's not technically a quote but this is just so fucking funny. why does it have teeth. what does this mean for the lore. holy shit.

episode 22: "Jonathan Sims and Martin Blackwood" - celia. knawing at the walls of my enclosure i am so not okay. i'm not okay. wtf. wtf. wtf. they're real. wtf.

episode 23: "I had a favorite mug. It said “love you, bitch” and had a picture of a drunk dog on it." - alice. okay i just love this entire interaction because gwen got to open up a little bit and my dyhard heart is so full

episode 24: "I am told that children like me, and I’ve always held the opinion that the world would be a better place if everyone just thought more." - basira. once again this whole interaction was so fun but like idk i loved hearing basira somewhat happy and in a safe place :] my wife <3

episode 25: " I am trying to help, to save us from this goddamned fucking nightmare machine!" - colin. MAN I REALLY WAS ROOTING FOR YOU!!! I WAS SO CONFIDENT YOU WEREN'T GONNA DIE!!!! it's over

episode 26: "I was worrying for a moment that you were Magnussing." - alice. MAGNUSSING BEING CANON MADE ME SAY IT EVEN MORE I'VE SAID IT LIKE TWICE ALREADY

episode 27: "You didn’t tell me the room was labelled, “Archivist.”" - celia. oooooh somebody's got TRAUMAAAAA LMAO

episode 28: "So you’re telling me you know nothing about an OIAR external contract being found with the bodies of two tattooed thugs who met rather grisly ends?" - TREVOR HERBERT???? anyway. ink5oul mention!!!!! i hope they stop killing people it's really rude

episode 29: "Alice, er… we’ve got to talk. It’s important." - teddy. i knew it was over for him but i didn't think it was gonna be THIS bad??? bye babe i guess??? 😭

episode 30: how do i even pick. the whole fucking episode. i can't. i am in a state of shock. i need to lay down for 30 years.

[thepromisedbride]

i don’t talk about bridgerton on here but just to clarify. i will not be having ANY eloise hate on this account. i will bite.

[ahalliance]

how do i turn qantoine’s spontaneous marriage proposal to qetoiles into evidence of his early-days fear of qfrench drifing away and keeping secrets from one another

[puppyeared]

If I close my eyes and concentrate realllyyy hard I can pretend im in my animal crossing room