#i love how it showed how frustrated she was

[rue-isabelle]

rueee, i have a funny idea about the aphrodite series(?) tho it'll be a little bit different from how it goes so far... so... maybe let it be an au of it? like they(drivers) be like all into her but she's actually w toto n susie if you're into that 😂 lovelovelove the series and been reading it on repeat aaaa

No Part 2! This is not the ending, just a side idea

Aphrodite of Formula 1 (side story)

Susie and Toto had been quietly enjoying the chaos Yn caused among the grid and their partners. Their shared secret—that Yn wasn’t just Toto’s assistant but the third, cherished member of their relationship—made every stolen glance, every awkward encounter, and every dramatic meltdown far more entertaining.

For months, the paddock had turned into a soap opera, and Susie and Toto had front-row seats.

---

The day Alexandra had her infamous meltdown, Susie and Toto couldn’t contain their amusement. Watching the footage on their phones, Susie laughed so hard she nearly spilled her coffee.

“She’s throwing a tantrum like a spoiled brat,” Susie chuckled, showing the clip to Yn, who smiled awkwardly, unsure how to respond.

Toto, always direct, smirked. “Ungrateful brat,” he corrected, his tone dripping with amusement. Later, when a journalist asked about the incident on live TV, Toto didn’t hold back.

“Well,” he said with a sly smile, “some people don’t know how to handle being second choice. Or third.”

The comment went viral within minutes.

---

Toto and Susie loved adding fuel to the fire.

One afternoon in the paddock, Kelly and Alexandra were lingering nearby, clearly irritated by the drivers’ infatuation with Yn. Susie nudged Toto and said loudly, “Isn’t it funny how Max and Charles always seem to be wherever Yn is? Almost like they forget they’re supposed to have girlfriends.”

Toto smirked. “You’d think they’d be more subtle.”

Both women bristled, glaring daggers at Yn, who was blissfully unaware of the jab.

---

It was Susie who came up with the idea to get Pierre and Kika to buy Yn something extravagant.

“Tell them you’re looking for new lingerie,” Susie whispered to Yn during a quiet moment in the motorhome.

“What? Why?” Yn asked, confused.

“Just trust me,” Susie said with a wink.

Later that day, Yn casually mentioned to Pierre and Kika that she was thinking about updating her wardrobe. The next morning, a luxurious box of designer lingerie appeared in Yn’s hotel room, along with a handwritten note: Only the best for you.

Susie burst out laughing when she saw the gift. “I can’t believe they actually did it,” she said, wiping tears from her eyes.

---

Whenever George and Carmen were nearby, Toto made a point of complimenting Yn loudly.

“You look stunning today,” he’d say, his eyes lingering on Yn in a way that made George’s jaw tighten.

Carmen would smile politely, oblivious, but George’s thinly veiled frustration was obvious to anyone paying attention.

---

It was during a quiet conversation between Susie and Rebecca that things got out of hand. They were discussing Yn’s flexibility, something Susie praised enthusiastically.

“She’s so graceful,” Susie said with a knowing smile. “Her yoga practice really shows.”

Rebecca agreed. “It’s impressive, really. She can bend like—”

Carlos, who had been within earshot, suddenly choked on his drink, his face turning beet red.

“Carlos, are you okay?” Susie asked innocently.

He muttered something incoherent, quickly crossing his legs. But when Susie and Rebecca started laughing, he stood up abruptly and left, muttering an excuse.

“Too easy,” Susie whispered to Rebecca, who was now in on the joke.

---

Eventually, though, Toto and Susie’s amusement began to wear thin. The drivers were monopolizing Yn’s time, and both felt the sting of jealousy creeping in. So, they decided to make a statement.

At the next Grand Prix, the three of them arrived together, and the paddock was stunned.

Susie held Yn’s hand tightly, her fingers laced with hers, while Toto’s large hand rested possessively on Yn’s lower back. The trio moved through the crowd like royalty, heads turning as whispers spread like wildfire.

When they reached the Mercedes garage, Susie turned to Yn with a mischievous smile and leaned in, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to her lips. The kiss left no room for misinterpretation—it was passionate, intimate, and utterly unapologetic.

By the time Susie pulled away, Yn’s cheeks were flushed, and Toto was smirking. “Don’t be late,” Susie teased, winking at Yn before walking away, her confidence leaving everyone else in awe.

Toto, ever the gentleman, placed a hand on Yn’s waist and gently steered her into the garage. “Shall we?” he asked softly, his voice full of warmth.

The paddock was left stunned, the realization hitting them all at once: Yn wasn’t just Toto’s assistant. She was part of something far deeper, something none of them could touch.

[superbreadsoul]

LEAVE ME BEHIND

Rafe Cameron x Reader

MDNI!!!

DISCLAIMER!: The following story is purely fictional and is made for entertainment purposes. I do not own any of the characters/show/movie mentioned in this story.

Warning: EXTREMELY TOXIC exes, heartbreak, open ended/bittersweet ending, Rafe is a bad boyfriend, Reader is DRUNK as fuck, Reader has a POTTY-MOUTH, Reader is a crybaby/ abusive (for that ONE time) , mentions alcohol abuse/murder, Reader might get on your nerves���i sincerely apologise for that–, cheating (i hate this, dont do this) , Porn with plot.

Read if you like to see Rafe beg. Read at your own risk. Seriously. This is real bad.

WORD COUNT: 22503 WORDS

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Y/N had always been aware that she wasn’t Rafe’s first love. That truth weighed heavily on her, a constant reminder that while he was her everything, she was merely a chapter in his story. It hurt like hell when the memories of their past would slip from his lips, eliciting laughter and a light in his blue eyes that hadn’t touched her in far too long. She cried herself to sleep in the quiet moments, yet she held strong, hiding her pain behind a brave façade. She didn’t want him to know how deeply the shadows of his past affected her.

One fateful evening at Rafe's party, her strength threatened to crumble completely. They had retreated to the terrace, surrounded by laughter and music, but that warmth was abruptly shattered. In the blink of an eye, Rafe stood up from the sofa, leaving her behind as he disappeared downstairs, swallowed by the chaotic crowd of people lost in drink and clouded senses. 

And then her heart froze. There he was, standing with her.

Sofia.

Rafe’s ex-girlfriend was an ethereal presence, her laughter dancing through the air, her smile radiant and infectious. Y/N stood there, feeling like a ghost in her own life, invisible and aching as she watched Rafe beam at Sofia like she was the only person in the world. The joy in his face was a knife twisting in Y/N’s already breakable heart, and in that moment, reality warped around her—she felt as though the world had collapsed, leaving nothing but a hollow pit where her heart had been.

Gripping her whiskey glass tightly, she downed the contents and inhaled sharply, shaking off the swirling fog of jealousy and sadness that threatened to overtake her. She pushed through the bodies, determination fueling her every step as she made her way toward them, each heartbeat echoing a painful reminder of her insecurity.

“Rafe!” she called out over the booming music, fighting against both the noise and the burgeoning panic within.

Rafe’s head turned, surprise flickering across his features as his eyes landed on her. They swept down to the glass in her hand, and for a moment, she saw something in his gaze—concern. But it was fleeting.

“Yeah? You alright?” he asked casually, his body still angled towards Sofia.

Y/N’s resolve quaked as she glanced at Sofia, the thin woman with an effortless grace. Feeling fat and out of place, Y/N swallowed hard. “I wanna go,” she said, her voice strained.

The moment the words left her lips, Rafe's demeanour shifted. He crossed his arms, annoyance blooming like a dark cloud. “What? You want to go home already?”

Sofia remained silent, her expression unreadable, as if this petty feud was merely an amusing spectacle to her. 

“Yes. I wanna go home. Let’s go,” Y/N insisted, desperation creeping into her tone.

Rafe studied her for a heartbeat, tension brewing in the air before he turned to Sofia with a tight smile. “I’ll text you later,” he said, the words bitter on Y/N's tongue. 

As Sofia departed, Rafe leaned in, placing a hand on her arm, a gesture meant to be comforting. “Let’s go home,” he murmured softly.

But all Y/N could think about were the words he had carelessly cast aside. “The fuck does that mean? You’ll text her later?” The frustration flowed out, raw and unfiltered.

Rafe flinched at her tone, brows knitting together in disbelief. “Goddamn… why can’t you just chill for once? There’s nothing going on between me and her.”

“Okay? Then why do you need to text her back?” The whiskey emboldened her, turning frustration into sharp urgency.

“Why do I need to text her back…” he echoed, annoyance edging his voice. He twisted the keys into the engine with a loud huff. “It’s none of your business. We’re friends. I should be able to have a normal conversation with her without being questioned!”

“What the fuck? How is that none of my business? You’re my fucking boyfriend, Rafe!” She pressed, incredulity mingling with her alcohol courage; she jabbed a finger into her chest, needing to reinforce her claim.

He took a deep breath, shaking his head as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Goddammit, how drunk are you?”

Her voice turned fervent—slurred—, as she clung to her thoughts. “This is about you and who—what even is she? Sofia? Whatever—You can’t keep leaving me to talk with your ex. You can’t!”

Rafe looked like he might erupt from frustration as her words tumbled out, jumbled and frantic. “First of all, you’re being paranoid. I didn’t leave you to talk with her; you didn’t even let me explain. She is my friend. Just a friend.”

“Don’t you dare tell me she’s just a friend!” Y/N shot back, her hands tangling in her hair. “She’s your ex-girlfriend!”

“EX-girlfriend, Y/N. EX!” he repeated, exasperated. “Why can’t you understand this doesn’t matter anymore?”

He slowed the car slightly, the distance between them growing palpable. “I’m with you... not with her,” he said, frustration dripping from every word. “Why are you even concerned about this?”

Tears pooled in Y/N’s eyes, and the air shifted into something brittle and raw. “Because I—” She let go of her hair, mascara imbuing her cheeks with dark streaks. “I love you. And sometimes—sometimes I feel like you don’t love me anymore.”

Rafe's heart stumbled in his chest as he absorbed Y/N's words, a stark revelation crackling in the air between them like a lightning bolt. The weight of her pain crashed over him, suffocating and starkly real. He despised the sight of her like this, broken and vulnerable, the glistening tears brimming in her eyes a torture he had never wished to witness. 

Desperate to escape the rising tension, Rafe swallowed hard and pulled the car to a stop on the side of the dimly lit road. The engine ticked softly in the heavy silence, each second stretching unbearably as the truth hung unspoken. Finally, he turned to her, his voice barely rising above a whisper. “Why would you think that…?”

Y/N let out a quiet sniffle, her head leaning back against the seat, the gentle thud a counterpoint to the turmoil swirling within her. “You don’t bring me flowers anymore,” she said, each word a painful reminder. “You used to do it every morning at the beginning, just to see me smile. You never used to touch your phone when we were together. You always told me I had your ‘undivided attention.’ And now, when I call you, you don’t even look up. You’re always texting and calling—but it’s not me.” Her voice broke, the final words slipping out with a vulnerability that tore at Rafe's heart.

Each of her statements pierced through him like shards of glass, a painful truth echoing in the silence. Guilt washed over him, seeping into every crevice of his being. She was right. Everything had shifted after a few months together. He had taken her presence for granted, convinced she would always be there. In his mind, their love didn't need nurturing; it was solid, a constant. 

He shook his head slowly, searching for something—anything—worthy to say, but the words eluded him. “I’m—I’m so…” The admission caught in his throat, his chest tightening around the confession. “I’m so sorry, N/N…” he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Are you?” she replied, her voice fragile, almost breaking. In that moment, she began to peel at the skin around her nails, a habit borne of anxiety, fresh red lines marking her fingers as blood seeped through the fissures. 

“Of course I am…” Rafe responded quietly, instinctively reaching for her hand to stop her frantic movements. With tenderness, he brushed his thumb across the inflamed skin, feeling the warmth and pain radiating from her. “You’re right. I was an idiot. I got used to you just being there, and I thought that was enough. I stopped trying to show you how important you are to me, and that was a horrible thing to do.” 

His heart thundered in his chest as he pressed on, “But believe me, I still love you—just like I used to, if not more.” 

Her gaze held his, but pain still clouded her verdant eyes. “Yeah, but it doesn’t feel that way, Rafe…” she whispered, tears shimmering on her lashes like tiny crystals.

The sight of her despair knotted in his gut. He hated that she was hurting—hated that it was because of him. His heart ached, every beat a reminder of his shortcomings. 

With a deep, shaky breath, Rafe leaned closer, his fingers tenderly grasping her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. The depth of guilt reflected in his gaze was palpable, a shared sorrow bleeding into the space between them. “What can I do to make you believe me?” he murmured, vulnerability seeping into his tone.

After a long, drawn-out silence, Y/N nuzzled into his palm, her voice hoarse but unwavering. “Block her.” 

The words landed heavily, a command disguised as a plea, echoing in the stillness of the car. Rafe felt an internal battle surge within him. Blocking Sofia felt like a severing of old ties, a rejection of a past that still clung to him like a shadow. But then he looked at Y/N, saw the raw hope flickering behind her pain-stricken eyes, and the decision crystallised. 

Y/N’s expression softened, a glimmer of light breaking through the storm clouds of their turmoil. “I just need to know you’re choosing me,” she whispered, her hand resting against his, the warmth bridging the distance their struggles had created.

Rafe paused, the weight of Y/N’s words settling heavily in the car’s confined space. He hadn’t expected this at all. The idea of blocking Sofia taunted him, a spectre of his past that seemed impossible to banish, yet he knew deep down that he had to try. He had to understand Y/N's pain, to grasp the depth of her desire. With a slow, hesitant breath, he rubbed his thumb over her cheek, searching for a glimmer of hope in her pleading eyes. “Would this make you happy?” he murmured.

“No,” she whispered, her voice a sweet melody concealing the storm beneath, as she pressed a gentle kiss to his palm. Her eyes locked onto his, holding him captive.

Rafe swallowed hard, a mix of frustration and longing swirling in his chest. Stubbornness tugged at him, tempting him to argue, to dismiss her request as overreacting, yet the power of her gaze stilled him. Those big, expressive eyes had an unusual strength, compelling him to give in time and time again. 

He remained silent for a few moments, thoughts racing through his mind until he finally mustered the courage to ask, “And what would make you happy?”

“I want you—to never see her again.” The urgency in her words wrapped around him, her kiss stealing his breath and igniting a flicker of conflict within him.

Rafe's brow furrowed. Why did letting go of his ex-girlfriend gnaw at him so painfully? He was certain he loved Y/N more with every corner of his being, yet the shadows of his past loomed large, whispering doubts that he couldn’t fully shake.

He leaned closer, cupping her delicate face in his hands, their foreheads nearly touching. The warmth radiating from her skin enveloped him, and for a fleeting moment, he imagined a future free from his past. “I’ll block her…” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

But Y/N's reaction was immediate and unsettling. Her eyes darkened, locking onto his with an intensity that chilled him to the core. “That’s not what I asked.”

Rafe’s heart raced in his chest. The sharpness of her tone sent a shiver down his spine, igniting an unfamiliar heat within him. He found himself caught between fear and admiration for this fierce side of her. “What you’re asking me to do is… a lot…” he murmured, fighting against the rasp in his voice.

In an instant, Y/N grasped his jaw, her fingers digging in painfully as she scrutinised his face with a fierce glare. “I fucking gave you everything! You think Sofia can give you what I can? Huh? You think she can handle the truth about you? About the shit you pulled? All that blood on your hands that only I know about?” Her voice was a low, intense growl, each word a knife plunging deeper into the wounds they both carried.

“Dammit, N/N…” Rafe muttered, closing his eyes tightly, feeling the conflicting sensations of pain and thrill wash over him. The grip on his jaw hurt, but it stirred something primal in him, a strange exhilaration that had been absent for so long. 

Initially taken aback by her ferocity, he felt anger swell inside him, a potent mix of indignation and adrenaline. He seized her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face with a force that surprised them both. In that moment, the familiar Rafe faded, revealing someone darker, someone more raw and unrefined—a reflection of the storm raging inside him.

“There he is,” Y/N whispered, a sick grin curving her lips, her gaze darting between his eyes. “There’s Rafe Cameron.” 

Her words hung in the air, threading through the chaos of their emotions. The familiar comfort of their love was nothing but a fragile illusion; the confrontation had peeled away the layers, exposing the raw edges of their hearts. In this unexpected standoff, he realised they were standing at a crossroads, the familiar path fading behind them while an unknown future beckoned, uncertain and fraught with danger.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Rafe growled, his voice a reverberating thunder in the dimly lit room. He tightened his grip around her wrist, pulling her closer to him to prevent any more intimate gestures, a mix of confusion and fury swirling in his chest. He leaned in, eyes sharp and piercing, locking onto hers as if trying to strip away her bravado. “You can’t be making demands from me, baby,” he muttered lowly, his tone dripping with disdain. His hand slid from her wrist, fingers curling around her chin with a possessive strength that left no doubt about his intentions.

She smirked, unfazed by his aggression, her eyes glinting with a challenge as she replied, “She’s never seen this side of you. And she won’t be able to handle it.” 

Rafe narrowed his eyes, feeling the anger simmer just beneath the surface. He tightened his grip, his fingers pressing into her skin with a force that bordered on pain. “And you can?” He shot back, each word steeped in venom. 

Silence hung thickly between them, the air charged with tension as he bore down on her, his emotions a chaotic storm. She didn’t flinch; instead, she leaned in, a reckless smile playing on her lips, a wicked glimmer in her gaze. 

“Oh baby,” she purred, leaning toward him to trail her tongue across his cheek. The touch sent shockwaves through him, igniting a reckless energy he couldn’t fully suppress. “I’m the one who washed Peterkin’s blood off your hands. Remember?” The words were slurred but heavy, dripping with undeniable intimacy as she nipped at his skin, her breath hot against him.

At the mention of Peterkin, Rafe froze. A scowl twisted his face, the memory crashing over him like a wave; she had stayed by his side that night, battling against the bitter reality of the choices he made. She had been there, without questions, helping him scrub away the remnants of a life steeped in darkness. The fact that she wielded it like a weapon made his blood run cold.

With a sharp tug, he pulled her back, their faces inches apart, the tension crackling with unspoken words. “Don’t bring that up...” The warning came out in a whisper, as his breath ghosted against her lips.

“Or what, baby? You gonna hit me?” Her demeanour shifted, shifting from defiance to mockery, her droopy eyes sparkling with mischief. “Or you gonna fuck me?” The laughter that escaped her lips was both intoxicating and infuriating, a reckless bravado that made his heart race in frustration.

Rafe felt a torrent of emotions boil within him. Sure, she was drunk, her inhibitions lowered, but no one ever dared to speak to him like this. “Or I’m gonna leave,” he growled, forcing his voice to remain steady, even though he felt a tempest brewing inside.

Her smile faltered, eyes narrowing like daggers. “Oh yeah?” she asked, bitterness dripping from each word.

“Yeah...” he replied, refusing to yield, his grip unyielding on her chin as he continued, “I could just leave you here and go back to that fancy party. Have a great time. I could find me some chick to flirt with…” Each word was a calculated blow, designed to pierce through any facade of confidence she wore.

He watched her reaction closely, a mixture of satisfaction and guilt welling up inside him. He knew he was being cruel, pushing her buttons with the precision of a surgeon, but in her inebriated state, it was too easy to pull the strings and watch her unravel.

As anticipated, her expression soured, the alcohol stripping away the bravado as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You fucking asshole,” she hissed, her voice trembling with a cocktail of anger and hurt.

The words struck him hard, reverberating in the charged silence, and for a fleeting moment, he saw through the haze of his emotions. He was treading on dangerous ground, dancing around a precipice that threatened to swallow them both whole. But in that moment, anger drowned out everything else, and the walls they had built around their complicated relationship began to crumble under the weight of their truth.

Rafe held her gaze, unblinking, feeling the burning intensity of the moment wrap around them like a shroud. It felt like a fight worth having, a dangerous game of chess played with hearts instead of pawns. They were both wounded, entangled in a dance of blood and desire, standing at the edge of something raw and bleak, yet electric with possibility.

Rafe’s heart hardened into a stone as he fixed his gaze on her. She was a storm of tears and rage, and yet all he felt was the cold weight of justification. “You brought Peterkin into this,” he thought bitterly, punishing her with his silence. If she was going to cry, he didn’t care. It was what she deserved for making him listen to her ludicrous demands. For pushing him into a corner where he had to choose sides.

“Are you happy now?” He hoped she was drowning in her anguish. He wanted her to feel as defeated and frustrated as he did, to grasp the gravity of her impact on his life.

But the moment the tears began to slip down her cheeks, all resolve crumbled, replaced by raw fury. She shoved him, the force of her frustration breaking through her disorientation. She slapped him, the sound echoing in the confined space of the car like a gunshot. “Fucking—asshole—you fucking asshole—fucking—prick!” she screamed, each word a jagged knife cutting deeper.

Rafe didn’t flinch as she struck him again and again, each slap marked by her frustration and heartache. Instead, he absorbed the blows, the sharp pain a bittersweet reminder of the emotional turmoil they shared. As he sat there, he could see the tears pooling in her eyes, reflecting the fury within her. Hatred swirled within him, yet it mingled with something far more powerful—love. 

“Are you done yet?” he gritted out through clenched teeth, his voice slicing through her sobs.

She responded with a loud sob, pushing him back in his seat one last time, the anger finally bubbling to a climax. “—Fuck you!” Without a second thought, she undid her seatbelt and stumbled out of the car, her heart breaking into jagged pieces as she fell to her knees. Wobbly-legged, she stood up and started walking away, her heels clicking erratically on the pavement.

“Whoa, hold on!” Panic clawed at Rafe's insides as he jumped out of the car, chasing after her. No way was he letting her walk the streets alone like this, not in this state. He caught up to her swiftly, grabbing her hand and wrenching her around to face him. “Where the hell are you going?!” he roared, anger still bubbling under the surface.

“Get away from me!” she shouted back, shoving him weakly as her heel wobbled beneath her. “—you—you go ahead and go fuck someone else, Rafe!” The words cut deep, each one saturated with betrayal as tears streamed irrepressibly down her cheeks.

Stunned, Rafe staggered back, his hand falling away as she continued to express her pain. The darkness in his gaze turned more profound, the finality of her words settling like a dense fog around them. 

“Fine,” he retorted sharply, crossing his arms defensively. “Maybe I will.” 

Her expression morphed from anger to disbelief, her breath heavy, as if the weight of his words had knocked the wind out of her. She stumbled slightly but regained her balance, and Rafe felt his heart racing, torn between anger and an aching desire to pull her into his arms.

“You don’t mean that,” she said softly, vulnerability creeping into her voice, but Rafe could only watch, hardened by the atmosphere they had created. He could feel everything inside him at war as he wrestled with his desire to comfort her and his instinct to protect himself from further pain.

In his mind, scenarios played out at a thousand miles per hour. He imagined pulling her close, cradling her waist as he helped her step back into the car. He imagined undressing her slowly, taking off her heels so she could feel grounded again. But amidst fantasy thoughts, he held her gaze steady, fierce and unyielding.

Then she rushed forward, fueled by anger and hurt, and shoved him squarely in the chest. “Fuck you!” she sobbed, the sound reverberating through him.

The emotional distance felt insurmountable, yet the impulse to reach for her was almost irresistible. In the space between them, love and hurt collided, creating a crackling tension that threatened to ignite. Rafe felt himself tilting closer to the edge of surrender, where pride met vulnerability, waiting for the moment when the dam would break and everything would spill over. 

But for now, they stood locked in place, a standoff between emotions they couldn’t articulate, both unwilling to yield yet desperate for something they didn’t know how to name. The night stretched around them, a tapestry woven from pain, love, and fractured trust, waiting for one brave soul to take the first step toward healing or destruction.

Rafe stood in the fading light of the evening, a silent sentinel caught in the crossfire of their shattered relationship. The air around them was thick with tension as he watched her shove him, each push a desperate, futile attempt to rid herself of the pain that had wedged itself between them. Instinctively, he took a step back, allowing her to vent her frustration, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, a mask of stoicism over his anguished heart.

Each sob that escaped her felt like a dagger to his chest, each word that tore from her lips a reminder of their crumbling world. He kept his expression blank, a practised indifference, while inside, his heart shattered a little more with every shaky breath she took. 

“Fuck—you—” she spat, her weak slaps against his chest more a reflection of her helplessness than any real aggression, until at last she surrendered. She leaned against him, forehead pressed to the softness of his shirt, her breath hitching as she battled the storm within.

For a moment, Rafe was taken aback. She had broken, and now, in the quiet of their chaos, he felt the weight of her despair. As her body grew heavy against him, he exhaled deeply, the tension coiling in his muscles loosening just enough for him to allow a gentle touch. He placed one hand atop her head, not as a conqueror but as a confidant, trying to ease the disappointment that clung to them like a shroud.

“Please don’t leave me.” Her voice was barely a whisper, lodged in the crook of his neck. The sincerity struck him like a bolt of lightning, igniting something deep within him.

Rafe swallowed hard, the weight of her pleading words pulling him under. He fought against the urge to shatter in response. He desperately wanted to be strong, to stand firm against the tempest that threatened to pull them apart, yet it was nearly impossible to withstand the raw pain emanating from her.

His hand moved instinctively to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he lowered his face toward her neck. Lips brushed softly against her skin, the kisses light and featherlike, rich with unspoken assurances and regrets. Each delicate touch was a promise, an apology for the battle raging around and within them.

Her soft cry of relief sent tremors through him. She gasped, fingers entwining in the hair at his nape, pulling him ever closer. “Please, baby,” she murmured, a plea wrapped in vulnerability.

Time seemed suspended as Rafe enveloped her in his arms, holding her close while she wept, his lips tracing the line of her neck until he pulled back. He sought her eyes with his dark pools of frustration and residual love. Here they were, two souls fighting to stay connected in a world that felt determined to tear them apart.

“Let’s get you back to the car, baby.” His voice was quiet, almost regretful, the weight of his words settling heavily between them.

With those words, her expression shifted, and an invisible barrier seemed to form. The spark dimmed in her eyes, swallowed by the shadow of defeat. Rafe felt the weight of guilt choking him as he helped her slide into the truck, watching as she numbly fastened her seatbelt. He turned the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life, but silence hung in the air, a thick, insurmountable void that neither dared to breach.

As they drove, Rafe’s mind churned with unresolved frustration. He could see how her spirit dimmed, the toll of their fight etching itself deeper into her features. And yet, anger coiled tightly in his chest like a spring, refusing to uncoil. He felt that he had wrecked it all, that she was slipping further away with every mile they travelled.

When the car finally came to a halt outside their shared house, Rafe got out and rounded the vehicle. He opened the passenger door, extending a hand in silence, inviting her to lean on him one last time. Her reluctance sent another stab of worry through him, but she took his hand, a fragile thread connecting them as he helped her out of the truck.

“Come on,” he said softly, but his tone lacked warmth, the chill of his emotions seeping through the cracks of his facade. As she stumbled in her heels, fumbling with the keys, Rafe felt the darkness creeping back into his heart. Each fumble was evidence of her distress, a reminder that they were both drowning beneath their anguish.

Without thinking, he stepped behind her, hands resting on her hips to steady her. A moment stretched into eternity before he quietly took the keys, unlocking the door with the ease of someone who had done it too many times before. He pushed it open and let her pass, watching her retreat into the hallway, her head hung low.

With her back turned, she stumbled into their bedroom, a retreat into a space once filled with love but now haunted by sorrow. Rafe's urge to follow her, to reclaim the passion they had shared, clawed at him. He wanted to pull her back, to envelop her in a wave of unrestrained intimacy to drown out the pain—but he remained rooted to the spot.

He swallowed his emotions and retreated to the living room. There, he sank onto the couch, his face pressing into his palms as if the very act could erase the turmoil in his heart. The silence of the apartment was deafening, a mirror to the chaos within him.

In that moment of solitude surrounded by echoes of their fractured relationship, Rafe was left grappling with the choices they had made and the love that remained tangled in the shadows. And as he sat there, the weight of uncertainty pressing down on him, he knew this was only the beginning of the battle they both faced—the battle to reclaim what had once been whole.

The dim light of the room flickered softly, capturing the tension suspended in the air like a taut string ready to snap. She had shed her dress, her silhouette partially obscured by an open robe that cascaded around her figure like a gentle waterfall. The vulnerability of her state struck Rafe hard as he stood there, an unwilling spectator wrestling with his unruly emotions.

When the soft padding of her bare feet reached him, his heart thrummed an erratic beat. He looked up, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the sight of her—every curve, every lingering shadow framed by the gentle glow of the room. His gaze lingered, heavy and carnal, awakening something deep within him that had lain dormant, buried beneath layers of anger and hurt.

She moved closer, her fingertips brushing through his buzzed hair, sending jolts through his body with each tentative scratch against his scalp. “Are you still mad at me?” she asked, her voice a whisper, soft and inviting, laced with an undercurrent of anxiety.

Jesus Christ, he thought, exhaustion and desire battling within him. He swallowed hard, struggling to filter out his lust from the simmering annoyance that had threatened to consume him moments ago. She knew exactly how to distract him, how to drive him wild, even in the face of their heated words. 

He opened his eyes and allowed his gaze to travel up her body, finally locking onto hers. “What do you think?” he murmured, his voice low and laced with unintentional desire.

Her lips twisted into a soft smile, almost playful. “You know I’m pretty mad at you too, ya know?” She scratched at his head again, her touch a familiar blend of warmth and teasing, making his resolve falter.

“Yeah?” he muttered, giving in to her gentle caress as he leaned into it, his eyes fluttering shut once more. His fingers sought her hip, fingertips curling around the edge of her robe, a silent plea to pull her closer. “Why’s that, sweetheart?”

As if taking charge of the moment, she leaned forward, her stomach pressing against his face. “You really hurt me when you said those things, baby,” she admitted, her eyes shimmering with vulnerability as she watched him, parting her lips slightly, inviting.

Rafe could barely contain the groan that escaped him as her warmth enveloped him. The ache in his chest softened for a moment, and he surrendered to her, letting himself be consumed by her presence. “You hurt me too, sweetheart.” The words came out against the softness of her skin, a whispered confession that laid bare their raw connection.

“Yeah? I hurt you?” she coaxed, her voice gentle, teasing. The heat rising between them was electric.

Instead of answering, he bent to kiss her stomach—a slow, deliberate exploration of the warmth that radiated from her skin. His lips travelled from her belly button down to the edge of her panties, tasting her desire as humiliation and longing swirled together in the air between them.

“You have no idea how bad it hurt, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice thick with longing, dragging his lips against the delicate fabric that separated them.

“I’m sorry, baby. You know I’m sorry. Don’t you?” Her voice was soothing, yet charged with an underlying tension that made his heart race. The pleasure of her whispers urged him on, fueled his insatiable hunger.

Rafe’s resolve wavered as he mumbled, “I don’t know if I do, sweetheart. You never said it.” His lips danced along her waistband, hovering at the precipice of temptation.

Her whimper was like a siren's call. “Fuck—Rafe…” she breathed, fingers curling into his shoulders, desperate for his touch. It was a sound that ignited the fire within him, driving him to the edge of control.

He couldn’t resist her any longer. His kisses transformed from gentle brushes to hungry demands, his tongue savouring the taste of her through the fabric of her panties. He gripped her hips, pulling her closer, drowning in the intoxicating rhythm of her pleasure.

As she threw her head back with a moan that rocked him to his core, Rafe felt her desperation seep into him, fueling his own need. “Rafe!” she cried, urging him onward as she rolled her hips against him.

Her moans echoed like music, songs of desire woven into the very fabric of the moment. Each sound twisted in his chest, fueling his own hunger as he lost himself in her rhythm. 

“Fuck!” she moaned, her body arching further into him as she lifted a leg onto the couch, granting him deeper access to her heat. 

“Stop moving, sweetheart…” he murmured, his voice strained, a raw edge betraying his attempts at restraint. But it was a losing battle.

“Please, baby…” The desperation in her whisper sent shockwaves through him, each plea unravelling his resolve thread by thread.

And then all at once, he surrendered. Frayed edges of anger burned away, replaced by a sheer lust that consumed him whole. He tugged her panties down with a swift, possessive motion, his mouth crashing against her skin, tasting her essence and relishing the soft shudder she gave in return.

But then suddenly, she pulled back, abandoning him, and Rafe's heart raced in confusion as he searched her eyes for an explanation. “Why’d you pull away?” he murmured, the huskiness of his voice reflecting his bewilderment, dark eyes wild with desire.

With a sultry grin, she sank to her knees, her hands scooting up the length of his thighs, sending an electrifying jolt through him. “Just trying to show you how sorry I am,” she purred, a playful glimmer in her gaze.

“Ah, Jesus Christ…” The words escaped Rafe in a low, ragged breath, a mix of anticipation and disbelief hanging in the air as he watched her—a vision of temptation—sink slowly to her knees. Time seemed to stretch as his eyes traced the curve of her body, lingering on the soft silhouette of her breasts spilling seductively from the open night robe. She was an intoxicating sight, her intent clear in the way she fixed her gaze upon him.

A deep, primal groan rumbled within him as her hands crept up his thighs, delicate yet possessive, each touch sending electric jolts through his body. Rafe’s muscles tensed beneath her fingertips, a cocktail of desire and restraint coursing through his veins, urging him to surrender to the mounting heat between them.

She kissed a path up his thighs, a teasing warmth that turned his breath into shallow gasps. The world outside faded into a distant memory; all that mattered was the two of them caught in this moment of unspoken need.

His belt felt like a weighty barrier to what they both craved—the need to close the distance that separated them. Rafe swallowed hard, his determination faltering as he felt her fingers deftly working the leather free. He lifted his hips instinctively, granting her permission, a silent plea for more. Each moment stretched out, a tantalising promise of what was to come, yet he fought to maintain control, feeling it slip away from him as he watched her.

Then, in a daring move that ignited the wildest part of him, she mouthed at the outline of him, tracing his arousal with the promise of pleasure, before finally releasing him from the confines of his pants. The sensation of her warm mouth enveloping him sent shockwaves through his body, each pulse of ecstasy igniting a raw hunger deep within.

His grip tightened in her hair, fingers curling into strands as he fought the urge to lose himself completely. The primal feeling of ownership surged through him, overwhelming and intoxicating. “Fuck, you’re so good,” he murmured, the admission torn from his lips as if it were a primal chant. 

With a surge of lustful dominance, he found his other hand threading back into her hair, guiding her movements, forcing her to take him deeper. The sensation sent his senses reeling, his hips instinctively jerking forward as he pushed himself further into her warmth, wanting to claim every inch of her. The muffled sounds of her moans reverberated against his skin, a siren call that stoked the flames of his desire.

Rafe lost himself in the rhythm, each thrust a testament to his frustration and lust—a fervent need to conquer her stubbornness, to turn their simmering tensions into this burning connection. “Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” he growled, locking his eyes onto the tear-streaked canvas of her face.

The sight only fueled his desire further, each drop of vulnerability and submission reflected back at him a thrilling confirmation of their raw connection. It was a potent mixture of power and tenderness, and he craved it with every fibre of his being.

But just as the crescendo of pleasure threatened to burst from him, he couldn’t stop the urge to pull her away, needing to see her fully—a wild and untamed beauty caught in the storm of their desires. He kissed her roughly, tasting both her essence and the remnants of her submission, savouring the sweet agony that hung between them. 

In that moment, boundaries dissolved, and all that remained was the intoxicating connection they shared—the thrilling dance on the precipice of overwhelming desire. Together, they were everything and nothing, lost in a world where only they existed, where the lines between pleasure and pain blurred, leading them to the brink of ecstasy.

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Rafe had no idea how they had wound up in this entangled embrace, lost in the shadows of the late evening. It felt surreal, almost as if he had stepped into a fantasy woven from the fabric of his deepest desires. Yet in this electrifying moment, he couldn’t afford to drift away into that dreamlike state; his attention was locked entirely on her.

He was on top of her, their bodies fitting together like puzzle pieces, one of his legs nestled between her thighs while the other dangled precariously over the edge of the couch. The very air around them buzzed with an intensity that made the room seem smaller, the world outside a distant memory. His fingers dug into her hip as he held her right leg over his shoulder, grounding them both in their shared pleasure.

A soft, breathy moan escaped her lips, reverberating through him like a siren’s call. As he thrust into her roughly, her nails raked down his back, leaving fiery trails of sensation that sent a jolt of desire coursing through his veins. Rafe was becoming increasingly lost in the pleasure building within him, a potent force that threatened to consume him, making coherent thought nearly impossible. 

Her nails dug deeper into his skin, coaxing out a low, primal growl against the curve of her neck, the sound resonating like a raw confession. “Keep doing that, sweetheart…” he murmured, his voice thick with need, the air around them charged and electric.

“Fuck—don’t stop—” she whimpered, her plea spilling into his ear, her eyes gleaming with a mix of desperation and longing that sent shivers down his spine.

“Don’t stop, what?” Rafe whispered in return, a teasing edge to his tone as his hips slowed, savouring the moment, every heartbeat stretching the intensity. It was a familiar game for them—one he relished, one that drove him wild with both power and attraction. 

He knew he was being mean, pushing her just enough to make the tension thrum in the air between them. Each moment spent watching her struggle with the overwhelming desire to have him fully, to feel complete release—it drove him to the brink of madness. He wanted to see her at her most vulnerable, to hear her voice crack as she surrendered completely.

“Please! Please don’t stop!” she cried out, her wide eyes locked onto his, a shimmering mixture of desperation and dauntlessness as the band of tension within her continued to stretch taut, ready to snap. 

That earnest plea ignited something deep within him—it was both a challenge and an invitation. Her vulnerability was a tapestry woven with threads of longing that pulled at every longing instinct in him. He could feel the urgency in the way her body twitched beneath him, her need palpable and irresistible. 

Rafe’s breath quickened as he paused for just an instant, relishing her desperation, before diving back into the depths of their connection. There was no holding back now; the tension that had been building couldn’t be contained any longer. He thrust into her with renewed vigour, each movement a primal dance of shared need, a rhythm that echoed with the promise of release. 

Their world shrank to just the two of them, an intoxicating moment where nothing else mattered—no pasts intertwined or futures were uncertain, just the fierce heat they created together. The boundaries of their beings melded into each other, collapsing under the force of their passion.

In that engulfing haze, as she gasped and moaned beneath him, he pushed them both closer to the edge, where pleasure and surrender waited. He could feel her nearing her peak, the once-stretched band about to snap—a glorious release that promised to shatter them both and send them soaring into oblivion. Rafe wasn’t sure what would come next, but the journey to that ultimate climax was a ride he never wanted to end.

In that moment, Rafe felt the last threads of restraint snap. He was too far gone to care about the world outside, too consumed by her need and the intoxicating energy that enveloped them. His muscles tensed like a bowstring, taut and ready to release. Without breaking his rhythm, he lifted her leg from his shoulder, and with a firm grip, he repositioned it around his waist, feeling her skin beneath his fingers—a reminder of the closeness they shared.

As her legs tightened around him, she began to rock back and forth, surrendering completely to the rhythm between them. Each movement sent shockwaves through her body, and she cried out breathlessly, “Oh—oh! Shit! RAFE!” The sound of her voice, filled with unbridled lust, spiralled into the air, uncaring of neighbours or the world outside.

Rafe gritted his teeth, a growl rumbling deep within his chest as he pressed his face against her neck. The way she called his name—a raw, unfiltered plea—sent his self-control spiralling into oblivion. The weight of passion bore down on him until he could barely breathe. He pulled away slightly, locking his gaze onto hers, the intensity palpable between them. “Do that again, I’m so close.” he murmured, watching the way her pupils danced, dilated with want.

“Rafe!” She whispered hoarsely, her breath fanning across his face, a potent mix of desperation and affection evident in every quaver of her voice. 

At that moment, something primal snapped inside him. It was as if the world beyond their cocoon faded entirely, leaving only his aching desire for her. All of his frustrations, his hurt, evaporated as he focused solely on the beautiful woman in his arms. Igniting with a fierce need, he leaned down, capturing her lips with a rough, deep kiss that robbed them both of air. He poured everything into that moment, a wildness he could no longer contain, driving his hips into her with a relentless tempo.

Her cry against his lips was music to his ears, the brutal force of his desire pulling her deeper into the swell of pleasure. “Fuuuuuuuuuuuck!” she gasped, a symphony of ecstasy that swallowed them both in its intensity.

He lost himself in her response, swallowing her cry with a deep, hungry moan as their mouths moved against one another, urgent and needy. His hands cradled her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he kissed her with fervour, desperately trying to gather all the pieces of her within him. 

But in that moment, still hunger gnawed at him, an insatiable craving that urged him to go deeper, to explore further. He pulled back slightly, depriving them both of just a breath, before capturing her lower lip between his teeth and biting it gently, a possessive yet tender gesture filled with the promise of more.

Every ounce of his being was consumed by her, the air thick with desire and longing. This wasn’t just a union of bodies; it was a raw exchange of souls, a moment that would bind them forever in the relentless tide of passion that swept through them. As he surrendered to that need, Rafe knew there was no going back, no restraint left between them—only the exhilarating plunge into a world that belonged to them alone.

“Rafe—I can’t—I can’t take it—” Her voice trembled, nuanced with both pleasure and desperation, as tears welled in her eyes. She shook her head and sobbed softly, her nails digging into his shoulders, anchoring herself as if that small contact could ground her.

“You can,” Rafe murmured against her lips, his breath hot with unyielding conviction. His arms wrapped around her body, holding her in place, his strength a stark contrast to the storm of emotions swirling within her. He knew better than anyone: she could handle more than she thought possible. Even if every nerve in her body screamed to stop, he would be there to push her further.

“Fuck—Rafe—I—I can’t—” she cried out again, words barely escaping her lips as her eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by the sensations threatening to consume her. The muscles in her thighs shook around his hips, a frantic testament to the struggle within.

“Sweetheart…” His voice was a whisper against her neck as he leaned in closer. “You can. Remember that time you took me all night when you were high? You can’t tell me you can’t take me like this when you’re sober.” 

A teasing edge coloured his words, a playful challenge that shattered the last remnants of her resistance. 

She sobbed at his insistence, each word reverberating through her, amplifying the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her body. Even in her nearly paralyzed state of ecstasy, her hips bucked instinctively, fueled by the memory of their past.

“Rafe…” Her voice was a breathy whisper, caught between surrender and confusion.

“There we go…” he murmured, a sly grin creeping onto his lips, sensing that she was teetering on a precipice of both despair and desire. 

With a deliberate control that both excited and scared her, Rafe began to pick up his pace again. He knew she was reaching her limits, but it was a limit he was determined to push further. His fingers dug deeper into her skin, holding her in place, a steady presence grounding her amidst the tempest of sensations. 

“Don’t tell me you can’t take it now,” he whispered against her ear, his breath warm and inviting. “Don't you want to be a good girl for me, baby?”

In a haze of longing and exhaustion, she nodded desperately, her legs dangling in the air as she gazed up at him with eyes clouded by lust.

“Good girl.” His voice was laced with approval, a honeyed edge enveloping each word. He captured her lips once more, kissing her roughly and hungrily as his pace quickened, igniting a deeper passion that coursed through them both. Rafe’s body felt molten, every muscle straining at the edges of his control, a taut wire ready to snap.

As the heat of their shared intimacy enveloped them, she reached down, fingers grasping his ass, coaxing a shudder from him that sent ripples of pleasure up her spine. Rafe stilled for a moment, groaning loudly into her ear, surrendering to the high of their connection, his body shaking with intensity. 

“Tell me you won’t leave me,” she whispered against his lips as he felt himself teetering on the edge of his own release, the world narrowing to just the two of them.

Shit… He hadn’t expected the vulnerability behind her words. Especially not now. Not while he was still coming down from that intoxicating high, his entire body sensitive and alive. 

Rafe buried his face in the crook of her neck, each deep breath filled with warmth as he groaned, “...never leaving you…” His voice was strained, almost hoarse, the promise lingering heavily in the air, pumping into her to the brim.

“What was that?” Her grip tightened around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, insistent.

Damnit… The way she tightened her hold reminded him of the depth of their bond, making him tremble with an intensity that had nothing to do with their physical connection. He pulled his head away, lifting it to meet her gaze, his heavy-lidded eyes searching her face, mere inches apart now.

“I’m not leaving you. Ever,” he breathed, the words spoken softly yet firmly against her lips, a vow built on the foundations of intimacy they had forged together.

She smiled, a grin bursting forth with satisfaction. “Good. 'Cause you’re mine.” 

The room was thick with the heavy silence of lingering tension. Rafe lay sprawled on her breasts, his body utterly spent from their recent exertions. He glanced at her, frustration flaring in his chest, but all he could muster was a weary sigh that echoed like a sigh of defeat. God, you insufferable woman…, he thought, staring down at her, feeling the weight of his exhaustion pressing down on him like a solid wall. 

He could feel her gaze piercing through the dim light, unrelenting, demanding a response that he simply didn’t have the energy to give. The corners of his lips twitched into a faint, disbelieving grimace. 

“What?” She asked in confusion, wondering how she managed to ruin his mood this time.

His deadpan expression seemed to suck the life out of her playful banter. Her smile, once bright and teasing, faltered under the weight of his indifference.

 “You’re still talking,” he mumbled with a fatigue-laden tone, rolling away from her—finally breaking free from the intimate confines of their close quarters. 

His body protested at the slightest movement, each joint aching as he shifted, a reminder of how tightly he had held himself through it all. Sweat clung to him like a second skin, and his breath was still ragged in his chest, refusing to be tamed. Was it the heat of the moment or just sheer tension? Either way, it rent his thoughts asunder like a fraying rope.

With another deep sigh, he collapsed onto his back beside her, flinging an arm over his eyes, desperate to escape the world for just a five-minute reprieve. 

“And?” she teased, her voice infusing the air with a playful challenge. “I thought you liked hearing my voice.”

He felt her presence beside him, the warmth radiating from her body still fresh in his memory. “I’m starting to question that right now,” He said bitterly, the exhaustion stinging his every nerve. “Can’t you shut up for five minutes? I’m tired.” His voice came out muffled and strained, the groan escaping his lips a testament to his weariness.

A scoff escaped her, rich with indignation. He could imagine the way she tossed her hair over her shoulder, an act habitual in moments like these. He felt her rise, the rustle of fabric breaking the spell of silence as she reached for her robe to drape over her sweat-slicked skin.

“Why do you talk to me like that, Rafe?” Her words slipped out softly, tinged with something deeper, something vulnerable that cut through the air like a shard of glass.

He turned slightly, catching the edge of her expression; the way her eyes searched his, desperate for a glimpse beneath the surface. In that moment, he understood that it was never just playful banter or teasing. She sought something more—answers, connection, clarity in a world shrouded in ambiguity. 

The tension in his chest tightened, a mix of exasperation and an undeniable appreciation for the depth of her soul. But he didn’t have the strength to unravel that knot, not now. Instead, he let silence take the lead, hoping that it would bridge the gap between their tangled hearts, even if just for a moment.

Ah, great. She’s being sensitive again, he thought, a bitterness tugging at the corners of his mind. With a resigned sigh, Rafe opened his eyes, forced to confront the fallout he desperately wanted to avoid. He didn’t want to engage in this conversation—not now, not when sleep was so painfully close yet so overwhelmingly out of reach.

“Like what?” he asked, the fatigue evident in his voice, watching her movements as she gracefully slipped on her robe. It was a sight that usually filled him with warmth, but now it felt like a dismissal, a retreat.

“Like you—like I’m nothing. No one to you.” Her words poured out, unguarded and quivering, as though she was straining against the weight of unarticulated emotions.

The growing darkness in Rafe’s gaze mirrored the frustration brewing within him, a tempest of emotions he was not well-equipped to navigate. His exhaustion morphed into annoyance as he realised that he couldn’t simply close his eyes and escape. No, now he had to confront this. 

“How am I talking to you like you’re nothing? How?” he repeated, his voice edged with irritation, the tiredness making his tone more cutting than he intended.

“You just fucked me and then asked me to shut up and leave you alone. How the hell am I supposed to feel about that, Rafe?” Her disbelief radiated from her, leaving him momentarily stunned.

“I’m not one of your little whores, Rafe. I’m your girlfriend!” The weight of her words hung heavily in the charged air, each syllable a jagged blade that carved deeper into his heart. 

Rafe stared back at her, but instead of the warmth he often felt upon seeing her, he was met with a rising pool of frustration. How could she always manage to pull him into these emotional whirlwinds? How could she navigate him into corners he desperately wished to avoid? It was infuriating yet somehow disarmingly effective. 

He ran a hand through his tousled hair, letting out a deep sigh, grappling with his thoughts. “I told you to shut up and leave me alone because I’m tired,” he replied, forcing himself to keep his voice steady, to remain patient, but the undertone of his annoyance seeped through. “I just want five minutes of silence so I can rest.”

The disbelief in her eyes cut deeper than any insult he could have hurled. Upset flickered across her features as she processed the disconnect between their realities, her heart sinking under the weight of unacknowledged feelings. He could see the hurt reflected back at him, a stark reminder that he was failing to grasp the depth of her vulnerability.

The room was heavy with unspoken words, the shadows of earlier emotions lurking in every corner. Rafe sat on the couch, wrestling with the growing tension that seemed to envelop the space. He watched as she stood before him, her expression a bittersweet mixture of disbelief and hurt. It was a look that twisted something deep within him, an echo of the connection they once shared, now frayed and worn from misunderstanding.

“Yeah. Okay,” she murmured, her voice barely loud enough to shatter the silence, but its resonance lingered, wrapping around her heart like a vice. She turned away, exhaustion pooling in her chest, and made her way back into their room, each step heavy with dejection.

Rafe cursed silently, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. Reluctantly, he pushed himself off the couch, every bit of him resisting the urge to simply retreat into solitude. He didn’t want to delve into feelings or sift through the rubble of emotions tonight. All he desired was the comforting embrace of sleep, but now he had to follow her—of all things, fantastic.

He stepped into the bedroom, where she lay on her side of the bed, lost in her thoughts, the space between them thick with unspoken words. Rafe’s heart sank as he observed her, a mix of dejection and annoyance swirling within him. Why was it so hard to communicate? Why did every encounter feel like a minefield?

Moments passed in silence, the tension palpable, until he finally broke it. “Are you seriously upset right now?” His voice was weary, tinged with annoyance as he sought to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding.

“I’m not upset,” she whispered softly, the words a fragile shield against his scrutiny.

He stared at her for a few seconds, feeling frustration creep up his spine like icy fingers. Leaning back, he ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “Bullshit. That’s your upset, moping tone.” He pushed himself off the edge of the bed, striding closer.

“I’m not moping,” she replied quietly, keeping her back turned, a wall of defensiveness built between them.

Rafe let out an exasperated grunt, settling himself on the edge of the bed next to her while deliberately maintaining a space between them. “Then what are you doing?” he asked, tiredness clouding his voice. He felt powerless to penetrate the veil of her silence.

“I’m sleeping,” she muttered, her voice barely a whisper, an attempt to ignore the turbulence between them.

Rafe rolled his eyes, a deep sigh escaping his lips. Frustrating. It felt as if she wanted to ignite a conflict, to keep the fire of their argument stoked instead of allowing it to die.

 “Cut the crap, sweetheart. You’re not asleep,” he retorted. “You’re upset because I told you to shut up for five minutes.”

“Oh? So you do know,” she shot back, her eyes fixed ahead as if refusing to acknowledge the storm raging within her.

“I’m not an idiot, okay? I can tell when you’re being moody and mopey and stuff.” His voice was sharper than he intended, but the truth left him raw. “I just don’t understand why you got so upset about it. I was tired, and I wanted to rest. Is it that big of a deal?”

Finally, her resolve slipped away as she turned to look at him, her gaze probing and unwavering. For a moment, their connection crackled with an intensity that bordered on something sacred yet shattered. He had to contain the urge to roll his eyes again; frustration twisted in his gut as he tried to make sense of everything unfolding.

His body longed for sleep, but his heart refused to surrender to oblivion while she lay there—a tangle of sadness, anger, and confusion. “Can’t you just get over it?” he asked tiredly, searching her eyes for a flicker of understanding.

A softness enveloped her expression as she smiled gently, a serene resolution washing over her. Reaching up, she caressed his cheek, her eyes trying desperately to memorise the contours of his face, the warmth radiating from her touch piercing through his armour. “Okay, baby,” she whispered softly, and in that moment, the air shifted, the tension momentarily dissipating.

Rafe felt his heart race, a pulse of warmth igniting within him at her gentle gesture. The subtle shift in her expression caught him off guard, and the tender timbre of her voice almost managed to chase away the shadows of exhaustion that had loomed over him.

“Are you being sarcastic?” he asked quietly, leaning into her touch, curiosity dancing in his eyes. 

“No,” she replied softly, shaking her head, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth. She sat up, propping herself against the headboard, her eyes a steady gaze that seemed to trace every contour of his face. “I mean it. You won’t have to deal with that anymore.”

As Rafe watched her move, confusion mingled with a flicker of hope in his eyes. What exactly was she trying to convey? The persistent doubts in his mind battled with the warmth he felt in her presence. He licked his dry lips, feeling a tightening in his chest as she stared at him with an intensity that dug deep into his very being.

“So we’re good?” he managed to ask, his voice rasping like gravel, desperation tinged with a fragile hope.

“Yeah, baby. We’re good,” she affirmed, a gentle nod accompanying her words. She kept her gaze trained on him, almost as if she were trying to imprint every detail into her memory, her thumb brushing delicately against his cheek.

Christ, She’s acting weird, Rafe thought to himself, unable to shake off the sense of urgency that accompanied her additional attention. It was as if she were both a comfort and an enigma, and that reality weighed heavy on him. He leaned against her hand again, lost in the depths of her gaze, wondering why she was looking at him as if he were a fragile treasure, one she feared might slip away.

“Stop saying it like that,” he whispered, a pleading tone breaking through as he struggled to articulate the subtleties of the moment. 

“Like what?” she asked softly, curiosity mingling with concern, her brows furrowing slightly. 

He found it difficult to frame his thoughts into words. It went beyond mere expression; it was a feeling that coursed through him. “I don't know. Like… like you’re never gonna see me again,” he replied, his voice nearly inaudible, each word laced with unguarded vulnerability as his eyes bore into hers.

She smiled softly in response, her eyes shimmering with mixed emotions that spanned from tenderness to a hint of melancholy. “Go to sleep, Rafe.” 

He let out a weary sigh, the weight of exhaustion crashing over him like waves against a jagged shore. Why did it have to feel like this? He did not relish the thought of confronting these emotions while she continued to look at him with such intensity. Too damn tired—his mind a jumble of emotions that felt foreign to him.

With a slight grimace, he leaned in to press a gentle yet firm kiss against her cheek. It was an instinctive gesture, but as he rolled onto his side, turning his back to her, he felt the sting of vulnerability burn through him. “Goodnight,” he muttered, the words trailing off as if they carried the weight of all that remained unsaid between them.

As she lay there, a pained smile tugging at her lips, she watched him—a solid back turned against her, the sound of his steady breathing marking the passage of time. She could almost hear the unvoiced thoughts swirling in his mind, and it twisted her heart. She waited for him to drift into sleep, wrestling with the silent ache that ached in the distance created by their unbridgeable emotional chasm. It was a bittersweet moment, one that would linger long after the lights went out, forever imprinted in her memory.

The night draped its heavy cloak over Rafe as sleep swept him away, exhaustion wrapping around him like a familiar blanket. Every muscle in his body, still sore from the intimacy they shared, felt heavy, and within moments, he was deep in slumber, breathing steadily as the world faded away.

Meanwhile, in the silence of the house, she moved like a ghost. Each action was deliberate and hushed as she packed her belongings, the soft sound of zippers and fabric whispering against the stillness. The bittersweet ache in her heart conflicted with the urgency of her decision. She slipped into her car, the engine’s low growl breaking the quiet, and drove away from the house that held both precious and painful memories.

Back inside, Rafe remained blissfully unaware of her departure, cocooned in the warmth of sleep until an hour had passed. Slowly, clarity seeped into his consciousness, dispelling the grogginess. He turned, instinctively reaching for her, craving her warmth beside him, only to find the sheets cold and empty. Confusion pierced through the drowsiness, and he blinked against the shadows of the room, the absence of her presence sending an icy shiver down his spine.

“Sweetheart?” he called out, his voice hoarse and thick with sleep. Silence echoed in response, deepening the pit of unease forming in his stomach. Throwing the covers aside, he climbed out of bed, frustration bubbling under the surface. With heavy steps, he opened the bedroom door and ventured into the darkness of the house.

“Baby?” he tried again, his voice rising in volume, infused with desperation. Each empty room he entered increased his confusion, every corner he peered into yielding only shadows. Jesus Christ… where was she?

Rafe's heart raced as he searched every nook, each room offering no trace of her. Panic began to weave its way through his mind, tightening its grip as he ran a frustrated hand through his tousled hair. The house felt emptier with each passing moment, the silence wrapping around him like a suffocating shroud.

Back at the entrance, he paused, scanning the area for any clue, any sign that she had been there. No. No, this couldn’t be happening. You’re not leaving me. You wouldn’t. But the truth weighed heavily on his chest; he felt it suffocating him, each second that passed churned his stomach around a pit of anxiety.

With renewed vigour, he ricocheted back through the house, tearing through spaces that had once felt like home. He looked under beds, behind chairs, everywhere his mind could conjure up—but the search was met with stark rejection. Just as hopelessness began to take root, something caught his eye on the kitchen counter.

A piece of paper. The familiarity of her handwriting ushered in a wave of dread as he approached it, heart pounding in his ears. The words were like daggers, piercing through the fog of confusion and anger:

 Goodbye, Rafe. I’ll keep your secrets.

He blinked in disbelief, reading it again, his mind struggling to process the reality of it. The world around him blurred as he clenched the paper, white-knuckled with rage and hurt. 

With a sudden, primal need to act, he crushed the note in his fist and hurled it to the floor, a torrent of curses spilling from his lips, silence mocked him in return. The ache in his chest twisted tightly under his rib cage; he wanted to run after you, but where? How could he start seeking someone he didn’t even know where to find? 

In desperation, he searched for his phone, turning the living room upside down in his frantic quest, but it eluded him. His gaze caught a clock on the wall—its steady ticking serving as a cruel reminder of time slipping away. It was a little past eight in the evening, and the impending darkness loomed ominously.

His heart sank further as the implications settled in. He felt like a man drowning, alone in the vast expanse of uncertainty, and the realisation struck him like a blow: 

You had chosen to leave.

He ran a hand down his face, the weight of his worry settling deep into his chest. His thoughts raced as he paced the room, desperate to figure out the best place to begin. He didn’t need a text. He didn’t need a voicemail. He needed her. He needed to hear her voice, to know she was safe.

Rafe’s mind churned with every worst-case scenario imaginable. She was out there, somewhere, and she was alone. That thought clawed at him, driving him nearly mad.

The phone rang once.

Then twice.

Three times.

Four.

No answer.

His heart sank further with each unanswered ring, frustration bubbling to the surface. He tossed the phone onto the couch, raking his hands through his hair. Where was she? Why wasn’t she picking up?

Meanwhile, she sat in her car, parked at the edge of the OBX bridge. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, indecision weighing heavily on her shoulders. She had been ready to leave, to cross that invisible line and never look back. But then, his face had crept into her thoughts. The memory of his voice, the way he looked at her—it was enough to give her pause.

Rafe sat down heavily on the couch, his foot tapping nervously against the floor. He picked up his phone and dialled her number again, his pulse pounding in his ears. This time, the line connected.

“Hello?” His voice came out rushed, uneven.

On the other end, she sighed softly. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him close his eyes in relief. She had answered. She was there.

“…Hey,” he said, his voice gentler now, though still laced with a quiet desperation. “Where are you?”

Her silence on the other end was deafening. He leaned forward, gripping the phone as though sheer force could drag the words out of her.

“Are you safe?” he asked, quieter this time.

“Yes.” The word was barely a whisper, reluctant but real.

Rafe exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. She was safe. That was something. But not enough.

“Can you tell me where you’re safe, sweetheart?” His tone was soft but edged with the frustration he couldn’t quite hide.

She hesitated before answering, her voice carrying the weight of her conflict. “At the edge of OBX’s border.”

His eyes flew open, his chest tightening again. The border? Why the hell is she at the border?

“You haven’t crossed it, have you?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly under the strain of his emotions.

Her response was soft, hesitant. “I’m trying to.”

Rafe clenched his jaw, his grip on the phone tightening. She was so close to slipping away, and the thought made his stomach churn.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and steady, though desperation lingered beneath it. “Don’t. Please, don’t.”

Her head rested against the seat as she closed her eyes, torn between the road ahead and the voice on the line. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence heavy with everything they couldn’t bring themselves to say.

Rafe’s entire body went rigid at her words. The silence that followed was deafening, stretching between them like a chasm. He took a deep breath, trying to force down the emotions threatening to explode. His heart was a relentless drumbeat in his chest, each thud more painful than the last.

He swallowed hard, his grip tightening on the phone as he took another breath, trying to rein himself in. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady but laced with barely restrained intensity.

“Turn around,” he said, his tone firm, commanding.

Her response was a broken whisper, the kind of sound that could bring a man to his knees. “I can’t.”

Tears streamed down her face as she spoke, the pain in her voice cutting through him like a blade. His frustration melted away in an instant, replaced by an ache so deep it left him breathless.

Her sobs made his chest tighten. His fist clenched around the phone, the urge to pull her into his arms overwhelming him. But she wasn’t here—she was out there, slipping further away.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice softening, desperation seeping into every word. “Please. Just turn around. Come back to me.”

There was a beat of silence before she spoke again, her words shattering him. “I can’t come back. I can’t do it anymore—I can’t do this anymore.”

Rafe shot to his feet, emotions surging through him like a tidal wave—frustration, desperation, anger, and despair all colliding at once.

“Bullshit!” he barked into the phone, his voice raw with emotion. “You cannot leave me, do you understand me?!”

“Rafe, please—” she cried softly, her voice trembling.

“No!” he snapped, his anger flaring. “You listen to me!”

His voice cracked, his emotions taking over. He was done with the running, the silence, the walls she kept putting up. She couldn’t leave—not this time. He wouldn’t let her.

“You do NOT get to run away,” he growled, his tone harsh but desperate. “Not this time. Tell me why, sweetheart. Why do you keep doing this? Can you even give me a valid reason?!”

Her sobs grew louder, her voice breaking as she finally answered. “I can’t do this anymore, Rafe! You’re so mean to me!”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut, his breath catching in his throat.

“Mean?” he repeated, his voice dropping, almost disbelieving. “Mean, sweetheart? Is that what you think I am?”

He gritted his teeth, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the phone like a lifeline. He wished—needed—her to be standing in front of him. This distance, this separation, was unbearable.

“Goddamnit,” he growled. “I’m mean, I’m harsh, I’m an asshole. I’ll admit that. But are those really good enough excuses for you to leave me?”

Her response came through choked sobs, each word tearing at his heart. “You’re like that all the time now, Rafe. It hurts me so much when you treat me like that. The only time I feel like you love me is when you’re fucking me. And after that, it’s like you can’t stand me anymore.”

Her voice broke completely, the anguish pouring out. “I can’t… I can’t do it again.”

Rafe stood frozen, her words sinking in like stones, each one pulling him deeper into the abyss. He didn’t respond—not right away. He couldn’t. He had no idea how to fix this, how to pull her back from the edge when she was already so far gone.

And yet, he couldn’t give up. He wouldn’t give up. Not on her. Not on them.

The words hit him low, a blow that knocked the air out of his lungs. His shoulders tensed, and his entire body seemed to tremble with the force of his suppressed emotions. He gritted his teeth so hard it felt like they might crack, his fist tightening around the phone until his knuckles went white.

He hated it when she said things like that. Hated it even more because, deep down, he knew there was truth in her words. And that only made it hurt worse.

“That’s bullshit,” he muttered hoarsely, his throat raw. “You know I love you.”

Her voice came through the line, broken and fragile, a sharp contrast to his. “No, you don’t—”

“Yes, I DO!” he yelled, his frustration boiling over in a fiery burst.

The room felt too small, the air too thick. He couldn’t believe she thought that. Did he really seem so cold, so distant? He thought he had shown her—time and time again—how much she meant to him. And yet, here she was, doubting it, doubting him.

He dragged a hand down his face, trying to steady his breathing, to regain some semblance of control. He didn’t want to yell. He didn’t want to fight. But the thought of her walking away was unbearable.

“Please don’t yell at me, Rafe,” she said, her voice trembling as soft cries broke through.

Damnit.

He squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of her tears, his chest tightening painfully. He hated himself for letting his anger slip, for making her cry when all he wanted was to hold her, to keep her close.

“God…” His voice cracked as he spoke. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. Please don’t cry, okay? I’m not trying to fight with you.” His tone softened to a whisper, thick with desperation.

“I don’t want to fight with you either,” she said softly, sniffling on the other end.

Her words, though quiet, were a relief. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest easing just slightly.

“Then don’t leave me,” he said, his voice quieter now, pleading. “Don’t run away just because we get into stupid fights.”

Her sigh was audible, followed by the sound of another quiet sob. “You know it’s not just that.”

“I know that!” he snapped, frustration sparking again before he forced himself to rein it in.

He knew all the reasons why she was saying this—why she felt the way she did. He knew how cold he could be after their fights, how he sometimes treated her like she was just… there. A fleeting thing, instead of the person who mattered most.

And he hated himself for it.

“I know, sweetheart,” he said, his voice raw and cracking. “I know I’ve been… distant. I know I’ve hurt you. But god, I can’t lose you. Not like this. Please, just—don’t go.”

The line was quiet for a moment, her soft cries the only sound he could hear. It was a sound that tore through him, leaving him feeling more helpless than ever.

“Rafe—”

Her voice was barely a whisper, a fragile plea breaking through the tension.

“No.” He cut her off immediately, his voice sharp and commanding. His jaw tightened as he forced himself to swallow the rising panic threatening to overtake him.

“Please,” he said, softer this time. His tone was strained, nearly cracking under the weight of his desperation. “Just listen to me. You know we can work on the other stuff, right? We can fix this. I know we can.”

She hesitated on the other end, her breath catching in her throat. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s not just you. It’s me. I’m—I’m messed up, Rafe. I’m too sensitive. I know I burden you, and I’m sorry. For everything. For hurting you. For hitting you last night. I shouldn’t have—”

Her words dissolved into soft, broken sobs, each one slicing through him like a blade.

“You’re not a burden, sweetheart. You never have been,” he whispered, closing his eyes as if shutting out the world would make this moment easier.

But it didn’t.

The image of her last night, the flash of pain in her eyes before her hand struck him, replayed in his mind. And it hurt—not because she had hit him, but because of the anguish behind it.

“Do you really think I can’t handle you?” he asked, his voice quiet but heavy with emotion.

“It’s not about that,” she whispered after a moment. “You shouldn’t have to. I—I’m sorry, Rafe. I’d rather drive myself off this bridge than ever hurt you like that again.”

Her voice cracked with emotion, and the words hit him like a freight train.

“Stop talking like that!” he shouted, his voice cracking as he lost control. “Stop saying I’d be better off without you! You don’t get to decide that for me!”

There was a silence on the line, broken only by her soft, muffled sobs.

“Yes, I do,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “And I’ve decided to leave. Because we can’t keep doing this. We’re not—we don’t belong together, Rafe.”

His heart felt like it had been ripped from his chest. Her words were a dagger, twisting deeper with every syllable.

“Bullshit,” he muttered, his voice low and raw. His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles white as his anger and pain swirled together.

“You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to say you love me one minute and then leave the next because things get hard. That’s not how this works!”

“Rafe—” she started, her voice shaking.

“No! Listen to me!” he nearly shouted, his desperation bubbling over.

He could feel himself unravelling, but he didn’t care. She wasn’t going to give up on them, not if he had anything to say about it.

“I love you!” he said, his voice loud and clear, his chest aching with the force of those three words.

The silence on the line stretched for a moment. He could hear her soft breaths, could imagine the way her tears clung to her lashes, her lip trembling.

He took advantage of the pause, his voice dropping to something softer, something raw.

“I love you, sweetheart. I really do. You’re not a burden. You don’t hurt me.” His voice cracked again, but he pressed on. “I don’t want you to leave. I can’t lose you.”

Her silence was deafening, but he could feel her wavering, the barriers she had built around herself beginning to crumble.

“I don’t care if we fight sometimes,” he continued, his voice steady now. “I don’t give a damn about the bad days. I still love you. That doesn’t change.”

Another soft breath escaped her, a sound so quiet he almost missed it. But it was there—an acknowledgment, a crack in her resolve.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t leave, okay?.”

The line was quiet, but he could feel it. She was still there. And for now, that was enough.

The question hung in the air, sharp and piercing, breaking the silence between them.

“If I come back,” she asked, her voice trembling but resolute, “will you never see Sofia again?”

He stiffened, his shoulders going rigid at her words. He had been expecting this—had known it was coming—but that didn’t make it any easier to face.

His jaw tightened as he stared at the wall, biting the inside of his lip hard enough to taste blood. He couldn’t answer right away. The weight of her question pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting.

He didn’t want to make a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice low and measured.

“I won’t see her again without you knowing about it.”

The words left his mouth carefully, but he already knew they weren’t enough.

On the other end of the line, her heart sank. Her grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles white as the truth settled over her like a cold, suffocating blanket.

“Goodbye, Rafe,” she said, her tone hollow and final.

Before he could say another word, the line went dead.

He stared at the phone in his hand, his chest tightening as the realisation of what just happened hit him.

“Fuck!” he growled, the curse ripping from his throat as he hurled his phone against the wall. The sharp crack of plastic breaking filled the room, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the silence she left behind.

He stood there for a moment, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His fists clenched at his sides as he tried to compose himself, but the knot in his stomach only tightened.

She was gone.

She had actually done it.

“No,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if the motion could dispel the truth. “She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t leave me like that.”

But deep down, he knew she would.

She was driving now, crossing the border, her jaw set and her eyes blurred with tears. Her phone lay discarded in the passenger seat, and her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly they ached.

No matter how much he said he loved her, no matter how many times he swore she was the only one, she couldn’t shake the shadow of Sofia.

Sofia—the name that haunted her, the specter that lingered in every kiss, every touch, every whispered promise.

She couldn’t live like this, always wondering, always feeling like the other woman.

And so she drove. Away from him, away from the pain, away from a love that felt more like a battlefield than a safe haven.

Back in the room, he sank to the floor, his back against the wall as the weight of her absence pressed down on him. He told himself she would cool off, that she’d change her mind and come back.

She had to.

But the hollow ache in his chest whispered otherwise.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

4 YEARS LATER

A few years had passed since she left the Outer Banks, but now, she was back—not to stay, not to reconnect, but to sever one last tie to her past. Selling her family’s estate was a necessary step, one she hoped to take quietly. She had no intention of seeing him again.

Rafe didn’t know she was back. He had stopped searching for her long ago, though the ache of her absence had never fully faded. He told himself he’d moved on, convinced himself that looking for her only prolonged the pain.

Tonight, he was at a gallery opening—nothing more than an excuse to drink expensive champagne and network with a few clients. The crowd was pretentious, the art unremarkable, but it was better than sitting at home drowning in memories.

Across the room, she stood by a painting, her head tilted slightly as she studied the contrasting reds on the canvas. She held a champagne glass in one hand, her posture composed and professional.

Rafe spotted her from the bar, and everything inside him froze.

Even after all this time, even from behind, he knew it was her.

For a moment, he couldn’t move. He stood there, gripping his drink, trying to process the surge of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Anger. Longing. Pain. Relief.

He hadn’t expected to see her, but now that she was here, he couldn’t stay away.

Straightening his coat, Rafe made his way across the gallery, his footsteps steady but his heart racing.

She didn’t notice him at first, lost in thought as she stared at the painting. Her silhouette was still the same, though there was something different about her—an air of detachment, a shield he hadn’t seen before.

“Good color choice,” he said softly, stopping beside her.

Her entire body stiffened at the sound of his voice. Her grip on the champagne glass tightened, but she didn’t turn to look at him.

“I knew I’d run into you eventually,” he added, his tone casual, though his chest felt tight. “You’re back in town, huh?”

Her voice came out steady, though she couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. “I’m not staying.”

The words hit him harder than he expected, even though he had braced himself for something like this.

“Why are you here, then?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm. “I’m here to sell my family’s estate.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw tightening. The thought of her leaving again, of her cutting ties to this place, made his stomach churn.

“Didn’t know you were selling,” he said, his tone laced with quiet bitterness.

“Well, I have no use for it anymore,” she replied, her voice devoid of emotion. “It’s just millions of dollars sitting there.”

He wanted to snap back, to say something that would shatter the cold distance between them, but he held himself back. Fighting wouldn’t bring her closer.

They stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of the gallery fading into the background. Finally, he broke the quiet.

“Where are you going after this?”

She hesitated, cursing herself for answering. “I’m staying here for a week. Then I’m leaving after the deal is done.”

The words were like a knife to his chest. She was giving him a time limit, a countdown to when she’d be gone again.

Rafe’s hands clenched at his sides as he stared at the painting in front of them, his mind racing. He couldn’t let her leave without saying what he hadn’t said years ago.

But he also knew she wasn’t ready to hear it—not yet.

Jesus. A week?

His heart twisted painfully at the thought. Just a week. She was only sticking around for a week.

He clenched his jaw, swallowing the lump rising in his throat. He felt an almost desperate need to keep the conversation going, to ask her more questions, as if somehow, the words might tether her to this place, to him.

“Moving where?” he asked quietly, the restraint in his voice barely holding back the storm beneath.

“Back home,” she said curtly, her tone detached and sharp.

The ache in his chest deepened. The word home felt like a knife twist. He longed for her to look at him, to give him some glimpse of the person he had known so well, loved so deeply. But she wouldn’t. She kept her eyes on the glass of champagne in her hand, refusing to meet his gaze.

His hands tensed, the frustration building. His jaw worked as he fought to contain the anger and hurt bubbling inside him.

“What, to your fiancé?” The bitterness in his voice spilled over before he could stop it.

She inhaled deeply, staring down at the shimmering liquid in her glass. She shook her head slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“That’s none of your business, Rafe,” she said, her tone cold, distant.

Rafe’s eyes darkened, the name on her lips like a slap. Not in the way it used to be, with warmth or affection, but clipped, impersonal, like he was a stranger.

“None of my business?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly, the trigger clear in his expression.

She was speaking to him as if the last four years hadn’t happened, as if they’d never meant anything at all.

His body turned fully toward her now, and he leaned in, his frustration evident in the way his shoulders tensed, his presence demanding her attention.

“How about we take this outside?” His voice was low but heated, the edge sharp enough to cut.

She stiffened, her gaze darting away, her shoulders drawing inward. “Absolutely not,” she murmured, her voice barely audible, still refusing to look at him.

Rafe scoffed, his fists clenching by his sides. He muttered under his breath, the word Jesus barely audible but laden with exasperation.

His eyes flicked around the room, noticing how heads were beginning to turn, curious glances cast in their direction.

“Will you keep it down? People are starting to look,” she hissed, her voice sharp but low, her lips curving into a forced smile for the onlookers as she glanced around nervously.

“I don’t care,” he snapped back, his voice taut with irritation.

He straightened up, his hand moving on instinct, reaching out to grab her elbow, to pull her away from the crowd, away from the scrutiny.

But she jerked her arm away before he could touch her. Her sharp motion and the glare she shot him stung more than he cared to admit.

“What are you doing?” she said harshly, her voice tinged with embarrassment, her eyes darting around.

“Just—” Rafe bit out, running a hand through his hair, trying to steady himself, to rein in the fire burning in his chest. He exhaled sharply, lowering his voice.

“Just come with me, okay? We’ve got like five dozen people staring at us right now.”

“And whose fault is that, Mr. Loud-Mouth?” she hissed back, sarcasm dripping from her words.

She downed the rest of her champagne in one fluid motion, grabbed her purse, and stormed out, leaving him standing there.

Rafe’s jaw clenched as he watched her walk away. There it was—that fiery, stubborn, infuriatingly bratty side of her that he hated to admit he loved. He had missed it, damn it.

Without a second thought, he followed her, catching up quickly and grabbing her wrist.

“What the fuck? Let go of me!” she snapped, glaring at the back of his head as he pulled her through the corridor toward a more private space.

He ignored her protests, his grip firm but not harsh. His silence spoke volumes. He was too frustrated, too wound up to argue in the middle of a crowded exhibition.

They stopped in front of an unoccupied office, and Rafe pulled her inside, shutting the door firmly behind them.

“What the fuck, Rafe? I thought we were going outside! Open the door!” Her voice was sharp, her breathing uneven as she backed away from him, her chest heaving.

“Not when we have half the damn room watching us like we’re on some daytime soap opera!” he snapped, his frustration spilling over.

He locked the door behind him with a sharp click, leaning against it for a moment before turning to face her.

Finally. Finally, he allowed himself to look at her—really look at her.

She took a step back, her breathing shaky, her heart pounding. She hadn’t seen those piercing blue eyes in four years, and now they pinned her in place, unrelenting and full of everything she was trying to avoid.

“Open the fucking door, Rafe,” she said, her voice trembling, the words softer, hoarser now.

Her hands clutched her purse tightly, and she felt the walls around her heart beginning to crack.

But Rafe stood firm, his gaze locked on hers. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t move, didn’t falter.

“Not yet,” he said, his voice low, steady.

The air between them was heavy, charged with the weight of years of longing, anger, and the things left unsaid. And for the first time in years, there was no escape.

The room was heavy with silence, yet the air between them buzzed like a live wire.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his pulse erratic as his eyes finally drank her in. She stood a few feet away, her back turned, leaning on the desk with her palms pressed flat against its surface. Her head hung low, the dark waves of her hair cascading down her back.

The years had changed her. Her hair was longer, her frame leaner, her movements more poised. She had grown more refined in the time they had spent apart.

But she was still her.

Still the same fiery, stubborn, maddeningly beautiful woman he had fallen for so completely four years ago. The woman who had consumed him, heart and soul.

He took a tentative step forward, his fists clenching tightly at his sides as if holding himself back. His instinct, the overwhelming need to reach out to her, threatened to overpower him.

Behind her, he could see the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders with each deep breath she took. The black fabric of her dress hugged her in all the ways he remembered, every curve seared into his memory.

His jaw tightened. His chest ached. God, he thought, she’s so close, but it’s not close enough.

She shifted slightly, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the desk.

“Fuck,” she whispered under her breath, barely audible.

His heart clenched. He could see it—the way she was struggling to maintain her composure, to keep him at arm’s length. Her walls were high, and he hated them.

He stepped closer, each movement careful and deliberate. He didn’t want to scare her, didn’t want her to bolt. He was right behind her now, the faintest hint of her perfume wrapping around him like a memory he couldn’t shake.

Every fiber of his being screamed for him to close the gap, to touch her, to pull her into his arms. He wanted it all back—the laughter, the fights, the mornings tangled in sheets, the nights spent whispering secrets only they knew.

Her voice broke the silence again, a whispered chant of frustration.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders sagging as if the weight of everything was too much.

He couldn’t take it anymore. The tension, the distance, the ache. He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the back of her arm. The contact sent a jolt through him, the briefest reminder of what it felt like to touch her.

But she flinched as though burned.

“Don’t.”

Her voice was sharp as she pushed his hand away, circling the desk with purpose. Now facing him, her hands settled on her hips, and her eyes locked onto his with a familiar fire.

He let his hand fall to his side, his fingers curling into a fist once more. Her defiance, her resistance, her damn stubbornness—it was maddening. And yet, it was what he had loved most about her.

Her gaze bore into him, unflinching.

“What do you want, Rafe?” she asked, her tone laced with exasperation and exhaustion.

He clenched his jaw, running a hand through his hair as his frustration threatened to spill over. There was so much he wanted to say, to ask.

He wanted to demand answers. Why had she left? Why hadn’t she looked back? Why was she selling the estate?

He wanted to beg her to leave her fiancé, to come back to him, to give them another chance.

But the way she stood there, her voice cold and detached, as if his wants and feelings didn’t matter—as if he didn’t matter—it shattered something inside him.

He met her gaze, his voice hoarse and raw when he finally spoke.

“You.”

Her breath hitched, but her expression didn’t soften. Instead, she groaned, her hand lifting to press against her forehead.

“Jesus,” she muttered, her disbelief thick in the air.

And there it was again—the unbearable tension. Four years of silence, of pain, of everything left unsaid, now crowding the small space between them.

“What’s the matter?” he snapped back, defensiveness rising like a tide around him. “You asked, so I’m giving you an answer! You know what I want, Y/N. I want you to come back home. I want to wake up in my bed again. I want to argue with you, fight with you, drive each other crazy like we always did. I. Want. You.”

Her reaction was immediate, filled with a biting sarcasm that cut through the air. “It’s been four years since I left your ass in the dust, Rafe. Have some fucking dignity.” 

He stiffened at her words, the sting of rejection urging him to retaliate. “Don’t you think I haven’t tried?” he shot back, his temper igniting like dry paper in a flame. “Do you know how many other girls I slept with after you left? I lost count.” The raw honesty clawed at him; he hated that he was revealing so much, trying desperately to assert his own importance in her life.

“Oh! Fantastic news! Bravo, Rafe! What a stud!” she clapped mockingly, and her sarcasm was a slap that ignited his fury.

“Jesus—” he growled under his breath, hands clenched into fists, nails digging into his palms. He hated how she could goad him so easily, how every word from her lips felt like a deliberate jab. And yet, there was an uncomfortable truth rattling in the back of his mind: he deserved it. “You think this is funny?” he spat, his voice escalating with each syllable. “You think I was just fine after you left? You just vanished for four goddamned years!”

“I knew it would hurt,” she replied, an unexpected softness mingling with the anger in his heart. “But it was for the best. I did both of us a favor, Rafe.”

“How the hell did you do us both a favor? By leaving me hanging? Giving me no closure? Not letting me see you for four years?” His voice was nearly hoarse from the strain. The rawness of his emotions pushed him to the edge, a storm of pain swirling in his chest.

Her gaze softened as she studied him, a look of genuine pity etched into her features. “I’m sorry it had to be that way,” she said gently.

He hated that she could speak so tenderly while they stood amidst the wreckage of their past. He didn’t want her pity; he wanted to fight, to argue, to reclaim some piece of what they once had. Yet, seeing her look at him with that mournful expression twisted a knife in his gut. “Say it,” he demanded, his voice steady but strained, eyes piercing into hers. 

“Say what?” she asked, confusion flickering across her face.

“That you missed me.” The words tore from him, heavily laden with desperation. Rafe knew he was being unreasonable, even childish, but he couldn’t stem the tide of longing. It felt desperate to ask, but the need swirled around him, suffocating and relentless. All he wanted was to hear her say it, to feel a glimmer of hope that their bond hadn’t faded entirely.

“Rafe—” She sighed deeply, rubbing her temples, as if the very act of addressing him was a burden too great to bear.

The air between them thickened with unspoken words, memories lingering like the scent of rain on dry ground. Here they were, trapped in a room that echoed with the ghosts of love and loss, each yearning for something just beyond reach. 

Rafe’s heart ached with the unfulfilled longing, mirroring the look in her eyes—one that promised both a past they had lost and a future uncertain. He stood across her, jaw tight and teeth gritted. He fixed her with a burning gaze, a mix of irritation and desperation swirling within him. 

“Don’t try to weasel your way out of this, sweetheart. Say. It.” His voice was low and biting, an attempt to inject intimidation into a situation that already felt unbearably charged. 

She regarded him with an unwavering expression that only deepened his frustration. What was she thinking? What lay behind that calm facade? How could she be so composed when he felt like a live wire, ready to snap?

She snapped back, her own irritation bubbling to the surface. "I’m not trying to weasel my way out of anything!"

“Then say it!” he shot back, the heat of his temper flaring once more. This was too much—he was exhausted just standing there, wrestling with an entire world of emotions and memories. He didn’t understand how she could remain so unflappable in the storm swirling around them. Her calmness only fueled his anger, a reminder that she wielded that power over him like a weapon.

“Fine! Fuck! I missed you, okay?” The words burst from her mouth, sharp and raw.

Her outburst hit him like a tidal wave—one of the most gratifying sensations he had ever experienced. It was a crack in her armor, a confirmation that beneath that stoic exterior, she was still human, still affected by him. He took a deep breath, internalizing his triumph, wanting to savor this moment.

“What happened to the ‘I did us both a favor?’” A sly smirk crept onto his lips, complicating the tension in the air.

She gaped at him, disbelief flashing in her eyes. "You can't be serious."

Rafe smirked again, feeling like he was finally making headway after what felt like an eternity of silence between them. Being stubborn was her forte, but he had honed his own sense of persistence through years of their shared history. 

He stepped closer, closing the distance between them, wanting to provoke a reaction. “You still owe me one more thing, sweetheart.”

“I don’t owe you shit. An apology for the way I broke up with you? Yes. Other than that? No way.” She snapped back, moving around the room to keep a safe distance.

Watching her pace around the desk, he felt a surge of frustration mixed with longing. Each step she took away felt like a wound. God, he just wanted to hold her, to pull her close, to bury his face in her hair and inhale that sweet scent he had ached for over the years.

“The way you broke up with me?” he echoed, bitterness lacing his words as he took another step forward, closing the heightening gap between them.

She continued to circle the desk, maintaining her distance, the space becoming a barrier that pained him. “I always felt bad about it,” she confessed, her voice softer now. “It was a shitty thing to do. I should’ve done it face to face, but—I was afraid that I would change my mind.”

Rafe swallowed hard against the rush of emotions that surged through him. He could see the sincerity in her eyes, the weight of regret pressing on her shoulders. “Yeah. It was shitty. Shitty is a mild word for what you did.” His tone remained sharp, even as he closed the gap once more, navigating the complex landscape of his feelings.

And then, she whispered the words he had longed to hear, “I’m sorry, Rafe. I really am.”

A softness enveloped the moment, sincerity radiating from her features as she circled the desk. A wave of raw emotion crashed over Rafe, his mind struggling to process the weight of her apology. Her eyes—those familiar, pleading eyes—were begging him to let it go, to move past the hurt that had festered between them. 

He longed to give in; he ached to release the stubborn grip he had on his anger. But, God, he needed to hear her say it. 

“Not good enough,” he muttered, halting abruptly in his tracks, his gaze and frustration fixed on her as she circled the desk, tantalizingly inching closer.

“What do you want me to do, Rafe? You want me to beg you? To get on my knees and apologize for making the right decision, even if it was in the shittiest way possible?” Her voice dripped with sarcasm, frustration seeping through every word, and Rafe could almost see the tension radiating off her.

“Yeah, actually, that sounds perfect,” he shot back, sarcasm barely masking his irritation. 

This back and forth was exhausting. Their shared history weighed heavily on his heart, suffocating the feelings of anger in the moment. He could feel the tension pulling them taut, and he knew he wasn’t going to be the one to remain coldhearted. 

“Jesus, Rafe—” she groaned, shaking her head in disbelief.

He growled in response, frustration bubbling to the surface once more. This was getting ridiculous. He ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to take a deep breath, but even that felt too hard in her presence.

“I don’t know why I’m trying to argue with you. You are so goddamn—” he trailed off, searching for the right word that could encapsulate his turmoil.

“What?” she demanded, crossing her arms defiantly as she stared at down, unwavering.

“Infuriating,” he finished bluntly, each syllable tinged with exasperation. 

As he stood there, patience thinning like a fraying rope, Rafe couldn’t help but take stock of her—standing across the desk, arms crossed, defiance painted across her features. He felt a rush of anger mingling with something softer and more familiar, something that drew him closer instead of pushing him away.

He wanted to impulsively throw something, to break the remaining tension, but he stopped himself. Arguing with her seemed futile. Time to change tactics.

“That’s funny; I was about to say the same thing about you,” she retorted, flashing him a sarcastic smile that lit up her eyes. 

That was exactly the opening Rafe had been waiting for. A smirk danced on his lips, his gaze sharpening with a hint of challenge. 

“Yeah?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to mirror her defiance. “What else do you want to say about me huh?” 

“I think you’re stubborn, unbelievably arrogant, and obnoxious—” she began, frustration lacing her voice as she counted out his faults on her fingers, completely forgetting to maintain the distance she had fought so hard to keep.

“Mhm, keep going,” he muttered softly, faking genuine intrigue.

He should have felt angered by her tirade, but it was exhilarating instead. He didn’t care that her words were shots fired directly at him. All he could focus on were her eyes, her voice, the way she animatedly recounted her grievances against him—when she spoke, she always took the spotlight, and he was helplessly captivated.

“—you’re selfish and the most conceited Kook I’ve ever met, unbelievably anal about the smallest things possible—” As she continued her list, he noticed she was finally allowing the distance to shrink, unaware of the fact that he was moving closer, drawn to her like a moth to flame.

Rafe's heart thundered in his chest as she continued her passionate tirade, listing all the things she hated about him. Each word poured from her lips like molten lava, fierce and unyielding, yet it brought a surge of nostalgia that he couldn't shake off. God, he missed listening to her talk, even if it was a litany of grievances about him. Her voice, once a source of endless irritation, now struck him as intoxicating.

Unable to resist, a smirk curled at the corners of his mouth. He took a small step closer, reveling in the way she was so engrossed in her rant that she didn’t notice his approach at first.

“I mean you—” she groaned in frustration, suddenly halting her speech as she found herself staring up into his towering gaze.

In that moment, Rafe became acutely aware of how close they were, close enough for him to see the flecks of gold dancing in her hazel eyes. The intensity of her gaze sent a thrill racing down his spine, igniting something deep within him. He adored this—her words like fire, spinning around them as he toyed with her emotions, and standing close enough to breathe in the floral sweetness of her perfume.

His smirk grew into a full-blown grin as he leaned down slightly, drawn to her magnetic energy. Yet, she faltered, stuttering as she stepped back, only to bump against the desk behind her. Perhaps it was foolish, but the moment was intoxicating, and he smirked at her moment of surprise.

As she tried to regain her composure, he seized the opportunity. He stepped into her space, utilizing the very limited room between her body and the table, pushing himself closer until she was completely boxed in. There was something undeniably electric about her being trapped between him and the solid surface of the desk, her expression a mix of shock and indignation as he watched her cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink.

“I—” She stammered. Just as she tried to find an escape, he swiftly moved behind her. His hands gripped her waist with a possessive tenderness as he pressed himself flush against her back. Rafe could feel the rapid rhythm of her heartbeat through their shared contact, and his breath hitched at the proximity. Her frustration filled the air like a palpable force as she struggled against him.

“Let me go, Rafe! This isn’t funny!” she snapped shakily, her voice lined with determination as she attempted to pry his arms from around her.

But he reveled in the challenge. He wrapped his arms tighter, pulling her closer against his chest in a way that felt both maddening and comforting. She could feel the strength of his body melding with hers, and it sent shivers racing up her spine. He buried his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of her—so achingly familiar, so achingly missed.

“God, I missed you so much,” he growled against her skin, the words slipping out in a heated whisper.

A shudder coursed through her at his admission, eyes slamming shut as she fought against the overwhelming flood of emotion. “Rafe—please—” she pleaded, grit in her voice, desperation lacing her words.

“Please, what?” he countered, his voice a low rumble, almost teasing, as he savored the moment. He inhaled deeply again, immersing himself in the sweetness of her fragrance that lingered in the air. 

He could hardly believe this was happening. It was as if time had bent just to bring them together again in this heated, chaotic moment. He couldn’t deny that the tantalizing closeness sent a thrill shooting through his veins; he felt alive, solidifying the truth he’d fought so hard to deny.

In an impulsive motion, Rafe shifted his head, pressing his lips against the column of her neck just below her ear, letting them linger there for a tantalizing moment. The heat radiating from her skin was intoxicating, and he knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning of the tempest of feelings threatening to engulf them both.

“Don’t do this. Let go of me.” Her voice wavered, a mix of determination and uncertainty as she squirmed in his strong arms, but Rafe held her tighter.

“Why not?” he murmured against her skin, feeling the tremble of her body resonating through him. Each shiver ignited a deep-seated hunger he struggled to contain.

His hands moved deliberately, gliding slowly upward along her stomach, brushing delicately against her ribs before resting over her chest. The frenetic rhythm of her heart pounded beneath his palm, and he savored the feeling, the heat radiating between them.

“F-fuck—” she stuttered, overcome by the sensation of his touch. Her head dipped forward and her body instinctively bent, pressing her backside accidentally against him, awakening something primal within Rafe.

He growled in response, the sound low and possessive, before biting down delicately on the sensitive skin of her neck—a thrill of control surging within him. His hands gripped her waist with a fierceness that betrayed his desire, an unyielding need to pull her closer, to press her against him, to feel her warmth enveloping him.

Every fiber of his being felt like it was on fire. He was losing control, intoxicated by the moment, intoxicated by her. He let his teeth drag against her neck as he spoke, his voice a hoarse growl, laced with want. “Say you missed me.”

“Rafe—” she whined, the sound a desperate plea that spurred him further into madness. She squirmed back against him, as if trying to escape, but every movement only fueled his desire.

He felt himself unraveling, every ounce of restraint slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. One hand slid lower, fingers daringly slipping beneath the hem of her dress, inching toward the softness of her skin. He pressed closer, reveling in the heat that radiated off her.

“I said,” he reiterated, his tone hardening as he gripped a fistful of her hair, gently tugging until her head tilted back against his shoulder, exposing the vulnerable curve of her neck. “Say it.”

“Fuck—Rafe—” she whimpered, her legs quaking as his fingers explored the forbidden territory beneath her dress. 

He tightened his hold, each breath becoming more labored. He was being pushy, demanding, and he didn’t care. The desperate need for her was growing, consuming him entirely. He was the obsessive, controlling Kook he had always been, but in that moment, he only cared about one thing.

“Come on, baby,” he urged again, his voice low and raw, heavily laced with urgency.

“I missed you,” she whispered, tears pricking her eyes as the truth slipped free from her lips.

The moment those words met his ears, something unfurled within him, spreading warmth through his chest that coursed all the way to his soul. Relief washed over him, suffocating the chaos that had gripped him for so long.

His hand released her hair, moving tenderly to trail his fingers down her throat, feeling the frantic beat of her pulse beneath his touch. He let out a low moan, the deep breaths he took echoing through the quiet room, rapid and heavy.

“Say it again,” he demanded, longing for more of her confession, more of her heart laid bare.

“Rafe—” she sighed, a soft, hesitant whisper, as her ass pressed back against him again, and he could sense the conflict raging inside her.

There they were, caught in a tempest of emotions, where desire battled with logic—a delicate dance that threatened to tip the scales into chaos. Rafe felt the world narrow down to just the two of them, the space between them crackling with tension as everything else fell away. All that mattered was her, his need for her, and the truth that hung in the air between them, waiting to be unleashed.

A deep groan escaped Rafe's lips as she pressed against him, every shift of her body igniting a fire that he struggled to control. His arousal swelled with each desperate movement she made, the heat between them palpable, urging him to close the distance even further. He couldn’t help himself, instinctually moving his hips forward, grinding back against hers with a fervor that spoke volumes of his need.

“Say it again,” he gritted out, his voice thick with urgency, desperately longing to hear her soft, breathy confessions.

There was a part of him that recognized how selfish he sounded, pushing her like this, but he was consumed by the ache for her words, a craving that felt insatiable. He needed this, needed to know she felt the same way he did.

“F—fuck, I missed you, Rafe. Miss you—missed you so much—” she mumbled in a breathless rush, clearly lost in the haze of lust and his intoxicating touch. 

Each repetition of her confession had a visceral effect on him, nearly bringing him to tears. He leaned down, resting his forehead against her shoulder, biting the inside of his lip to suppress the tumult of emotions that surged through him. Her words finally broke through his defenses, igniting a desperate resolve within him.

Straightening up again, he pulled her close, hands settling on her thighs, his lips pressing against her neck with a ravenous need. “Let me fuck you,” he whispered hoarsely into her ear, the rawness of his desire laying bare the jagged edge of his longing.

Her body tensed at his words, her mouth falling open in surprise as her eyes rolled back, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. “Fuck—no—no, I can’t—” she whined softly, a mixture of refusal and longing woven into her voice.

But he tightened his grip on her thighs, holding her impossibly closer, anchoring her to him. “Yes, you can,” he murmured, the heat of his breath ghosting over her skin as he brushed his lips against her neck. He could feel her heat radiating against him, and the flood of exhilaration urged him on, hands inching upward along the outside of her thighs, pushing her skirt higher.

“No, Rafe—” she protested weakly, grasping at his hands, squirming in his grasp. But he moved inexorably forward, his fingers urging her skirt until it was bunched around her hips, leaving her exposed.

His lips moved to her ear, moving closer to that fragile line between desire and desperation. “Stop me then,” he challenged softly, wrapping her in the intoxicating weight of his gaze.

“I’m engaged!” Panic surged within her, her breath hitching as she felt the cold air against her exposed lower half, the realization of vulnerability sending a shiver down her spine. 

At her reminder, Rafe's breath caught, his chest clenching as the reality of her engagement hit him. Yet, just as quickly, he brushed the thought aside, fueled by the undeniable chemistry that crackled between them. “Take off the ring then,” he countered, his voice smooth, brushing against her ear with delicate persistence.

She shuddered, the involuntary moan spilling from her lips as she squirmed in his unwavering grip, silently berating herself for wearing a thong that left little to the imagination. “Rafe—” was all she could manage, her voice a mix of desperation and reluctance.

In that moment, caught between duty and desire, their reality shifted, the world outside forgotten as they teetered on the edge of something infinitely intoxicating and profoundly reckless. The air between them was thick with temptation, where two hearts clamored for connection while the chains of logic threatened to pull them apart.

Rafe’s grip on her thighs tightened, a primal response to the sweet little moan that slipped from her lips. The sound reverberated through him, igniting a fire in his veins. He pressed harder against her, grinding forward, letting her feel the raw lust that consumed him. He knew he was being too demanding, too pushy, but at that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care. All he wanted was her—needed her.

“Take off the ring, baby. You still love me. You’ve missed me for four years. I know it.” His voice was a low, sultry whisper, heavy with longing as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over her ear.

“Shit—” she gasped, eyes fluttering shut as an involuntary wave of desire washed over her, compelling her to grind back against him.

At her movement, Rafe let out a quiet groan, the sensation pushing him closer to the edge of his self-control. He moved his left hand up to her own, feeling the thin diamond band resting on her ring finger. A surge of frustration coursed through him—it was the symbol of a promise she had made, a life she had chosen. But right now, that ring felt like a barrier, one he was determined to dismantle.

Instead of removing it himself, he guided her hand upward to her mouth. “Take it off,” he repeated, his voice hoarse and deep, laced with an urgency that made her shiver.

With a hesitance that melted into a thrill, she opened her mouth, sucking her ring finger inside and wrapping her lips around the diamond ring. Slowly, he guided her, coaxing her movements as she pulled it off. His heart raced, eyes locked onto the sight of her mouth, so intimate and alluring, as she obliged his silent demand.

“Now throw it on the floor,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with unrestrained desire.

But she shook her head, the ring still nestled between her lips as she turned to face him, a mix of defiance and longing swirling in her eyes.

Rafe tilted his head, caught between frustration and fascination. His fingers found her chin, tilting it gently to force her gaze up to meet his. He could see the conflict waging within her, the way her lips parted slightly, a surrender hanging on the edge of her breath.

“Spit,” he commanded, his tone quiet yet resolute.

Yet again, she shook her head, stubbornness flaring in the depths of her gaze.

“I said spit,” he snapped, a darker edge to his voice. He released her chin, frustration boiling beneath the surface as he moved swiftly. His hand pressed forward, forcing his long fingers into her mouth, making her choke on them, reclaiming the ring from her mouth in one fluid motion before throwing it onto the floor, where it clattered loudly, a stark reminder of the reality they were trying to escape.

His gaze darkened as he watched her chest heave, her breaths growing heavier, lips wet and parted in a way that unraveled him completely.

As she panted up at him, the tension between them reached a boiling point, filled with unsaid words and unfulfilled desires. In that charged silence, where time seemed to stand still, they both recognized the precipice upon which they balanced—a moment fraught with consequence, desire, and the undeniable pull of longing that neither could resist any longer. The world around them faded, leaving only their breaths, their hearts, and the fiery connection that threatened to consume them whole.

Rafe lowered his head again, his lips grazing her ear once more, sending shivers down her spine. “Turn around,” he whispered breathlessly, the warmth of his breath wrapping around her like a secret promise.

She shivered at his command, slowly turning to face him, her heart thundering in her chest as she swallowed hard. The world around them faded, the noise from the outside dimming into a distant hum. 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A moment later, she found herself placing her cheek against the messy desk, gripping its edge tightly as their bodies moved in a rough, desperate rhythm, a primal dance fueled by emotion. The room was a chaotic disarray—papers strewn across the floor, supplies discarded carelessly, the small couch shoved against the wall, and a lamp lying broken, its light extinguished. It was an absolute mess, but Rafe couldn’t bring himself to care about any of it. In that moment, all he could think about was her—the reality of her body against his, and the stark, electric connection that pulsed between them.

With his hands firmly anchored on her hips, he pulled her back against him, feeling her warmth seep into him as his chest rose and fell in labored breaths.

“Rafe—Rafe—shit—” she moaned, the sound a beautiful symphony of need and longing as she instinctively reached behind to clutch at his arm, her legs shaking as she struggled to maintain her composure. 

He was close—too close. 

“Come here,” he gritted out, pulling her against his chest. 

Without hesitation, he buried his face in the curve of her neck, biting down roughly as he panted against her skin, a shudder running through him as he surrendered to the moment. The rush of sensation was intoxicating, overwhelming. For a second, he felt breathless, high on their shared connection, unable to calm the wild pounding of his heart.

With a loud groan, he shuddered against her, spilling in her, her arousal mixed with his dripping down his cock.

Yet a voice in his mind warned him. If he let go of her now, if he released the tight grip he had around her, she would slip away—just like she had before. So, he held on, anchoring her between himself and the desk, his hands roaming over her body, desperate to keep her close.

As she tapped on his thigh, a subtle signal for him to get off, his teeth clenched in frustration. But he ignored her silent plea, determined not to give in. 

Burying his face deeper into her neck, he inhaled her scent, a heady mix of familiarity and desire. He wrapped his arms tighter around her waist and chest, holding her against him as though she were his lifeline.

“Why are you doing this to me?” he murmured, the words laced with confusion and longing, a plea for understanding.

She swallowed hard, struggling to catch her breath against the tumult of emotions coursing through her. “I’m not doing anything—”

“You are.” His voice held an edge, a growl that reflected both frustration and need. He was angry—not just at her, but at the situation that kept pulling them apart despite the undeniable chemistry that tied them together.

“You can’t possibly tell me that you feel nothing for me,” he whispered, his eyes searching hers for the truth he desperately wanted to believe.

“Rafe—” 

With a soft sigh, she turned to face him, their eyes locking in a moment thick with unspoken words. The truths they had been avoiding hung heavy between them. She could feel the intensity, the unyielding heat of their connection, and for the first time, there was no chaos outside them—only the fragile clarity of what they both felt.

He kept his hands firmly wrapped around her, refusing to let go, the terror of loss gripping him like a vice. The thought of releasing her sent waves of panic crashing through him, a primal fear that the moment his fingers slipped away, she would turn and walk out of his life once more. Rafe's eyes bore into hers, fierce and desperate, revealing just how deeply the prospect of losing her again threatened to shatter him. 

He was terrified to let go, afraid that the moment he released her, she would vanish again, slipping away into the abyss that had separated them for four long years. His heart raced, each beat echoing the unspoken dread gnawing at him. 

Their gazes locked, his eyes reflecting a storm of fierce desperation. He had endured a hollow existence since she left, and the thought of losing her again felt like a death sentence.  “I do still care about you.” Her fingers gently caressed his cheek, a touch filled with warmth but tinged with regret. 

But then, as if a fragile bubble had burst, the weight of what they'd just shared crashed down upon them. “But what we just did—it was wrong. And I—I need to tell Ilgaz about it.” With that admission, she bit down on her lip, guilt washing over her features like a dark tide.

He leaned into her touch, desperate for comfort but feeling a tightness grow in his chest. “You seriously plan on telling your fiancé that you just cheated on him?” he spat, disbelief crashing upon his heart like a wave. The vulnerability and honesty she embodied felt like a double-edged sword in this moment.

“Of course I am. I can’t lie to him. He deserves the truth,” she replied softly, her honesty only intensifying his despair, her voice heavy with guilt. 

He should have expected her response; she had always been forthright, unwaveringly so. But the thought of her returning to Ilgaz, recounting their stolen moment, twisted in his gut like a knife. His hands tightened around her arms, unwilling to loosen his grip, bound by emotion and fear.

“Say you still love me,” he muttered, his voice rough like gravel, the plea escaping him before he could stop it.

“Why?” she asked cautiously, confusion knitting her brow. “Why is it so important to you?”

“Because I need to know,” he implored, surrendering to raw emotion. The grip on her arms tightened as if to pull her deeper into the gravity of his need. Four years had passed since they had been apart, four years spent in a fog of longing. He could feel the tension in his grip on her, an addict grasping his last fix after years of deprivation. 

Four years spent apart, and here they stood again, caught in this charged moment, their past alive in every breath they shared. 

The silence that followed was deafening, wrapping around them like an inescapable shroud. Her heart raced as the realization hit her—she had loved him fiercely once, and perhaps that love had never truly faded. But how could she risk everything by admitting that she still craved him, still felt the magnetic pull that defied logic?

Tears shimmered in her eyes, the swirl of emotions reflected back at him. “I care about you,” she finally confessed, her own voice unsteady. “But I can’t just run away from reality again. I owe it to Ilgaz to be honest.”

He felt the finality of her words crash over him, the bitter truth sinking in. Life could not be so simple; they had grown into different people, woven paths that no longer intersected. Yet, in that charged silence, he saw something behind her eyes: a flicker of the past, a memory of the love that had once flourished between them.

“But what if you can be honest with him,” he said slowly, searching for the right words, “and still choose what you truly want?” 

She hesitated, caught between loyalty and the undeniable pull of their shared connection. “What if I want both?” she whispered, the conflict rich in her voice.

“Then choose,” he said, his voice softening. “Choose what makes you happy. Maybe the truth doesn’t have to shatter everything.” 

A stillness enveloped them, each heart beating in the heavy silence. The city around them faded, leaving only the two of them standing at the precipice of a decision that could change everything. 

Taking a deep breath, she stepped closer, their foreheads almost touching. “I’ve missed you,” she murmured, her breath warm against his skin. “I’ve missed us.” 

After a long moment, she nodded to herself, tears slipping down her cheeks, but now they shimmered with a sense of relief. “You’ve always been my first love. I can’t deny that,” she said, her voice trembling yet resolute. 

His eyes were dark, filled with a desperate intensity that caught her off guard. It was a frantic plea, a mixture of hope and despair that mirrored the internal chaos raging within her. “I’ve been trying to forget you,” she finally admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “But every moment I spend with you reminds me of what we had. It confuses me.”

He swallowed hard, the hope surging within him sparking a flicker of desire. “It confuses me too, but it’s real. This connection… It’s not something we can just wish away. You have to know that.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as the truth of his words echoed within her. “But Ilgaz… What about him?” 

“Maybe we need to be honest with ourselves first before we decide what happens next,” he replied gently, his expression softened by understanding. The ruins of their past lingered heavily in the air between them, but so too did the potential for something new—something real and unfiltered.

She bit her lip, torn and trembling. “I don’t know if I can just walk away from him.”

“Then don’t,” he said, the steadiness in his tone offering her solace. “Take your time. But don’t let fear dictate your happiness. You deserve to know how you feel without guilt shadowing you.”

She winced, face twitching in guilt. “It's too late for that.”

Rafe nodded, pursing his lips as his eyes darted to her hair, his finger coming up to adjust a few fray pieces, “I know, baby.”

He watched as she fought an internal battle, emotions flashing across her face in rapid succession—confusion, longing, terror, and finally acceptance. In that moment, her heart and mind clashed as she confronted the truth she had buried for far too long. 

“I need to think,” she finally breathed, her voice trembling with the weight of her decision.

“Of course,” he replied, releasing his grip slowly, though a part of him wanted to hold on tightly and never let go. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

With one last glance laden with emotions too complex to unravel in the moment, she stepped away, the distance between them filled with possibilities yet to be explored. Each step away felt like an ache—a reminder of both what was lost and what could potentially be found.

But as she walked out the door, she felt something shift within her. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to embrace the uncertainty, to feel the weight of her choices without allowing guilt to hold her back. 

And he stood watching her go, a bittersweet smile on his lips, realizing that this moment—fragile yet potent—might lead to healing, to truth, and perhaps, to love again. The night stretched around him, open and endless, as he clung to the hope of what tomorrow might bring. They were two souls intertwined by fate, navigating a complex dance of honesty and desire, ready to discover if love could truly survive the wounds of the past.

The End.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I absolutely loved the dom shiu and nanami headcanons, can you do one with Gojo please?❤️

The way Satoru obsessively doms you

Tags: dom!Satoru x fem!Reader, sub!Reader, headcanons, dom/sub relationship, NO age regression, sub space, suggestive, mdni!

An: I’m glad you all are enjoying these :3

• Satoru definitely feels the need to keep tabs on his sub at all times. If he’s not peeking in on you with his six eyes, he’s keeping tabs on your phone and life360.

• Condescending, condescending, condescending…

• “Awh, look at you… is somebody needy for me, hm?”

• I hope you have a little bit of a humiliation kink because Satoru looooves seeing you embarrassed in front of all his friends. He’ll rub your hair just the way you like, gettin you all flustered while gently tugging on it — treating you like nothing but a little doll for him to toy with. If you try to dodge him, he’s only going to pull harder!

• “Look how pretty she is, riight~?” He’ll actively call attention to you to his friends — letting them gaze at your flushed cheeks and glassed over eyes.

• He’ll let his friends look at you, but don’t get it wrong. Satoru is possessive. “You’re all mine, pet. Those losers don’t deserve you.”

• While Nanami wouldn’t tell his sub what to where, Shiu would absolutely puck out his sub’s clothes — Satoru won’t pick out your clothes, but he’s at your side at all times like a guard dog, daring for someone to try their luck with you.

• Constantly showering you with expensive luxury gifts. He loves buying you cute panties and bras, but he’ll also spoil you in the sense that you’ll like barely mention you kinda enjoy this one hobby, and Satoru will buy literally everything pertaining to that hobby. He loves seeing you happy and flustered.

• Touchyyyy. Satoru needs to feel his hands on you constantly. He always makes such a scene of it too: snaking his hand from your tummy, between your breasts, up to your neck to squeeze your windpipe carefully as he presses a passionate kiss to your lips.

• Has a praise kink of his own, “If you’re going to make noise, don’t waste your.. ngh~ breath on moaning. Fucking praise me. Tell me how good only I can make you feel..”

• “Yeah, you like that? Tell me how much you like it, pet.”

• Yeah, remember that humiliation thing he likes? He will ask, “Who’s my good girl?” to you. No, he doesn’t care how cringe it is. No, he will not relent until you answer him correctly. He loves how embarrassed and frustrated you look when you finally give in to his whims.

• On one occasion, he made you grind against his shoe while hugging his leg until there was a small wet spot on the leather. He rubbed your hair and cooed to you as you begged to be fucked. “Oh, come on, pet. You can do better than that for me. Show me how much you want it, and maybe I’ll let you up on my lap.”

• If Satoru’s not in a dom headspace, he absolutely loves being little spoon. I don’t make the rules.

[moralesluvr]

LIKE A VIRGIN | b.eilish

the first time you had sex with billie, it was after a show, backstage, just shy of an hour after everyone had cleared out. you were always back there with her anyways— sitting on the couch and toying with sound equipment or looking through random shit she had laying around, waiting for her idle moments so you could spend time with her.

it wasn’t necessarily the most ideal place you could’ve chosen to get intimate, but you were too caught up in the lovely moment, hips rocking into billie’s own as a sweet moan passed through your lips. she had her hands roaming all over your body, a ringed thumb coming up to rub one of your hardened nipples through your dress, coaxing a grunt out of you.

billie was hungry for you now, but she knew that you were a virgin, and this fact stayed prodding at her conscience as a reminder to not be too rough. she loved you, and she wanted nothing more to make you feel good— so she lovingly cupped your cheek and planted a kiss there before whispering against your hot skin,

“have you ever touched yourself, baby?”

it was a question that made your cheeks heat up, your answer of denial rolling off of your tongue as your girlfriend’s hands trickled to your thighs, grasping the flesh sweetly. she nodded in understanding, drawing you near to her, eyes flickering up at you. they were low and sultry, and so glossed over with hunger and passion that you felt yourself grow wetter, a look of slight embarrassment taking home on your features.

“oh, my innocent girl…it’s okay, ‘m gonna take such good care of you.” billie cooed, ring littered hands kneading at the soft flesh of your ass as she kissed you, hard, like it pained her to not be touching you, but she knew she had to wait.

her hands started to travel up your skirt when you heard footsteps and voices outside of billie’s dressing room door.

“bils—“

“they’re not gonna come in here, baby,” she reassured you, her hands slipping farther underneath your pink skirt, nimble fingers hooking in the crotch of your panties. she rose her eyebrows at you, “even wetter than i imagined.”

you already feel embarrassed, but billie tuts at you as she maneuvers your body to where you’re laying on your back, and her body’s pressed against your own. “don’t be embarrassed, honey. it’s okay.”

“i’m just a little nervous.” you breathed out of honesty, and billie planted a small kiss on your forehead before sinking into the couch cushions, head taking home on one of your thighs as she drew lazy circles on your exposed skin.

“you sure you wanna do this? just say the word, and we can stop.”

you nod fervently at her, eager for her to touch you. your skin felt hot with frustration, pussy helplessly clenching around nothing, and billie wasn’t making it much easier— the way she was looking up at you with those piercing blue eyes, there was impatience oozing out of your pores.

“can’t just give me a nod, angel, you’ve gotta say—“

“eilish, fuck me.”

those three words was all it took for her to greedily yank your skirt off, throwing it on the floor next to you like it was trash. she placed her head in between your thighs, laying kisses against your clothed clit, before finally hooking her fingers into the straps of your thong, yanking it down.

your eyes fluttered closed as you felt billie’s tongue dip between your folds, collecting all of your juices. your clit immediately lays victim to her touch, legs closing around her head as a sweet moan escaped your lips. she didn’t want to talk, not anymore, really— all she could focus on was making you feel good.

“b-billie…i—“ your words fall short, unfinished sentence hanging in the thick air of your girlfriend’s small dressing room as she backed away from you slowly, “you okay, sweet girl? talk to me— how are you feeling?”

“so good,” you breathe through a smile, fluttering your eyes closed, “just…just please keep touchin’ me.”

the way your doe eyes flicker at her as you ask her to touch you makes her want you even more, but billie pushes those undying urges away, including the one that seemed to be pooling in her own underwear.

her previous act resumes as her tongue latched onto your clit, nimble fingers coming up to play with your sticky cunt, slick arousal coating her freshly cut nails.

a fragment of pleasure overwhelmed you, hips bucking sporadically into billie’s face as your palms found home in her dark hair. you tugged at it through her post-show ponytail, "baby...oh— please, i-i want..."

"want what, hm?" billie almost mocks you, whines falling off of your lips as you felt your girlfriend smile against your pussy. as you attempted to muster up a response, billie’s long tongue drew sweet, tight circles on your clit, making you gasp.

"i-i want the..." you mumble, your body beginning to tense up, legs locking as your back arched, hair pressed up against the couch. a pornographic moan passes through your lips as you feel your thighs shake involuntarily, "bils...im g'na-"

you cut yourself off with a whimper as billie’s tongue completely covered your clit, long digits still at work inside of you, her fingertips brushing against that sweet spot inside you. your lover coos underneath you as you cum, hard, rubbing your thigh soothingly with her free hand.

she doesn’t stop, though, she just backs off from your sensitive sex, fingers pumping in and out of you lovingly and gently, helping you ride the remainder of your high.

"you did so good, angel, such a good girl.” billie praised you with a smile on her face, two fingers collecting your juices and spreading them across your cunt, making you gasp at the slight overstimulation. she flashes you a grin as you succumbed to her touch, your face contorting into a pleasure-filled sigh.

billie’s teasing comes to a quick halt as her lips detatch from your pussy to ask you, "how was that? everything okay?”

"good." you smiled at her through a long sigh, "i just..."

"you just-?"

"want to... have you inside of....me." you stutter out shyly, but your feeling of shame quickly rolls off your shoulders when you hear billie undo her belt, jeans and black panties making their way to her ankles.

you and billie had talked about using the strap at some point, and now that it was here— it made you a little anxious. billie rolled over to the opposing side of the couch and reached into a drawer to grab it, and the length of it made your eyes widen as she slid it on, eyeing you and urging you to come over to her.

''i’m gonna go nice ‘n slow, okay? i don't wanna hurt you." billie coos at you, watching as you climbed into her lap, the faux cock pressed up against your ass. you screwed your eyes shut out of nervousness, but billie tapped your thigh as she offered you eye contact.

"are you sure you want to do this, sweetheart?" she questioned, lining the tip of her cock at your entrance, anxiety pumping through you as you sucked in a breath, feeling her ever so close to you.

"yes, yes please, i’m ready.” you nodded fervently, beads of sweat forming on your back and forehead, bubbling from your anticipation, and slight worry.

billie can tell your mind's racing, so she leans in a little and cups your cheek with a ring-clad hand, "it’s okay baby, i’m gonna make you feel so good, you understand?”

"mhm, i know." you nod, her statement convincing you to relax a little more. she grabs your hips with one swift motion, lifting you slightly, the tip of her dick teasing your wet entrance, cum from your previous orgasm already acting as a lubricant.

"this might hurt at first,” billie spoke honestly before lowering you onto her, watching you as you threw your head back, seething from the feeling of pleasure mixed with pain.

it felt so good, though— your wet pussy now filled to the brim from the strap, your walls hugging the thick plastic with eagerness, making you let out a moan.

but when you sank fully on it, a ribbon of pain dawned on you, making your eyes prick with little tears. billie tutted at you, “tsk tsk— now stop it. you’re a big girl, i know you can take it, can’t you baby?”

“billie…” you whimpered as she began to rock her hips, hands digging into the soft flesh of your sides as you bounced up and down slowly on her cock. she shot you an inquisitive look, “something wrong?”

“hurts a little.” you spoke honestly, grabbing her shoulders for support as the discomfort slowly began to subside. billie picked up on this and rutted into you a little faster now, your moans of pain turning into moans of pleasure.

“i know, i know— god, look at you.” billie moaned as she watched you bounce up and down harshly on her dick, little soft whimpers sounding from your throat as you threw your head back, back arched and eyes screwed shut, but billie couldn’t take her eyes off of you.

she lowered her hand down your sex and traced little circles on your clit, another contrasting wave of satisfaction mixing with the hard thrusts of billie’s hips, making your moans more and more amplified.

“still hurt now?” billie teased, rubbing your clit harder, “huh? answer me.”

“n-no….!” you stuttered, feeling your stomach knot again, that familiar bubble of pleasure beginning to brew in your abdomen. you rode billie harder, chasing that addictive high, pussy clenching the soft plastic of the strap tightly as you let out a loud grunt, totally forgetting that you were in the dressing room.

“i-i’m sorry bil, i didn’t mean to—“ you begin to speak, but with billie’s agressive rutting into you, you feel your orgasm impending. it’s so close, that sweet wave that you long for, and you whisper to her that you’re almost there.

“shh, it’s okay sweetheart, i know,” she reassured you, “you gonna cum for me?”

you nodded earnestly as her thrusts became more powerful, intense, and you let a string of curses mixed with billie’s name slip past your lips as you came, cunt fluttering against billie’s cock. your skin felt tingly as the blue eyed girl kept fucking into you, your orgasm lingering for a few moments as the both of you finally came down.

after your high subsided and billie cleaned you up, you felt limp and tired, pressing your forehead into billie’s shoulder as you laid on top of her. she rubbed your now clothed back soothingly and kissed into your hair, “my perfect girl, you did such a good job, you know that? you did so, so good.”

“thank you,” you smiled, kissing the shoulder that you laid on as the opiate of sleep grew on you. you let out a tired sigh and adjusted yourself in her lap, “i love you so much, billie.”

“i love you more, pretty girl.” she spoke, giving you a gentle kiss to your cheek as you fell into your slumber.

[starkeyslibrary]

FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 5

pairing: you x drew starkey

The photos were everywhere.

Drew stared at his phone, his thumb hovering over the screen as he scrolled through the dozens of articles plastered with pictures of Y/N, her face streaked with tears, walking alone under the dim glow of the streetlights. The headlines weren’t just cruel – they were brutal: “Heartbreak in Hollywood: Drew Starkey’s Ex Caught in Emotional Turmoil.”

He clenched his jaw, tossing the phone onto the couch. The guilt twisted like a vice in his chest. He couldn’t stop seeing her face in those photos, couldn’t stop hearing the pain in her voice during their last fight.

The late-night outings, the photos ops with Odessa – it all felt so hollow now. Odessa wasn’t to blame: she was a good person stuck in the same web of expectations he had willingly stepped into. But as the PR machine churned on, Drew began to feel like a puppet in his own life, with every decision dictated by what would look good in a headline or keep his career safe. And the worst part? He had let it cost him the one person who had ever made him feel truly grounded.

That night, Drew couldn’t sleep. His mind raced with memories of Y/N – the way she laughed, the way she always knew when he needed to be pulled out of his own head, the way she had looked at him like he was her whole world.

He pulled out his phone and scrolled through their old text messages. Her words stared back at him, filled with love and trust, and he felt the weight of his mistakes even more. How had he let this happen? How had he let her slip through his fingers?

The PR relationship with Odessa had started as a way to deflect attention from his personal life. At first, it seemed harmless – a mutually beneficial arrangement to keep the press off their back. But somewhere along the way, it had spiraled out of control. Every staged photo, every “leak” had chipped away at his relationship with Y/N, and now it was just gone.

He hated himself for it.

Over the next few day, Drew had tried to reach out to her.

He sent texts:

“I need to talk to you. Please.”

“I’m sorry for everything. I miss you.”

“Can I see you? Just once.”

He left voicemails, his voice thick with emotion: “Y/N, I know I don’t deserve it, but I need you to hear me out. I messed up, and I don’t even know how to fix this. But I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. Please, just… call me back.”

When none of that worked, he sent flowers – a smile bouquet of her favorite lilies with a note that read: “I’m sorry. I’ll never stop being sorry. – Drew”

But there was no response. Not a single word.

Drew had found himself in Odessa’s trailer on set one afternoon, feeling the weight of his choices more than ever. She was scrolling through her phone when he walked in, and the look on her face told him everything.

“You’ve seen the pictures, haven’t you?” she asked, putting her phone down.

“Yeah,” he admitted, slumping into the chair across from her.

“They’re bad, Drew. Like…. Really bad. I feel awful for her.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration boiling over. “The whole thing.. it’s gone too far. It’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to you either.”

Odessa tilted her head, studying him. “You care about her a lot, don’t you?”

“She’s… she’s everything,” Drew said quietly, his voice cracking. “And I screwed it up.”

Odessa leaned back, crossing her arms. “Then why are we still doing this? If you’re so miserable, end it. Or at least talk to her before it’s too late.”

Drew sighed. “It might already be too late.”

Drew decided he had to do something, even if it was small.

That evening, he showed up at Y/N’s door. His heart pounded as he stood there, holding a carefully assembled basket in his hands.

Inside, he had included everything he knew she loved: her favorite chocolate, a small bouquet of her favorite flowers, a DVD of a movie she’d always turn to on bad days, a scented candle she once said reminded her of her childhood and a handwritten letter.

When the door opened, she stood there, her expression unreadable.

“I know I’m probably the last person you want to see,” he began, his voice shaky, “but I needed to come. I needed you to know that I’m sorry. For everything. I don’t have excuses. I just.. I hate what I’ve done to us.”

He held the basket out to her. “I remembered all the things you love, and I know it’s not enough to make up for what I did. But I wanted to remind you that I see you, and I care. I care so much, Y/N.”

Her eyes flickered down to the basket, taking in every item before looking back up at him.

“I don’t know if this changes anything, Drew,” she said quietly, her fingers gripping the edge of the basket.

“I know,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m not giving up on us.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving her standing in the doorway, holding the basket and wondering if her heart could bear to trust him again.

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @esquivelbianca @josephandrewstarkey @willowpains @wtfdudesblog @purplerose291 @rafegf-real @matthewswifeyy @fangirl-magic @snowtargaryen @slut-era @leather-n-velvet

[3igbootyl0ver]

who hurt you? [ii]

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: Tara mistakenly puts herself in a relationship she thought would be full of love.

word count: 1822

warnings: (Tara's POV), mentions of abuse, violence, angst, swearing

a/n: ok hi guys this is mostly Tara's POV and won't really be focusing btwn her and r's relationship. the next part would probably be the last one too but im always up on doing head canons for this pic. anyways apologies for any inaccuracy for this part, if ya'll have any feedback or suggestions feel free to dm me or send anonymously.

part [i] |

Tara never meant for any of this to happen.

She first met Amber a year ago, at a party that invited everyone from both Blackmore and Woodsboro High. Tara went with you at first, but you quickly got caught up in the chaos of the event, drinking with friends to drown your frustrations over the rivalry, leaving Tara to wander through the crowd alone.

Tara glanced around the room, feeling a bit out of place without you. It was her first real taste of a high school party, but somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. You were missing. Some were celebrating—laughing, dancing, and basking in the glory of their win over Blackmore—while others attended this party just for an excuse to get drunk, but Tara wasn’t feeling the same rush. That was when she noticed Amber standing off to the side, holding a drink and watching the crowd with a knowing smile.

Amber had been a wild card that night. No one expected her to show up, least of all Tara. But Amber’s reputation preceded her—everyone knew she was sharp, calculated, and, most importantly, she knew how to play the game. She wasn’t just there to celebrate; she was there to get ahead.

Tara’s initial impression of Amber was a mix of admiration and curiosity. Amber seemed to hold herself in a way that suggested she knew something no one else did. And that intrigued Tara, even if she couldn’t quite explain why.

As Tara wandered away from the chaotic center of the party, she ended up near Amber. The two of them started talking, mostly small talk at first—what they were doing after high school, the thrill of their victory, and the peculiar tension between Woodsboro and Blackmore. Tara found herself drawn to Amber’s cool confidence, the way she seemed to have everything under control.

But what started as a simple conversation slowly shifted into something deeper. Amber had a way of making Tara feel like she was the only one in the room, even when there were dozens of people around. Tara’s mind kept drifting back to the feeling Amber gave her: like maybe she could be something more, something beyond the quiet girl who never quite fit in.

And so, things began to unravel.

Tara never meant for it to go this far. It wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, just a casual connection. But somewhere along the way, Amber made it clear that she wasn’t just interested in Tara’s company—she had a plan, and Tara was a part of it. Tara hadn’t realized how deep Amber’s intentions went until it was already too late. Now, Tara was left to figure out how she’d let herself be pulled into something so complicated—something that, in hindsight, was far more than just a meeting between two people at a party.

Everything was bliss when Tara and Amber started dating. She was kind, gentle, and attentive—the kind of person who made Tara feel understood and like the most important person in the world. It felt like a dream. Amber would send her thoughtful texts, surprise her with little gifts, and always knew how to make her laugh. Tara felt safe, seen, and loved in a way she hadn’t before.

But as time went on, Amber’s true colors started to surface—slowly, almost imperceptibly at first.

It started with small criticisms. At first, they were disguised as concern, little comments about Tara’s appearance or habits that Amber claimed were meant to help her. "You know, if you ate healthier, maybe you wouldn't feel so tired all the time." Or, "I don’t think that outfit is really doing you any favors." Tara tried to brush it off, telling herself it was just Amber wanting her to be her best. But the comments grew sharper, more frequent.

"You always mess things up," Amber would say when Tara made a mistake, like forgetting to pick up groceries or missing a text. "Why can’t you ever get anything right?" Her tone wasn’t playful anymore. It was condescending, even cruel. Tara began to feel like she couldn’t do anything without Amber pointing out what she’d done wrong.

The verbal jabs escalated when Amber started to get possessive. At first, Tara thought it was just a sign of how much Amber cared. But Amber's jealousy started to feel suffocating. She'd ask Tara where she was going, who she was with, and why she didn’t tell her first. "You don't really need to hang out with them, do you?" Amber would ask, her voice dripping with insinuation. It would have been even worse if she had hung out with you. It was as if you were Amber's breaking point. "They don’t even care about you like I do." "I’m better than them; why are you still hanging out with them?"

Tara found herself apologizing constantly—for things she didn’t even understand; she would say sorry just to voice the tension. 

It was always the same cycle: Amber would get irritated for no reason, her voice would grow cold and sharp just to insult Tara. "You always do this; you always make everything more difficult than it has to be. Why can’t you just do things right?". The next day, Amber would be apologetic, trying to console Tara, making her forget everything that happened the day before. She said all the right things, but Tara couldn’t ignore the knot of anxiety that lingered in her chest. She had a way of twisting everything, making Tara feel like she was always in the wrong, walking on eggshells.

And soon, the emotional abuse turned into physical fights. One day, Tara had dinner plans with Mindy when Amber confronted her again, "You always do this," she snapped. "You always choose them over me." Her voice was cold, venomous.

Tara tried to explain, but Amber wasn’t hearing it. "You think you can just leave whenever you want? No, you’re not going anywhere." Before Tara could react, Amber grabbed her by the arm—tightly, her fingers digging into Tara’s skin. "You’re hurting me, Amber; let me go!" Tara shouted, trying to pull away, but her grip tightened. She twisted Tara’s arm painfully, forcing her to sit down.

Tara’s heart was racing. She didn’t recognize this version of Amber—this wasn’t the woman she had fallen in love with. The love they once shared felt like a distant memory, replaced with anger, control, and fear. Tara was terrified, but she didn’t know how to escape. Before the day ended, Tara made up an excuse to Mindy that she couldn’t make it. She thought about her friends. Chad, Mindy, You. How will she be able to explain herself? She’s embarrassed and ashamed of herself if she were to ever face either of you. 

There was once when Amber picked up Tara from school when she saw her talking to you, both of you giggling like lovestruck teenagers, like you were in love with each other. And Amber simply couldn’t have that. Once both of them got back to Amber’s house, she gripped Tara’s arm, demanding an explanation. "So you’re just whoring around your school with someone else? Especially them? You’re just a slut, aren’t you?" Amber seethed, her nails digging into Tara’s skin, leaving another mark on her skin. Tara stood there, tears streaming down her face, knowing no matter what she said, it would be dismissed, twisted, or ignored. "You’re mine, Tara. I’m not letting you go anywhere," were the last words she heard before being shoved down the stairs, undoubtedly leaving bruises all over her body. She knew the next day Amber would whisper apologies, giving her kisses and hugging her in an attempt to make her forget.

Tara began pulling away, distancing herself from you, from Chad, from Mindy, from Anika—everyone. It wasn’t that she didn’t care anymore, but she couldn’t bear the thought of Amber’s wrath falling on them, especially you. She couldn’t risk you getting hurt because of her, couldn’t risk Amber turning her anger on the people she loved. The more Tara tried to protect her friends, the more she isolated herself.

Every moment felt like a calculation; every text, every phone call, every plan made without Amber’s approval felt like a risk. Tara started to feel like a prisoner in her own life, like Amber was always there—watching, waiting for her to slip up, to make a mistake.

Amber had a way of making her feel like she was constantly under surveillance, always one misstep away from an explosion. Tara couldn’t shake the feeling that Amber was breathing down her neck, that every time she laughed too loudly with a friend or spent too much time away from her, Amber would find out. And when Amber found out, the consequences would be brutal. Tara had learned that the hard way.

It was like living in a constant state of fear. Tara’s heart would race whenever she saw a message from you or heard from one of her friends. She hated that it had come to this—that Amber’s control over her had stretched so far that she couldn’t even speak freely without worrying about the fallout.

But more than anything, she hated that the woman she loved, the woman she had trusted, had become someone she feared. Every day, she woke up wondering how much longer she could live like this. How much longer until Amber's control over her—and over everyone she cared about—was too much to bear?

Amber’s behavior spiraled even further. The emotional abuse had crossed into physical violence, and Tara was left unsure of where it would go next. Amber would apologize, beg for forgiveness, and then turn around and hurt her again. Tara began to feel like she was losing herself. She was afraid of what might happen if she tried to leave, afraid of what Amber might do. 

Though she would still post pictures of them together, of them being in a happy relationship for people to see online, the reality was far different. Behind the carefully staged photos, the smiles seemed forced, the laughter hollow. She knew the posts didn’t reflect the late-night arguments or the hidden marks on Tara’s body. Yet, there was comfort in the illusion, in maintaining a facade that everyone else admired. It was easier to keep up the pretense than to confront the discomfort of what was really happening—of the slow unraveling that no one could see. The attention, the validation from likes and comments, provided a temporary sense of relief, a distraction from the gnawing uncertainty she felt every time she looked at Amber when the camera was off. It became a blurred line for Tara to interpret what was the reality and the sick image she created of her and Amber online. 

But one thing was clear: this wasn’t love anymore. And Tara didn’t know how much longer she could stay in a relationship that was slowly suffocating her.

-----------------------------

a/n: next update might be awhile bc exam season is coming up and im a chill girl that needs to rest so you'll probably hear from me in like 2-3 weeks :p

[sheerfreesia007]

Love Creases

Pairing: Lee Felix x Reader

Word count: 2,118

Content warnings: Fluff

Summary: You find a way to show Felix that you love him through your origami hobby and he’s absolutely giddy with love over it. What happens when he decides to show his love through origami as well?

Felix walks into his apartment after a long day in the studio with Chan and Changbin, he tiredly trudges through the door and Seungmin who’s in the kitchen heating up some food looks over to him with a soft smile. Walking further into the apartment Felix drops his bag by the door before toeing off his shoes and making his way into the kitchen.

”Your lady came by earlier and dropped off some food for us.” Seungmin told him fondly as he watched his food spin in the microwave. Felix grinned widely at the mention of you before he opened the fridge and saw the containers you had packed away for them so that they didn’t have to cook. After he had told you that he and Seungmin would be living together, you had made it your mission to always provide them with home cooked meals. After that one time they tried cooking together and nearly burnt the house down. You didn’t trust either one of them in the kitchen and Felix figured it was a win-win situation for everyone, they didn’t have to cook and possibly burn their apartment down and you knew that they would have food to eat and wouldn’t starve.

”She’s too good to us.” Felix says amused as he looks over at Seungmin who nods his head knowingly before eagerly opening the microwave once it beeps that his food is done.

”Oh, she also went into your bedroom before she left. But she wasn't in there for a long time.” Seungmin said softly before he took his container of food into the living room and plopped down on the couch to begin eating while watching his television show. Felix nodded his head at his friend before shutting the fridge and beginning to head to his bedroom curious to see what you had left for him. 

When he entered his bedroom he easily spotted the sunflower tote that turned into an almost care package between the two of you. It had started as a way for you to keep all the little things that reminded you of him whenever you had to spend time away from him. But it had quickly turned into a care tote that the two of you swapped between each other normally filled with things that you loved and things that symbolized you in the other’s eyes. Walking quickly over to his gaming chair he starts to unpack the tote and smiles fondly at all the things you had packed inside. There were snacks that he loved, a new gaming magazine featuring one of the games he loved to play, a new chicken figurine that you had found somewhere, and even a new outfit for Bbokari.

He happily began to put all the things you had gotten him away in their rightful places and began to grab the sunflower tote before he noticed something sitting on his desk. There sitting on the corner of his desk was a little origami chicken, he cooed at it as he gently picked it up and turned it around and around in his hands. As he turned a third time in his hand he noticed the little written note on the tail of the chicken on one side, open me. 

Gently and carefully he does manage to open it and sees your handwriting on the inside of the origami paper and he grins bashfully as he reads the words. Everyday you bring me joy and happiness. I hope I bring the same to you. I love you. And your name was signed at the bottom making him sigh dreamily at the sweet loving gesture you had given him. He pulls his cell phone out and snaps a quick picture of the note and sends you a text thanking you for the gifts, food and cute little origami chicken as he giggles happily at all the love he was currently feeling from you.

When he’s done texting you he tries to refold the origami chicken but finds that with all the creases in the paper he can’t figure out how to refold it. Frowning softly in frustration he turns back to his phone when it chimes with a text message notification hoping that it’s from you so that he can ask you how to refold the chicken. When he sees that it’s from Chan he huffs at his friend before swiping the message away and pulling up your contact and pressing the call button. It only takes two rings before you’re answering.

”Hey Sunshine!” You greet him sounding a little winded.

”Hi love, where are you? Seungminnie said you came by earlier but you didn’t stay.” He greets you and pouts slightly at not seeing you when you came over. He hears your softy chuckle and he feels his heart start to lift in his chest.

”I’m out with my nieces right now. I’m on babysitting duty tonight.” You tell him and he smiles at your words. “I couldn’t stay Sunshine, I had to go pick the girls up from school and now we’re in the grocery store getting ingredients to cook dinner with.” You tell him happily as he hears your nieces in the background making kissy noises.

”Can I come crash your sleepover?” He asked hopefully and you chuckled softly at his eager question.

”Miss me that much?” You tease him and he laughs softly in response.

”Always miss you sweetheart. Also I need your help.” He confesses quietly and you burst out laughing at his confession.

”What do you need help with babe?” You ask goodnaturedly and he smiles bashfully.

”Can you help me refold my origami chicken?” He asks quietly and your laughter fills his ears through the phone making him smile.

”So you liked the little chicken?” You ask him curiously and he huffs softly.

”Of course I loved it. It’s adorable when it’s all folded and it hides a special love note just for me.” He gushes shyly and you coo at him. “I love the little secret surprise inside him but I’d like to keep him folded and I can’t figure it out on my own.” He admits softly as he stares down at the unfolded piece of origami paper.

”Alright Sunflower, meet us at my apartment and I’ll refold the chicken for you. Then you can stay for dinner and a sleepover.” You tell him happily and Felix grins widely before he starts to pack an overnight bag.

*-*-*-*

The next week he finds a cute little elephant sitting on the corner of his desk waiting to greet him after he returned home from a trip to Paris for a photoshoot. He grins widely and happily chuckles as he rushes to his desk already pulling his phone out of his pocket. He snaps a couple of pictures of the elephant before gently opening it to read your note that you left for him. I am so proud of you reaching for and achieving all of your dreams. I love you so much and can’t wait to see what’s next in store for you. 

His heart swells with love for you with your sweet words and his grin consumes his face easily. He then pulls out the book that he had ordered last week and begins to look for the  directions on how to refold the origami elephant. At the sleepover with your nieces two weeks ago they showed him your origami book that you had and used for whenever you folded origami figures for them. He had made a mental note of the book and sneakily ordered it while you weren’t looking so that he’d be able to refold any origami that you gifted him with.

He concentrates avidly as he begins to refold the elephant and when he successfully is able to refold it he cries out triumphantly. Standing from his desk chair he then takes the elephant and places it on his shelf right next to the chicken from last week. He grins happily as he eyes his little duo of origami before sitting back down in his desk chair and grabbing his phone to send the picture of his origami elephant to the group chat with the guys to brag about his awesome girlfriend.

*-*-*-*

The next few weeks you manage to sneak in a swan, a dinosaur, a unicorn, and a llama into his bedroom and Felix is nearly overwhelmed with the love that you pour into your little army of origami figures. Every week that there’s a new figure left on his desk for him he feels his heart skip a beat before swelling to almost double in size. He loves every figure that you leave for him and he looks forward to them now each week but he’s been working on a surprise for you too and he’s eager for your visit today so that he can show it to you.

Tonight he’d begged Seungmin to go spend the night at one of the other guys’ apartments so that he can have a nice cozy date night in with you. He had even bribed the younger man with leftovers from your dinner if he left early in the day and didn’t come home til tomorrow. Seungmin had reluctantly agreed but only because of the promise of leftovers and the fact that he didn’t want to hear what Felix sounded like having sex again. When you show up laden with grocery bags Felix eagerly helps you bring them in before putting them away in the fridge and you give him a confused look but he smiles at you lovingly as he grabs your hands.

”Before we start cooking I want to show you something.” He tells you softly before leading you towards his bedroom You raise an eyebrow at him and he laughs softly at your look before shaking his head at you. “Not like that. Stop thinking dirty thoughts.” He chastises you softly as he pulls you into his bedroom. He then moves behind you and places his hands on your shoulders to guide you to his shelf where he’s been storing all his origami figures that you’ve made for him.

”Oh Felix!’ You coo out softly and he grins at your reaction as you both gaze at his shelf full of origami figures. He wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles his face into your neck making you hum in response.

”I love all my origami figures you leave me. They mean so much to me, especially the notes inside. I love you so much and I don’t think I can ever tell you that enough.” He confesses softly to you as he brushes his lips against your neck. You’re enjoying the affection from him as you lean back into his chest and he hums softly while still brushing his lips against your neck, your eyes are still traveling along the shelf looking at each of the origami figures that you had made for him and smile as you remember the process and note held within each one. But then your eyes land on the last origami figure and you furrow your eyebrows slightly, it’s a little neon green frog. You lean forward while still staying in Felix’s arms as you reach and gently take the frog from the shelf.

”I didn’t make this one.” You say softly and Felix giggles proudly from behind you.

”No, I made it for you.” He whispers against your skin and your body flushes with a warmth that starts in your stomach and travels up to your chest settling where your heart sits. You see the little note that says open me in Felix’s handwriting and begin to gently and carefully open the origami frog. As the page is slowly revealed to you your eyes quickly dart over the words written there and feel your breath escape you in a gasp. You are my entire world and I promise to cherish every moment with you. Tears fill your eyes and you set the page down on his desk carefully before turning in his arms to cup his cheeks and press your lips lovingly to his.

Felix smiles into the kiss as he reciprocates it while tightening his arms around your waist pulling you in close to him. The two of you stay like that pressed flush against each other lazily kissing with your arms wrapped around each other. When you both are in desperate need of air you slowly pull away.

”I love you.” You whisper to him and Felix grins while nudging his nose against yours cutely.

”I love you too.” He whispers back and the two of you bashfully grin at each other.

SKZ Taglist: @intartaruginha, @kayleefriedchicken, @babigriin, @simpforleeknaur, @inlovewithstraykids

[shorthaltsjester]

love (loath) this version of ‘empathy’ for characters that exists in fandoms that somehow means taking any articulation of the fact that x character is given responsibility and context by the story and that their poor choices lead to poor outcomes is actually a slight against the character (and implicitly somehow whatever oppressed group which they belong to or are alleged to belong to by sections of fandom)

to be clear this is something i’ve noticed in several fandoms which is why the beginning of this is general language but the pertinent example to my current frustration is liliana temult and the defence of her that lays on a claim that those who enjoy the narrative showing her poor actions leading to poor outcomes for her have somehow failed the empathy test is beyond incomprehensible to me. like even ignoring the very basic level understanding that fiction is a place to experience satisfaction in narratives that we cannot fulfil in non-narrative reality, it’s also like… holy fuck do I not want the kind of empathy that tells me it will all work out no matter what choice I make. it is actually imperative to human life that the choices we make have substance in the outcomes we arrive in, otherwise we would’ve long given up on the notion of free will. and to look at a narrative, particularly one built in the context of a ttrpg. a game notably influenced by the choices that players-as-characters make. and then see sections of an audience find it compelling and enjoyable that a character who has made categorically poor choices that have caused immeasurable harm to others is now dealing with the very obvious face-eating panthers consequences… idk man. if you see that as a lack of empathy i implore you to consider what role empathy is playing in your world.

like. if empathy to you is about comfort and stagnancy and not about growth and community, then sure i can understand how it might not be empathetic in your view to notice patterns and see their obvious outcome and acknowledge that . but as someone who has been in the position of making horrible choices with obvious outcomes, far more essential to my personhood was those who looked at me with careful but critical eyes than those who nearly babyed me into my grave. that’s actually why i love imogen’s choice to insist that liliana make her own choice and then quasi-encouraging her to stay, because it was a clear reminded to liliana that her choices have consequences, and one of those is that the terrible things she’s down in the name of her daughter have led to that daughter not being able to easily trust her.

and i think another thing that’s related that gets misconstrued with liliana (and as always unfortunately many such cases) is that the satisfaction of seeing her absorbed isn’t that it’s retributive harm done or some sort of punishment (at least not for me, skill issue if people in your fandom spaces are that cop-minded but, yknow, what can you expect from the thought-crimes capital of fandom spaces). the satisfaction is in the analogue (that i’ve seen well memed) to the face-eating panthers joke that liliana’s actions which have pushed an agenda that’s depended on the consumption and threat to her child and the children she specifically has aided in placing in danger via her choices, has led to situations where a) she’s ‘burdened’ by her care for imogen and the children (both of which she has played a hand in inviting into the context of danger) b) she is now the person in danger of being consumed after spending weeks simply shrugging off concerns about what might be consumed in the name of ludinus’ Just World™. like it’s not just ‘liliana does bad things, must be punished’ it’s ‘liliana has played a hand in creating a situation that is threatening to many including herself, it is narratively satisfying and engages in Common Narrative Tool: Irony to have that create situation negatively impact her directly.’

to that end that’s why the ‘if you’re like this about liliana you should also be like this about essek’ takes are beyond missing the point (without getting into the horribly built scarecrow that it is, understand that it’s actually undermining decades of feminist’s philosophical and political development to see a critique of a female character and go ‘well actually if she were a man you wouldn’t be saying that’ when it’s a provable fact that people Would be (and have been) saying that if she were a man. so not the feminist slay you think it is). like, as someone who Was just as interested in essek’s story having consequences as I am in liliana’s, there very much WERE consequences for essek that, just like liliana, were well contextualized and suited to the specific choices he made. they are ones that should be obvious even to the most surface read of the campaigns given that essek still appears in disguise years after the end of c2, should also probably be obvious in the rebuilding of relationships essek had to do with mn after they discovered his betrayal. like the notable difference between liliana and essek is not their gender, it’s that we’ve seen the end of essek’s story (in the sense of like. campaign containment, obviously his Story™ is ongoing) and have yet to see liliana’s— it’s entirely possible that liliana does get saved and goes on to repair her relationship with imogen (or goes on and is unable to repair it) or she just dies and part of imogen’s story is dealing with it; all of those are narratively satisfying. what wouldn’t have been satisfying, in the sense that would leave liliana feeling like a non-agent in a story dependent on her agency, is if her role was entirely dictated by imogen’s interest in reconciliation. because sure if you want to look very microscopically the current threat to liliana that exists is 1-to-1 caused by the fact that she’s been helping imogen, but taking seriously the story, the consequences bloom from all the choices that liliana has made leading to ludinus’ decision to trust her however far he does that made liliana’s choice a betrayal and affirmed ludinus’ strength and position so that he can do something like siphon someone’s life force away.

further the ‘why does liliana deserve to be funnelled and relvin gets off easy’ relvin doesn’t get off easy. once again the satisfaction of his narrative is that he did his best and it was insufficient and that cost him a relationship with imogen they both clearly wish for but neither can rectify. the consequence for relvin is that he’s in an empty house that is no longer home to the woman he loved or the daughter he was left to raise alone. surely i don’t need to unpack why i think someone who tried but wasn’t well equipped to raise a daughter with superpowers doesn’t need to evoke as ‘drastic’ consequences in their story as the stated right hand of the campaign’s bbeg for their story to feel complete.

and idk at least for me that’s the salient point; that the consequences that are happening feel like a plausible and suitable conclusion to the story we’ve seen of liliana even if she perishes at ludinus’ hand. it will be sad but it’ll be satisfying, and maybe i should have realized seeing the frequency with which parts of fandom have been campaigning to undo maybe the most weighty and narratively satisfying choices & consequence of vox machina’s story, but it’s truly confounding to me the amount of people treating the presence of any complex and non-traditional happy ending notion in a story set in a world defined by pyrrhic victories. like, empathy for vax isn’t saying he’s the puppet of a god that manipulated him into service, it’s acknowledging that he made a choice that he knew would have consequences and acknowledging that the consequences he demanded with that choice were pretty severe ones. that doesn’t mean i’m watching the end of cr1 seeing the characters destroyed by the loss of vax being like ‘dumbasses, they knew this was coming, vax chose this, these are his consequences’ it means that when i’m crying watching the end of cr1 it’s paired with my deep love for a story that takes seriously the weight of the character’s choices in the determination of their lives. idk man. maybe interrogate how much of your notion of empathy is dependent on individualism to the point of near complete alienation and get back to me on how empathetic it is to look at someone who has caused unarguable pain with their choices and say ‘no no it’s fine you didn’t mean to + you’re a woman :/‘ while the victims of those choices rot in their graves

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Regina x Reader where Regina has a nightmare and wakes Reader, very upset. Reader thinks she has a nightmare about the bus accident and comforts her, but when Regina elaborates it’s the most silly nightmare ever. Reader struggles to keep their composure, because Regina is actually upset about it 😭😭

Buses

|| Regina George x nonbinary!reader

|| Warnings; swearing, Regina has a goofy nightmare, reader comforts Regina, reader trying not to laugh, short drabble

|| Summary; when Regina wakes up in the middle of the night, reader is there to comfort her.

Requests closed!

Started; November 28th

Finished; November 28th

Author Note; thank you for 800 followers‼️🫶 love y'all

~~~

You were used to waking up with Regina. It wasn't uncommon for the blonde to have nightmares, normally it would be about the bus incident. Normally. More of than not, so it was pretty safe for you to assume that this one had been about that too. You didn't realize how wrong you would be.

You were comforting your girl, whispering sweet praises after she woke up in a cold sweet. Completely startled and anxiety ridden. "Shh, that's it. See? You're home. In bed. No buses." You assured her, the moment you said the word buses... she looked at you like you just told her you were an alien.

"What? No- that's not- no-" She muttered, putting a hand to her face. Trying to calm herself," that wasn't it." You looked confused, having been sure that's why she was so freaked out. Though now that you thought about it, it was a different kind of freak out. Not the scared kind, but the worried/anxiety kind. You tilted your head a bit in confusion.

"What was your nightmare about?" Your tone remained soft, trying to gently convince her to tell you. Wanting to help her in whatever way you could.

Regina seemed reluctant to tell you at first but then groaned, clearly now frustrated about whatever her dream had been. "Stupid Cady ate my homework right when I was trying to give it to the teacher."

You paused. Lips trembling. You had to cover your mouth so she couldn't see the smile that was threatening to show. Cady... ate her homework in the dream? What the hell? A small scoff left your mouth in your attempt at hiding a laugh.

Regina snapped her head to look at you. Narrowing her eyes at the sound you made," it isn't funny." She muttered.

You took some deep breaths. Trying your damn hardest to take her seriously," no- no not funny. You're so right, G." Clearly, you oversold it. Cause now she was rolling her eyes at you.

"Fuck off." Regina muttered, a small laugh escapes you and you shake your head. Resting a hand to her shoulder. She tries to brush you off but you just pull her closer," let go of me!" She protests.

"Hey, hey. I'm sorry, okay?" You murmured, kissing her neck. She relaxes a bit at the kiss but still looks rather pissed. "That just... wasn't what I was expecting to hear."

"Whatever," and now your girlfriend was all pouty. You had some making up to do.

[devilsandwings]

Quiet Scenes- A Paul mescal fic

Synopsis: This will be an ongoing story. About Paul Mescal and a singer/actress with Sabrina Carpenters discography. That’s all I’ll reveal for now, read to find out. Love yall 💕

1k words ~ CW: none

This indicates a flashback ✨

March 12, 2023

I’m sitting at the Academy Awards, sipping on my champagne and gossiping with my best friend, Florence Pugh. She’s presenting an award with Andrew Garfield later tonight, you’re her guest. “…so anyway after all of that they ended up getting back together.” Florence finished her story about one of her friends.

“Wow yea that is ridiculous why would she take him back after that.” I responded in bewilderment of her story. She just shrugs her shoulders and the lights dim. Jimmy Kimmel comes back out onto the stage.

~

The night has been going great, you and Florence are having an amazing time. She killed it presenting, the host is funny, you’re running into friends and icons. You’re having a wonderful time at the Oscars. The announcers voice booms over the audience, “Please welcome academy award winners Jessica Chastain and Halle berry”

The two women walk onto the stage in their beautiful gowns. They smile at the assuring crowd as they walk to the microphone. “When an actor or actress first approaches a role we use every tool at our disposal to help us create the world of the character” Jessica says, reading the teleprompter. They continue about how actors create their characters.

“Here are the nominees for best performance from an actor in a leading role” Halle says

“Austin Butler, Elvis.” The announcer exclaims. The screen above the stage changes to a camera of Austin at his seat, he smiles and looks at his costar. The crowd erupts with applause. The announcer continues to read off names and the crowd cheers.

“Would now be a bad time to tell you I’ve never seen Elvis?” Florence whispers to you

I turn my head and gasp at her, “YOU WHAT” I whisper yell at her, but it doesn’t really matter nobody else can hear us over the cheering for Colin Farrell. “Ma’am you have to see it, I’m showing it to you next time you come over, I own it.” She laughs at my demand and nods her head, she cheers for Brendan Fraser.

I turn my head back to the screen as the announcer says, “Paul Mescal, Aftersun.” My brain screeched to a hault at the mention of his name. Then he was on the screen, wearing a white suit. He looked good, really good. “Bill Nighy…” the announcer continues. Just like that he was gone again. Florence cheered and smiled at me with an exaggerated smile, yay see you worked with him and his next role got an Oscar nomination, she’s probably saying in her head.

She doesn’t know what happened, I didn’t tell her. How could I have told her? She loved Mike, she would have been so mad at me. I’ve never seen her mad before, upset and frustrated sure, but mad? No, and I do not want to see it.

“Do you mind if I sit with ya? My trailers a Sauna.” Paul asks, sticking his head into my trailer. “Well we’re in Australia, so it’s hot in my trailer too but sure.” I retorted. “You’re probably just looking to escape your own mess.” He closes the trailer door and puts his hand over his chest, “You wound me, I thought we were friends.” He “stumbles” down onto a chair. I roll my eyes at him and throw a pretzel out of my bowl at him, “friends don’t steal from each other.” “Don’t bake delicious biscuits and expect me not to eat some” he says to you smiling, looking at you with those blue eyes. You look back into them, you could look into them forever. Your eyes meet, and the moment hangs there, magical, electric. Then breaking the spell he clears his throat and looks away from me.

The announcer finished the names and all the nominees are shown on the screen but you can’t help but look at Paul. “And the Oscar goes to,..” Jessica begins, “The Whale”. You audibly groan and Flo gives you a strange look and laughs.

“God I know you worked with him but I didn’t know you wanted him to win that much.” She chuckled as she claps. “Did you even see his movie?”

“Of course I did” I reply, “it was amazing. He was very good.” I drastically lowered my volume halfway through because Brendan began his speech. His face, you can’t get it out of your mind. It was only a slight falter when The Whale was called but it was noticeable.

~

You’re standing at the bar of the Vanity Fair Oscars Afterparty, waiting for Florence to come back. You grab your drink off the bar and turn around to look at the crowd, you scan the room hoping to find a familiar face when you see Paul. Standing halfway across the room laughing with a couple people. Then as if sensing her gaze, he looks up. Their eyes meet.

He excuses himself from the group and walks over to you. There’s a beat of silence as you take each other in. He looks a little rougher, more grown, but his eyes are just as sharp. His blue eyes that I wanted to swim in.

“You look…” he breaks the silence, “incredible”.

“Thank you” she blushes, “you don’t look too bad yourself. White looks good on you.”

He chuckles at her compliment, “thanks.”

There’s an awkward silence. He takes a sip of his drink. “Congratulations on your nomination” I say to him, holding up my drink, “I was hoping you’d win. I saw your movie it was amazing Paul.”

“Thank you. That really means a lot, coming from you.” He says, “It’s good to see you. Really good”

I take a sip of my champagne, studying him. I’m about to say something to him when Pedro Pascal walks over to us.

“Paul hey, could I talk to you for a minute?” Pedro asks, then he turns to me “I’m so sorry could I steal him for just a moment?”

I laugh, “Go right ahead.” I pause for a moment and look at Paul, “It was nice talking to you, I’ll see you later.”

Paul nods, “See you later” His gaze lingers on you until Pedro grabs his shoulder and they turn away. You sit alone at the bar, finishing your drink.

Authors note: Hey this is my first time writing in like a long time so be nice. Lmk what yall think & if you want a part 2. Also feel free to request anything! ~rose

[pedrosgrogu]

Born Too Late - Chapter 7

pairing/au: neighbor!joel x reader // no outbreak

Warnings: MDNI!! angst, child “abandonment” (idk how else to explain forgetting Sarah at school im so sorry), mentions of sex, readers family being assholes, drinking, let me know if i missed something :)

Summary: Sarah’s mom forgets her at school, leading to a girl's afternoon. Joel still refusing to face you, makes for great conversation with Tommy. (1.5k+)

a/n: heyyyyy. *late*  but as promised. this is more so a filler for next chapter which i will hopefully have within the coming days. also, love finally hanging with tommy and developing his character into more than just the drunk, in trouble younger brother. this is getting more and more traction every post or so, thank u!! its my first fic and im still v nervous but im glad you’re all enjoying it. i <3 feedback so pls feel free to always leave it. xoxox 

“Okay everyone! Please dont forget about our test next Wednesday, and have a great Thanksgiving!” You yell as the bell rings, dismissing your students. Its the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and your school did early release today. Since its a holiday break, teachers can leave as soon as all students are gone, and next weeks plans are turned in. 

You open your laptop to finish next weeks math lesson, and notice a new email from your dad. 

Subject: Happy Thanksgiving 

To: You and 15 others 

You open the email and it's an attachment, a picture of your mom, dad, and your brothers and their families, all together in Spain. You scoff and delete it. Thanks for the fucking invite. Clicking back to your tab, you finish next week's lesson, adding slides to a PowerPoint, and worksheets to the file itself. You send it to the office printer, and close your laptop; tucking it away in your file cabinet. One goal you set is that work does not go home with you, especially not on holiday breaks. 

You grab your bag, turn off the light, and shut the door behind you. You walk into the office and see Sarah sitting there. Weird, Joel is never late you think to yourself. “Hey Sarah!” you say, shooting her a wave. She looks up at you but doesn't wave back. 

You print out your plans. All the slides, and copies of the worksheets, are stacked neatly in a manilla folder and left in your boss's box. Walking back up front, you notice Sarah is still sitting there. You walk behind the front desk and get close to the receptionist, Mrs. Johnson.

“Mrs. Johnson, Sarah is one of my students and neighbor. Has no one called about being late?” 

“No ma’am.” she responds “She told me her mom was coming but we can't seem to reach her on the phone.” You look at Sarah, and then back at Mrs. Johnson, and sigh. “Yeah, Mom's a piece of work. I'll call her dad.” 

You reach around in your purse, nervously pulling out your phone. “Excuse me for just a minute.” and you step into the empty conference room down the hall. You search for Joel's name in your contacts, you haven't spoken to him since you screamed at him on your porch. You click call and put the phone up to your ear. It only rings twice. 

“Hey, can I call you back? I'm at work and we’re trying to wrap up so we don't have to be on-site all day tomorrow.” His voice is as smooth as molasses, but you know it isn't Joels. 

“Tommy? Can you tell Joel that Sarah is still at school? Her mom never showed up.” You say, worriedly. 

“What?! Goddamn it. Joel, Sarah is still at school. You need to go get-” You cut him off. 

“Tommy, I can take her home. I'm still here, she's in the front office.” 

“We won’t be home til’ late. I’ll come an get her, an she’ll just have to come to the jobsite with us.” The frustration in his voice is peaking out with every word. 

“Tommy, realistically there is no reason for that. I live right beside Joel. I don't mind bringing her to my house, and she can just hang out until you get home. I’ve got some frozen pizza, snacks, and a TV. She’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure? I really hate to inconvenience you but it would be a tremendous help to Joel.” you’re quiet. Funny that it would help Joel but he cant even come to the goddamn phone. 

“Im sure Tommy. Just have Joel call the front office and let them know she's alright to go home with me.”

“I owe ya one. Thanks pretty girl!.” and before you can correct him, he hangs up. You laugh. Hes such a flirt. 

You compose yourself, putting your phone back in your bag and opening the door. By the time you’re back in the front, Mrs. Johnson is on the phone. 

“Uh-huh, no worries Mr. Miller. I understand. Have a Happy Thanksgiving!” and she clicks the office phone down. She looks at you, smiling and nodding. “Come on Sarah! I'm gonna take you home.” She jumps out of her chair. “Really? Yay!!” She throws her backpack on, basically running out the door in front of you.”I've been telling my dad that I wanted to have a girls day with you but he always says you're busy. I told him you told me to come over whenever I want, even without homework but he didn't believe me.” You laugh. “Sarah, you can always come over. No matter what! You know that.” Your relationship with Sarah is slowly starting to develop more. You see her as the little sister you never had. 

You start your car and plug your iPod in. “What’re you in the mood for Ms. Miller?” you ask, swirling the dial through your artists. “Do you have any Jesse McCartney?” She asks, her smile as bright as the sun. “Duh!!” You scroll to his name and click Shuffle. Leavin’ starts playing. “Do NOT tell my dad. He would die!” She says. You laugh, “Our little secret,” you say. 

Once home, Sarah works on a book report for her english class. You give her some water and some chips. She finishes her snack, and puts her books back in her bag. You spend all afternoon doing whatever Sarah wants. Watching Hannah Montana, doing each other's nails, and making cookies. Before you know it, its 5:30. Sarah stirs on the couch, asking what's for dinner. “I’ve got pizza! Cheese or pepperoni?” you ask her “mmmm…. Pepperoni!” You preheat the oven, and listen for the beep. 

It’s 8:30 and Sarah is asleep beside you on the couch. She was knocked out after 2 slices. Your phone beeps and you check it. 

Joel: We’ll probably be here another hour or so. How’s my girl? 

You missed seeing his name pop up on your phone. The butterflies you feel never go unnoticed.

You: Shes fine. She had dinner about 2 hours ago and fell asleep right after. She’s half in my lap so I can’t move, but I don’t mind.

Joel: Thanks again. Tommy will be over to get her when we finish up. 

You scoff. Not even man enough to face you. 

You: Okay. 

You start to doze around 9. In and out of consciousness, waking every little bit to check on Sarah. You hear a knock at the door that jolts you awake. Checking the clock, its 10:00. You carefully move Sarah’s head from your let to a pillow. You quietly open the door, hoping for Joel. Unfortunately, God isnt on your side tonight, because its Tommy. You invite him in, turning the entryway light on. 

“Thanks again, Joel and I really appreciate it.” 

You look at him, rolling your eyes. “You, I believe. Joel? Not so much.” 

“Damn diva, whats with the attitude?” Tommy says, smiling. 

You weigh the pros and cons of dumping your emotions onto Tommy. And honestly, you’re at the point that you don't care. “You got a minute?��� you say, walking to the fridge and grabbing 2 beers. “I always got time for you girl.” he says, swiftly. You roll your eyes again. You check to see if Sarah has moved and she's still in the same spot you’ve left her. 

You start at Joel but somehow end with your crazy family. Before you know it, its borderline midnight. You and Tommy haven't stopped talking- or drinking. He realizes the time. “Shit, I better get home. Joels gonna lose his fuckin’ mind.” You gather Sarah's belongings and hand them to him. He lifts her off the couch and cradles her like a baby. “And I meant what I said about Thanksgivin’. Come join us. Joel’s smokin’ a turkey, and Ill be there, so will Sarah.” he says with a warm smile. “What about Joel's girlfriend?” you ask, trying not to hold him up but desperate for the answer. “That shit was over the minute it started.” He says laughing. You stare him down, not knowing if he is serious or not. “Don't look at me like that, Im serious. Come over, bring some beers and a side. It’ll be great.” He walks out the door, Sarah in his arms and her backpack on his back. 

You fall asleep, weighing the options of Thanksgiving at the Millers. You wonder if Joel even knows he invited you. You want to call him, you want to hear his voice. The way his pet names for you roll off his tongue with his southern drawl. The way he looks into your eyes when you’re moaning his name over and over. The way he holds you when you cum. You turn your light off and drift into a slumber so deep, you don’t even realize it came. Thoughts of Joel bleeding into your dreams, making you smile in your sleep.

[welcometogrouchland]

Absolutely crushing revelation that she seems to get it from her gayass stupidass father

she's been eep-ing since day one. the eeper.

Secret Origins 80 Page Giant (1998) / Last Laugh #3

[theoddest1]

I have no idea what was the point of introducing Stolas and Blitzo as childhood friends. To make them appear as destined to be?

In fact, it just makes Stolitz creepier. This man just obsessed over a kid he knew for a day for the last 25 years and his first instinct is to bang him? It would have been a lot better for Stolas to witness how they treat imps at Stella's party, leading him to reflect on the classist treatment of people like Blitz. This leads him to grow a bit regretful and uncomfortable, leading him to go back to his study to think over things. There, he reconciles with Blitzo, who is trying to steal his book. Unaware of what's going on, Stolas strikes conversation with Blitz on what they've been up to. Blitzo believes this could be a way to distract him, so he's willing to play that part.

They begin to talk out their lives together: their highs, their lows, and their connections. While Blitzo shows little to no interest in Stolas' personal life, Stolas is shocked and saddened by Blitzo's background. While he became a high-ranking figure with a magical skill set and a family of his own, Blitzo's life has been nothing but pain, struggle, and a string of strained relationships. Despite this though, Blitzo continues to try to make a name for himself, whether as a good dad of an adopted daughter or as a successful boss of an underdog business.

Stolas, while sympathetic for Blitzo, tends to also find admiration in his ambition and work. Despite all the people he's hurt and all the people who've hurt him, he keeps moving forward towards a better way of life. They find an unlikely connection this way, leading to a weekly visit between the two. Despite their differences in class and style, they find comfort in each other and eventually become friends. Eventually Stolas grows interested in Blitzo's business life, leading him to lend him access to the Grimoire whenever his business requires it. Not in exchange for sex, but to help out a man he cares for.

Both Stolas and Stella in this rendition are unhappy rather than hateful of one another. For Stolas, he finds little to no interest in Stella romantically (since he's attracted to men). As for Stella, she has had a soft spot for him since their first encounters, much like Stolas with Blitzo. However, she is also unhappy with him both sexually and romantically, as her attempts at a loving connection always meet to no avail. She begins to grow saddened and bitter, believing she is incapable of finding love. Her parents already viewed her as a free ticket to a life of royal luxury, so why would her arranged husband see her more than a woman he's stuck with for an heir? Despite this, however, both Stolas and Stella attempt to make it work for their daughter Octavia.

Unfortunately, things begin to fall apart once Stolas and Blitzo grow into something more than what they believed they'd become. They grow from a pair of unlikely friends to a pair of friends with benefits. Things grow complicated between the two because of this. Blitzo begins to grow attracted to Stolas, which he cannot fathom due to his rank and his self-worth issues. Stolas also begins to grow attracted towards Blitzo, though he begins to question if this is worth throwing away his public image and family life for. Stolas becomes regretful over his feelings for Blitzo, while Blitzo becomes frustrated and worried.

Anyways, sorry for a bunch of rambling lol. Seeing the wasted potential this show has always pumps up my thought bubbles. I wanted to see a raunchy show with an assassin business with a romance subplot between two morally gray people, not what became of it. 

You gotta understand, Anon...this requires reliable writers to pull off and Arcane S1 levels of care, which Viv's ass doesn't have

Fr, this is really solid! There are a few things I'd change [slightly] here and there, but this would be such a solid way to handle their entire relationship. But Viv is a Fujo, so we are ROPED.

[itseungraps]

STRUGGLES OF LOVE ▸ p.sh

• pairing: boxer!sunghoon x ballerina!reader

• overview: she got tired of waiting, he fought back.

• published: 30.11.24

﹅ and i'm not sure i like it, i'm so tired of fighting…

• • •

y/n stood backstage, staring at her reflection in the mirror. her pointe shoes pinched her feet, but it was nothing compared to the ache in her chest.

tonight was supposed to be special—her biggest recital of the year, a performance she had spent months preparing for. and yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that, once again, park sunghoon wouldn’t be there to watch her perform.

the sound of the audience murmuring outside was drowned by her own swirling thoughts. sunghoon had promised—promised—that he would be there this time. but deep down, she knew better than to trust him anymore. the championships, the endless hours of training, the fame that seemed to draw him further and further away from her.

the stage manager knocked on the door. “you're up next.”

y/n took a deep breath and stepped onto the stage, her heart heavy with both anticipation and the fear of being alone, even in front of hundreds of eyes. the spotlight hit her, and she went through the motions, each movement sharp and precise, but the music sounded distant, as if it were coming from another world.

her mind was elsewhere, running through the conversation they had had earlier that week.

• • •

“i don't understand, sunghoon.”

her voice was tight, her fingers clenched into fists. they were sitting on the couch, the distance between them growing, despite the small space of their apartment.

“i've told you, y/n. i have to be ready for the match. it's the title fight.” sunghoon tone was soft but firm, his expression more focused on his phone than her.

“y/n? no nicknames like ‘baby’ anymore?” she exhaled disappointingly. “it's always about the next fight, the next championship. you promised i wouldn't have to perform alone.” ber voice broke on the last words, her heart pounding in her chest. “but here we are again, sunghoon.”

he finally looked up from his screen, his eyes filled with the exhaustion of a thousand matches. “it's not like i want to miss it. you know how important this is for me, too.”

“you don’t get it,” she whispered, the anger and frustration spilling out of her, “i want you to be there for me, like how i'm always at your matches. not just when it's convenient. i want you to be here, sunghoon. not just in body, but my life.”

his jaw clenched. “i am here. i just…have priorities."

“priorities? You keep choosing boxing over me! over us." Her voice cracked. “i’m tired of being second place."

the words hung in the air, suffocating them both.

sunghoon opened his mouth to speak, but y/n didn't give him the chance. she stood up, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "maybe you should go then. go fight your championships. i'll be fine here on my own."

he stood up too, the muscles in his arms tightening, but his eyes softened. “baby, don't do this. i’m sorry. i want to be there.”

“you’re never there, sunghoon!” she turned away, trying to wipe away the tears that had already started to fall. “i need you to show up. i need you to choose me."

he reached for her, but she pulled away. “you can’t just keep saying sorry and expect things to change. i’m tired of being second in your life.”

• • •

the final note of the music rang out in the theater, and y/n finished the performance, her body moving on autopilot, but her mind still anchored in the memory of the argument. the applause was deafening, however it felt hollow. she was proud of herself for finishing, but the emptiness in her heart was overwhelming.

as she walked off the stage, her stomach twisted. she pulled off her ballet shoes, her fingers trembling. where was he? she had waited, just like every other time, but he hadn’t shown up. not even a text.

her phone buzzed in her bag. she pulled it out, and the screen flashed with a message from sunghoon:

“i’m sorry, baby. i couldn’t make it. please understand. i’ll make it up to you. i love you.”

her breath hitched as her fingers hovered over the screen. she wanted to scream, to throw the phone across the room. but instead, she set it down on the vanity, the weight of his words feeling like another betrayal.

she had wanted him to be there. she had needed him to be there. and once again, he had let her down.

the door to the dressing room opened, and she turned. it was sunghoon.

“i’m so sorry,” he said, his voice quiet, the regret in his eyes palpable. “i didn’t want to disappoint you. i—“

“disappoint me?” she echoed, her voice cold and raw. "you always disappoint me. you keep choosing boxing over me. you keep choosing everything else over us. how many more times are you going to say ‘sorry’ before i realize you don’t actually care?"

his face fell, and for a moment, y/n saw the hurt in his eyes. but it wasn’t enough. it wasn’t enough to undo the months of broken promises, of missed recitals, of being pushed to the side for every fight that came up.

“i do care," he whispered, stepping closer. “i love you, y/n. you mean the world to me, but i just... i don’t know how to balance it all.”

her breath caught in her throat. “maybe it's too late to balance anything,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

for a long time, neither of them spoke. sunghoon’s presence filled the room, but it only made the silence heavier. y/n wiped her tears away, her heart aching in ways she didn’t know how to explain.

• • •

she stared at the heartbroken girl in front of her. two weeks had gone by since she cut off ties with him but the pain she felt made it seem like it was just yesterday everything went down.

watching the mirror as she lifted her arms, the familiar ache of her muscles grounding her. she was in the studio alone, the soft sound of her pointe shoes tapping against the floor, her reflection staring back at her, lit by the warm glow of the late afternoon sun. 

the room was silent except for her breath, steady and controlled. ballet was the one thing that always made sense. the lines, the discipline, the hours of practice—everything was exact. unlike the mess of her feelings.

“you're formation is still perfect,” there it was, the familiar voice. she hated to admit that she missed it.

not bothering to look back, she stared into his eyes from the mirror. in the span of two weeks, he managed to stay looking neat despite the bruises on his face from boxing.

“why are you here, sunghoon?” she asked, desperately searching for at least a hint of guilt which she succeeded in finding.

he sighed as he placed his bag on the wooden bench before making his way to her. “i missed you, and i want to do everything i can to take you back.” he truthfully spat out.

“i'll be honest, i missed you too. but i'm tired of listening to your empty promises,” she expressed emotionally.

he took a moment to look at her before responding, “you moved back in with your mother?”

“stop changing the topic and actually show that you care!”

without hesitation, he wrapped his muscular arms around her frame. “i'm so sorry, please forgive me, y/n. i really do love you more than anything, even boxing. i promise i'll be more present instead of shutting you out.”

• • •

cheers emerged from the surrounding crowd as they intently watched the fight. park sunghoon was in the lead, having a bigger chance of winning the championship.

everyone was pushing, trying to get to the front. y/n watched from the lounge area for special guests, equally thrilled to see the outcome although she already predicted it.

the buzzer went off as the two competitors stood up and walked over to each side of the referee. anticipation filled the atmosphere.

the referee raised sunghoon's hand, declaring him as the winner and handing him the belt. however, all he could think about was getting to his girlfriend.

he ran as fast as he could and embraced her tightly. “i won, i won for you baby. i'm going to be out of training for a while now!”

they celebrated together with a sweet but passionate kiss.

in the end, the two of them made the perfect pair.

[authorindistress]

Merlin writers were a coward not to let Gwen know about Merlin’s magic later in the series. Plotwise, it would have worked SO WELL if she did. Allow me to explain:

Unlike Lancelot and Gaius, Gwen is someone who has known Merlin for a considerable amount of time before a magic reveal and so there’s a lot of unpack there. Her dad was executed for magic, she was accused of sorcery, etc. She would totally have some feelings about it.

But it’s Gwen. So. Obviously my girl is gonna come around and who is gonna be the bestie she works closest with to keep Merlin out of trouble? Lancelot.

Gwen, Lancelot, and Merlin getting up to nonsense together is cute.

This leads to an inevitable situation where Lancelot and Gwen need to cover for Merlin’s magic in a serious situation and how do they do that? Well, they confess to an affair (note: Arthur and Gwen are a thing during this whole ordeal. I know the timing in the show bounces around so stay with me)

Arthur is furious, banishes both of them, and Merlin, who was out saving the world, comes back and is horrified. Gaius stops him from telling the truth but Merlin is determined to figure out how to right this situation.

This leads to some bonding with Elyan, who isn’t convinced his sister actually had an affair.

Meanwhile, Gwen cannot stop thinking about Morgana after Merlin’s magic reveal and decides to go find her after banishment (with Lancelot by her side ofc)

Morgana is bewildered by this and plans evilness but is genuinely taken about by Gwen apologizing for all that happened to her.

They talk, reconcile a bit, and Gwen admits she still believes Arthur is capable of change and the betterment of Camelot in regards to magical people.

Frustrated, Morgana confronts of her about how Arthur can be so great when clearly she’s banished. This leads to Gwen explaining that her and Lancelot were protecting a magic user. She tells Morgana repeatedly she’ll return and confess the truth when magic is legalized.

Morgana is very quiet about this. But later on, she makes a big ordeal about telling Arthur how she doused Lancelot and Gwen with love potion, which leads to Arthur lifting the banishment.

Gwen is confused by this gesture and Morgana admits that while Gwen has hope Arthur will change, she does not. And the best hope for magical people is to at least have allies like Lancelot and Gwen in Camelot. She warns Gwen that one day she’ll see things her way and she better be ready to betray Arthur when that time does.

END PLOT.

[catrastophicsoul]

I'm going to raaaage here, but I need to let my frustration out.

I LOVE Arcane. Really. It's one of the series of my life. It's deep, the characters are amazing, the art style is so fucking cool.

I passed 3 loooong years waiting for the second season. And it's amazing, sure, but many things for me are.. Frustrating. The first act it's good, the second it's amazing, then the third... Just feel incomplete?

There's almost no dialogue in the second season. Imagine how WOW is going to be a deep, meaning conversation between Jinx and Vi (to understand each other's POV) , Vi and Caitlyn (they need one, a big one, to make amends), Ekko screaming truths in Caitlyn's FACE when she was lost in revenge? Feels like the ending will have soooo much more impact.

There's other things: Jinx's thinking that her DEATH is the key to her sister beeing happy??? Sevika without a fucking voice line in act 3? Zaun and Piltover being BFF with only a discourse by Jayce, not even a "I'm sorry for all the years we treated you guys like shit?"

And damn, I MISS the season 1 Vi. She's hot and badass in the second (impossible to not be, LOOK AT HER), but...did the show runners started to hating her, or what? Making her doing shit decisions (and not really explaining them), becoming a pretty much side character in her own show (the plot is about the sisters for fuuuuck saaaake), going into alcoholism, beeing humiliated by her own lack of actions, losing everyone. OMFG how washed you can turn a character???

They didn't even let her to be the one killing Maddie (c'mon, that would be fucking FUNNY).

Anyway, go on, watch Arcane. Is still a piece of art. With a veeeery frustrating, yet still good, second season. I really need the - obviously - scenes they cut out to make 40 minutes episodes.