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rafesapologist · 19 hours ago

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if you would've been the one ─ rafe cameron (part 2)

summary: rafe gets engaged and you find out

warnings: addiction, dr*g use, angst, mentions of drinking, sad rafe, infidelity (don't cheat guys), sensual moments

author's note: i wasn't sure if i was going to write a part two, but some of you requested one so here you go <3

It has been a month since that fateful encounter with you, since he last held you while you sobbed in the middle of town. The sight of you—broken down, vulnerable, crumbling in his arms—haunts Rafe like a tortured ghost, a specter that clings to him, refusing to be exorcised. It plays on a loop in his mind, a visceral memory he can’t escape no matter how hard he tries. He remembers the way your voice cracked, the way you trembled against him, and the sound of your broken cries feels like a knife twisting in his chest, again and again.

Sofia moved in with him just a few days after that night, boxes stacked in the living room, her laughter filling the house as she unpacked their future together. On the surface, everything looked perfect. Rafe played his part well—smiling, planning the wedding, talking about the life they were going to build. He made everyone believe that his life was finally on track, that he was happy and settled. But the truth was far from the polished facade he showed to the world.

In reality, his nights had become a battleground of regrets. He would lie awake long after Sofia had drifted off to sleep, staring up at the ceiling as the images of your tear-streaked face replayed behind his eyes. The memory of your sobs haunted him, an echo that reverberated in the dark corners of his mind, refusing to be silenced. The sound of your voice—broken, raw, filled with so much hurt—was something he couldn’t shut out, no matter how tightly he closed his eyes.

While Sofia lay beside him, dreaming about their wedding, their future, and all the things he had promised her, Rafe was stuck in a different kind of dream—a waking nightmare. He relived that night over and over, his subconscious torturing him with the choices he’d made, the words he couldn’t take back. He would wake up in a cold sweat, his chest tight, the ghost of your presence lingering in the room. He could almost feel your tears soaking through his shirt again, the phantom weight of your body pressed against his as you cried out every last bit of hurt he’d caused.

It was like being trapped in a loop he couldn’t escape from, a purgatory of his own making. Every smile he gave Sofia, every kiss, felt like a betrayal—to her, to you, and to himself. He was playing the role of a man who had everything figured out, but inside, he was unraveling, piece by piece. Because he knew the truth he couldn’t admit to anyone—not even to himself. He wasn’t haunted by the life he was building with Sofia. He was haunted by the life he’d lost with you. And it was a loss that was slowly eating him alive.

Rafe picked up his old habits like an old, familiar coat—one that he’d hoped to never wear again. In the days and weeks following that night, the weight of his regret and guilt became unbearable, pressing down on him until he could hardly breathe. He tried to push it all away, to bury himself in his plans with Sofia, to drown out the echo of your words in the monotony of his new life. But it didn’t work. He couldn’t escape the sound of your broken voice, the look in your eyes as you told him how much he had destroyed you.

That was the night his sobriety came to a screeching halt.

He remembered sitting on the edge of his bed, Sofia already asleep beside him, her breathing soft and steady. He stared down at his hands, the same hands that had held you, that had pushed you away, that had made all the wrong choices. It was like he could still feel the ghost of your touch, the imprint of your fingers as you shoved him in a fit of anger. His heart felt like it was being ripped apart, and he needed something—anything—to numb the pain.

Rafe knew where to go, who to call. It was frighteningly easy to slip back into old routines, to let the darkness swallow him whole. He took his first line of coke that night, the familiar burn hitting him hard, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he felt relief. The crushing weight of his emotions lifted, replaced by a rush of artificial euphoria. It felt like he had control again, like he could breathe. But it was a lie—a dangerous, seductive lie that he willingly bought into.

The weeks that followed were a blur of late nights and reckless choices. What had started as a desperate attempt to cope quickly spiraled into something darker. His addiction came back with a vengeance, tenfold worse than before. It became a weekly ritual, then every few days, until it was nearly a daily habit. Rafe would disappear for hours, locking himself in the bathroom or sneaking off to the garage, cutting lines on the cold surface of the counter, inhaling deeply as the familiar numbness washed over him.

Sofia was oblivious. She’d look at him with concern sometimes, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, the way his hands shook ever so slightly when he thought no one was watching. But Rafe was good at hiding it. He knew how to play the part, how to keep up the facade of the doting fiancé, the man who had everything under control. He’d smile, kiss her on the forehead, tell her everything was fine. And she believed him. Why wouldn’t she? To her, he was still the man who had turned his life around, who was ready to settle down and start fresh.

But in reality, Rafe was spiraling, falling deeper into a pit of his own making. The regret of losing you, the guilt of betraying what he once felt for you, was a constant gnawing at his soul. He’d lie awake at night, staring up at the ceiling, his mind racing with all the what ifs that he couldn’t shut off. What if he had fought for you? What if he had chosen you instead? What if he had never let things fall apart?

The only thing he felt like he had control over was the drugs he was putting into his body. It was the one thing that numbed the pain, that quieted the screaming in his head, even if just for a little while. It was the only way he knew how to cope with the reality he had created, a reality where he was haunted by the ghost of you, the woman he still loved, but had pushed away.

And with every line he snorted, he knew he was digging himself deeper into a hole he might never climb out of. But the truth was, he didn’t care. Not anymore. Because in his mind, this was his punishment—his self-inflicted penance for the life he had ruined, not just yours, but his own as well.

The weekend finally arrived, and Topper’s invitation to the Pelican Yacht Club felt like an aid thrown into the raging sea Rafe had been drowning in. Topper had insisted he come out, promising a carefree day of drinks and laughter with old friends—a chance to forget about the chaos that had become his life. Rafe had been hesitant, rightfully so. The yacht club wasn’t just a place anymore; it was a scene of memories, and there was a good chance you’d be there. It was your workplace, after all, and Rafe knew that running into you could rip open wounds that were still fresh and bleeding.

But as he stood there in the mirror, staring at his own reflection, he realized he had nothing left to lose. His spiraling had already reached its peak. He was a man standing at the edge, and avoiding you now felt pointless. The drugs had dulled the pain, numbed him enough to survive each day, but they hadn’t erased the hollow ache in his chest. In his mind, he reasoned that maybe seeing you would bring him the closure he never got—an end to the nightmare he’d been living since that night he held you while you cried.

He agreed to go. He left the house with Sofia behind, her cheerful wave and bright smile not reaching him the way it once might have. She asked him if he’d be home for dinner, her voice laced with hope, as if she sensed the growing distance between them but couldn’t quite put her finger on why. He told her he’d try, planting a kiss on her forehead out of habit more than affection, and walked out the door without looking back.

The drive to the yacht club felt like an eternity. His fingers drummed nervously on the steering wheel, the weight of anticipation gnawing at him. He couldn’t tell if he was hoping to see you or praying that you wouldn’t be there. When he arrived, he took a moment to steady himself, taking a deep breath as he stepped out of the car and into the blazing afternoon sun. The humid air clung to his skin, reminding him of countless summer days spent here with his friends, with you. It felt like a different lifetime.

He spotted Topper almost immediately, surrounded by a familiar group of friends, their laughter echoing across the dock. The sight was almost comforting, a sliver of normalcy in the midst of the chaos his life had become. Rafe plastered on a smile and made his way over, clapping Topper on the back as he was handed a drink. He took a long sip, feeling the burn of the alcohol slide down his throat, and for a moment, he felt like he could pretend that everything was okay.

But it was fleeting. His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for you almost unconsciously. He told himself he wasn’t looking for you, but his heart knew better. He could feel it racing in his chest, an unsteady rhythm that only worsened when he finally caught sight of you. There you were, behind the bar, moving with a practiced grace, serving drinks and laughing at something a customer said.

You looked good. Too good. It made his stomach twist with a mix of longing and regret. He wasn’t sure what he expected—that you’d be as broken as he was, perhaps. But you looked like you were surviving, like you had picked up the pieces of your shattered heart and put them back together, even if the cracks were still visible beneath the surface.

Rafe felt a lump form in his throat as he watched you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you, despite the sinking feeling in his gut. This was it, the moment he had been dreading and anticipating all at once. He had braced himself for what might happen, but seeing you again, looking so effortlessly beautiful and so painfully out of reach, knocked the air right out of his lungs.

He turned back to his friends, forcing himself to join in their conversation, to laugh at Topper’s jokes, but his mind was somewhere else entirely. He could feel the weight of your presence across the bar like a magnetic pull he couldn’t resist. He took another long swig of his drink, hoping the alcohol would calm his nerves, but it only made him feel more on edge.

Rafe knew he had to make a choice—approach you and risk tearing open old wounds, or avoid you and leave things unresolved, the way they’d been left that night in town. He felt his heart pounding in his chest, his hands trembling slightly as he set down his empty glass. He glanced back over at you, his front faltering as he watched you laugh with a customer, the sound of your laughter piercing through the haze of noise around him.

Suddenly, the conversations around Rafe begin to fade, the laughter and chatter of his friends muffled like he’s underwater. He forces a smile, offering a half-hearted chuckle here and there, but his mind is miles away. He keeps sneaking quick glances over his shoulder, looking for you across the bar, though every look is so brief you never notice. It almost pains him, the way you seem oblivious to his presence. But he tells himself it’s busy; you’re too focused on the flow of customers to scan the room. Still, he can’t shake the sting, a dull ache in his chest that grows stronger every time he catches sight of you, the girl he let slip away.

You hadn’t noticed him yet. The thought stings more than he expected it to. How could you be so unaware of the agony ripping him apart from across the room? But he knows it isn't fair to think that. The bar is packed, filled with the usual weekend crowd; your focus is split between orders, conversations, and the rhythm of your job. It's easier this way, he tells himself. If you noticed him, it would complicate things, make the air heavy with unsaid words and unresolved feelings. Yet part of him—a selfish, desperate part—aches for you to look up, to lock eyes with him, even if only for a second. Just to see if he could read something, anything, in your gaze.

Rafe is at war with himself, stuck between the urge to keep his distance and the desperate need to get closer, to say something—anything. His fingers tap nervously against his glass, the buzz of alcohol not strong enough to drown out the whirlwind of thoughts racing through his mind.

Then one of his friends speaks up, snapping him back to the present. “We’re running low on beer, man. Someone should get another round.”

Without thinking, Rafe jumps in, his voice a little too quick, a little too eager. “I got it,” he blurts out, pushing himself up from his seat. His friends barely notice his sudden enthusiasm, already lost in their own drunken conversations. For them, it’s just Rafe doing a favor. But for him, it’s an excuse, a chance to approach the bar and maybe, just maybe, get a moment alone with you.

He moves through the crowd, weaving between bodies as he makes his way toward the bar. His heart is pounding, adrenaline coursing through his veins as if he’s about to do something reckless. In a way, he is. He hasn’t seen you up close since that night a month ago when he held you in his arms while you broke down in tears, and the memory of it still haunts him. He doesn’t know what he plans to say, or if he’ll even say anything at all. But he has to see you, has to face whatever feelings linger between you.

As he reaches the bar, he spots you right away. You’re busy, turning to grab a bottle from the shelf, your hair falling in loose waves over your shoulder. The sight of you hits him hard, a wave of emotion crashing over him so violently it nearly knocks the breath out of him. It’s like seeing you for the first time all over again, except now there’s an insurmountable distance between you that wasn’t there before.

He wipes his sweaty palms on his khaki shorts, trying to calm himself, his fingers gripping the edge of the counter like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. When you turn around, you don’t notice him at first, focused on passing a drink to a customer. He takes a deep breath, his voice caught in his throat, but he forces the words out anyway.

“Hey, can I get a round of beers?” he asks, his voice barely louder than a whisper, but enough for you to hear.

The moment you look up to meet his gaze, it's as if time itself halts. The crowded, bustling room fades into the background, and for a fleeting heartbeat, it’s just you and him. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, a flicker of recognition passing across your face before you can mask it. It’s a split-second crack in your facade, but you quickly snap yourself back into place. The shock, the pain—it all gets shoved down as you force yourself into a state of icy calm.

You give a curt nod, your expression stone-cold, devoid of any trace of the emotions boiling beneath the surface. You glance away, reaching for a stack of glasses without missing a beat. To anyone else, it would look like he’s just another customer, another face in the sea of people.

“Gotcha,” you reply flatly, your voice monotone and unreadable, like a wall going up between you. You don’t give him the satisfaction of anything more, no warmth, no bitterness—just cold indifference. You’re determined not to let him see how much his presence unsettles you, how the mere sight of him brings back every hurtful word, every sleepless night spent crying over the pieces he left behind.

You focus on the task at hand, pulling a few cold beers from the cooler and lining them up on the counter. The silence that stretches between you is suffocating, thick with all the unspoken words that hang in the air like ghosts. You can feel his eyes on you, searching for something in your expression, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction of looking back.

Rafe swallows hard, the tension settling heavy in his chest. He opens his mouth to say something, but the words die on his tongue. He watches your every move, hoping for a sign—anything—that might tell him you still care, even if it’s just a spark of anger or pain. But you give him nothing.

You slide the beers across the counter toward him, your movements quick and efficient. “Anything else?” you ask, your tone clipped and business-like, as if this moment isn’t ripping you apart from the inside.

Rafe stares at you, his eyes flickering back and forth between yours, searching desperately for something—anything—that might hint at what you’re feeling. But you don’t let him see it. You hold his gaze with a cold, distant expression, one that feels foreign even to you. It’s a stark contrast to the way you looked at him the last time he saw you, broken down and vulnerable. The warmth that once lived in your eyes is gone, replaced by an icy shield you’ve built up to protect yourself.

His mouth opens for a second, and it almost looks like he’s going to say something—something important, something that might change the trajectory of this interaction. But he hesitates, words caught in his throat, and you see the flicker of conflict flash across his face. He bites his tongue, the sentence dying before it ever has a chance to leave his lips.

“Uh—no, that’s all. Thank you,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. It’s awkward, hollow, like he’s a shell of the man you once knew. He picks up the beers off the counter, his hand shaking slightly, and without another word, he turns away from you. He moves quickly, as if he’s trying to escape the weight of the moment, the unbearable silence hanging between you.

You watch him leave, his shoulders tense, his movements almost robotic as he disappears back into the crowd. A part of you wants to call him back, to demand answers, to tell him how much he’s hurt you. But you don’t. You stand there, rooted to the spot, swallowing down the lump in your throat as you remind yourself that he’s no longer your concern. He made his choice.

Rafe returns to his friends, dropping the beers onto the table with a thud that goes unnoticed by the group. They’re too caught up in their drunken laughter, their cheers filling the air as they reach for the drinks, oblivious to the turmoil brewing inside him. He forces a smile, pretending to be present, but his mind is miles away.

The brief encounter with you replays in his head on an endless loop, each second of it magnified, dissected, and analyzed like a broken record he can’t turn off. He can’t stop thinking about the look in your eyes—so cold and unfeeling, a far cry from the warmth and love they used to hold. It’s like staring into the face of a stranger, and it makes his chest ache with regret.

He takes a long swig of his beer, hoping the alcohol will numb the gnawing feeling in his gut, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes the hollow sensation grow worse. He questions every part of that brief interaction: Should he have said something different? Should he have apologized again, right then and there? Should he have tried to explain himself, to make you see how much he’s been suffering too?

But it’s too late now. The moment has passed, and he knows he can’t change it. All he’s left with is the echo of your monotone “gotcha” and the way you looked right through him like he was nothing. He clenches his jaw, staring down at the condensation forming on his bottle, the laughter of his friends now just white noise in the background.

Rafe tries to shake it off, telling himself to get over it, to move on like everyone else seems to have. But he can’t. He’s stuck, trapped in his own head, replaying the scene over and over as he mentally beats himself up for everything he did wrong. It feels like a downward spiral he has no control over, a reminder that no matter how hard he tries to pretend everything is fine, the cracks are still there, ready to shatter him completely.

The night drags on, hours passing by in a haze for Rafe as he tries to drown his thoughts in drink after drink. The buzz of alcohol settles over him, a dull hum that makes him feel lighter, even if just for a moment. It’s a temporary escape, a slight escape from the relentless torment of his own mind. By the time his friends decide to call it a night, the Pelican Yacht Club has long since closed its doors.

The group gathers outside, their laughter a little louder, their goodbyes a little sloppier as they make plans to meet up again soon. Rafe stands at the edge of the group, his smile forced as he nods along, contributing half-heartedly to their final jokes. He feels distant, like he’s watching the scene play out from somewhere far away. One by one, his friends leave, until he’s the last one lingering in the parking lot, alone.

He sways slightly, fumbling in his pocket as he searches for his car keys. His coordination is off, the alcohol making his movements clumsy. He curses under his breath, frustration bubbling up as he struggles to pull the keys free from the tight fabric of his jeans. His head feels foggy, and the dull ache of regret pounds against his temples, as if the night is mocking him.

Just as he finally pulls the keys from his pocket, the sound of the front door creaking open behind him makes him freeze. The noise cuts through the silence, startling him. He turns around, his heart sinking when he sees you standing there.

You step out into the faint glow of the parking lot lights, your expression unreadable as you lock up for the night. The sight of you is enough to sober him up slightly, his buzz fading into a sharp pang of anxiety and longing. He hadn’t expected to see you again, not tonight, and certainly not like this. He opens his mouth, but no words come out, his mind racing with what he could possibly say after everything.

You don’t notice him at first, too focused on locking up, the familiar clicks of the door securing in place as you twist the key. It’s been a long night, and you’re eager to get home, to escape the remnants of the day’s chaos. But when you turn around, ready to leave, you see him standing there, swaying slightly under the lights of the parking lot. Rafe’s figure is slouched, his face half-shadowed, and even from a distance, you can tell he’s had too much to drink.

You sigh quietly to yourself, feeling a wave of irritation wash over you. You cross your arms defensively, a barrier between the two of you, as if it might protect you from the emotions he still stirs up inside you. “Rafe, what are you doing?” you ask, your tone edged with annoyance and judgment. It’s a reflex, your way of keeping him at arm’s length, of pretending that the sight of him doesn’t affect you as much as it does.

Rafe stares at you for a moment, looking caught off guard. He struggles to find his words, his brain muddled from the alcohol. “I was just—uh, leaving,” he mumbles, the words tumbling out clumsily. He mentally curses himself, hating how weak he sounds, how pathetic he must look to you right now. He’s Rafe Cameron—he’s supposed to have it all together, but here he is, fumbling in front of you like a lost kid.

You raise an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Well, we’re closed, so...” you say, your voice trailing off in a dismissive tone. You don’t finish the sentence, but the implication is clear: there’s nothing left for him here. Not tonight, and maybe not ever.

Your expression remains stone-cold, void of any emotion, and it sends a sharp pang through Rafe’s chest. He’s used to seeing fire in your eyes, whether it was anger, passion, or even sadness. But this cold indifference—it’s like a knife twisting in his gut. It’s as if you’ve already made up your mind about him, as if he’s just another inconvenience at the end of your shift.

Rafe stands frozen for a moment, the weight of his guilt pressing down on him, suffocating him with each passing second. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to undo the damage he’s done, but his mind races, desperate for something to break the silence. Your cold indifference cuts through him like a blade, and for a moment, he feels as if he’s drowning in his own regret.

You turn your heel to walk to your car, the sound of your footsteps sharp against the quiet night, but Rafe’s voice halts you abruptly. “Y/n, wait,” he calls out, his tone more urgent than he intended, the alcohol slurring his words slightly.

You pause, but don’t turn around immediately, your body stiff with tension. You can feel the heaviness of his gaze on you. You knew he was going to say something, but you didn’t know what. Did he even have the right to speak to you? After everything?

Rafe takes a tentative step forward, his voice quieter now, but no less filled with a kind of desperation. “Please,” he adds, almost pleading. "I... I just need to say something." His hand twitches at his side, as if he wants to reach out, but he doesn’t, knowing it’s the last thing you probably want from him.

You hesitate, your fingers brushing the handle of your car door, torn between the need to escape and the need to understand. Rafe’s presence pulls at something deep inside you, but it’s a complicated knot of emotions you can’t untangle in a moment. You glance between him and your car, the battle in your chest raging, before your shoulders slump in defeat. You can’t leave him like this—not without hearing him out.

With a sharp exhale, you turn, looking at him once more. He’s waiting, as if he didn’t quite believe you’d stay, his posture stiff with tension. His eyes meet yours, and for the first time in a long while, you allow him that moment to speak. You give him an inch, but that’s all you’re willing to give.

Rafe’s breath shakes as he lets out a small sigh of relief, as though your decision to stay has momentarily lifted a weight from his chest. He shifts his weight nervously, not sure if he’s even saying the right things, but it doesn’t matter now. The words come tumbling out, almost too quickly. “I can’t... leave things where they were when we last talked,” he admits, his voice wavering with something close to regret and need.

You stare at him, confused, eyebrows furrowing as you process what he’s saying. The statement doesn’t sit right with you. You’ve been through so much, and now, after everything, he’s just showing up like this? The anger and the hurt bubble back up, and you feel your guard rise even higher. "What’s that supposed to mean?" you ask, your voice laced with uncertainty and a hint of frustration. His words don’t add up. After everything he’s put you through, after how he left, now he’s trying to make things right? It doesn’t make sense.

Rafe’s gaze flits around the parking lot, his fingers tugging at his hair as if trying to find something solid to hold onto in this conversation. His thoughts are racing, but the words come out in fragments, stammering as though he doesn’t even believe what he’s trying to say. “I—I don’t think we should leave off this way, you know? Maybe we just need... some closure?” He glances at you briefly, but quickly looks away, the uncertainty in his voice giving the whole thing a shaky feel.

You stand there, arms still crossed tightly over your chest, your posture defensive as you process his words. You stare at him, a bitter chuckle escaping your lips, shaking your head in disbelief. “Closure?” you repeat, scoffing slightly, as if the very idea of it is laughable. Your voice hardens as the frustration and anger come rushing back, thickening your tone. “I don’t need any closure from you, Rafe. It’s pretty damn clear what your decision is here. You’re getting married. What else is there to say?”

Rafe’s face pales at your words, and for a moment, he looks almost defeated. The sting of your anger hits him harder than anything he could have prepared for. He expected you to be upset, angry—hell, maybe even hurt—but this... this is different. The bitterness in your voice, the coldness in your eyes, it cuts deeper than anything he’s felt before.

"I know, I know but—" he mutters, his frustration bleeding through as he paces, running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to gather his thoughts. "I can’t stand the thought of you hating me for the rest of your life because of this." The words fall from his lips full of desperation, his voice strained as he looks back at you, trying to convey something—anything—that could undo the damage.

His gaze locks with yours, searching for any hint of vulnerability, any crack in the wall you’ve built between the two of you. And for a brief, fleeting moment, he swears he sees something in your eyes—hurt, maybe even a glimmer of sympathy—but it’s gone just as quickly as it appeared. In its place, that same stone-cold, unreadable look that he’s grown all too familiar with tonight.

Your expression hardens again, and when you speak, your voice is quieter, but just as resolute. "Why are you doing this? I’m trying to move on, Rafe. I don’t have anything left to say to you anymore that’s gonna change what happens." You take a deep breath, your body tense as you prepare to put an end to this conversation. "So go back home to your fiancée and leave me alone."

His heart clenches painfully at the finality of your words. The way you speak—so detached, so sure of yourself—it makes everything feel so much worse. He thought there might be a chance, even the smallest one, for him to explain himself, to somehow make things right, but with each word you say, that possibility slips further and further away.

“Y/n,” he says softly, and it feels like a plea, like he’s begging for something you can’t give. His eyes meet yours, desperation and regret clouding his expression. “I made a mistake. You were right, I didn’t try hard enough. I was so used to everyone in my life leaving me that I pushed you away before I thought you could do it to me.” His voice cracks slightly on the last part, and he takes a step closer, but you don’t flinch. You stay still, frozen by his words. “I can’t change that, but I need you to know that this is ruining me. I spend every damn day and night replaying what you said to me in my head,” he continues, his fingers tapping frantically at his temple, as if the memory of your hurtful words is a physical wound he can’t escape. “I can’t let you go, y/n.”

The air between you thickens, the words hanging heavily in the silence that follows. Your heart wrenches at the rawness in his voice, but there’s still so much anger, so much betrayal coiled inside you that you refuse to let it go. You were right. You knew, deep down, that the Rafe you loved—who you thought was yours—was gone, replaced by someone who could never give you what you needed.

"Stop," you finally say, your voice low, trembling with everything you've been holding inside. "Stop pretending like this is about me. It’s about you, Rafe. Always has been. You don’t get to come here, to pull me back into your mess, just because you feel guilty. You don’t get to destroy me and expect me to just pick up the pieces and put you back together."

You take a step back, the space between you growing, but your chest tightens. His words echo in your mind, but you can't let them have the power they once did. Not anymore.

“Y/n, please, don’t do this,” he begs, his eyes filled with a mix of regret and pain as he gazes up at you. Then, before you can even process it, he falls to his knees in front of you. The motion is sudden, startling, and leaves you frozen, speechless. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you close, as if he can somehow erase the past with his touch, his brokenness seeping into you like a virus you’ve already fought too long to get rid of.

“I need you,” he mumbles against your stomach, and you can hear the tears in his voice. The man who used to be your world is now kneeling before you, broken, crying, and pleading in a way you never thought you'd see. It's almost too much, the weight of it crushing your chest, but you fight it. You fight it hard, as though giving in would undo everything you’ve worked so hard to build.

You try to push him away, but your hands falter, shaking as they hover over him. You don’t want to give in. You don’t want to let him pull you back into his chaos. Not after everything.

“Rafe... please, just stop,” you say, but even to your own ears, your voice is weak, trembling with the same sorrow you’ve been trying so hard to bury. You don’t know whether you’re trying to convince him or yourself. Your chest tightens with every second he holds onto you, every second he doesn’t let go.

He doesn’t stop. His grip on you only tightens as he looks up at you, his face streaked with tears, eyes full of raw, untamed emotion.

“I’m sorry, y/n,” he chokes out. “I’m so sorry. I never should’ve let you go. I never should’ve pushed you away. I—” His voice cracks, and he buries his face in your stomach, unable to finish the sentence. The sound of his sobs against your skin is almost too much to bear. It stirs something in you, something painful, something you thought you’d buried so deep that it couldn’t hurt anymore. But it does.

You shake your head, fighting against the part of you that still wants to be there for him, that still wants to believe in the words he’s saying.

“I can’t look at you the same, Rafe,” you whisper, your voice cracking under the strain of holding back tears. You tense up, every muscle in your body recoiling from the touch that once brought you comfort but now only fills you with a deep, searing pain. Your face twists into an expression of disgust, your lip trembling as you continue. “I can’t look at you knowing you’ve proposed to somebody else. I don’t think I could ever forget that.”

Your words are laced with a solemn, heartbreaking truth that makes Rafe’s breath hitch. He opens his mouth to say something, anything, but no words come out. He looks utterly broken, his eyes searching yours desperately for any sign that you don’t mean it. But he finds none.

“That’s not something somebody can just get over,” you add, your voice barely above a whisper, yet it echoes in his ears like a shout.

Rafe’s eyes well up with fresh tears. He drops his head, resting his forehead against your stomach as he chokes out a shaky breath. “I know,” he whispers, his voice filled with raw anguish. “I know I’ve ruined everything. But I still love you, y/n. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

You swallow hard, squeezing your eyes shut as if that could block out the pain of his words. “That doesn’t change anything,” you murmur, your hands still hovering over him, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. “You made your choice, Rafe. And it wasn’t me.”

He flinches as if you’ve slapped him, his arms falling limply to his sides. The realization that he can’t undo what he’s done, that he’s lost you for good, washes over him, leaving him hollow. He looks up at you one last time, his expression a mixture of desperation and helplessness.

Once Rafe stands up, there’s a brief silence as he stares into your teary eyes. He swallows the lump in his throat as he takes in your appearance — even after a busy day, you still look beautiful and flawless. It’s one of the things he always admired about you, how you could be under a whirlwind of stress and still somehow look perfect. But as he gazes at you now, his eyes fill with dread and desperation.

“Listen to me, y/n, please just listen to me,” he pleads, his voice breaking as he points to his chest. You stay silent but don’t move, your eyes peering up at him with a painfully broken look that he wishes he could erase. “I fucked up, okay? I fucked up. It shouldn’t have taken me so long to realize it, but I did, and I’m so, so sorry.” His lip trembles, his eyes filled with tears and sorrow.

You stand there, unmoving, as his words spill out with raw emotion, almost tripping over themselves in his haste to get them out. The sight of Rafe, usually so composed, now crumbling in front of you is enough to make your heart ache. You clench your jaw, trying to keep your composure, but you can feel your front wavering.

Rafe’s eyes are red and glossy, his lips trembling as he desperately tries to explain himself. He points to his chest, almost as if he’s trying to pull the words directly from his heart, like they’ve been buried deep inside him for too long.

“I still love you,” he whispers, the words trembling on his lips like they’re too fragile to say out loud. “This entire time, I never stopped. I just thought I was doing what was right by letting you go. I thought I was saving you from… from me. I couldn’t ruin your life anymore.”

You inhale sharply, the air catching in your throat as his words hang in the space between you like a heavy fog. You want to be angry, to lash out, but instead, all you feel is a deep, consuming sadness. It’s like everything you’ve held back, every ounce of pain and longing, is suddenly sitting right there on the surface, impossible to hide.

Your voice is soft, almost trembling as you speak. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me, Rafe. You don’t get to choose when you love me and when you let me go.”

Rafe’s face crumples at your words, his hands balling into fists at his sides. “I know,” he chokes out, his voice barely a whisper. “I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you. I was so scared of losing you that I ended up pushing you away. And now… now I’ve lost you anyway.”

There’s a silence that follows, heavy and suffocating, as if the weight of everything left unsaid is pressing down on your chest. You blink back the tears that have gathered in your eyes, finally allowing one to slip down your cheek.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you for this,” you admit, your voice strained and filled with a pain that’s almost unbearable to hear.

Rafe steps forward as if to reach for you, but he stops himself, his hand falling back to his side. “I don’t expect you to,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “I just needed you to know… I needed you to hear it from me. I never stopped loving you, and I never will.”

You close your eyes, letting the tears fall freely as his words wash over you. It feels like every emotion you’ve tried to bury is clawing its way back up to the surface, tearing you apart from the inside. You want to shut him out, to run away and pretend this conversation never happened, but you can’t. Not now. Not after everything he’s said.

With a shaky hand, you wipe the tears from your cheeks, sniffling as you let out a bitter, humorless laugh. “So what now, huh?” you ask, your voice strained with raw emotion. “You love me, but in a few weeks, you’ll be off marrying someone else?”

Your expression twists with anger and heartbreak, the frustration building up like an unbearable pressure in your chest. It’s like everything you’ve held back for so long is finally breaking free, and you can’t stop it anymore. You look at him with a fury born out of pain, your eyes ablaze with a mix of betrayal and sorrow.

Rafe flinches at your words, his face crumpling as if you’ve physically struck him. He shakes his head frantically, trying to find something — anything — to say that will make this right. But the truth is, he doesn’t have an answer. He’s caught in his own web of mistakes, and he knows it.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispers, almost to himself, as if he’s trying to convince himself that his actions were justified. But even he knows it’s a lie. He looks up at you, his eyes pleading for some kind of forgiveness, some kind of understanding. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Then why did you?” you cry out, your voice breaking. “Why did you do this to me? Why did you let me believe that you didn’t care when you knew how much I loved you?”

The silence that follows is deafening, filled with all the things that neither of you can say. You’re both standing there, barely holding it together. Rafe takes a step towards you, his hand reaching out as if he wants to touch you, to comfort you. But you take a step back, shaking your head.

“No — don’t touch me!” you shout, stumbling back as Rafe reaches out for you. You throw your hand in the air, creating a barrier between you. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Your voice cracks, filled with a raw pain that you’ve been holding in for far too long.

The words escape your lips like a scream, your sobs growing louder as the reality of everything crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. It’s as if the dam you’ve kept up for so long has finally broken, and there’s no stopping the flood of emotions now.

Rafe’s hand drops to his side, his face pale and stricken as he watches you fall apart in front of him. He wants to say something, anything, to take back what he’s done, but the words seem to be caught in his throat, strangled by his own guilt.

“You ruined me, Rafe!” you cry out, your voice laced with a bitterness that makes him flinch. “You fucking ruined me!” You point to your chest, stabbing your finger against your sternum as if you’re trying to drill the pain into him, to make him feel even an ounce of what you’re feeling.

“And now you get to live your life with someone else,” you continue, your words heavy with despair, “and I’m still here, trying to get over you.” Your voice breaks on the last word, your face contorted in anguish as tears stream down your cheeks.

You look at him, your eyes filled with a mix of heartbreak and fury. It’s almost unbearable, the way he looks at you — like he’s seeing you for the first time, truly understanding the depth of the pain he’s caused. His lips part as if to say something, but no sound comes out. He stands there, helpless and broken, as he realizes the full weight of what he’s done to you.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you continue, your voice trembling. “To be replaced? To watch you make a future with someone else while I'm still stuck in the past?”

Rafe’s eyes fill with tears, his chest heaving as the weight of his own guilt crashes down on him. He shakes his head, and when he finally speaks, his voice is barely a whisper, strained with intense emotion. “I see what this has done to you, y/n," he says, his words trembling with sincerity. "And I can’t tell you how sorry I am for hurting you like this. But this —” he gestures between the two of you, his hand trembling as he struggles to find the right words, “— this is hurting me too.”

His eyes are pleading, desperate for you to understand. “You don’t get what I’m saying, y/n. There is no future without you. I can’t even fucking look at Sofia without subconsciously comparing her to you. I can’t even imagine a life where you’re not there.”

You flinch at his confession, feeling your chest tighten as his words sink in. It feels like a gut punch, hearing him say out loud what you’ve feared deep down — that he still loves you, that he’s been pretending all along. You clench your fists, trying to steel yourself against the burning emotions his words bring up. It hurts too much to even look at him right now, the man who was once your everything, standing there and admitting he still wants you despite everything.

“You’re engaged, Rafe,” you choke out, as if reminding him — or maybe reminding yourself. “You’re about to marry her, start a new life with her. How can you say that to me?”

Rafe shakes his head frantically, wiping the tears from his cheeks as if trying to scrub away his own shame. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice breaking. “I don’t fucking know how I got here. I thought I was doing what was right, I thought I was moving on. But the entire time I’ve been fooling myself. It’s you. It’s always been you.”

You stare at him, stunned into silence. The sincerity in his eyes, the way his voice cracks when he says your name — it’s too much. It’s everything you’ve wanted to hear, but it’s also everything you’ve feared because it complicates the pain you’ve worked so hard to bury.

“I can’t stand this,” he continues, taking a step closer. He looks at you with an anguish that you’ve never seen from him before, like he’s on the verge of completely unraveling. “I can’t stand the thought of spending my life with someone else when every part of me still loves you. I don’t want a future where I’m constantly wishing it was you beside me instead.”

“Then why?” you finally whisper, your voice breaking as you look at him through your tears. “Why didn’t you fight for us? Why didn’t you choose me?”

Rafe’s face crumples, a sob escaping his lips as he takes another step forward. “Because I was scared, Y/N. I was scared that I’d destroy you, that I’d ruin your life the way I’ve ruined everything else. I thought you deserved better, someone who wouldn’t drag you down with their bullshit. I thought letting you go was what you needed.”

Your lips tremble, your eyes glued to the ground as you stand there before him, openly weeping. The sobs come out in shuddering gasps, and it’s painfully clear that you’re waging a war with yourself, torn between the pull of your heart and the reality staring you in the face.

“This is wrong...” you choke out, shaking your head as you look down at the pavement. “This entire thing is so fucked up now, Rafe.” You take a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, but your voice cracks with the weight of your words. “I can’t tell you I want to be with you knowing you have a fiancée. I’m not that type of person.”

Rafe looks at you, completely shattered. The realization of how deeply he’s hurt you, and how badly he’s messed everything up, is etched across his face. He steps closer, his hands reaching out, but he stops himself just inches away, as if he’s afraid that touching you would make it even worse.

“You don’t think I know that?” he whispers, his voice filled with a vulnerable, desperate plea. “You don’t think I’ve been tearing myself apart over this? I know what I did. I know I put you in this impossible position. But God, y/n, I can’t lose you. Not like this.”

It’s as if the sincerity in Rafe’s voice drags you into a tidal wave of emotions you can’t control. Your sobs grow harder, louder, as you struggle against the rising tide of everything you’ve kept bottled up inside. You wipe your tears with the back of your trembling hand, trying to steady your breath. It takes every ounce of strength you have left to lift your eyes and look at him, your voice barely a whisper, choked with disbelief.

"So what do you suggest, Rafe?" you manage to get out, your words laced with pain and anger. "Because I’m not a homewrecker, and I’m sure as hell not gonna start now." You say it with a force that surprises even you, as if you need to convince yourself just as much as him.

Rafe’s eyes widen, filling with a desperate, almost frantic light. He steps closer, his hands reaching out as if to touch you, but he hesitates, letting them fall back to his sides. He’s trembling, his chest heaving as he struggles to get the words out. "I’ll... I’ll break things off with her," he stammers, his voice raw and pleading. "I’ll tell her I don’t want this anymore. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it."

He looks at you with an earnestness that you haven’t seen in years, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He’s practically begging, his voice breaking as he continues, "Please, just... just let me make this right. Let me fix this."

You stand there, stunned into silence. The weight of his words, the sheer gravity of his promise, leaves you breathless. You search his face, trying to find any hint of doubt or hesitation, but all you see is desperation. He’s standing there, laying his heart bare before you, offering you everything he has left.

And yet, the fear and doubt in your chest tighten like a vice. It’s everything you ever wanted to hear from him, and yet it feels like it’s coming too late. "You’d break off your engagement?" you whisper, almost disbelieving, as if you need him to say it again for you to believe it.

"Yes," Rafe breathes out without hesitation, his voice cracking. "I would. I’ll do it right now if that’s what it takes. I’ll call her, I’ll tell her everything. Just—just don’t walk away from me. Not again."

You stand there, frozen in shock and grief. He’s offering to leave everything behind—his fiancée, his life as he knows it—all for you. It’s everything you once dreamed of hearing from him, but now it feels like a hollow promise, a desperate plea that leaves you at odds with yourself. Your heart pounds in your chest, torn between the memories of the boy you first loved and the stranger standing before you now, a man who’s broken you more than anyone ever has.

You swallow hard, your voice barely above a whisper as you look at him, searching his face for any sign of the boy you once knew. "How do I know you won't do the same to me, Rafe?" you ask, your eyes filled with both heartbreak and accusation. "How do I know that you won't change your mind in a few months, or decide again that I'm not worth the fight? How do I trust you after everything you've put me through?"

Rafe's voice shakes, his eyes searching yours, desperate for any sign of understanding. "You’re my first love," he repeats, softer this time, as if the words themselves carry a burden he’s never let go of. His gaze is intense, filled with intense emotion that seems to pierce straight through you.

"I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. And I know I messed up, I know I hurt you—more than I ever should have. But you’re the one I keep coming back to, no matter what, no matter how hard I try to move on." He swallows hard, his voice cracking slightly. "I’ve been trying to tell myself that I could be happy with Sofia, that I could settle for what I have now, but I can’t. Not when I keep thinking about you. About us."

His hands twitch at his sides, a barely contained energy as he steps closer, but not enough to invade your space. He seems to respect the distance you’ve created, but you can feel the pull of his presence, the desperation in his every word.

"I made a mistake, y/n," he says, his voice breaking as if the weight of the confession is physically painful. "And I know that doesn’t change anything. But what I feel for you—it’s not something I can just walk away from. I can’t forget about you. I don’t want to forget about you."

You’re silent, your thoughts a tangled mess, but the truth in his words cuts through the chaos, and you can’t help but feel that old connection flaring inside of you. The love that was once so pure, so certain, but now feels like a distant memory, something impossible to hold onto in this moment.

But Rafe is still standing there, eyes pleading with you, waiting for you to speak. His words hang in the air, heavy. "You’re my first love, y/n. And that means something to me. I can’t just let it go."

The sincerity in his voice cracks your walls just a little more, and for a brief second, you want to believe him. You want to give in and let him in again. But the fear, the pain, the loss—it all rushes back. How could you trust him again after everything he’s done?

But his eyes—those same eyes that once held so much promise—are full of regret, full of a longing that makes your heart ache. And despite everything, despite the doubt that still lingers like a shadow between you, you can’t help but ask, "What are you asking of me, Rafe?"

His lips tremble as he opens his mouth to respond, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m asking you to give me a chance. A real chance to prove to you that I won’t make the same mistake again. I’m asking you to trust me again, even if it’s just for a little while. To let me show you I’m not the same person who walked away."

You take a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest. It feels like a decision that could change everything—everything you’ve worked for to protect yourself from him, from the hurt. But the sincerity in his eyes, the raw emotion in his voice, it pulls at something inside you. Something you thought was long buried.

"Please, y/n," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion, "just give me a chance."

You stand there, frozen for a moment, as Rafe’s words echo in your mind. Your heart is a battlefield, torn between the pain of the past and the ache for what could’ve been. You can’t ignore the emotions swirling inside you—the longing, the betrayal, the love that’s never really gone away.

You stare at him, your expression unreadable, as your eyes flicker between his. You’re caught in a moment of vulnerability, unsure of what to do next. But then, all the years of hurt, the anger, the love you’d buried deep inside you, rush to the surface in one overwhelming wave.

Without thinking, you reach up to him, your hand trembling as you pull his face toward yours. His breath catches as your lips meet in a kiss that’s electric, full of all the things you can’t put into words. At first, it’s tentative, a question in the way you both move, as if unsure if this is real, if this is the right thing to do. But the moment he responds, pulling you closer, you know you’re both lost in this—lost in the feelings that have always been there, buried beneath the hurt and the distance.

Rafe’s hands slide to your back, pressing you against him, and you can feel the heat of his body, the desperation in the way he holds you, like he’s afraid to let go, like you might slip away again. His lips are soft but demanding, as if he’s trying to make up for all the time that’s been lost. Your heart races, and everything around you fades into nothingness. It’s just you and him, just the connection you once had, reigniting in a way that feels both comforting and painful all at once.

For a moment, everything is perfect. All the doubts, all the pain, fade away in the warmth of his touch, in the way his kiss deepens, as if he’s trying to pour everything he’s kept inside into you. But then, a sharp pang of reality stabs at you. This isn’t a fairytale. This isn’t a happy ending yet. Your hands push against his chest, breaking the kiss, and you take a step back, your breath ragged.

Rafe stares at you, his chest heaving, his face flushed with emotion. His hands are still outstretched, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets you go. His lips are swollen, his eyes searching yours for any sign that this is real, that you haven’t just pulled away because of the past.

You pull away from the kiss just long enough to look into his eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, any hint that this might be a fleeting moment, but you find none. There’s only sincerity and longing, as if he’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have. The realization hits you all at once: this is real, and it’s all he’s ever wanted, too.

Before you can even process the thoughts racing through your mind, you’re pulled back into him. His lips crash against yours once again, but this time, it’s different. It’s not just a kiss—it’s a confession, a promise, a desperate release of everything you both kept inside for so long. The world around you disappears as your hands find their way to his hair, tugging him closer as if you can’t get enough of him.

His hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, and in a heartbeat, your legs are wrapped around his waist. The cool air outside disappears as the heat between you both intensifies. He presses you against the truck door, his lips still capturing yours, and you can feel the weight of his desire in every movement.

Rafe groans against your lips, his breath ragged, his hands pulling you closer as though he’s afraid you might slip away from him again. He moves with a hunger you’ve never seen before, and yet, it’s familiar, as if every kiss, every touch is a reminder of something you both once had and now desperately crave. You can feel his heart hammering in his chest, matching the erratic rhythm of your own.

You pull away, your lips swollen from the intensity, but your foreheads stay pressed together, both of you gasping for air. His hands roam to your back, holding you against him as if he can’t bear the thought of letting go. The vulnerability of the moment is overwhelming, but it’s also freeing. In this moment, you don’t care about the past. You don’t care about the pain, the mistakes, or the fear. All that matters is right here, right now, with him.

"Rafe," you whisper, your voice breaking as you look up at him. “This is… too much, I—”

He cuts you off with another kiss, gentle this time, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that makes your heart ache. “I know. I know. But I can’t help it, y/n. I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

The words hit you harder than anything else, and despite every doubt that lingers, you know this is the real Rafe, the one you fell for all those years ago. He’s here. And he’s not going anywhere.

"I still love you, Rafe. I've never fully stopped."

Rafe’s breath catches in his throat as he hears your words. His entire body goes still for a moment, as if he's trying to process what you've just said. His fingers dig into your back, pulling you even closer as though he's afraid that if he lets go, you’ll disappear.

His eyes search yours, desperate for confirmation, for a sign that you mean it, that you’re not saying it out of guilt or hurt. His heart races in his chest, the same way it always did when you were near. But this time, there’s something different in the way he looks at you—a sense of relief, of finally being seen and understood after everything that’s passed between you both.

“I never stopped loving you,” he whispers, his voice rough with emotion. “I never fucking stopped, y/n.”

His hands cradle your face gently, his thumb brushing away a stray tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. His gaze softens, a mix of regret and longing flooding his expression. “I don’t deserve you, but I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that I can be what you need. I can be the man you’ve always wanted me to be.”

You lean into his touch, the weight of the words, of everything that’s been left unsaid, starting to settle in. It’s still chaos, and the reality of everything is still real and messy. But in this moment, you realize that you don’t need to have it all figured out right now. What matters is the connection between you two, the bond that’s never really broken, no matter how far apart you’ve been.

“I just want you to stay,” you say softly, your voice trembling, but steady. “No more running. No more pushing me away. Just stay, Rafe. I need you.”

Rafe’s eyes close for a moment, taking in the full depth of your words, and then he nods. A tear slips down his cheek, but it’s not one of sadness—it’s one of relief, of knowing that maybe, just maybe, this is the second chance he’s been waiting for.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he promises, his voice filled with the certainty that comes with knowing exactly what he wants. “I’ll never leave you again.”

#rafe cameron #drew starkey #obx #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron imagine #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x y/n #rafe cameron x you #rafe x you #rafe x y/n #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe outer banks #rafe fic #rafe obx

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zepskies · 1 day ago

Text

Restless Nights

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: After a tryst you instigated in the backseat of his Baby, you and Dean have started something new. He’s just not sure that you’re as “all in” as you claimed to be.

AN: As promised, here's a bonus one-shot to follow Maybe More Than Enough, though it can be read as a stand-alone. This is based on a request from @lacilou, one of my lovely Patreon members!

Bonus! It fulfills the @spnfanficpond monthly prompt. (Can’t give it away until the end though!)

Request: A Dean story based on the song “I Remember You” by Skid Row.

Word Count: 1.2K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, fluff, implied mentions of sex, bit of a twist ending…

Dean woke to the sound of pouring rain hitting the roof of the bunker.

It must’ve been some torrential downpour, because it took a lot for him to hear anything of the outside world from inside this place. Good thing the old heaters kept out the January cold, too. Nothing worse than frigid rain.

Blearily he cracked his eyes open, unearthed an arm from where it was tucked under his pillow, and carefully raised his phone to check the time, trying not to let the light from the screen burn his retinas in the still dark room.

4:00 a.m.

He groaned. Goddamn it.

He turned over onto his other side to face where you should’ve been lying next to him. He frowned when he saw nothing but the sheets pulled back and a dented, empty pillow.

No matter how he fought it down, a small tinge of worry, and the beginnings of disappointment churned in his gut. His brows furrowed.

Did you regret it already?

After his first make out session with you (turned more session) in the backseat of his Baby, you two struck a tentative agreement to figure what this could be—more than hunting partners, allies, and friends. Despite the fact that you kissed him first (a fact he didn’t easily let you forget), afterwards, you’d been a little hesitant about what came next.

“We take it day by day,” he’d told you, with a sizzling kiss that stole your breath. “All I know is…this feels good.”

It felt right. You had definitely agreed with that.

Dean sighed through his nose, turning back onto his other side. It wasn’t unusual for him to be a light (restless) sleeper, but the handful of times you’d joined him in his bed had been beginning to make his nights calmer. He was actually starting to sleep through until morning.

What’s more, after years of looking into your eyes and seeing all the possibilities of what if, he was finally getting to make those images solid, and real. He could touch them, taste them, feel them under his calloused hands. He finally had you for real.

He looked past your empty spot in his bed and didn’t see your phone, or any of your rings on the nightstand. They were the first things you put on in the morning, and the last things you took off at night.

If those were gone…

His disappointment was settling high in his chest now; an ache approaching pain.

Until he heard the light sound of bare feet padding back toward the bed. Your hand slid gently up his arm, and after the surprise wore off, the corners of his lips tugged upwards. Your hair was a bit wild and frizzy. It tickled his neck and shoulder when you leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“What’s this?” you whispered, swiping two fingers between the crunch in his brows. Dean relaxed with a small smile.

“Nothin’,” he claimed. His voice was deep and rough with sleep. “Had an appointment to get to or something?”

You smiled and settled into bed, embracing him from behind. He turned onto his back and welcomed you over, with an arm curling around your waist. He rested his hand on yours when it smoothed across his chest.

Subtly glancing down, he didn’t find any of the silver you wore on the daily, including the ring with a small turquoise stone he’d bought you a couple weeks ago, on a hunt in Denver. That one, you now almost never took off.

“I put them away in a drawer,” you said, wiggling your fingers under his hand. Your hand felt dry, and a little like you'd been handling something dusty. Had you been up reading in the library again, lost track of time? “When I woke up, I saw one fell off the nightstand. Have a feeling it had something to do with the bedframe knocking against it.”

At that, Dean couldn’t contain his lazy smirk.

“My bad,” he said, sounding anything but sorry.

You laughed, shaking your head. You still laid a kiss below his shoulder before you settled back down. He gave your waist a gentle squeeze, pressing a kiss of his own to your forehead. A deep breath fell from between his lips, and his eyes closed.

A question was on the tip of his tongue. Where you were, why you got up. Was it something he could help with? Or was it one of those moments you needed to have alone, not unlike the times you gave him to settle with his thoughts, after a hunt gone sideways. If it was important, you’d level with him, wouldn’t you?

So he let it be.

In the morning, you somehow once again managed to get out of bed without him feeling it. He didn’t hear you either. Curiosity led him down the hall and glancing inside the cracked door of Sam’s room. It was empty, his running shoes gone from the side of his bed. Dean rolled his eyes.

All right, Lance.

Oh, wait, that was biking. …Whatever.

Dean’s next path inevitably took him down to the kitchen. His stomach was already percolating—in need of good coffee and (hopefully) good food.

The smell wafting from the kitchen surprised him, however. Cinnamon apples?

He turned the corner, and there he found you.

The fuck?

You looked a bit of a mess. Your hair was thrown up into a haphazard bun, and you’d stolen his apron. Though in his eyes, you made it look better, the white fabric hugging around your curves like you were Rachel Ray or something. You were frazzled when he came downstairs, but happy to see him. You beckoned him over and sat him down at the small kitchen table.

“Sweetheart, what’s going on here?” he asked, eying you curiously.

“Just stay there!” you called from the kitchen. He heard you opening the oven, cursing when you nearly dropped something.

What the hell were you doing baking before 9:00 a.m.?

He turned to ask you what was going on (and if you needed help), but before the words could come out of his mouth, you came over and carefully set down the pie in front of him. The rich aroma, the golden flaky crust, the flecks of cinnamon and glossy apples peeking out from the divots in said crust—it all had Dean’s mouth watering, and his shocked gaze fixed on the shiny pastry.

He startled a little when he felt your hands on his shoulders, sliding part of the way down his arms. You kissed the side of his head.

“Thought I wouldn’t remember, did you?” you teased. “Happy Birthday, baby.”

Dean’s throat constricted. He tried not to show it, but your gaze gentled when he finally met yours, like you were seeing through all his layers anyway. He realized then what you were probably working on last night, and he really couldn’t fucking believe it.

He’d forgotten his own birthday. Couldn’t see much use in celebrating, when year after crappy year…

But he closed a hand over yours on his shoulder, and he brought your hand to his lips.

Every word he couldn’t yet say to you was etched in that single gesture.

AN: Short and angsty sweet! lol And the monthly prompt was "pie!" 🥧 For Dean of course. 😂

Hope you guys enjoy this one! 💜

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muchosbesitos · 1 day ago

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DOUBLE OR NOTHING— featuring toji fushiguro x wife! reader

after countless empty promises spilled from his lips, you wanted to believe that he’d show up to your anniversary of all things.

contents: 18+ content, minors dni. marriage problems, talks of divorce, (some) angst, smut, porn w minimal plot, cunnilingus w fingering, toji being a panty sniffer briefly mentioned, unprotected p in v, spanking (twice), backshots, missionary against a wall, toji kinda being an ass (what did you expect), pet names (ma, doll, etc.)

word count: 5k

author’s note: back from the dead sry

"I'll make it home to you by six, mama. Take you out on a nice date, get you some flowers, all that stuff you like. Promise."

The clock was nearing eight o'clock with no signs of Toji coming through the door anytime soon, your own patience starting to run out with every tick. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. The sound echoed through your ears since you'd sat down on the leather couch nearly two hours ago, waiting for Toji to fulfill the promise. A promise that he'd made after flaking out on the date planned prior to that one.

And prior to that one. And prior. It'd been more missed dates than actual ones that he'd taken you out by now—you weren't exactly sure why you'd hoped for tonight to be different. Well, you knew exactly why. Today marked three years of being married to one another. You knew that he didn't prioritize date nights with you as much as he should, but you had held some sort of foolish hope that your anniversary would mean something—anything to him.

The divorce papers felt like a dead weight in your hand, much like how your relationship would be the second that you brought it up. It all just seemed so final, seeing the terms laid out that would end years of marriage. Just by the flick of a pen. But the idea was almost like a reprieve, like something that was worth looking forward to. You shook your head, getting up from the couch to set the stack of papers on the kitchen table where Toji wouldn't miss them.

Another half hour of eerie silence and Toji still hadn't come through the door. It was getting increasingly difficult to keep some semblance of hope that he'd even show up at all, much less for your date. You admitted defeat, slipping off your heels and pulling up a throw blanket over yourself. Succumbing to the sleep that was weighing down on your eyelids.

You weren't even sure how much time had passed when you heard the door swing open, the door hitting the wall from the force. The thud of his shoes hitting the tile followed, a grumble leaving Toji's lips. "Fuckin' bastards rigged that race. Robbed me of fifty bucks," he muttered to himself, slipping his coat off before placing it up on the coat rack.

"You're home late," you called out, watching as Toji turned to look at the couch before flicking on one of the living room lights. "Jesus woman, you scared me," he grumbled, a large hand resting by his chest as he looked over in your direction. Toji rubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion lingering on his face like a second skin. It was only then that he looked over at you, really looked at you, and what you were wearing.

Ah shit.

Almost as if he wanted to make the situation worse, he'd chosen to go with, "You got all dolled up just to fall asleep on the couch?" You could've sworn you felt your eye twitch at the question. He'd barely opened up his mouth and you were already wishing that he didn't even bother showing up for the night.

Toji knew he was in deep shit with each step he took into the living room, his mind already starting to work overdrive to figure out what he could do for what he'd missed. A date? No, you wouldn't have put on the very expensive pair of Louboutins for just any date. His mind was blanking on anything other than the numbers that he'd lost with earlier in the day. Come on, think.

"No, I got dolled up because I thought I'd be going out with my husband tonight," you retorted dryly, smudges of eyeshadow sticking to your hand when you went to rub at your eyes. You could see Toji's brows furrow, the wheels seeming to turn in his head for once, before a look of realization settled on his features.

"Look, I'm sorry. I got carried away at the casino," one of the many excuses you'd heard before coming back to bite you in the ass. The same excuse that he'd used last month when he forgot about a work party you'd mentioned to him. Which wouldn't have been too bad if it weren't for all the snide comments being whispered in your direction and all the unwarranted marriage advice.

Advice that you ended up forgetting about chugging down two glasses of tequila like water. "I'll make it up to you, I swear. You can pick the place and all that shit." There went another one. He'd really topped himself using the two of them in a row. You rubbed the bridge of your nose, looking over at him in disbelief. "Do you even know what today was? Why I'm so pissed off?"

"It's your birthday?" Toji spoke after a couple seconds, the answer clearly wrong just by the look on his face. You rubbed a hand over your face, standing up from your spot on the couch. "It's our wedding anniversary, Toji," you spoke up before he made another guess that would just piss you off even further, "And I have something I need to talk to you about. It's on the kitchen table."

Underneath the vase filled with wilted flowers—a collection more than anything that you kept around as a reminder that Toji used to care, was a stack of papers. He placed the vase down on the table with more force than necessary upon realizing what the documents were. "A divorce?" The words slipped out of him with such venom, such distaste, like the idea was unfathomable.

Toji slammed the papers down on the table, the salt and pepper shakers trembling before falling over. "Is that really what you want?" He stepped closer to you when you approached the table, his hands instinctively moving to hold your hips. Holding you close to his body. "No, I didn't get married with the intention of getting a divorce. But you've been neglecting this marriage for a couple months now."

"I'll make it up to you now," Toji spoke quickly, like he was afraid of losing you at any moment. Like you'd disappear if he didn't. And as much as you wanted to avoid looking over at him, the task had just become all that much difficult when you had nowhere else to look at. It only took one glance at his face to realize just what he meant by 'making it up to you.'

"You think you're gonna fix months of pushing me aside with just sex?"

"Nah, I know it's gonna take more. But you've been so tired, isn't that right? So tired of tryin' to keep this marriage from falling apart and nobody taking care of you?" His words were like a siren's song when he whispered them in your ear, your traitorous body leaning back to meet the drag of your fingertips. It was almost laughable at how easily your resolve had melted. "Lemme take care of you mama. Promise I'll make you feel good."

"You wanna call me a dick, never wanna see me again? That's fine, just don't deny me one last taste. Please," And while Toji wasn't a man to beg for anything in his life, he found himself saying the words anyways. "Thought this was you making it up to me," and as much as you were willing yourself not to fold, you felt yourself spreading your legs almost instinctively when his finger dragged up your inner thigh.

"Can't it be both?" Toji's teeth nipped at your neck, licking a stripe up the junction of your neck. Practically salivating at the taste of you, of the expensive perfume you'd put on just a mere hours beforehand. "One could say that you're just being selfish," your words quickly died out when Toji started sucking on your pulse point, your own heartbeat betraying you. You'd expected Toji to sass you back, say something about how your body was just so needy against his touch.

But instead, he dropped down to his knees in front of you. The wooden floor underneath his knees almost made him feel bad for all the times he had you in a similar position. Almost. Toji looked up at you, "Selfish only when it comes to you."

Every slow drag of his fingertips across your smooth skin seemed almost reverent— like you were something to worship. You were, he just failed to realize that until now. Until you were almost out the door. "I'm sorry," the first real apology of the night slipped out of his mouth, his lips pressed against your shin. "I'm sorry," he moved up to your knee, repeating the action. Hushed whispers of I'm sorry's and featherlight kisses moving up your legs, stopping only when he gets to your clothed cunt.

"I'm sorry," Toji uttered his last apology against your cunt, his eyes locking onto yours as he applied an open mouthed kiss on your clothed clit. Barely darting his tongue out, swirling it against the nerves that were just begging for one ounce of stimulation. And he was practically reveling in how needy he made you in the span of seconds. Your back arched to rest against the seat behind you, one of your hands going to rest on his head.

Toji's fingers dragged slowly in between your folds, feeling the wet patch already starting to form through the thin lace material. You refused to make eye contact with him, knowing that if you did, he'd be able to see just how desperate you were in just a manner of seconds. Even if the bastard probably had a clue already. "You sure your pussy agrees with the divorce?" His voice came out to something akin to a purr, the drag of his fingers slowing down.

Getting you even more worked up than you were already. "Fucking hate you, can't even apologize right," you let out a hiss, your hand going down to his hair. Pulling his head even closer to you despite your previous claim. "Fine, I'll apologize correctly," Toji sounded like you were the one inconveniencing him—to which you were. He wanted to take his time with his meal, have you begging for him to touch you. And normally, he would've.

If he weren't desperate to have your cunt on his face again after weeks, months? of just having his fist to work with. His fist and a used pair of your panties up to his nose like a pervert, hips humping the air in desperation. Imagining that it was your tongue flicking across his leaking tip instead of his thumb, that it was your soft hands in exchange of his rough ones. And as easy as it was for him to get laid—he didn't want to be with anyone that wasn't you.

Toji hadn't tasted someone as sweet as you, heard someone so angelic before, but now he supposed that maybe he'd have to put that theory to the test if you left him after all. Just the idea was maddening. That someone else would be doing the same thing that he's doing to you now, that they'd give you the affection that he should've given.

"Especially sorry to you. Been neglecting you for too long," he hooked his fingers around the side of your panties, pulling them to the side just enough to reveal your slick folds to him. Toji swiped the tip of his finger along your entrance, your slick glistening against the harsh kitchen lighting before he stuck in his mouth. Swirling his tongue around it, licking away at it like the slut he was.

And like the deprived man that he'd been, Toji's hands went to the lace of your underwear and stretched it out until a loud rip echoed throughout the kitchen. "You always this wet for people you hate? Or is that just for me?" Toji taunted, pushing your tattered panties down to your ankles. Finally leaning in closer to where you were aching for him to touch you. To do something other than just tease you relentlessly.

Toji settled on his knees behind you, spreading your legs open like you were his favorite meal. His tongue swiped up on your dripping cunt, licking up your essence with sheer greed. "Mmph fuck, so good," his words came out muffled, his tongue swiping across your folds before darting inside of your cunt. Your grip on the table tightened, your hips working on their own accord to push back onto his face. Practically suffocating him in your pussy. Not that he minded. By any means.

Toji practically welcomed it, his hands pushing you down onto his face. Getting absorbed in your cunt completely. "A-Ah fuck, Toji!" You could already see the noise complaint hanging on your front door first thing in the morning. But how could you be expected to keep your voice down? Toji spread your folds apart with two fingers as if he were preparing for a feast, his tongue feverishly licking in between.

"Fuckin' soaked already, knew you loved me," The vibration of the low chuckle that followed his words shot currents up your spine, your ass jiggling all that much more in his face. With such a decadent taste coating his taste buds, dying by your pussy would be nothing short of a blissful way to go out. One of the fingers that he'd been using to spread your folds had been pushed inside of your cunt, your walls clenching around him.

Toji's tongue flicked against your clit, swirling the tip around the bud while his finger slowly pushed further inside of you. The loud squelch of your cunt was the only thing that filled the apartment, everything else completely silent. Your fingers dug deeper into his scalp, a low groan leaving his lips. "F-Fuck, Toji Toji," he pushed another thick finger inside, moving them in a scissoring motion to stretch you out.

"You think y're gonna find someone who can do this?" Toji looked up at you, his fingers curling up to hit that spongy spot inside of you almost perfectly. And if you didn't know any better, you'd almost say that he looked vulnerable while he made the question. Toji's lips wrapped around your clit, gently sucking on it as his fingers worked you closer and closer to your orgasm. You couldn't bring yourself to answer—didn't trust yourself to speak.

"Toji, Toji, gonna cum," you gave him a warning, your jaw falling slack and your lips parting in a o-shape. Soundless moans leaving your lips, feeling that coil in your lower tummy start to tighten up all the much more. With one final pump of his fingers, you were covering his lips with your release. His tongue swiped across his lips, across the scar that he hated, collecting every drop. Savoring what he imagined would be the last taste of you.

"Turn around," It was almost embarrassing how quickly you'd turned around per your soon-to-be ex husband's request.

Toji didn't take more than a couple seconds in unbuttoning his pants and taking them off, his cock hitting his stomach once it was released from its confines. Precum dribbled from his annoyingly almost pretty pink tip, dripping onto the floor. Drip. Drip. Drip. His cock slid through your folds like a slip n slide, your previous orgasm coating his tip with every lazy drag. "Toji," your voice bordered on a whine, pushing your hips to try to meet his movements.

"Tell me what you want," Toji clicked his tongue, one of his hands moving to hold your waist. Keeping you completely still until he got what he wanted. You figured there wasn't any harm in whining—you were already fucking the man after you brought up a divorce. There truly wasn't that much more to lose. "Why do I have to ask for it when you're the one apologizing?"

"Because you're the one pushing your hips back against me. All needy 'n shit. So.. beg."

"Want you inside me, Toji. Please."

"Want?"

You let out a huff before correcting yourself, "Need."

"Come on, doll. You can say it nicer than that, right?" Toji's pointer trailed up your torso, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

So goddamn annoying. You swallowed whatever pride you had left before looking back over at him, "Please, Toji. Need your cock in me. Please."

Toji clicked his tongue, one hand wrapping around his cock and giving himself a couple tentative pumps. "Think you can beg better than that. But since I'm feeling nice, I guess I'll let it slide." So much for feeling apologetic. Toji pushed his cock inside of you in one swift motion, a hiss leaving your lips at the stretch. Even with the fingers that'd been inside of you, nothing could've really prepared you.

"You okay?" Toji dropped his head to rest on your shoulder, whispering the words in your ear. Staying still while your walls tried to adjust to the overwhelming stretch. "You try taking your cock," you muttered dryly, giving him a nod to start moving. "Why would I do that when you take it so well?" Toji pushed the rest of his cock inside, his hands resting on your hips.

Toji wasn't particularly known for being gentle—the one hospital visit after he'd injured your cervix more than enough proof of that, but he started off slow. Slow, shallow thrusts. Fucking you in a way that he hasn't since your honeymoon. "Toji, you can speed up," you assured him, your words getting cut off with a smack to your ass. "What I'd say about tellin' me what to do?" Ah, there was the mean Toji that you recognized.

"Wouldn't need to tell you what to do if my vibrator wasn't looking more appealing right now."

Famous last words.

The change was almost immediate. Mascara dribbled down your cheeks, the sight of your once composed makeup all ruined making Toji's cock twitch inside of you. "Fucking pretty like this, y'know?" His teeth sunk down on the junction of your shoulder, his teeth grazing across the sensitive flesh. His hips snapped roughly into yours, your breathing growing erratic. "Fuck, Fuck, Toji!"

The coldness of his gold wedding band hit your skin as soon as he went to grip your hips, holding you against him like he needed to be close to you. The two of you had been distant for some time and he hadn't bothered to take off his wedding band once, not even on the rare occasion that he actually did happen to take a job. Toji would never admit it, of course—but he was starved for the feeling of your skin against his own.

To confirm that you were still here after all.

Your hands reached out to grab to whatever you could grab—anything, and of course, it just happened to be the divorce papers sitting on the middle of the table. Practically taunting you as your own signature glared back at you. "This good enough for you, princess?" Toji taunted in your ear, his blunt fingernails digging into your sides. "Mhm, j-just like that," your voice came out in a mewl, all bits of defiance completely out of your system.

"There you go. Nasty fucking girl," Toji all but purred in your ear the moment you started to jerk your hips back to meet his own, your ass bouncing with each one of his thrusts. "Just needed Toji to take care of ya," all you could was nod your head fervently, your grip on the divorce papers tightening. And Toji, of course, took notice. He took the papers from you with one hand, giving them a once-over before passing them back over.

"Come on, since ya wanted it so bad, read me those divorce papers," Toji handed you the stack of papers, pointing to where you'd signed your initials just a couple hours prior. Your hands shook as you held the papers, your vision blurry as you tried to make out the legal jargon in front of you. Even the simplest of words seemed all too complicated to try to make out.

"T-Toji, I can't," your voice cracked, your grip on the papers tightening when his cock reached all that much deeper inside of you. Toji clicked his tongue, peering over your shoulder to read the first sentence from the document. "That's not what it says ma, try again."

"Without all the stuttering too."

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to focus on the words in front of you instead of Toji's cock sinking further and further into you. "S-Says that the divorce agreement was made today between us," you clutched the sheets tighter, your eyes almost rolling back when Toji bottomed out inside of you. The tip of his cock dripping precum, your walls fluttering as you tried to get adjusted.

"Mm, yeah, keep goin'," Toji really couldn't care—his focus solely on the way that your cunt stretched out to fit his cock. Leaking around his shaft, loud squelches when he pulled out overplaying whatever shitty soap opera was playing. "And what'd I say about the s-stuttering?" Toji mocked your words, his own hips stuttering mere seconds later while he tried not to get absorbed in your cunt. Not that it was an easy task by any means.

It was hard, especially with the way that you claimed to be over this marriage despite your pussy claiming otherwise. When you opened your mouth to speak, the only thing that left you was a moan. "F-Fuck Toji, right there," your eyes shut tightly at the touch of his calloused hand making itself in between your legs, his thumb rubbing at your clit in a speed that felt like it combated his own running abilities.

"That's not what it says, c'mon," Toji grabbed your chin with his thumb and pointer, turning your head to face the overwhelmingly long divorce papers. You wouldn't finish tonight if he intended for you to read the whole thing, you knew that much. A harsh slap against your swollen clit made the pleasure coursing through your veins mix with pain, a shaky gasp leaving your kiss-swollen lips.

Drool leaked from the corner of your mouth, the black ink smearing with each drop that fell from your parted lips. Your walls enveloped every inch of his cock perfectly, your cunt holding his cock in a vice-like grip. "That I won't try to t-take your things," you managed to get out, hoping that it would be good enough. You knew the two of you wouldn't finish today if he made you read the never ending stack of papers.

"Good enough," Toji sounded like he would've kept it going if he could, but you set them down as quickly as he spoke. It was almost like Toji was trying to remind you of why you'd fallen in love with him in the first place—the man reverent to your cunt and your cunt only. Every grip of your hips kept you closer and closer to his body, almost as a way for Toji to make sure you weren't slipping away.

"Wh—" Before you had the chance to complain about the loss of contact, Toji had already carried you without a smidge of struggle. His hands hooked underneath your plush thighs, hoisting you up against the wall. Your legs instinctively wrapped around his slutty waist, practically clinging onto him like a koala. "There we go, there's that pretty lil face," Toji placed his pointer underneath your chin, taking in the view in front of him.

The glazed over look in your eyes, the sweat beading up on your forehead, the makeup that he'd successfully ruined—everything about you was just so beautiful. How you tried to avoid looking in his direction for too long. "Don't leave me ma, need you in my life," the words were whispered into your ear, his cock pushing back inside of you in one swift motion. Toji's fingers went back to your throbbing clit, his pointer and middle rubbing against it at the perfect speed.

Not too fast, not too slow, and not too rough.

"Don't ask me to do that," you almost sounded pained as you spoke—not from him filling you up, but for the implication of his words. You'd practically babble anything right now, anything for him to keep going. To forget about the reality that awaits the two of you. Toji's lips found yours in an instant, the exchange between the two of you almost depraved. His mouth was feverish in the way that it moved against yours, like he'd never get the chance again.

Your hand went to the back of his head, pushing him closer against you. Letting yourself forget for just a little while longer. A string of saliva connected your lips to his when you pulled away—only to catch air. "I’m close, Toji, so close," you whined against his lips, your release coating his shaft a mere moments later. Toji only used that as lubricant, his movements quicker against your cunt to chase his own release.

"There's no one else for me, I'll stop goin' to t-the casino, stop gettin' into trouble," Toji had been reduced to a babbling the first thing he pulled out of his ass, if only to get you to stay. His head rested against the junction of your neck, basking in the remnants of proximity that he could get. Shaky breaths left his lips with each thrust of his hips, feeling himself getting closer and closer. "You've been saying that since we've been married."

"I mean it this time, I promise," you'd never heard a lie sound so pretty slipping from someone's lips before until now.

He bit down on the side of your neck, hard. Not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to where you'd probably have to use a tube of concealer to even attempt to cover up the bruising mark. Causing you problems even now. But you'd be lying if the sudden act of possessiveness had your walls clenching against him even tighter, if that was even possible anymore.

His cock was barely moving against the tight grip you held around his shaft, his pace stuttering. "Fuck, fuck, so tight," Toji let out a loud groan, completely at the will of your pussy. He threw his head back, a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks in this lighting. Ropes and ropes of cum decorated your cunt, his softening length snug inside of you. Toji ended up pulling out a couple moments later, scooping the drops of cum that leaked down your thighs with his finger.

Toji was shameless in the way that he stuck the finger in his mouth, a low moan leaving his lips at the combined taste of him and you. Before your rationality came back, before you got the chance to even think about regretting this, you leaned in and crashed your lips against his own. Tasting yourself on his tongue. The kiss lingered between the two of you more than it needed to, it was less rushed than the prior ones you'd shared.

Like a last taste.

"So, you still want to get that divorce?" Toji knew you would've just babbled whatever for him to keep going, saving the question until now. His movements were almost reluctant as he pulled his pants over his legs once again, making little attempt to fix up his hair. If anything, his fingers only ended up messing the strands even more. Despite knowing the answer deep down, Toji still held out hope. That maybe you'd had some eye-opening moment while he was balls-deep.

You stood up properly, looking over at the ruined sheets on the table before looking back over at him. "I do," you spoke after a couple seconds, grabbing your tattered panties from the floor and smoothing over your dress. Trying to maintain whatever semblance of dignity you had left. Even if it was probably just as tattered up as your underwear at this point.

"Why? You know I love you. You know that you love me. So why should we get separated?" You did know that. But you also weren't sure that he'd ever loved you enough to consider changing. To consider the fact that you needed some sort of affection outside of sex.

"Because you think that somehow every problem between us can be resolved with sex. You say that you want to do better and yet, you never do. It doesn't even feel like you're my husband half of the time," all the bottled up feelings from the past couple months spilled out of you in a manner of seconds. All the bottled up thoughts that maybe you should've told your husband about earlier. Though, you weren't even sure if Toji would've paid it any mind.

And almost as if he'd read your train of thought, "Why didn't you tell me about all this before just hittin' me with divorce papers?"

"Because the few times that I did, you told me to stop bitching. That I shouldn't have anything to complain about with a roof over my head and a fridge full of food," you started off, almost waiting for him to deny what you were saying, "And while I'm not saying that I'm not thankful for those things, I also don't want to feel ungrateful for saying that I miss my husband."

Silence lingered between the two of you, each second that passed by only confirming what the two of you already knew by now. That a divorce wasn't such a far-fetched idea. Toji knew there wasn't left to even attempt fighting for, so he simply just told you, "I'll sign 'em when you get the new ones."

#muchosbesitos ✐ᝰ.ᐟ #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen angst #toji fushiguro smut #fushiguro toji smut #toji fushiguro angst #toji fushiguro #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x female reader #toji x reader smut #toji smut #fushiguro toji x reader #toji x reader #toji x you smut

148 notes · View notes

hiiikiko · 3 days ago

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𝕗𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕤.. 𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕤 : [6]

“Good, cause I don’t wanna stop.”

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

ellie williams x fem!reader | friends with benefits

casual m.list | tlou m.list

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next morning when you arrived at work, Ellie had a shit eating grin plastered on her face. Your ears burned bright red as you avoided eye contact, you could already imagine what she was going to say. You didn’t know Ellie that well but you had grown accustomed to her sly and teasing remarks.

You made your way to the back room so you could get ready for your shift and of course, Ellie followed you in. You hoped this wasn’t going to be a regular thing..

“Don’t,” you said sternly as you shoved your heavy duffel into the tiny locker.

“What?” Ellie raised and eyebrow and her smirk grew wider as she caught a glimpse of your annoyed scowl, “I didn’t say nothin’, doll.”

You rolled your eyes as your tied your hair up, leaving your bangs out, “Just don’t Ellie, not today.”

Ellie watched as you struggled with the elastic, “Here.. let me.”

You sighed, defeated, “Fine, but don’t be getting any ideas.”

“I won’t, promise,” she smiled and took the elastic from you, putting it in between her lips as her calloused fingers brushed through your hair.

This was weird, you thought, the two of you aren’t dating but you sure as hell aren’t friends. The two of you should be rivals but here she is, gently putting your hair up in a ponytail..

“All done, doll.”

“Thanks,” you muttered as you inspected the ponytail in the mirror.

“Now, I scratched your back so you gotta scratch mine,” you groaned loudly, of course, like everything else with Ellie, there was a catch.

“No, no way.”

“Oh, come on! It isn’t a big favour..” she grabbed your hand as you tried to walk away, pulling you in between her legs, “Please?”

God damn it, how could you say no to her when she’s looking at you like that.. her pretty green eyes looking up at you through long, naturally curled lashes.

You look away, “Fine.. what is it?”

“Why’d you like my post?” her pink lips curled into that sly grin again.

She knew damn well what you were doing, why else would you be stalking her profile..but you would never admit to that so you decided to play dumb, “What post?”

Ellie rolled her eyes, “You know what I’m talkin’ about.. dont play stupid.”

“N-No I don’t.. I must’ve fallen asleep on my phone..”

Ellie knew that there was no way to get you to admit to it, “Fine, fine.. whatever you say, Y/n.”

You nodded and went back to trying to jam your duffel into the locker when you felt her strong hands on your waist and her breath on your neck, “Just know, you coulda had the real thing,” your face turned pink as you watched her exit the locker room.

Damn it.

The rest of your shift was pretty uneventful. The only thing worth while was when Manny came in to get a new guitar, he chatted to you about how the bartender at this bar across town is mad at him because apparently, he is infatuated with her sister, a waitress.

“That your band mate,” Ellie leaned against the counter as you wiped it.

“Yeah, that’s Manny, thought you knew him.. I mean they all seem to know you,” your giggle was ended abruptly as you met Ellie’s fierce gaze, “Uh, sorry..”

She smirked, “It’s fine, believe what you want.”

Ellie pushed herself off the counter and made her way back to her office and didn’t emerge until it was time to close shop.

The street lamps flickered in the background, Slowdive played over the speakers as the two of you moved around each other, straightening things up and counting out your drawer.

“Night,” you waved at Ellie, who’s back was turned from you, as you ventured into the cold, damp night.

“Hey, Jess, think you can pick me up? I don’t see any taxis.. pretty sure it’s too late for the buses too..oh.. uh, yeah.. yeah, sh-she’s here.. what?? No, Jesse sto—!”

Before you could tell Jesse not to ask Ellie if she could give you a ride, he hung up and then in the corner of your eye through the shop’s glass windows you saw her pick up her phone and nod.

A minute later, she locked up and had her worn out Carthartt jacket wrapped around her shoulders, “Come on, let’s get ya home.”

“Y-you don’t have to, uh, I could just call Abby or Man—.”

Ellie let out an exasperated sigh, “Just get in.”

You nod and hopped into her van, “Thanks.”

“Whatever, I owed Jesse one anyway.”

What the fuck was her deal? Earlier she was all sweet on you, tying your hair up and teasing you, now, she’s acting like you just beat her dad to death with a golf club or something…

The ride was silent, only the generic pop music bumping on the radio filled it. After a good half hour, she pulled over.

“Y-you wanna come up? Uh, Jesse and Dina aren’t here, they’re at a concert but um.. you don’t have to if you dont wanna..” you shyly said, you didn’t have any ill intention behind it, you just felt bad about her having to go out of her way to drop you off.

“Nah, don’t wanna piss your band mates off,” she let out a dry chuckle.

“Just.. come on, I’ll make you something to eat.”

In the blink of an eye, Ellie was by your side, “Well, can’t pass up free food.”

You laughed a little, the mention of food seemed to perk her up a bit.

The apartment was nice and warm, Dina must’ve turned on the heater as Jesse was too much of a cheapskate.

“What do you wanna eat? We have…. um… instant ramen..”

Ellie laughed a little, “That’s it?”

“Shut up.. now do you want chicken or pork..”

“Chicken.”

Having dinner with Ellie wasn’t so bad, the two of you watched an anime and it turns out, Ellie is a complete nerd. You could tell she was trying to hid it but you could hear her murmuring the lyrics of the intro as she slurped up her ramen. It was kinda cute. If things kept going like this, you could see a potential friendship blooming.

“Thanks for… dinner,” she said as she pulled her coat back on.

You nodded and leaned against the wall, “Yeah… it’s the least I could do..”

“Well, I could think fo something else, “she smirked.

“Keep dreaming, WIlliams,” you giggled.

Just as you were about to kick her out, a flash flood warning popped up on the screen, the newscaster repeated that the roads in downtown Seattle were unfit for driving… oh, fuck.

Ellie’s smirk only widened as she read that, “Guess that means I gotta stay the night, doll.”

“No way, we aren’t even in down town Seattle,” you rolled your eyes as you tried to push her out.

“What..? You’re kicking me out? I could.. I could die, Y/n! Do you want me to die?!”

You sighed, “No, but—!”

“Guess that means I’m stayin,” she smiled, kicked off her boots again and headed straight to your room.

“No, no, no, Ellie! Out! Get out!” you tugged at her sleeve.

“Hey, is my shirt still here?” She rummaged around, “Ah, cool..”

Before you could protest once again, Ellie was pulling her shirt off and all words left your mind.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” god, she was so corny.

You scoffed, “Get out, Williams.”

“No way, it’s cold out ther—,” then as if right on cue, the power went out, “And there’s no heat, I don’t wanna freeze to death.. we gotta use body heat to stay alive, Y/n. This is a matter of life and.. well, death..” she said daramatically.

She really was god’s favourite, wasn’t she?

‘Fine but, keep your clothes on.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The two of you crawled into your bed, the warm soft sheets enveloping your bodies and just as you were about to drift off you felt something cold and clammy touch your calf, you jumped up.

“Woah, woah, what’s wrong?” Ellie sat up, her hair already messy as she looked at you through foggy eyes.

You pulled up the blankets to see her feet, “Ellie, why the fuck are your feet so god damn cold, you almost gave me a heart attack.. thought you were that thing from that anime..”

Ellie let out a snort as she rubbed her eyes, “You’re funny.”

You grumbled and pushed her feet off you, only for it to come back.

That night, you spent fighting her cold feet.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

“Y/nnnnn, wake upppppppp,” you felt hands around your waist and hot breath against your neck.

“Get off of me, Ellie,” you grumbled.

“Nah, don’t wanna…” you felt her soft lips press kisses against your neck, one of her hands drifted under your shirt.

You whimpered a bit then her raspy voice whispered, “Still wan’t me to stop, doll?”

“No..”

You could feel her smile against your neck, “Mm, good, cause I don’t wanna..”

There was no way in hell the two of you could be just friends.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

taglist: @elliessweetheart @bready101 @elliecoochieeater @sevyscoven @boobdrug @rosepetalsonthestep @a-little-bit-of-everybody

not my best work but i PROMISE the next chapter will be better, this was just kind of a bridge for the next one which will involve contracts, more band beef, and ellie being softer perhaps??

#ellie the last of us #ellie willams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie fanfic #ellie tlou #ellie williams x reader #ellie x y/n

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talulagrimm · 22 hours ago

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Respectfully, I disagree.

The show did not ‘promise’ multiple outfits and comparing it to no man’s sky is really weird when the situation is entirely different. There’s a difference between telling your audience: “we are adding this to the game” and then not vs “this is the premise therefore we the audience are assuming this.” And that assumption gets proven wrong.

I would compare this to what they did to Chloe and the fandom reaction to that but at least in that case there was a clear setup of that idea. You’re mad at the show because you made up an expectation that the show then didn’t follow through on.

I find it so frustrating when people say that a fault of miraculous is that the characters don’t have more outfits. (A writing/design fault) like that’s not a completely normal thing for cartoons.

Giving a character multiple outfits isn’t as easy as just giving it to them. It needs to go through a character designer, a turn around, then modelling, then texturing, (in miraculous’ case) all of which costs money. It doesn’t make sense in most cases for shows to devote that level investment just to give a character more variety when let’s be real, it’s not necessary. That’s why in 2D productions characters can often get multiple outfits because it is slightly less costly (you really only need to come up with the design and make a turn around).

Why do you think the show only gives the character a new outfit when it’s relevant to the plot? Or when it would be weird not to? It’s not that it would be hard to do. It’s not that they don’t want too, it’s that it would cost more money to. Money executives aren’t willing to give.

#with all due respect #seriously no hate to you we are allowed to have different opinions #also the show isn’t really about fashion but that is your point in a round about way #that they shouldn’t have picked the fashion industry when they couldn’t make multiple outfits #which im more mixed on #like why shouldn’t they be allowed to be related to the fashion industry when it takes place in Paris #again this is just a discussion I don’t want to come across as rude or anything so sorry if I do

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1864reruns · 20 hours ago

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ㅤㅤㅤ౨ৎ ace & dog privileges

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

includingㅤ━ㅤportgas d. ace

tag(s)&warning(s). drabble, fem/afab! reader, established relationship, creep, reader has BOOBS, i'm sorry flat chesters, this ain't for you, crack treated so seriously, this is not nearly as poetic as my other drabbles sorry, pervert! ace

from vyon. nasty dog but he's tamed so it's okay! 🎀 THIS IS SO STUPID I'M SORRY LMFAO

he's so focused on you that it takes him a second— his attention never divided when you're in front of him, or, well divided onto other things. ace was doing his best, listening to you and staring at your chest equally; you know that he's looking, you don't mind really. you think you'd be a little suspicious actually if ace's eyes weren't systematically rising up to look at your eyes and then moving down to linger at the curve of your chest through your tank top.

his eyes move up again after he gets his fix, stupid smile on his face, as you continue on with your story. your eyes moved over to the side, peeking over his shoulder but he doesn't make much of it when your eyes moved back to him. then, for listening to you and being such a good boyfriend, he treats himself to looking back down to stare at your chest.

his face falls when he sees that you've closed your jacket around your torso, his jaw slack open and eyes widened in horror. "babe..." he called out, a small whisper as he reached out over the table like you two were mourning over a friend's death or like you'd just told him you've done something horrible and he needed to show you support.

"what?" your eyebrows furrowed together, a hand moving towards his open palms on the table. your other arm is still pulling your jacket together.

you follow his gaze back down to your chest before the realisation hits you— the idiot was whimpering because he couldn’t get a good look at your boobs of all things. you kick him under the table, aggrieved. "there's some guy behind you that i think has been having a staring contest with my tits."

"who the hell—?" ace's eyebrows creaks, his smile twitching as his hands turned down on the table; he straightened up, slowly turning himself around. he has half the mind not to go over there and fuck up this random guy for commiting two grevious crimes against him. count one, staring at tits that should be for his eyes only; count two, forcing you to hide said beautiful chest from his view?

actually. "i'm going over there."

"ace—"

"i'm not living in a world where you have to cover up your beautiful rack 'cause of some fucking creep." he straightens up, you pull on his arm; ace looked down at you, annoyed, and then he turned to look at the guy who'd taken to looking at ace now because of his movement. "fuck you think you lookin' at? get your own fuckin' girl."

"dressed like that, she's our girl."

you let go of ace's arm, raising your hands in surrender. "have fun."

ace grinned, stepping out over the bench. "knew you'd come 'round." he leaned down to press a kiss against your cheek and his hand sneaks a squeeze of your boob, "for good luck." he claimed— then he's running off to 'protect your honor' or maybe stake his claim on your boobs.

"wear whatever you want, babe." ace tells you sometime later, after you both make a quick exit from the scene of the crime. his arm slung over your shoulder, obviously taking advantage of his height to get a bird's eye view of your 'beautiful rack', "ohhhh, that mesh lace shirt that you wear over nothing but your bra is fuckin' gorgeous." he remembered.

he rambles on and on, somehow planning outfits for you in the distant future— all of them are planned around tops that promise a view of your tits but you don't really mind. ace'll be there anyways to protect your honor.

#op production: circa. 1864 #one piece #op #one piece drabble #op drabble #one piece x reader #op x reader #portgas d ace #ace #ace drabble #ace x reader #ace x you #portgas ace x reader #portgas ace x you #one piece crack

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pyxxiestyxx · 2 days ago

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Overwhelmed

(tw: nsfw, fucking, Non-Con, feralbreaking)

"Petal~ You may as well surrender to the pleasure. Either way I won't be stopping your enrichment until I'm satisfied, so you may as well give in and enjoy it."

The Weed had you in her lap, your arms bound behind you and your legs bent and spread wide, allowing the vines below to fill you completely….and roughly. She had told you her name was Huntress while she squirted some kind of sticky lube onto your bits before doing things with her vines that had you orgasm twice in the first ten seconds. You screamed, but she took the opportunity to fill that hole with another vine, corkscrewing into your throat in violation of everything you thought you knew about your body, and another mind shattering orgasm tore through you hard enough to roll your eyes back.

You tried to glare at her as she grabbed you by the hips and pushed you down her vines, the glare quickly giving way to pleading. For what, you didn't know. Thinking was impossible, your brain flooded in more chemicals than it knew what to do with, drowning in pleasure and… And surrender. Just a touch, just a trickle. But growing steadily faster with each lover's caress, each sinful decadence given to you by her.

You felt your brain twist like putty in her grip, felt it give way rather than shatter entirely. She wasn't…she wasn't bad. She smiled, and it made your heart leap with…with fear? No, with love?

You shook your head. It wasnt real, the feelings weren't real…they were just drug-based illusions. Except the way she cupped your cheek as you tightened around her vine was…was…no!

And then she giggled, and injected you with something else, and your brain finally gave up altogether.

Too much…too much…and she didn't stop, didn't slow, didn't wait or ask if you were alright. She captured your gaze with her own, pinning your soul beneath her and licking her lips in anticipation.

"Tell me to stop, morsel. Beg me to stop. Tell me you hate this, tell me you want to be free. Tell me a hundred sweet lies to keep yourself from screaming the one truth we both know. Because if you say it, I promise I will listen~"

Her vine slid out of your throat, followed by a deluge of sap. You coughed , shuddering, before the words dripped out of your mouth unbidden:

"More….p-please….please more, Huntress…"

She said only one more thing before her teeth found your neck and sunk deep enough into you to make your whole world flash white: "Good floret~"

#human domestication guide #hdg #pyxfics #microfiction

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ivyyisbored22 · 1 day ago

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𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝—𝘉𝘢𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘹 (𝘧𝘦𝘮) 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

A Stray Kids one shot

Synopsis: The company found out about Chan dating you and in order to save his idol life, he is forced to break up with you. The both of you saw this coming but the heartbreak is unbearable…

Warnings: BREAK UP ONE SHOT. Smut🔞, unprotected sex, Oral (f. receiving), pet names, heartbreak, angst, tears.

Minors do not interact!!!

Note: This isn't a loving one shot but a heartbreaking one, just a practice because I wanna explore writing angsty scenes. It's VERY different from my usual work, so I really hope you'll enjoy this...

If this isn't your thing, you're more than welcome to skip it. Reblogs, likes, comments and feedbacks are always appreciated.

ɪ'ᴠᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ʙᴜᴛ ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ᴀ ᴍɪꜱᴛᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴡʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ.

Word count: 3.9k

𝑬𝑵𝑱𝑶𝒀!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

The sound of the clock ticking in the once warm apartment felt like stabbing a nail through your head.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Time doesn't stop flying. And God you'd do anything to stop it or go back to relive certain moments which are now memories. Time slips through our fingers like sand, no matter how tightly we try to hold it.

The air was suffocating, thick with tension, unspoken words that refused to come out. Your eyes never left the floor and you could feel his eyes looking at you, his heart torn between regret and determination.

It wasn’t supposed to end like this—you had promised each other that. But some things were beyond promises, beyond dreams, beyond even love.

“You knew this could happen, right?” Chan’s voice was a soft whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it real.

Your throat tightened, your eyes blurring with tears that you tried so hard to hold back. Of course it had come to an end. The universe was cruel, pulling two souls together only to tear them apart.

You nodded, feeling the weight of every unsaid word pressing on your chest. "I knew," you murmured, the words barely finding their way out.

A flicker of pain crossed Chan’s face, and he took a deep breath. “If there was any other way… you know I’d choose you. Every time. But I can’t... I can’t risk everything I’ve worked for. It’s not just about me—it’s the group, the fans...”

You bit your lip, desperately wanting to say something, anything to make him stay. But deep down, you understood. You always had.

The two of you risked it and spent the night together at a hotel, when a company staff spotted Chan with a mysterious woman. The following morning Chan was called into the headquarters where he was met with cold stares and harsher words.

The company laid out the stakes in brutal clarity; his career, his group, everything he’d worked his whole life for, would crumble if he continued this relationship. There was no room for compromise, no softening of the blow. Chan had been forced to choose.

He was lucky that this remained in the walls of the company, but that luck came with a price. They had made it clear that they’d bury the scandal, keep it from reaching the public as if this had never happened, but only if Chan ended things immediately and distanced himself from you completely. They were giving him a way out, but it was one he’d have to take alone.

And now, in the echoing silence of the apartment, with everything unravelling around you both, the gravity of that choice felt like an anchor around your heart.

Chan’s eyes fell to the floor, his shoulders heavy with the weight of guilt. “I never wanted it to come to this,” he said, his voice breaking. “But if I don’t… if we don’t…” His words trailed off, as though even he couldn’t bear to say them.

A bitter laugh escaped you, though you hadn’t meant for it to. “So, what? We just pretend none of this ever happened? That all of this was nothing?”

He flinched, and you saw the flash of hurt in his eyes. “No… no, it wasn’t nothing. You know it wasn’t.”

You shook your head, the tears you’d fought so hard to hold back finally spilling over. “Then why does it feel like it is? Why does it feel like I’m just… another sacrifice?” You couldn’t look at him. If you did, you felt like you’d lose your mind and crush your already broken heart.

Chan closed the distance between you, his hands resting on your arms as he pulled you close, his forehead touching yours. “You’re not a sacrifice,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “You’re everything to me. That’s why this hurts so damn much.”

Your eyes remained closed, cheeks red and warm, breaths shallow and broken, as if anything you both could come up with would ever be a solution for what was about to happen. Chan held you against his chest, letting your aching tears soak his hoodie. He was holding back, he had to stay strong for the both of you.

You clung to him, fingers fisting in his hoodie, as if holding on tightly enough could somehow prevent the inevitable.

He stroked your hair gently, whispering soft words of comfort, though he knew, just as you did, that no words could fix this. Each breath he took was slow and measured, as though he were struggling to keep his composure, but you could feel the tremble in his chest, betraying the pain he was trying so hard to hide.

After what seemed like eternity, you pulled away from him and finally looked into his eyes through your blurry vision. Chan’s eyes locked with yours, encouraging you to say what you want to say at this moment.

“Chan,” His hand cupped your face. “Kiss me.” You said softly.

And so he did. Without a word escaping, his mouth crashed with yours, hungrily, desperately, as though he could pour every ounce of his love, everything left unspoken.

His hands tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was nothing between you but the pounding of your hearts. The kiss was fierce, filled with a longing so deep it felt like drowning.

You kissed him back just as fiercely, taking in his taste, his scent, allowing yourself to memorise every part of him till you were nothing but lost in the feel of him and everything outside ceased to exist.

Fierceness turned into anger as you both stumbled towards the bedroom, tearing your clothes off. His hoodie, your shirt, his shoes, your pants, until you both remained in nothing but your underwear.

Chan broke apart but came back with a roughness that sent a thrill through your body as he pushed you onto the bed and towered over you, sliding off your panties and unclasping your bra. Every inch of you was on liquid fire as Chan discarded his boxers, putting your legs up his shoulders as he buried his face in your wet heat.

A loud moan escaped your lips as his tongue feasted on your soaking cunt, lapping away your sweetness and getting drunk at the way you taste.

Your hands fisted his hair as you grind your needy pussy up his face, Chan groaned sucking on your clit like a man starved.

“Fuck baby,” His fingers gripped your soft thighs continuing his merciless assault on your throbbing nub. “Can never get enough of you.”

All you could do is moan at the way he worshipped you with his mouth and the low, husky sound of his beautiful voice.

He came upwards, kissing a hot trail over your pubic bone, your stomach, giving so much attention to your sweet nipples and crashed his mouth on yours as he sank into you in a slow, deliberate thrust.

Your body arched as you drank every drop of him, welcoming his huge length, letting him stretch you and fill you up completely. Your heart ached but your body responded to him the way it always did.

Eager and desperate.

Chan palmed your breast, swiping his thumb over the hard, sensitive nub slick with his saliva as he pounded into you in an agonising yet sweet pace, hitting spots that made you see stars over and over again.

“Chan…Chan please,”

Pleasure consumed you both whole, a hiss escaped his lips when he heard you moan, a sound that drove him insane, a sound he could listen for the rest of his life.

“Hmm, what do you want darling?” He pinched your nipple just as he slammed into you that tore a sharp cry from your throat.

I want you. With me forever

But those words couldn’t come out of your mouth. So all you could do was moan for him to go faster and harder. His fingers stroked your clit with the perfect pressure, you wanted him to keep pushing you further and further.

Nails dug into his back as he gave you what you asked for, the dimly lit room filled with moans and whimpers and skin slapping against skin. Chan’s mouth never left yours as he thrusted into you in force that felt like ecstasy, your orgasm tore through you as you came all over his cock.

He followed you soon after, a hot load of his cum gathering inside you, groaning into your neck, his huge body over you.

Sweat misted your skin, neck and chest covered in a trail of hickeys, the two of you kept climbing and crashing together for the next hour.

Every moment was perfect, like whatever that was happening before was just a bad dream and nothing was going wrong in the world. Chan wanted this to be the only thing to last a lifetime, you pressed against him, to wake up to your good morning texts, to sneak out with you in secret, to stretch this moment for however long he could take.

From sweet love making to hard fucking that left marks on your skin, you both pretended that this was the perfect life as if nothing is about to shatter you apart forever, reached till you passed out breathless on the bed.

Chan held you in his arms, a tension beginning to rebuild when the quiet room began to fill with the soft; Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You stirred in his arms, and Chan’s grip instinctively tightened around you, his warmth seeping into your skin as if he could brand this moment into memory. He wanted to say something, anything, to tell you how much you meant to him, how deeply he wished this night could be endless.

“Bang Chan,” an icy voice cut through the tense conference room, the PR’s voice cutting through the silence, “you know why we’re here.”

Chan’s jaw tightened, his heart already beating hard in his chest. He nodded, though his mind clung desperately to the hope that this conversation would turn out differently than he feared.

“It’s come to our attention that you’ve been seen with…” The executive hesitated, the distaste in his tone achingly clear. “A certain individual. You know the implications this has, not only for you but for the group as a whole.”

Chan’s fists clenched under the table. "I know," he admitted, voice low but steady. "But she’s not just anyone. She’s—”

"She’s a liability," another manager cut in, eyes hard as steel. "You’ve worked years for this career, Chan. Years. We’ve all sacrificed too much for it to be jeopardized by… personal entanglements.”

“She’s not a liability,” Chan said, fighting to keep the anger from his voice. “She’s important to me, and I’ve been careful—"

“Careful?” The PR head shook his head. “If you’d been careful, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You were lucky it was Miss Jia who spotted you. Can you imagine the disaster that would have come if it was a fan or paparazzi?”

Chan’s face paled as the PR head's words hit him with the weight of harsh reality. He’d been cautious, always looking over his shoulder, timing each meeting down to the minute. But deep down, he knew they were right. No amount of care could guarantee safety from prying eyes forever.

"We’ve considered all the options, and there is no room for compromise on this. The only way to protect your career is to end this relationship, quietly and immediately.”

A wave of dread settled over him, pressing down like a weight he couldn’t shake off. He swallowed, his throat tight. "So you’re asking me to choose… between her and everything I’ve worked for?"

"No," the executive corrected him coldly. "We’re telling you to choose your career.”

The ultimatum struck like a wrecking ball, leaving him feeling hollow and defeated. He glanced down at the table, the polished surface reflecting back his own tortured expression.

He’d known there was a risk—had tried to prepare himself for something like this. But hearing the words was like a knife twisting in his chest.

“I… I need time to think,” he said, barely recognizing his own voice, rough with emotion.

“There’s no time, Chan,” his manager replied softly, though the finality in his voice was unmistakable. “If you care about her, if you truly want what’s best for her… you’ll understand that this is the only choice.”

A painful clarity began to settle in as he saw the faces around him—faces he had trusted, faces he had worked with for years. And there, hidden behind their demands and their concern for the group, was an unforgiving reality.

Slowly, he nodded, his face etched with an unimaginable kind of pain.

“Fine. I’ll… I’ll end it.”

But his voice caught in his throat, the weight of goodbye pressing down on him like an anchor.

You sensed his struggle, you lifted your head to look at him. In the dim light, you could see the tears glistening in his eyes, barely held back. Your heart clenched, a sharp pang of pain blooming inside your chest as you realized the inevitable was catching up to you both.

"Don't look at me like that," you whispered, your voice trembling, but you managed a sad, fragile smile. "It’s going to make it harder.”

Chan let out a shaky breath, his fingers reaching up to brush a strand of hair from your face, his thumb lingering against your cheek. “I don’t want to make it harder,” he replied softly. “But I… I don’t know how to let you go. I can't let you go.”

“Then don’t,” you said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Just...” You sighed heavily.

You took his hand, holding it against your cheek, feeling the warmth of his palm, the calluses that spoke of years of dedication, of sacrifice, qualities that had once made you admire him and had now become the reason he couldn’t stay.

The irony was cruel.

“You know it’s not that simple. If I could…” His voice broke, and he took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. “If I could choose anyone, anything, I’d choose you, every time.”

“I know…” your voice trailed off. You smiled, your chin wobbling as you looked at him with those for one last moment. Time has come. You have to leave.

Regret and guilt splashed across Chan’s face as he realised your expression, you reluctantly pulled away from him and started changing into your clothes.

The warmth he’d given you faded instantly, replaced by the icy grip of reality that hung heavy between you. Each movement felt slow, as though you were wading through something thick and unyielding, like your body refused to obey the decision your heart could barely stand.

Chan watched you as you slipped into your clothes, he pushed the blanket over and changed into his shorts, and gripped your wrist as you both made it to the living room.

You turned quickly and looked at his grip then at him, his beautiful woody brown eyes refusing to let the tears fall but they rimmed red, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, the love and pain.

“I’ll be okay,” you said, as much for yourself as for him, though your voice wavered. “Someday, I will be. And so will you.”

His eyes shut tightly, as if the words were a physical blow, and he nodded, though you could see the struggle etched into his features.

“Promise me,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Promise me you’ll be okay. Even if I’m not there.”

You swallowed back the sob that threatened to escape and nodded, squeezing his hand. “I promise.”

A tear slipped down his cheek, and he leaned in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead, then your cheeks, then your lips, each one a goodbye of its own. You let him, savouring each moment, each touch, letting it wrap around you like armour, a last memory to keep close when everything else is gone.

“I'm sorry I broke your heart…”

You could have sworn that you heard a genuine crack in your chest the moment those words left his lips. Your hand slapped over your mouth to cover the shattering sob that threatened to consume you.

You looked up at Chan, tears running down your cheeks, smiling painfully, stroking his cheek.

“My heart is yours. Yours to love, yours to keep, yours to break.”

Chan pulled you hard into his embrace, finally letting his tears fall, your hands gripping his back, as you both cried your hearts out to each other one last time.

Snippets of your shared moments crowded your mind—all the cute dates, late night facetimes, sweetly secret gifts, Chan introducing you to his members—there was no room to breathe.

“I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I'm sorry…” That's all he could say. That's all he was allowed to say.

Your fingers brushed through his hair as you held him close, memorizing every detail, knowing this would be the last time. The warmth of his skin, the feel of his chest rising and falling against you, the scent that was uniquely his—it all wrapped around you, making it even harder to breathe, harder to let go.

“Chan…” you whispered, voice trembling. “Even if I walk away now, even if you have to let me go… I’ll still love you. I’ll always love you.”

“I’ll love you, too. No matter what.” His voice broke again, barely holding back another wave of grief. “In some other life… maybe we could’ve had forever.”

There was a universe somewhere, you believed, where you and Chan got to share all the dreams you whispered to each other late at night, where you didn’t have to be a secret, where his love didn’t have to be a risk.

But not here. Not now.

You softly pulled him and leaned up, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, feeling the final feel of his skin against your lips. “Goodbye, Chan...” you whispered, the words catching in your throat.

He closed his eyes, as if it would help make it easier, but his hand lingered in yours a moment longer.

“Goodbye, my love…” he breathed, his voice no more than a broken whisper.

With every ounce of strength you had left, you let go, turning and walking out of the apartment. The sound of the door clicking shut behind you echoed like a death sentence, filling the silence with finality.

Each step you took away from him felt heavier, as though pieces of your heart were left scattered on the floor behind you. You tried your hardest not to look back, knowing that if you did, it would only pour salt to the already deep wound.

Inside, Chan impulsively grabbed the vase that was sitting on his coffee table throwing it at the wall, which shattered in a powerful crash that felt like a gunshot and collapsed back onto the couch, head falling between his hands as he let the grief he’d been holding back flood over him again.

The empty apartment was now as cold and hollow as he felt, each memory of you hanging in the air like ghosts he could never escape. And as he sat there, drowning in the silence, he could almost still feel the warmth of your embrace, the lingering traces of your touch that would fade too soon.

All that remained now were echoes—the echo of your voice, your laughter, all slipping through his fingers like sand.

And he knew, no matter what, he’d always carry this ache with him, a part of his heart forever held by someone he was never meant to keep.

Some goodbyes leave scars, not because love wasn't enough, but because it was everything.

Enjoyed this one shot? Consider checking my masterlist for more. Requests? Check 𝚁𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚜 (& 𝚁𝚞𝚕𝚎𝚜)

Thank you for reading!

xx,Ivyy

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goblin-jr · 15 hours ago

Text

And then i go and spoil it all by saying something stupid like i love you.

Part 10 of 12

Synopsis: romantic getaways and breaking the peace

Pairing: unrequited JJ x Reader, Eventual Rafe x Reader

masterlist

—

The soft creak of the ferry’s wooden deck echoed underfoot as it began its slow departure from the Outer Banks, the promise of a day full of freedom waiting on the other side. The boat was barely half full—most of the early passengers were already lost in their own worlds, gazing out at the water or chatting with their companions. For a moment, it felt like Y/N and Rafe had the whole world to themselves, just the two of them, standing on the edge of this small, quiet boat, staring at the horizon that stretched endlessly before them.

The sun had barely risen, casting a golden light across the water that shimmered and danced with the ferry’s wake. The breeze tugged at their hair, the saltwater scent familiar and clean. Y/N stood close to Rafe, her shoulder brushing his as she leaned in, breathing in the cool air. She had never felt so content. The worry that usually followed her around like a shadow—about what people thought of her, about the secrecy, about everything that was complicated—seemed a distant memory as they stood together in this little slice of normalcy.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she murmured, looking out at the water.

Rafe’s hand found hers, his fingers lacing through hers in a natural gesture that still felt like a small, private triumph, one they hadn’t yet shared with anyone else. He gave her a small, almost secret smile. “I told you it’d be better this way.”

Her lips curved into a teasing grin as she nudged him lightly with her shoulder. “You and your overconfidence. I didn’t expect you to be right about everything.”

“Always am,” Rafe replied with that familiar cocky grin. The sunlight caught his hair, giving him that golden glow she used to only see in her dreams—like a perfect image of a summer day, untouchable and carefree. He looked down at her, and for a moment, his expression softened. “You okay?”

Y/N met his gaze, feeling the warmth of his touch in her hand, the quietness of the moment settling over them. “Yeah, I am,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “I feel... I don’t know. I feel like we’re finally getting it right. For once.”

Rafe squeezed her hand, then pulled her a little closer, as if keeping her near him could somehow make the world outside of their small bubble disappear. There were so many things unsaid between them, things they couldn’t say because of where they were from and who they were to each other, but in this moment, none of that mattered. Not here, on this boat, in the quiet of early morning when no one was looking and the world felt like it had paused just for them.

She let out a small breath, resting her head on his shoulder, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat under her cheek. It was simple—just the two of them, in the open air, surrounded by the vast ocean that stretched out endlessly, like an invitation to explore everything the world had to offer.

They didn’t speak again for a while, content to let the silence carry them. Rafe’s hand stayed firmly in hers, the connection between them feeling more solid with every passing second, like it was building a foundation they could keep returning to, a place where the complications of life could be left behind.

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to believe that it could stay this way—that they could stay this way. No secrets, no shame, just them. And even though the reality of their situation lingered in the back of her mind, she didn’t want to think about it. Not now. Not here.

As the ferry picked up speed, Rafe leaned down to kiss the top of her head, a simple gesture but one that made her heart race. It wasn’t the first time he’d kissed her, but there was something about this kiss—something about the fact that they were in public, surrounded by people, yet hidden in plain sight—that felt new. She tilted her head to look at him, eyes meeting his with an intensity that spoke volumes more than words could say.

“I like this,” she whispered, voice soft but filled with meaning. “I like being with you.”

Rafe didn’t hesitate to answer, his voice low and sincere. “Me too.”

—

The arcade was a burst of neon colors, the rhythmic clinks and beeps of machines filling the air with energy. The walls were plastered with posters of old-school video games, and the smell of popcorn and sugar lingered in the air, adding to the nostalgic charm of the place. It was a throwback to simpler times, a spot where the world outside—full of secrets and expectations—couldn’t follow them.

Y/N and Rafe stepped through the door, and the change in atmosphere was instant. The music grew louder, the flashing lights more intense. She felt a surge of excitement, her usual nerves melting away in the warm glow of arcade lights. This wasn’t a place where they had to hide; they could just be themselves, acting like any normal couple without worrying about anyone recognizing them, without looking over their shoulders.

Rafe grinned, his eyes scanning the room as he nudged her with his elbow. “So, what’s first? Claw machine? Air hockey?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, looking over at the claw machine, already skeptical. She had always thought they were a scam, but something about Rafe’s confidence made her curious. “You really think you can win me something?”

His grin widened, full of that familiar mischievous energy. “Just watch. I’ve got this.”

He walked over to the machine, slipping a coin in with ease and grabbing the controls. Y/N leaned against the side, crossing her arms, watching him as he manipulated the claw with surprising focus. “You sure about this?” she teased, her voice a little playful but mostly skeptical.

Rafe, however, was utterly serious as he maneuvered the claw over the prize—a plush unicorn with a glittery horn that was definitely not her first choice. “This is it,” he said, voice low and dramatic, like he was trying to summon some kind of mystical power. “This is the moment I show you how it's done.”

He pressed the button to lower the claw, his face filled with absolute focus. Y/N crossed her arms, looking skeptical. “Uh, sure. Just don’t embarrass yourself.”

But as Rafe’s hand tightened on the joystick, the claw moved in the wrong direction, then jerked to a stop, then spun around in a circle like it was on its own personal dance floor. He furrowed his brow, eyes locked on the claw, utterly convinced it would redeem itself.

“Alright, no big deal,” he muttered to himself, a bit of nervousness creeping into his voice. He adjusted his grip on the joystick, trying again. This time, the claw managed to hover just above the unicorn’s fluffy head. His fingers twitched, ready to press the button.

But instead of grabbing the toy, the claw dropped... and just barely grazed the unicorn’s ear before slipping harmlessly back into its starting position.

Y/N stifled a laugh, her lips twitching as Rafe looked at the claw machine, wide-eyed, like it had just personally betrayed him.

He didn’t look at her, but she could tell he was mentally cursing himself out. “Okay, okay, that was just a warm-up,” he said, voice defensive. “That was nothing. I’m gonna get it this time.”

She didn’t even try to hide her grin as she leaned against the machine, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “Yeah, sure, you’ve totally got it. This next round’s yours, I can feel it.”

Rafe shot her a quick glance before focusing all his energy on the claw. He moved it back and forth, his eyes squinting as if he could will the claw to grab the prize. When the claw lowered, it was supposed to grab a plush unicorn sitting smugly in the center, but—

It missed entirely.

The claw wobbled and jerked, like it was trying to do a dance it had never practiced.

Y/N immediately burst out laughing, leaning against the machine to keep herself steady. “Oh my god, this is priceless. You’re a natural, Rafe.”

He grimaced, his face reddening slightly. “I was just warming up,” he muttered, more to himself than to her, clearly trying to salvage his dignity. “One more try.”

With another coin dropped into the slot, Rafe took aim once more. His hands shook slightly with exaggerated seriousness, and Y/N couldn’t help but chuckle.

“This is so embarrassing for you,” she teased, her grin growing wider.

“Shut up,” he said under his breath, moving the joystick. This time, he positioned the claw directly above the unicorn. He gave the button a confident press—

And the claw dropped… only to grab a random, sad-looking stuffed snake wedged in the corner.

“No, no, no!” Rafe said, his voice rising in frustration. The claw hung the snake awkwardly in midair, before it dropped it with a dramatic clunk to the bottom of the machine.

Y/N burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the arcade. “Okay, now I’m just concerned. Are you sure you’ve seen a claw machine before? This is bad.”

Rafe shot her a look, narrowing his eyes as he pushed more coins into the slot. “Shut up, I’ve got this. You just wait.”

After another five agonizing minutes of Rafe failing to even come close to winning, Y/N was nearly crying from laughing so hard. At this point, he was getting visibly frustrated, his face redder with each failed attempt. His concentration was so intense, it was almost adorable—almost.

“I don’t understand,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s like the claw’s rigged. This is totally rigged.”

“Rafe, you’re just really bad at this,” Y/N teased, her voice full of affection and amusement. “I’m honestly starting to think the machine’s gonna make you pay for wasting its time.”

“Okay, one more try,” he said, this time with a hint of defiance. He slapped another coin into the machine with the confidence of a man who’d just spent the last ten minutes proving he had no idea what he was doing.

As he clutched the joystick once again, Y/N leaned in, a grin plastered on her face. “If you don’t win, I’m just gonna tell people I let you win at everything.”

“Not funny,” Rafe muttered, but the humor was there in his eyes. He finally got the claw to lower, and for a moment, it seemed like it was going to be the one—he was right there, the claw hovered just above the unicorn. His fingers twitched over the button.

The claw descended. And then… it grabbed a random, sad-looking plush cactus from the corner of the machine.

Rafe let out a long, defeated sigh. “I can’t win. I just… I can’t.”

Y/N’s laughter was almost uncontrollable now, tears forming in her eyes as she clutched her stomach. “You’re a disaster! I’ve never seen someone so bad at this.”

Rafe, though, was not defeated. He held the cactus up with a dramatic flourish. “Fine. You think this is a joke? I’m taking this cactus. It’s mine now.”

Y/N, still laughing, shook her head. “You’re delusional.”

He shrugged, the cactus dangling from his hand like some weird victory trophy. “It’s a sign of my character—I’m too cool for unicorns.”

But as they walked away from the machine, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sudden rush of warmth in her chest. Rafe’s usual arrogance had given way to something more real, more human. He wasn’t perfect, and he knew it. And that made him even more endearing.

As they stopped near a wall of neon lights, Y/N reached up and gently tugged the cactus from his hand. “You’re so stubborn,” she said, her voice quieter now, a softness in it she hadn’t even realized was there. “But I like it. You know that?”

Rafe’s expression softened, just for a moment. He tilted his head, eyes meeting hers with an unexpected gentleness. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice surprisingly low.

Y/N nodded, her thumb tracing the rough fabric of the cactus’s stitches. “Yeah. You’re kind of perfect just the way you are.”

He stared at her for a second, his usual smug grin gone, replaced with something more vulnerable. “Don’t tell anyone,” he said, a chuckle in his voice, “but... I think I like it, too.”

Y/N smiled, the laughter still dancing in her chest but now accompanied by something sweeter, something more real. “Maybe next time, try the claw machine again. Just… don’t get your hopes up too high.”

—-

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky, casting the beach in that perfect golden hour glow that made everything feel like a dream. Rafe and Y/N wandered down toward the quieter stretch of sand, away from the noisy crowds. The cool breeze off the water tangled in their hair, and for the first time in a while, everything felt just right.

“Alright,” Rafe said, kicking off his sneakers and walking closer to the water. “This feels way better than some crowded arcade.”

Y/N nodded, slipping out of her sandals and wiggling her toes into the soft sand. “Way better. We’ve got the whole beach to ourselves.”

They walked in silence for a moment, letting the waves crash softly at their feet. The world around them felt distant, and for once, the pressure of their secret relationship didn’t feel as heavy. It was just them, in this tiny bubble of peace.

“So,” Y/N began, her voice playful again as she nudged Rafe with her elbow, “how’s the cactus doing?”

Rafe glanced down at the plush cactus, which he’d tucked under his arm like it was a real pet. “The cactus is a masterpiece. It’s going to be famous one day. You’ll see.”

Y/N laughed, her eyes sparkling. “Is that what you're calling it now? A masterpiece?”

“Well, it’s a symbol of my success,” Rafe said dramatically, holding the cactus up like a trophy. “One day, I’ll sell it for millions. You’ll say, ‘I was there when Rafe Cameron won the cactus.’” He paused, looking down at the plush toy, then back at Y/N. “You’ll be proud.”

Y/N chuckled. “Sure, sure. I’ll be the proudest person in the world when that happens.”

They reached a small cluster of rocks where they could sit and face the ocean. The sound of the waves was soothing, and for a moment, they both sat quietly, just taking in the view. It wasn’t awkward, though; it felt comfortable, easy.

“You know,” Rafe began, after a long pause, “I never thought I’d enjoy a day like this.”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” he said, a little more thoughtful than usual. “It’s always been about... showing off, I guess. Or doing things for the wrong reasons. I’ve always had to be someone else, or whatever. But today—today was just… us.”

Y/N smiled softly, not sure what to say at first. “Yeah,” she agreed. “It feels nice, doesn’t it?”

Rafe nodded, turning his gaze out over the ocean, the soft orange and pink of the setting sun painting the sky in vibrant streaks. “I think I’ve been spending too much time worrying about what people think. You know, trying to be this guy I’m not. But I don’t need to do that with you.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered a little at his words, the way he looked at her so honestly. “You don’t need to pretend with me,” she said softly. “I don’t care about any of that.”

He turned his head to look at her, his expression more open now. “I know. I like that. You’re different. It’s... I don’t know how to explain it, but I don’t have to worry about trying to impress you.”

She smiled, nudging him again. “You know, you don’t have to impress me. You already do.”

Rafe’s grin spread again, though this time it wasn’t the usual cocky, self-assured one. It was more genuine, softer. “I’m pretty sure I just impressed you with my cactus, but I’ll take the compliment.”

Y/N laughed. “Alright, alright, I’ll admit it. You’ve got some skills with that thing.” She paused, looking out at the ocean. “You know, I used to come out here a lot when things were tough. It helped me clear my head. It’s kind of nice, just sitting here.”

Rafe watched her for a moment, then gave a small, thoughtful nod. “I get that. I used to come out here, too, just to get away from everything. Sometimes it feels like the only place where I don’t have to be anyone but myself.”

They both sat there for a few more moments, the waves rolling in and out as the sky darkened. The world felt quieter, like time was slowing down just for them.

Rafe finally spoke again, his voice softer, more vulnerable than it had been all day. “Thanks for today. It’s... it’s been a while since I’ve had a day like this. Just being with someone, not worrying about what’s next or what people think.”

Y/N’s smile softened, her heart full as she reached out to touch his arm. “I’m glad. You deserve days like this.”

Rafe met her eyes then, and for a second, everything else faded into the background. “I’m glad it’s with you.”

The air between them felt charged, and without thinking, Y/N reached out to take his hand in hers, the simple touch making her feel grounded in a way she hadn’t expected. Rafe squeezed her hand gently, and for a long moment, neither of them said anything. They didn’t need to. The quiet between them felt just as perfect as everything else about this day.

“Alright,” Rafe said after a beat, breaking the silence but keeping that warmth in his voice. “We’ve had our deep moment. You ready to go find some real food? Because I’m pretty sure this whole ‘weird stuffed animal’ thing isn’t going to keep me full.”

Y/N grinned. “Absolutely. Let’s go get something that isn’t a cactus or a snake, alright?”

“Deal.” Rafe stood up, offering her a hand as he pulled her to her feet. “Let’s go. But next time—I’m picking the food.”

“Deal,” she said, laughing again, as they walked back toward the town, hand in hand.

—

The day was slowly winding down, the golden hue of the setting sun casting long shadows over the streets of town. Y/N and Rafe wandered aimlessly, enjoying the peaceful quiet that came with the evening hours. The bustling crowds had thinned out, leaving the streets calm and serene, the perfect setting for their leisurely stroll.

They passed by shops with colorful windows, the occasional chatter of people filling the air, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. Rafe’s hand brushed against hers every now and then, a small but constant reminder of how close they’d become, even if they had to hide it from everyone else.

As they turned a corner, a small jewelry shop caught their attention. The display case outside was filled with delicate necklaces, rings, and bracelets, each piece glinting in the late afternoon light. There was something about the simplicity of the shop, with its vintage charm and understated elegance, that drew them in.

Y/N stopped in front of the window, her fingers lightly pressing against the glass as she studied the glittering bracelets. Some were simple, some were more elaborate, but they all held a kind of quiet beauty. She glanced up at Rafe, who had his hands tucked into his pockets, looking around the small street.

“Think we should go in?” she asked, a playful note in her voice.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, glancing over at the shop. “Are you asking me if I want to look at jewelry?” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

Y/N shrugged, still eyeing the bracelets. “I mean, I think you might find something in there that suits you. Sparkles and all.”

Rafe laughed softly. “Yeah, well... sparkles aren’t exactly my thing. But sure, let’s see what’s in there.”

They entered the shop, the door chimes ringing lightly above them as they stepped inside. The air was filled with the soft scent of wood and polished metal. A gentle hum of calm music played in the background as they wandered among the displays, browsing through the array of jewels, none of which seemed to stand out as the piece.

After a few moments, Y/N picked up a bracelet with small, delicate charms that jingled lightly when touched. She held it up in front of Rafe, raising an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

Rafe leaned over, taking a look. “It’s... shiny,” he said, not exactly convinced. “Not really my style.”

Y/N smiled, placing it back on the counter. “Yeah, I thought so too. But it’s cute.”

They wandered for a few more minutes, picking up pieces, admiring them, but neither of them felt compelled to buy anything. The items were beautiful, sure, but the whole experience felt oddly distant—like they were pretending to be someone they weren’t.

Finally, Y/N turned to Rafe with a shrug. “I don’t think either of us is really in the mood to buy anything, huh?”

Rafe chuckled, his eyes lighting up as he gave her a playful nudge. “Nope. I don’t think I could pull off any of these anyway.”

“Not even the sparkly ones?” she teased, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Especially not the sparkly ones,” he said with mock seriousness. “But hey, it was fun just looking.”

They both laughed, and after a few more moments of lighthearted banter, they left the shop, hands still brushing occasionally as they walked back down the street, continuing their slow stroll toward the ferry.

As they approached the dock, the sun had begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with soft shades of orange and pink. They boarded the ferry in silence, finding a quiet spot at the railing, where the cool breeze was starting to pick up. The water shimmered in the fading light, and the soft hum of the boat’s engine was a comforting backdrop to the peaceful moment.

Rafe leaned against the railing, his eyes scanning the water as they pulled away from the shore. Y/N stood beside him, looking out at the horizon, a quiet smile on her face as the day slipped away. But even with the serenity of the moment, there was a small pang in her chest, a bittersweet feeling that the day was ending so soon.

As they stood there, the sound of the ferry’s engine humming softly in the background, Y/N glanced at Rafe out of the corner of her eye. She’d been thinking about it all day—the small thought that had lingered since they’d walked through that jewelry shop. Without saying anything, she reached into her bag and pulled out a small wrapped box. She turned to Rafe, holding it out to him with a quiet smile.

“Hey, I know we didn’t buy anything earlier, but...” she trailed off, handing him the box. “I got you something.”

Rafe blinked, clearly surprised. “You did?”

Y/N nodded, her smile widening. “I couldn’t resist. You might not love sparkles, but I thought this would look good on you.”

Rafe took the box, carefully unwrapping it with a mix of curiosity and amusement. When he opened it, he found a sleek, glittery bracelet, the kind that wasn’t too flashy, but had just enough shine to catch the light. He looked up at her, his eyes softening.

“You got me a bracelet?” he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice.

Y/N laughed, shrugging. “It’s not a sparkly one, I promise. Just... something simple. I thought it’d suit you.”

Rafe’s lips curled into a smile. “It’s perfect, actually.” He reached out, taking her hand and slipping the bracelet onto his wrist. “I love it.”

Before she could say anything more, Rafe surprised her by reaching into his own jacket pocket and pulling out a small velvet bag. “I guess I owe you one now,” he said, his grin widening.

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she took the bag from him. “You didn’t have to—”

“I know, but I wanted to,” he said, his voice softening a little. “Open it.”

Y/N carefully untied the string, revealing a delicate necklace with a tiny, intricate pendant. It was a crescent moon, silver with a small diamond at its center, catching the last of the sunlight. Her breath caught in her throat. It was beautiful—simple, but breathtaking.

“Rafe,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. “It’s... it’s perfect.”

“I thought you’d like it,” he said quietly, watching her reaction. “Something to remember today by.”

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling. “I’ll never forget it. Thank you.”

They stood there for a moment, both wearing gifts from the other, feeling the quiet, shared happiness of the day slowly settling in. But as the ferry glided through the water, a quiet sadness started to creep in, an awareness that the day was coming to an end.

“You know,” Y/N said, her voice low, “this has been... one of the best days I’ve had in a while.”

Rafe nodded, his expression soft. “Yeah. Me too.”

The sound of the waves crashing against the side of the ferry filled the silence between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. They didn’t need to say anything else. The day had been perfect in its simplicity, just the two of them, stealing moments of normalcy in a world that often didn’t allow for it.

As the ferry neared the shore, they both felt the weight of the inevitable separation. They’d go back to stealing glances and secret rendezvous—at least for a little while. But for now, all they had was the evening, the ferry ride, and the gifts they’d given each other, which were more than just jewelry. They were reminders of a day they’d never forget.

—---

A few days later, the sun hung low over the beach, casting a warm, lazy glow as it started its descent. The Pogues were settled around a makeshift bonfire on the sand, the air thick with the scent of smoke and saltwater. The group had sprawled out in the usual way—Pope meticulously stacking sticks for later, JJ tossing pebbles at driftwood targets, and Kie stretched out on a blanket, flicking sand absently as she chatted with Y/N.

It was one of those rare, easy days when the crew could just unwind, the kind of day they all secretly loved. JJ had spent the past few minutes trying to balance a stick on his nose, to no success, though his persistence was making everyone laugh. When the stick inevitably fell to the sand, he groaned dramatically. “This is why I’ll never be a circus performer,” he announced, to a chorus of exaggerated gasps.

“I know. Total missed calling,” Y/N replied, grinning as she tossed a few pebbles toward him. Kie snorted, tossing one herself, but missed and hit Pope, who looked over with mock offense.

“Can we at least hit JJ?” Pope said, rolling his eyes before grabbing a handful of sand, aiming for JJ’s shoes instead.

Kie, lying on her side with her head resting on her arm, caught sight of the necklace Y/N was wearing. It caught the light, sparkling just enough to make Kie raise an eyebrow. “Hey, that’s new. Where’d you get that?”

Y/N instinctively touched it, a small, knowing smile creeping onto her face. She shrugged, trying to keep her response light. “Oh, just something I picked up.”

Kie’s eyes narrowed, not entirely convinced. “Really? It looks kinda... fancy for just something you picked up.”

Y/N laughed it off, brushing it aside. “What can I say? I have expensive taste.” She grinned to soften the response, hoping Kie would drop it.

Kie eyed her, but didn’t press. “Uh-huh,” she said, turning back to the group as JJ started running after Pope, both of them laughing.

Y/N’s fingers brushed the necklace again, feeling the quiet connection behind it. It was a secret, one she wasn’t ready to share, but in this moment, that was enough.

The easy laughter echoed over the water, filling the space with a calm none of them thought to question. It was the kind of afternoon that always made them feel like everything else could wait until tomorrow.

But that calm didn’t last.

A sharp ping broke through their laughter. John B had pulled his phone from his pocket and quickly checked the screen. At first, it seemed like nothing; he barely glanced at it before his thumb hovered over the side button to lock the screen again. But Y/N, perched next to him, didn’t miss the slight smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

She wasn’t the only one who noticed.

JJ, who was surprisingly perceptive when it came to sniffing out potential teasing material, caught the expression too and smirked, leaning in. “Yo, JB, who’s got you grinning like that?”

John B stiffened slightly, shoving the phone back in his pocket. “No one, just a…friend.”

Kie raised an eyebrow, not buying it for a second. “A ‘friend’? John B, I think you forget all of your friends are sitting right here.”

Pope snorted, nudging JJ. “Yeah, and I’ve never seen you smile like that at one of my texts, man.”

Y/N felt the tension creep up, hoping they’d let it go, but JJ was already zeroed in, leaning forward with his usual mischievous glint. He held out a hand. “Alright, let’s see this ‘friend’ then.”

John B held up his hands defensively, scoffing. “Back off, alright? It’s nothing, just a text.”

JJ wasn’t one to back down easily. With a grin, he lunged over and snatched the phone out of John B’s hand before anyone could blink, ducking back with a triumphant laugh. John B groaned, already reaching out to grab it back, but JJ sidestepped, eyes locked on the screen.

The smile faded from JJ’s face as he read, replaced by an exaggerated, delighted grin. He held up the phone for everyone to see, pointing at the screen with a loud laugh. “‘Val’ says she misses you, babe!”

“Val?” Kie echoed, her brows knitting in confusion. “Who the hell is ‘Val’?”

Pope squinted, glancing over JJ’s shoulder to read the screen. “Dude, you’re getting ‘babe’ texts from ‘Val’ now?”

“Come on, guys,” John B muttered, snatching the phone again, but JJ held it out of reach, tilting his head curiously.

Y/N quickly tried to step in. “Guys, relax. It’s probably nothing, just some weird joke between friends.”

Kie raised an eyebrow, not buying it. “Yeah, right. ‘Val’ says babe like it’s no big deal?”

Y/N, trying to keep things light, leaned over to JJ with a laugh. “Maybe it’s a nickname for someone he’s trying to impress. Like, uh, ‘Valencia,’ or some other exotic name. Very mysterious.”

JJ blinked at her. “Yeah, sure. And I’m definitely not going to ask why ‘Val’ says ‘babe’ in all their texts.”

John B was looking at Y/N, his expression torn. He gave her a pleading look, and for a second, she knew he was ready to just admit everything. She met his gaze, giving a slight, emphatic shake of her head, silently telling him: Don’t you dare tell them.

For a moment, he hesitated, torn between protecting the secret and wanting to rip off the band-aid. But then Pope’s eyes went wide as he finally connected the dots.

“Wait… ‘Val’?” Pope said slowly, his eyes narrowing as the realization began to settle in. He glanced up at John B, his voice tinged with disbelief. “That’s not just a friend, is it?”

John B hesitated, his fingers absently running over the edge of his phone as he met Pope’s gaze. “No... I’m... seeing someone.” His voice was quiet, as if he were testing the waters, waiting for the storm to hit.

Y/N's stomach twisted. She couldn’t look away from John B in that moment, the air between them thick with something unspoken. She could feel the tension in her chest as she opened her mouth, her voice barely above a whisper. “John B, please...” Her eyes begged him to stop, to not say any more, to not let this reveal itself like this.

But he didn’t look at her. He just met her gaze for a split second before turning back to the group. There was something resolute in his eyes, an unspoken promise: It’s going to be okay.

He took a deep breath and finally let it slip out. “It’s Sarah Cameron.”

Kie’s face flushed with a mix of disbelief and anger. “You’re dating her?” she practically spat, rising to her feet in shock. “After everything she and her family have done to us?”

John B looked defensive, trying to keep his cool. “It’s not like that, Kie. It’s just—”

But Kie was already shaking her head, not having it. “It’s exactly like that, John B! After all the crap her family’s put us through, and now you’re just gonna ignore it because you like her?”

“I don’t care about her family, Kie,” John B snapped, clearly frustrated. “I care about her. I’m not gonna let their problems be mine.”

Y/N, feeling the tension rise, quickly stepped in, her voice trying to keep things light. “It’s really not that big of a deal, Kie. John B’s dating who he wants to date.”

JJ blinked, his frustration still simmering. “Look, I’m not thrilled about the whole ‘Kook’ thing, but as far as Kooks go, Sarah’s not that bad. It could’ve been worse... I mean, it could’ve been someone like Ruthie or Rafe.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted at the mention of Rafe. Sure, JJ could brush off Sarah, but Rafe? That was a whole different level—one that would never be as easy to accept. She could already feel the weight of the confrontation coming, and it made her sick to her core.

But Kie was seething now, her eyes burning. “Are you serious, JJ? She’s been tearing us down for years, and you’re just gonna excuse that because John B’s having some little romance? She’s part of the problem. Her family’s the problem. And you think dating her is just fine?”

John B held his ground, though his voice was quieter now, more strained. “I don’t care what her family’s done. It’s not about them, Kie. It’s just about Sarah.”

Kie looked between John B and Y/N, her voice rising in anger. “So, what, you’re just gonna ignore all the times she’s acted like we don’t exist? Like we’re just some lower class that’s not worth her time?”

Y/N, feeling the tension reaching its peak, cut her off, her voice sharp but calm. “Look, I don’t see what the big deal is, alright? John B is his own person. He can date whoever he wants.”

That just made Kie’s anger explode even further. “You don’t see the big deal? This isn’t just about who John B is dating, Y/N. This is about everything she represents! She’s a Kook! And now you’re all just fine with that?”

JJ looked back and forth between Kie and the others, his voice quieter now as he tried to defuse the situation. “Whoa, okay, okay, let’s just all chill. Kie, we get it. But maybe yelling about it isn’t gonna make it better. It’s John B’s choice. We can’t really do anything about it.”

But Kie wasn’t having it. “You think I’m just supposed to pretend it’s okay? After everything?”

The words hit hard, and the air grew thick with tension. Kie stormed off, her steps quick and angry as she muttered under her breath. Pope hesitated, glancing at John B and Y/N before following Kie, clearly torn.

JJ, shaking his head, threw his hands up. “Man, what a mess.” He paused, glancing at John B and Y/N. “You good?”

John B let out a heavy sigh, dropping onto a rock. “Yeah… just not what I expected.”

Y/N sat down beside him, her expression softening. “You did what you had to do.”

The sun dipped lower, and the day that had begun so relaxed and carefree felt a little heavier now, the silence between them thick as the fallout from Kie’s anger lingered in the air.

—-

A/n: i wrote chapter 11 before i finished this so sorry if it seems off 😭😭😭

Anyways, val and vlad made an appearance! Is it controversial if i say they are the best couple in the show

—

Next time: the midsummer ball

–

Taglist: @hockeybabe87 , @idiotussupremus , @certifiedhaters , @oatmealisweird, @sluggmuffin , @maybankslover , @ren-ni, @wh0reforbucknasty , @enjoymyloves , @bilssturns , @dragonslight , @willowpains , @sidney-86 , @urbrunettebombshell, @fluffybunnyu

#obx4 #obx #outer banks rafe #rafe cameron #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe fanfiction #rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x y/n #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj x reader

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lee-laurent · 3 days ago

Text

Fairytale - Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn, a commoner, falls for the princess of his kingdom

content: monarchy (?), fluff, angst, arranged marriage

wc: 9.5k

notes: this is kinda cheesey. i can't tell if it's cringe or not... also i had to use translator app a bit because idk the english words for some like fairytale stuff

Princess Francesca shifted restlessly in her bed, the dawn light casting pale strips of light through her curtains. She could hear the faint, familiar creaks of the palace as it stirred awake--the footsteps of the early-rising servants, the rattle of dishes from the kitchens below, the swish of brooms across the marbled halls.

Today was a court day, and soon her maid would enter with a dress stiff with embroidery, layers of silk, and delicate lace. She'd be expected to sit for hours in the throne room beside her father, listening to noblemen, landowners, and advisors drone on. A long day of diplomacy and keeping her shoulders straight, her chin lifted just so. The thought alone made her itch for escape.

Francesca bit her lip, her heart pounding as she crept to her wardrobe and reached for her plainest, dullest dress. She slipped it over her nightgown, pulling the rough woolen fabric over her head, the fibres scratching against her skin--a small price to pay for a taste of freedom.

She sat at her vanity, shaking her golden hair free from its nightly braid, her curls falling in soft waves past her shoulders. Reaching for her ribbon, a pale blue one that she used almost every day, she grabbed the front strands of her hair, securing them in the back with a bow. The ribbon was her favourite touch--simple, delicate, and nothing like the polished tiaras or heavy jewels she was used to. With a final check to ensure her face was free of any telltale signs of royalty, she drew up her hood and made her way toward the door.

Frankie's maid, Alice, a warm-hearted woman with wise eyes and a knack for knowing precisely when not to ask questions, waited outside her chamber door. She raised an eyebrow as Frankie slipped into the hall, unable to fully hide her smirk. "And where will you be going this morning, Your Highness?"

Frankie rolled her eyes. "Out."

Alice's mouth quirked into a smile. "Just 'out,' is it?"

"Just out," Frankie confirmed, trying to sound nonchalant. She fidgeted with her hands, giving her maid a sheepish smile.

"Right. And if anyone asks, you're...?"

"Visiting the royal library," Frankie said with a practiced innocence that didn't fool anyone. She laughed softly, her excitement showing. "Or perhaps just getting some fresh air."

Alice's face softened. She was the one person in the palace who knew the princess's longing for life outside the walls, for glimpses of the world where people's lives weren't spent writing royal decrees or following courtly schedules. She reached out, tucking a stray curl behind Frankie's ear. "Be careful, my lady."

"I will. I promise." They shared a silent look--a small, loyal moment--and then she hurried down the corridor, her heart racing as she slipped down the servant's staircase.

Once she reached the palace gardens, she held her breath, feeling the crunch of the gravel path under her shoes. She walked briskly, drawing her cloak tightly around her as she slipped through the gates at the side of the gardens, making her way out of the palace grounds and into the village.

Everything around her felt a little brighter. She watched the vendors set up their carts, the farmers unloading barrels and crates, children running along the cobblestone paths with shouts of laughter. She smiled to herself. Here, no one would spot that she was Princess Francesca. Here, she would be just another face in the crowd.

The hum of the village felt so much different than the hum of the palace. Here, people smiled and waved to each other, calling out their familiar greetings. A woman walked past with a basket of freshly picked apples. A dog barked as it chased after a boy in a patchy coat. For the first time in days, Frankie could breathe.

Stepping into the heart of the market, she allowed herself to slow down, to wander without purpose. Here, she was just a girl in a hood, taking in the sights and sounds.

The market hummed with energy, the cobblestone paths busy with villagers setting out baskets of freshly baked bread, bundles of herbs, and gleaming fruits and vegetables. Frankie weaved through the stalls, occasionally glancing over her shoulder, though no one gave her a second glance. Her father ruled the lands with a firm but fair hand, and his face was well-known. But she, safely hidden beneath her cloak, remained unrecognized--a mystery among the townsfolk.

Drawn by the warm glow of a blacksmith's forge near the edge of the square, Frankie approached a modest shop where the rhythmic clang of hammer against metal rang out. She slowed her pace, intrigued by the broad-shouldered young man working within.

He had thick, dark hair that caught in the morning light, and his hands moved with practiced ease, shaping a piece of iron with each strike of his hammer. He face was focused, intent on his work, and she watched him with quiet fascination, feeling like she'd stepped into another world.

Suddenly, his voice interrupted her thoughts. "Do I have something on my face, or are you just that interested in the fine art of smithing?"

Startled, Frankie's eyes snapped up to meet his. His expression held a bit of amusement, the slightest lift of his eyebrow acknowledging the fact that he'd caught her staring.

"Oh, I--no, I mean..." Frankie stammered, momentarily flustered. She tried to regain her composure, pulling her hood down a little lower. "I was just... watching."

"Watching, were you?" His tone was light, teasing, as he wiped his hands on a rough cloth and stepped out from behind the forge. Up close, his face was warm, with sharp blue eyes that seemed to see right through her. "You don't look like a smithing enthusiast, if I'm being honest."

"No, I suppose I'm not," she replied, feeling her cheeks warm. "But it's... interesting. I've never really seen it up close."

"Ah, I see. A newcomer, then," he guess, smiling in a genuine way. "You're safe here, don't worry. No one's going to bite." He extended his hand. "I'm Quinn."

For a split second, Frankie hesitated, but then she placed her hand in his. His grip was rough and firm, completely devoid of the etiquette and delicacy she was used to. It felt real.

"Frankie," she replied, keeping the introduction simple.

"Frankie," he repeated. "Well, Frankie, nice to meet you. And welcome to our fine little village."

"It's lovely," she said earnestly, glancing around. "Much more... lively than the palace."

She caught herself too late, realizing she'd let slip more than she meant to. But if Quinn noticed, he didn't show it. He was looking at her with the same warm smile, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

"What brings you to this side of town?" he asked. "It's rare we get visitors who find the blacksmith shop 'interesting.'"

"Oh, I, um..." She scrambled for an explanation. "I wanted to see a bit more of the kingdom. Sometimes you see things more clearly when you... step outside of your own walls."

Quinn tilted his head, considering her answer. There was a glint of something--understanding, perhaps--in his eyes. "Well, then, you picked a good day for it. And if you're looking to see the world from outside 'your walls,' let me know. I've got a pretty good tour of this place. It's not much, but it's home."

Frankie couldn't help but laugh. "A tour? Do you always offer guided tours to strangers?"

"Only to the ones who seem a bit... lost." He crossed his arms, clearly trying to read her, but without the prying curiousity she had expected.

"Well then, perhaps I'll take you up on it. After all, it's not every day you meet a blacksmith willing to show you around."

A gust of wind swept through the square, lifting her hood slightly. Without thinking, she reached up to pull it back into place, but not before it slipped just far enough to reveal her face fully.

Quinn's eyes widened, recognition flickering across his face as he took a step back. "Wait... you're--"

Before he could finish, he hastily lowered himself into an awkward bow, his expression suddenly formal and full of embarassment. "Your Highness. I'm so sorry, I didn't know--"

"No, please, stand up," she tried to stifle a laugh. "I'm not a princess here. I'm just... Frankie."

He straightened slowly, clearly uncertain. She could tell he was grappling with how to speak to her now that he knew her true identity. A few tense moments passed, before Frankie took a deep breath.

"I really mean it," she said softly. "Out here, I'm just another face in the crowd. Not Princess Francesca. Just Frankie."

"Just... Frankie," he echoed, testing out the words. A small smile played at his lips, and she could see his confidence returning, though there was a newfound hint of respect. "I think I can manage that."

They stood there, quietly holding each other's gaze as the bustling world continued around them. They were both fully aware that something had changed in the brief exchange. Frankie felt even more excitement.

"Well," he said, grinning, "shall we start that tour, then, 'just Frankie'?"

"Lead the way, Quinn."

As they turned and began to walk through the market together, side by side, Frankie felt a lightness that had been missing for so long. And she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to live like this normally.

Quinn showed her everything--the quiet back gardens of the town's inn, where flowers grew wild and fragrant; the bakery where the owner let her sample fresh pastries; the hidden creek just beyond the town, where they walked barefoot along the edge of the water.

Every place they visited had its own small charm, a piece of the world Quinn knew so well, and Frankie was mesmerized. Her world was expanding with every story he told and every laugh they shared. It was a freedom she'd only dreamed of.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, they found themselves in a quiet clearing outside the village. They sat on a fallen log, listening to the rustling of the leaves in the wind.

"It must be nice," Frankie finally said, looking out at the trees. "To have this kind of life. To belong to a place like this."

"It has its charms," he agreed. "But I don't think it's as simple as it seems. I have my own responsibilities, even if they're different from yours. Sometimes you don't need a crown to feel trapped by what people expect of you."

Frankie glanced at him, surprised by his honesty. "I suppose you're right. I sometimes think... maybe it doesn't matter who you are. Everyone has a role to play, whether they chose it or not."

Quinn nodded. "But at least you're out here. Maybe that's a sign that you want something different. Something... real."

"I think you might be right," she murmured. "Thank you, Quinn. I mean it."

He reached out, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing against her cheek. For a breathless moment, they were both still, each daring to imagine something beyond the lives they'd known.

"You're welcome, Frankie," he whispered. "Anytime."

The forst clearing outside the village was quiet, except for the leaves and the occasional call of a bird in the distant. Frankie and Quinn sat together on the soft grass, a small spread of bread, cheese, apples between them, a makeshift picnic Frankie had prepared in secret before leaving the palace again. She didn't know what had made her brave enough to bring it--perhaps her desire to spend just a few more moments in his world instead of hers.

"Not much of a royal feast, I'm afraid," she said, laughing as she held up a piece of bread.

Quinn accepted it with a grin. "For someone who's 'just Frankie,' I'd say it's perfect." He took a bite, savouring it as if it were the finest meal. "Besides, it's not every day I get lunch with the princess. I mean... with Frankie."

She chuckled, though she felt a thrill each time he spoke her name, as if it were a secret shared only between them. She lay back in the grass, stretching her legs and looking up at the patches of sky between the treetops. Quinn joined her, lying down, his head tilted to watch the clouds drift by.

"You know," he began, after a few minutes of silence, "you never told me why you started sneaking out of the palace. Not that I'm complaining about it, of course," he added quickly, giving her a lopsided smile.

She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I just... needed to feel free. The palace is so beautiful, but it's also... confining. Every moment, every decision, it's all made for me, like the path of my life was laid out long before I even had the chance to imagine anything else."

She turned her head, meeting his gaze. "Out here, I can be someone else. Not a princess, not the king's daughter. Just... me."

"I think I understand. Growing up in the village I've had people tell me who I'm supposed to be, too. What I should become." He shrugged, staring at his roughened hands.

Frankie smiled, comforted by his words. It was something she'd never shared with anyone--not even Alice, though Alice likely understood more than anyone. She reached out, her fingers brushing his hand, as if she could draw strength from his touch.

"Thank you, Quinn."

He turned his hand over, his fingers entwining with hers. "For what?"

"For letting me be me. I don't think you know how much it means to me."

Their eyes met and the world around them started to fade. The line between their lives disappeared, and she found wondering if maybe--just maybe--she could have this. A life where she was more than just her title. A life where she could be someone like Quinn.

But the thoughts felt too dangerous, too tender and fragile, like a spark that could go out at any moment. She looked away, her face flushing. Yet, she didn't pull her hand from his.

"Frankie," Quinn murmured. "I think... I feel the same way."

She didn't dare move, her heart caught with the knowledge that this was more than just a simple friendship. This was something else, something deep and precious--and terribly risky.

But lying with Quinn in the clearing, she decided that some risks were worth taking.

Back at the palace, Frankie tried to carry on as usual, performing her duties, attending dinners, and studying the various treaties her father was eager to discuss with her. But her mind lingered on those stolen moments with Quinn, on the way his hand felt in hers, the gentle way he listened to her. She felt lighter. She was carrying a secret so precious that she wouldn't trade it for anything.

But that feeling grew harder to hold onto as her father's plans began to solidify. King Eric had summoned her to his study one evening, a summons she knew would not bring good news.

Frankie took a deep breath and knocked on the heavy oak door, the quiet creak that followed her entry filled her with unease. Her father was seated at his desk, papers and maps spread across the surface. His face was set in its usual stern expression, his fingers tapping impatiently as he gestured for her to sit.

"Francesca," he began, folding his hands over the papers before him. "I've made a decision about your future. It's time to take your rightful place in securing the future of our kingdom."

She swallowed, her hands twisting in her lap. She had heard this line before, but something about the look in his eyes filled her with dread. "My rightful place?"

"Yes," he said firmly. "The alliance with Lathora has been in negotiation for some time now. Their prince--Prince Edmond--will make a fine match for you. The marriage will bring stability to both kingdoms and ensure our people are secure for generations to come."

Her heart sank at his words. She'd heard her father discuss the prospect of alliances before, but never with such finality. She felt a surge of panic, her fingers clenching as she fought to keep her composure.

"Father, I..." she hesitated, searching for the right words. "I understand the importance of alliances, but perhaps there's another way. A marriage--"

"Is not negotiable," he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I am not blind, Francesca. I see the way you slip from your duties, sneaking off into the village like a commoner. You are a princess--one day a queen. It's time you understand your life is not your own. Your choices affect the entire kingdom."

Frankie looked away, her throat tight. She wanted to tell him about Quinn, to show him that what she'd found was worth more than every alliance, that her happiness could be valuable too. But she knew it would fall on deaf ears.

"Yes, Father," she forced herself to nod.

"Good." He straightened, satisfied with her compliance, and shuffled the papers in front of him. "Prince Edmond will arrive within the month. I expect you to show him the respect and hospitality befitting a future queen."

Late that night, after her father's announcement, Frankie sat by the windows in her chambers, her heart heavy. The palace walls, once merely confining, now felt suffocating. She couldn't bear the thought of marrying a man she barely knew, let alone someone she didn't love.

As if sensing her turmoil, Alice slipped into the room. She had a knack for appearing at the right time, and this was no exception.

"Frankie?" Alice's voice was soft as she approached. "You look troubled, dear."

"It's my father. He's... he's arranged a marriage for me. To a prince from Lathora. It's final--there's no way out."

Alice sat beside her, resting a gentle hand on her shoulder. "I thought something like this might happen. But I had hoped he would see that you're still young, that you deserve a chance to find happiness on your own terms."

A tear slipped down Frankie's cheek, and she quickly brushed it away. "Alice, I don't want this. I don't want him. There's... someone else."

"Quinn?" she asked quietly.

Frankie nodded, unable to hide the longing in her eyes. "He's... he's everything I never thought I could have. He listens to me, sees me--not as the princess, as me. And I know... I know I could be happy with him. Truly happy."

Alice squeezed her hand. "Then, my dear, you owe it to yourself to fight for that happiness."

"But how? My father would never understand. And Quinn... he's a commoner. Father would never allow that."

Alice was silent for a moment, then gave her a gentle smile. "Some things are worth the risk, Frankie. Love is one of those things."

The words lingered and stirred a flicker of hope in Frankie's heart.

The grand meeting hall was dressed to the nines. Banners bearing the royal crest hung from the towering stone walls, and the crystal chandeliers cast a warm glow across the table set with gleaming silverware and fine china.

At the far end of the room, Frankie stood with her father, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. She'd been in formal attire countless times, but today her tiara felt heavier, its sharp edges pressing into her temples. She glanced at her father, who was watching the door with a look of satisfaction, and she couldn't shake the growing dread within her.

"Stand tall, Francesca," he murmured. "Today is important. The kingdom's future depends on it."

She swallowed thickly, straightening her shoulders as the doors opened to reveal Prince Edmond. He was a nobleman, that was for sure. Tall and fair, with a solemn expression and regal posture. Dressed in royal blue and silver, he carried himself with an air of practiced decorum, bowing slightly to her father before moving his gaze to Frankie.

"Princess Francesca," he greeted, extending his hand to her. His tone was formal, his words rehearsed. "It is an honour."

Frankie forced a smile and took his hand, allowing him to lead her to the table. Advisors exchanged approving glances as they sat, and her father looked on with unmistakable pride.

Dinner began, and Frankie found herself struggling to follow the stiff conversation. Edmond seemed nice enough, but he hardly spoke beyond polite small talk and formal questions. He was painfully proper, never once breaking his composure or expressing anything remotely personal.

"Princess, I hear that your kingdom is renowned for its gardens," he remarked between bites, his tone void of warmth. "I would be delighted to take a tour."

"Yes, of course," Frankie replied, trying to match his formality. "Our gardens are... nice."

She felt like a stranger in her own life. She was a performer playing a role that didn't belong to her. Every forced smile, every polite reply, drained her more. With each moment she felt herself drifting further and further from the person she was with Quinn.

She looked around the room, catching Alice's sympathetic gaze from the far end of the room. Her maid offered her a warm, encouraging smile, and Frankie felt a pang of gratitude. But even Alice's support couldn't shake the ugly feeling she had.

As the dinner dragged on, Frankie found herself longing for the forest clearing, the bustling streets of the village, and Quinn's gentle smile. She wondered what he was doing at that very moment, likely enjoying a meal with his family, laughing happily.

Just as she thought she could endure no more, the dinner came to an end. Edmond rose and gave another polite bow, his expression unreadable. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Princess Francesca. I look forward to continuing our... alliance."

"Likewise, Prince Edmond."

As people began to leave the hall, her father took her by the arm, his grip firm. He led her to a quiet corner. "You did well tonight, Francesca. Prince Edmond is an ideal match. Solid, dependable, and the alliance will secure the future of our kingdom."

Frankie wanted to protest, to tell him that there was more to life than alliances and duty, that there were things she couldn't find in a forced marriage. But she knew better than to voice those thoughts.

"Yes, Father."

"Good," he patted her on the arm. "We'll continue with the arrangements. Soon, you'll see that this was the right path."

As he left, Frankie glanced at Alice again, who had quietly made her way over. "Not quite the fairy tale, is it?" the maid mumbled.

"No, not quite."

"Come, I'll take you back to your chambers. And I've got something for you--someone left a note."

Her father's expectations and Prince Edmond's impersonal formality faded into the background as she clutched the note that Alice handed her. With trembling hands, she unfolded it, soft handwriting scrawled across the page:

Stay strong, Frankie. I'll be waiting

The words were simple, but they filled her with courage. She would stay strong. For herself. For Quinn. For the future she really wanted. She would stay strong.

The moon was bright as Frankie slipped through the palace gates and made her way to the forest clearing. She needed to feel free, even if it was only for a few minutes. After hours of gross formalities, she couldn't bare the idea of returning to her chambers. She needed to see Quinn, to be near someone who saw her as more than just a bargaining piece in her father's plans.

When she reached the clearing, she found him waiting, his familiar silhouette illuminated by the glow of the moon. Quinn sat on their fallen log, staring at the stars above, lost in thought. At the sound of her footsteps, he looked up, a smile on his face.

"Frankie," he said quietly, standing to meet her. "I wasn't sure you'd come tonight."

"I had to." Without thinking, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, seeking comfort in his embrace. Quinn barely hesitated before returning it, holding her close. She could feel his heartbeat, steady and reassuring, and she could finally breathe.

They stood like that for a while, until Frankie pulled back, looking up into his eyes. "It's hopeless, Quinn. My father has decided everything for me. There's a prince--Prince Edmond. He's the one my father has chosen for me. The one I'm suppoesed to marry."

The words tasted bitter on her tongue, and she saw Quinn's face darken, his expression pained.

"Prince Edmond. And you're just supposed to accept it? No choice?"

She shook her head. "That's the way it's always been. To my father, marriage is a contract--a way to secure power and strengthen alliances. He doesn't see it as anything more."

"So, that's it then?" Quinn looked at the ground. "You'll marry this prince, while I... I go back to being a commoner with nothing to offer you?"

The pain in his voice cut through her, and she held his hand tightly. "Quinn, please. You have to know none of that matters to me. Titles, crowns, alliances--none of it matters when I'm with you." She looked into his eyes, her voice pleading. "You're the only one who makes me feel like I'm more than a princess. With you, I can just be myself."

"But, Frankie... what can I give you that someone like him can't?"

"You've already given me everything," her voice broke. "You give me the freedom to be myself. To be... happy."

Frankie could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle between his feelings for her and his fear that he could never be enough. She could feel her heart breaking at the thought of losing him.

Finally, unable to bear the distance between them, she reached up, cupping his face in her hands as she whispered, "Please, Quinn. Don't pull away from me. Not now."

Slowly, he raised his hand, covering hers. He drew her closer, his forehead resting against hers, their breaths mixing. "I'll try, Frankie. For you... I'll try."

She leaned up, pressing her lips to his in a gentle kiss, one that quickly turned desperate. Slowly, they sank down to the forest floor, their fingers intertwined.

"Stay with me tonight?" she whispered.

"Yeah, let's forget about the rest of the world for a bit."

Just them, beneath the stars, in a world where only they existed.

Frankie stood by the window, focused on the gardens below, though her mind was far from the flowers and fountains stretching across the grounds. The dinner with Prince Edmond still lingered in her head, a reminder of the life her father wanted her to live--bound by duty and sacrifice, devoid of choice. She just clung to the fragile hope that somehow, she and Quinn could find a way to be together.

She didn't hear the door open until her father's voice broke her from her daydreaming.

"Francesca, I have news."

She turned, hiding the worry that twisted her stomach.

"The negotiations with Lathora have failed," he announced, his voice clipped. "Prince Edmond's advisors were unreasonable in their demands, and I will not tolerate such arrogance, not even at the sake of an alliance."

"I see," Frankie replied, her worry replaced by excitement. "Then... there will be no alliance?"

"For now, no. But rest assured, we will find a suitable match. I will not allow this kingdom's future to remain vulnerable."

He studied her, searching for resistance, but she just nodded. She nodded like she always did when her father told her something. She nodded and it made her feel weak. "Of course, Father. I trust you'll make the best decision for the kingdom."

"Good. I have already reached out to another kingdom. Prince Trevor is well-regarded, and his kingdom is both powerful and influential. He's charming, highly capable, and exactly the sort of match we need."

And just like that, the excitement she felt dimmed. Prince Trevor. She'd heard stories of him--a confident, bold young man with a reputation for his charm. Unlike Prince Edmond, who had shown no personal interest in her, Prince Trevor was rumoured to have his own reasons for a royal match, and her father had always spoken highly of him and his father's kindgom.

"He will arrive within the week. Prepare yourself. Remember... respect and warmth befitting of a queen."

Frankie sank back onto the velvet-cushioned bench by the window. Her brief hope was dashed, replaced by dread at the thought of yet another arranged meeting, another prince who would see her as only a political prize.

"What is it, dear?" Alice slipped into the room, a freshly cleaned nightgown in her arms.

"Prince Trevor. Another visit. He's supposed to be a good... match for me."

"Another suitor already? That was fast."

Frankie nodded, a bitter laugh leaving her throat. "Apparently, the kingdom's future can't afford any delay. I thought... maybe I'd have more time between suitors. But now it's worse--this prince, Trevor... he's everything Father could want."

"Time is precious, dear. And it sounds like you'll have to make the most of what you have."

"I just wish... I wish I could talk to Quinn. He's the only one who understands."

"Then talk to him. Don't let this prince or anyone else stop you from finding what matters."

She would talk to Quinn. Make the most of the time she had--no matter what her father's plan was.

Carriages rolled through the gates, flanked by royal guards. Frankie stood up straight and tall as the entourage approached. It took everything in her to maintain the mask of dutiful obedience.

In the lead carriage, a young man stepped out, tall and impeccably dressed in rich, dark fabrics embroided with the crest of another kingdom. His presence was immediately striking--confident and sharp. His blond hair caught the sun, and he wore a self-assured smile.

He crossed the courtyard easily, bowing deeply before the king. "Your Majesty. Thank you for inviting me to your kingdom. It is an honour."

"Prince Trevor," King Eric replied. "We are delighted to have you here. Please, allow me to introduce my daughter, Princess Francesca."

Frankie dipped into a small curtsy, keeping her gaze neutral. To her surprise, Trevor offered her a grin, one that felt genuine and a bit too confident. He took her hand and bowed over it, never taking his eyes off hers in way that made her feel exposed.

"Princess Francesca, I must admit, I was eager to meet you."

"Welcome, Prince Trevor. I trust your journey was pleasant?"

"It was long," he replied with a small chuckle. "But well worth it, if it means meeting such... esteemed company."

King Eric seemed pleased with the exchange, just as he had with Prince Edmond. "Good, good. Let us retire to the main hall. I trust you two will have much to discuss."

Frankie found herself side-by-side with Trevor as they followed her father, his presence uncomfortably close. The palace staff had arranged for refreshments in the main hall, where soft music played, and light filtered through the stained-glass windows.

Trevor leaned in slightly, his voice low enough for only her to hear. "I've heard many things about you, Princess. But none of them seem to capture the... charm of your presence."

Frankie didn't sense any malice in his words--if anything, he seemed genuinely interested in her. But there was a smugness, an unspoken assumption that made her wary,

"Thank you, Your Highness."

"Oh, please," he waved her off dismissively. "There's no need for such formality between us. Call me Trevor."

"Very well, Trevor."

They took their seats in the centre of the room, and as refreshments were brought in, Trevor continued talking. He talked about his kingdom, his travels, his fondness for sports, even sharing an amusing story about an ill-fated hunting trip that had everyone laughing and nodding along.

Trevor was charming--she couldn't deny that. But it was the practiced charm of someone who knew his own worth, who was accustomed to admiration. It only made her think about how different he was tha Quinn, whose honesty was comforting and not... whatever this was.

After a while, Trevor turned the conversation to Frankie. "And tell me, Princess, how do you spend your time in the palace? Surely you must find ways to escape the routine of court life."

"I do enjoy some time in the gardens and reading in the library. Occasionally, I take walks beyond the palace grounds."

"Beyond the grounds?" he raised an eyebrow. "You must be quite adventerous, then. I'm impressed."

"I enjoy the fresh air," she said simply, hoping to deflect his interest.

But Trevor grew even more curious, and he leaned closer. "Perhaps you could show me these spots. I would love to see more of the kingdom--from a local's perspective, of course."

"Perhaps," she replied, though she knew it was unlikely she would bring him to her favourite spots.

Finally, the gathering drew to a close, and Trevor turned to her. "Thank you for your time, Princess. I look forward to seeing you more during my stay." His words held an unspoken promise as he took her hand once more, pressing a kiss to it.

She forced a smile, but it was hollow. Why did her dad get a say in her life and she didn't?

Quinn walked alone, his thoughts heavy. News of Prince Trevor's arrival had swept through the kingdom, carried by rumours and whispers that painted him as the perfect suitor for the beautiful Princess Francesca. Quinn had heard the villagers speak about Trevor's charm, his looks, his power. He was everything a princess could want, everything Quinn felt he was not.

He shook his head, pushing back the growing ache in his chest as he made his way to their forest clearing. He knew Frankie would be waiting for him, but he wasn't sure what he'd say. The thought of her standing beside a prince, a man who could give her the security and life she deserved, made him feel helpless. He could he compete with that?

He found her there, sitting on their log, her face lighting up when she saw him. She rose, coming to meet him, her arms reaching out to pull him close. But he took a step back, his hands tucked in his pockets, his gaze fixed on his shoes.

"Quinn?" Her voice was soft, confused. "Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, I just... I heard the news. About Prince Trevor."

She hesitated, her expression turning guarded as she nodded. "Yes, he arrived today."

Her confirmation made his fists clench in jealousy. "So, he's... he's the new one, then? The prince your father wants you to marry?"

Frankie reached out, her hand resting on his arm. "My father thinks he's the right choice. But I don't."

He shook his head, pulling his arm away, and looked past her. "Frankie, I'm not... I can't compete with him. Or with any prince. I'm just... me."

She stepped closer, reaching for his hands, her eyes pleading. "Quinn, don't say that. You're everything to me."

He let her take his hands, but his grip was loose, uncertain. "Maybe you think that now, but I'm not blind, Frankie. I know what you deserve. Someone who can give you the life you're meant to have."

"But I don't want that life. Not if it means losing you."

Quinn looked down at their hands, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "But you deserve someone who can be by your side... someone who can stand with you, not behind you."

"Please, Quinn. Don't say that. Don't push me away."

"Frankie, I love you. I love you more than anything. But maybe... maybe loving you means letting you go. So you can have the life you were born to have."

He was saying what she'd feared all along--that he felt he wasn't enough for her, that he would only hold her back. Tears pricked at her eyes, and she could no longer keep her voice steady. "So, that's it? You're giving up on us?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening. "I don't want to, but I can't ignore reality, Frankie. You're a princess. And I'm..."

"Don't," she interrupted. "Please, don't finish that sentence."

The quiet of the forest around them was thick with tension. She wanted to scream, to beg him to stay, to make him see that he was the only one for her. But his resolve was unshaken despite the pain in his eyes.

"If you leave, Quinn... I don't know what I'll do."

"I'm sorry, Frankie. I wish... I wish things were different."

He turned, his figure retreating back towards the village, and Frankie watched, tears streaming down her face as the one person she loved more than anything disappeared into the night.

Frankie felt numb. She stood by the stone fountain in the garden, watching the water cascade over the edges. The fresh air did little to ease the weight of her heartbreak.

Quinn's words cut at her heart like sharp blades. She could still feel his hands in hers, see the sadness in his features as he said goodbye. How could she even begin to think about marrying someone else when her heart was in a million little pieces?

However, she couldn't afford to avoid Trevor forever, though the thought of pretending to be interested in him felt almost unbearable.

"Princess Francesca?"

Trevor walked over, his charming smile in place. She forced a polite smile, hoping it didn't look as strained as it felt.

"Prince Trevor. I didn't expect to see you out here."

He chuckled, coming to stand beside her by the fountain. "Oh, I've always been a fan of gardens. My mother keeps one back home, though I'll admit, yours puts ours to shame."

Frankie glanced at him, uncertain of how to respond. Why did he care so much?

"You looked lost in thought," he continued, studying her face. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything... important?"

"No, just... enjoying the peace."

Trevor nodded. "I suppose a princess doesn't get much of that, does she? Not with all the demands, the expectations, the responsibilities..."

She glanced at him, trying to gauge his intentions. "You seem to know a lot about it."

He shrugged, folding his hands behind his back as he looked out over the garden. "My life may be different from yours, but it's also very similar. I get what it's like to have your path laid out for you. But I've always believed that duty and happiness don't have to be mutually exclusive."

His words were well-spoken, maybe there was more to him than she'd assumed.

"Your father told me much about you, Princess," his tone dropped to a more personal level. "But I'll admit, I really didn't expect you to be so... captivating."

She tensed, feeling her face flush. "You don't know me, Prince Trevor. Not really."

"Not yet," he remained undeterred. "But I'd like to. I see something in you, Princess. A strength. A desire to be more than what others expect of you."

She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that her heart was already spoken for, that the life she wanted was far from the one he was offering her. But she bit her tongue, knowing it would only complicate things further.

"You think you see me. But there's more to me than... strength."

"Than show me, Francesca. Show me who you are."

"I appreciate your... interest, Prince Trevor. But I don't think I'm what you're looking for."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because I... I already know who I am. And I'm afraid I may not be able to meet the expectations that you or my father have for me."

To her surprise, Trevor's smile only grew. "Perhaps that's exactly why I'm here, Princess. To help you realize that duty and desire can coexist."

She didn't respond and he gave her a respectful nod. "I'll give you time, Francesca. I'm not here to force anything--only to show you that it's possible."

With a deep sigh, she looked to the edge of the garden, where the forest stretched out for miles and miles. She wished she could run to Quinn, that she could hold him despite her world falling apart. But for now, all she could do was stand there and listen to Trevor's footsteps as he retreated back into the castle.

The day had been exhausting--her father's pointed glances during the afternoon, Trevor's persistent charm, and the unshakable ache in her heart left by Quinn's absence. She was stretched thin with no clear way out.

She found Alice waiting for her in her chambers, preparing the room for the night.

"Oh my! You look exhausted! Come, sit!"

Frankie sat heavily on the edge of her bed, running a hand over her face as she struggled to keep her composure.

"What's troubling you now, Frankie? You're going to give yourself a heartattack."

Frankie was unsure of where to begin. But as she looked at Alice, the words began to spill out, her voice barely a whisper. "It's... everything, Alice. My father, Prince Trevor... and Quinn. I... I love him, Alice. But it feels like everything in the world is trying to tear us apart."

Alice nodded.

"Trevor won't give up and Father loves him. He's so certain that he can make this work, that I'll come to accept it. But I can't... I can't just pretend my heart isn't with someone else."

"And what does Quinn think of all this?"

"He... he think he's not enough. That he can't give me what I need or deserve. He said... he said maybe it would be better if we didn't see each other."

"The heart can be a stubborn thing, Frankie. It often tells us we aren't worthy of people we love most."

"But he is worthy, Alice. He's everything I could want. Kind, honest, and loves me for me and not my title."

"Be brave, Frankie. Like I've said a million times before, be brave."

"What if... what if I can't convince him?"

"Then you'll know you tried. But don't bear a life of regret."

"You're right. You're always right."

"That's what I'm here for, no? Now, get some sleep. You need it," she pulled back the blankets, a smile on her face.

"Thanks, Alice."

"Let me know how it goes," the maid winked before retreating into the hallway, leaving Frankie to figure out how to win back the love of her life.

Frankie held her head in her hands. For days she had felt a deep fatigue that tugged at her bones, combined with spells of nausea and dizziness that seemed to come and go. She had tried to dismiss it, assuming it was the stress of her upcoming marriage to Prince Trevor and the heartbreak of losing Quinn.

"I always feel like I'm asking you what's wrong nowadays," Alice said, approaching with a warm cup of tea.

Frankie smiled, taking the cup in her hands. "I... I don't know, Alice. I just feel... strange. Tired, and unsteady." She paused, a wave of dizziness overcoming her, and took a sip of tea in an attempt to steady herself.

"Forgive me, but... have you considered there might be another reason for this feeling?"

Another reason? Frankie looked up, and the implications of her confidante dawned on her. She felt the room shift around her as the realization struck her like a bolt of lightning.

"Alice... you don't mean...?"

"It's possible, isn't it, dear? You've been feeling unwell, and it's not uncommon for these symptoms to appear under such... circumstances."

Frankie gasped, setting her tea aside. The memories of her night with Quinn flashed before her and her hand drifted to her abdomen.

"Alice... could I really be..." She couldn't finish the sentence. She couldn't speak it into existence.

"There's only one way to know for sure. Shall I walk down with you?"

Frankie could only nod. The palace daughter only worked a couple days a week, but luckily for her today was one of those days. Alice stood with her while the doctor moved around the room, poking and proding the princess. Eventually, he came to his conclusion.

"You're with child."

"It's true then," Frankie whispered. "I'm..."

This child was a symbol of her love for Quinn--a precious connection that bound them together. But as the joy she felt settled, it was quickly replaced by fear. What would her father say? How would he react when he learned the princess was carrying the child of a commoner?

"What am I going to do? My father... he'll be furious. He'll never accept this."

"Francesca, I know this is frightening. But this child is a part of the love that you share with Quinn. Whatever happens, you are not alone."

"What would I do without you?"

"You have the courage to face this, for you and your baby."

Frankie nodded. She would face her father, tell him the truth, and hope that somehow, he would understand. She would protect her baby--no matter the cost.

Frankie took a long breath before she nodded to the butler to open the door to the throne room for her. She knew her face gave away her terror, but she had to face this moment for the sake of her child.

Her father was a solitary figure on the far side of the room. He was seated on his throne, reviewing a parchment with intense focus. He looked up, raising an eyebrow at her sudden entrance.

"Francesca. This is unexpected. What brings you here?"

Her courage wavered under his intense stare. But she felt a surge of strength at the idea that she could live a happy life with her child and Quinn. She looked her father directly in the eyes, inhaling sharply.

"Father, I need to speak with you. It's... it's important."

King Eric's eyes narrowed, his expression shifting to one of mild annoyance. "Very well, Francesca. What is it? You seem rather... grave."

"I... I have something to tell you. Something that I know you won't be pleased to hear." Her voice trembled, but she pushed on. "I am... carrying a child, Father. Quinn's child."

For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of shock in his eyes, but it quickly vanished, replaced by a cold, piercing stare that made her feel small and insignificant.

"What did you say?"

"I am with child. The child is Quinn's. I... I love him, Father. I know this isn't what you wanted, but I had to tell you. This... is very important to me."

King Eric's hands clenched around the arms of his throne, his face growing hard with anger. He rose slowly, his gaze dark as he approached her. "Francesca," his tone was laced with fury, "do you understand what you have done? You, a princess, have disgraced this family by carrying the child of a commoner! You have risked everything I have worked to build--all for a fleeting, foolish romance!"

Tears stung her eyes, but she held her ground, unwilling to back down. "It's not foolish, Father. I love him. I want him to be part of my life."

"Love? This is not about love, Francesca. This is about duty. About securing the future of this kingdom! Do you realize the scandal this could bring upon us? The disgrace? No one can know of this--no one."

"Father, please. This baby is a part of our family. Can't you see that?"

"Leave! I don't want to speak with you about this further!"

Frankie didn't let her sobs escape her until she'd left the room, running the rest of the way to her chambers. She shoved her head in her pillow, screaming. How could he be so cruel?

It had only been a day since their confrontation and her father had summoned her to his study. She tried to imagine what he could possibly want from her now, after everything he'd said.

She entered the room to find her father seated at his desk. Behind him stood two advisors and, to her surprise, Prince Trevor himself. The prince gave her a sympathetic nod as she entered, but she could sense the tension beneath his charm, as if he, too, were uncomfortable.

"Francesca. Sit."

Reluctantly, she sat across from him, stealing a glance at Trevor, who looked back at her with the same strange, calm expression. Whatever her father was about to say was definitely not going to be in her favour.

"After careful consideration, and after consulting with Prince Trevor and his advisors," the king began, "I have decided on the final plan that will secure our alliance and protect the reputation of our family."

Frankie knew whatever was coming was something monumental, something inescapable.

"You will marry Prince Trevor. And once the child is born, it will be recognized as his legitimate heir. This will satisfy the alliance and protect the throne from any scandal."

"Father... you cannot mean this," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You would have me marry someone I do not love and raise my child as if it belonged to another man?"

Trevor stepped forward. "Princess, please understand that I hold you in the highest respect. This is not a decision I take lightly, but as prince, it is my duty to my people to align with your father's wishes. It would be a... practical arrangement. One that serves us both."

Frankie looked at him, desperation filling her eyes. "And you agree to this? To pretend this child is yours? To live a lie?"

"If it means peace for our people, then yes. Sometimes duty requires us to make sacrifices."

"But this child is not yours, and I am not yours. I... I am bound to someone else, someone who loves me for who I am."

King Eric's face darkened as he listened to her protests, his patience wearing thin. "You are a princess, Francesca. Have you forgotten that? This marriage is not a matter of choice, it's a matter of duty. You will do what is expected of you."

She looked to Trevor again, but he looked away, his silence confirming his compliance. The future she'd envisioned with Quinn was slipping further and further from her grasp.

"What about my baby? What about the truth?"

"Your child will be the future heir, protected by the alliance forged through this marriage. You must set aside your personal attachments, Francesca. This is a sacrifice you will make."

Her father and Trevor had reduced her love, her future, and even her child's identity to nothing more than a means to an end. "Yes, Father. I understand."

"Good. This is for the best, Francesca. One day, you will see that."

She would not betray her love for Quinn, nor would she let her child's life be built off lies. She would find a way out.

The palace was beautiful, with tapestries of gold and crimson adorning the walls and rows of white lillies lining the grand hall, their scent filling the air. Candles in chandaliers flickered above the gathered nobility and dignitaries. It was a sight fit for a royal wedding--a vision of perfection that would make any bride squeal. But Frankie only felt numb with dread.

Dressed in an ivory gown and a veil that trailed behind her like mist, she walked down the aisle on her father's arm. King Eric's face was stern but proud, as if the spectacle he had crafted would hide her sorrow. Frankie kept her head high, but her thoughts were miles away--on the life she would never have, on the man she loved, on the future that was being stolen from her.

At the end of the aisle waited Prince Trevor, standing tall in his ceremonial attire, his expression as neutral as it had been in the meeting. He, too, was playing his part in this theatre. Trevor was bound by duty.

The king's voice was low as he released her hand, a final, whispered warning. "Remember, Francesca. For the kingdom. Do what must be done."

She nodded, standing beside Trevor as the officiant began the ceremony, her gaze distant. This was the final nail in the coffin that was her life.

Quinn sat hunched over a letter in his bedroom, his eyes fixed on Alice's handwriting. The truth hit him like a punch to the gut. Frankie was pregnant with his child. She had been forced into a marriage to protect the kingdom.

Setting the letter down, Quinn rose to his feet, his face pale. He couldn't let this happen. He wouldn't allow her to be trapped in a loveless marriage with his child by her side. Without another thought, he left his home, running through the streets toward the palace, each step fuelled by desperation.

The officiant continued, his voice steady as he reached the vows. Frankie could feel the weight of Trevor's hand resting on hers, but the rest of her body felt numb... frozen.

Just then, the heavy doors to the grand hall swung open with a loud crash, and commotion erupted among the guards. Heads turned in shock as Quinn stormed into the room, his voice ringing out as he called her name.

"FRANKIE!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd, and the guards hurried to interept him, grabbing his arms to restrain him. But Quinn struggled against them, his eyes fixed on Frankie.

"Let me go!" he shouted. "I need to speak to her! Frankie, don't do this!"

Frankie's composure shattered as she saw him fighting against the guards. Her eyes filled with tears, "Father, please let him speak."

"Remove him. He has no place here."

The guards began to drag Quinn back, but he resisted, his voice desperate as ever. "Frankie, don't let them do this to you! You don't have to live this lie! I love you!"

Frankie felt a surge of defiance--a fierce determination to claim the life she wanted, even if it meant forsaking everything she'd ever known. But then, her father gripped her arm, his voice a harsh whisper. "Don't let him make a fool of you, Francesca. This is your duty. Your responsibility to all the people of the kingdom."

Her heart screamed for her to run with Quinn, to escape, but her father's will and the many eyes on her held her back.

"Remove him! This wedding will proceed!" King Eric's voice boomed.

"Frankie, please! You don't have to do this!"

"Let's... let's finish," she whispered.

Quinn was dragged out and the doors shut. The officiant resumed as if nothing had happened and before she knew it she was officially married to Prince Trevor.

The festivities were over, and the palace was dark and quiet. Frankie was wearing the stupid white nightgown she had been forced to wear. She knew this day had been Hell. She knew Quinn was worth the sacrifices and she should've gone with him.

A soft knock sounded at her door, and Alice slipped in holding a small bundle. "It's time, my lady," she whispered with urgency.

Frankie nodded, rising from her bed and taking Alice's hands. "Thank you, Alice. I don't know how I'll ever repay you."

"You can repay me by finding happiness. Now, hurry. I've packed some things for you--just the essentials."

She draped a dark cloak over Frankie's shoulders and tucked the hood around her face, obscuring her features.

"If... if he ever asks, tell my father that this was my choice. That I left willingly."

"You've made the right choice, Princess. This child deserves a life of love and freedom--and so do you."

Frankie blinked back tears, then turned toward the narrow servant's door that Alice had left ajar. Silently, she slipped through the gardens scanning the edge of the woods for any shadows. She prayde that Quinn had received the message that Alice had sent him earlier that evening.

A figure emerged from the trees and she could've died from happiness. He moved forward, in disbelief that she was standing in front of him.

"Frankie," he whispered. "I didn't think... I thought..."

She silenced him with a kiss, her eyes filling with tears. "I couldn't stay, Quinn. I couldn't live that life, not when I knew what we could have together. I chose you. I chose us."

"We... We'll go far from here. Somewhere safe, somewhere we can be free."

"I don't care where we go, as long as we're together."

With one last look at the palace, the place she'd spent her entire life, Frankie turned her back on it, taking Quinn's hand as they disappeared into the forest, leaving behind the world of royalty and expectations. Together they were stepping into the unknown, choosing love and the promise of a new beginning.

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