#remind the people you love what they mean to you

[certifiablyinsanez]

I really hope that now, the people who have been under-appreciating the class and racial dynamics of the show and Blitz and Stolas’ relationship can now realize that Blitz had every right to have doubts and worries over Stolas’ character when it came to their gap.

Do you know what this episode reminds me of? Authoritarian, dictatorial rule. People have opinions of public execution in the real world. It’s something that actually happens. Even for peoples and societies that don’t currently commit to public executions more than likely have a past history of doing so. And the realities of this very real thing were made clear in this episode. Because Blitz, and even all of IMP, was going to die. And in the real world, you probably don’t have a royal lover to save you at the last second. It is a real tool used by cruel masters to keep people in line, to invoke terror and submission. We all saw their faces.

A family of imps, children watching. The little girl closing her eyes sadly.

His best friend and loved ones watching him get his head lopped off.

Even his scorned ex who he viciously hurt is horrified by this.

Just because we knew Blitz was going to be saved, should in no way erase the seriousness of this event. This is something used to enforce submission, to instill fear. Satan mentions how he created imps to be obedient. This was meant to be a reminder to all the lowly people in hell that their place is in the dirt. Because Blitz is only moderately successful for his race. By the standards of higher classes he would still be seen as a low-rate wannabe business man running a seedy operation. His is not rich by any means. His business only produces enough to moderately support his family and his workers.

And he was about to be killed for it.

He was about to be executed because he was a little too uppity. Because he dared to be anything other than what was designated for his race. Let that sink in. Imagine if you were executed on international television just because you wanted a better career and life. This is the reality in Hell. And the unfairness of it all is so blatantly seen when Stolas is harshly punished but still allowed to live. Not only that, but it was put on public record that he’s silly to think he would be killed because “his life actually has worth”. That’s insane.

And I need everyone to apologize and write Viv and her team love letters because these dynamics EXIST IN REAL LIFE. They are real and have real consequences, and this is real for the POC that lives down the street from you. This is not something that happens in a backwards place 10,000 miles away. It’s in everyone’s backyard. This episode was beautifully written and I look forward to every new episode to come.

[suksatoru]

Sukuna is sure there's something wrong with you for loving him.

He's not lovable. He didn't even know how soft love could be until you came around. Sukuna is a brutally honest man, but he can't stop muttering the lie "I don't love you" against your lips even as he kisses you

He lies a lot to you, he realizes. He lies when he tells you that you mean nothing to him, he lies when his fingers dig into your skin as he reminds you you're replaceable. He lies when he says you're stupid—you have a brilliant and creative mind he adores

He thinks you'll slowly fade away like all the things in his life eventually do. He thought his love for you would slowly flitter and diminish with time and he'd stop thinking about you constantly

Unfortunately, Sukuna wasn't familiar with love. He didn't know how unpredictable it could be at times, or how it worked. It brought out parts of him he didn't even know existed.

"I was offered a job in another kingdom."

He looks down at you. You're laying on his chest right now. A single, delicate finger moving across the dark ink swirling on his skin as your face is pressed lovingly against his scarred body.

His large palm drags itself over the nape of your neck and towards the back of your head. He gently fists your hair and tilts your head upwards so you can see his scowl

"You're not going anywhere."

You smile. It makes his chest feel tight and his heart rate pick up as you slowly lift your head off of his chest, criss crossing your legs as you sit up on the bed beside him

"Who are you to tell me what to do?"

If anyone else had even dared to think the words, let alone speak them, Sukuna would've sliced their body into more pieces than they could ever count. But you're a fearless thing. While people tie toe around him, you dance around the King of Curses like you couldn't care less.

He smiles. The gesture feels odd but his lips naturally curl upwards at your remark. One of his hands lazily caress your thigh as he gently nudges the fabric of your night gown out of the way

"Who are you to try and leave? You belong here. With me." Sukuna says lowly, his voice dropping an octave as he looks at you through half lidded eyes. You can see the amusement in his eyes as his fingers wrap around your thigh, giving it a firm squeeze before you sigh

"But what if I wanted to leave? You said it yourself, I am not a priority of yours here." You press, leaning closer with a small pout on your lips as he scoffs

"I don't care." He mutters, not meeting your eyes as he looks up at the domed ceilings above him. Sukuna's room was never a place he used to enjoy being in. To him, the golden furniture and high, carved walls never made him feel anything at all

Now, in the mornings, he'd wake up to you peacefully sleeping beside him. Curled into his side, your presence had become an unshakable thing in his room. Slowly, it became a bundle of passion and love for him to exist freely in.

"Just say you're in love with me." You tease, your soft laughter slowly pulling his gaze away from the ceiling as he watched you crawl back onto his chest, pressing feather soft kisses onto his jaw

He lets out a breath through his nose, mentally preparing himself for the words that were about to leave his mouth as he puts his hands on your waist to steady himself.

"I...I do." he mumbles, more to himself as your raise your brows in surprise

"You what?"

He grits his teeth, wondering why you're making this so difficult for him. Sukuna glares at you silently, hoping you'll be able to push past his arrogant words and see the underlying message

"You know what. So shut up and go back to doing that stupid thing you were doing." He concludes, referring to when you were tracing his tattoos. You laugh louder as your eyes crinkle in amusement

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about. can you try that again, your highness?" You smirk, pressing your palm flat against his pec as he scowls

Don't give in to the brat. Don't give in to the brat. Don't give in to the brat. Don't—

"I love you."

The words come out strained, almost a whisper as he stares up at the ceiling. His grip on you is tight and he absolutely refused to look down into your eyes. He knows your lips are probably parted in shock. Your silence is long as he awaits a response, suddenly questioning if he'd said the right thing—

Both of your hands grab hold of his cheeks, slowly turning his face towards yours as one of his arms instinctively reaches out to pull you closer

Your voice is soft, but the warmth and relief that spreads through his chest is a welcomed sensation

"I love you too."

[drdemonprince]

People left behind often interpret being cut off as a punishment, and I’ve read enough letters from the people who leave that I can’t say 100% that it isn’t intended that way, at least at first. A good sign that leaving was meant to teach a lesson is if they keep popping back up to see if you’ve learned yours yet. But if somebody goes away and stays gone? The simplest and best explanation is that they wanted freedom more than they wanted anything else. Freedom from you, from the institutions you might represent, from the situation that brought them to that point, from painful reminders, from a flurry of minor annoyances, from a lack of enjoyment or pleasure, from pressure or obligation to make the situation be any different. Freedom goes both ways, so when somebody hits that block button or tells you outright not to contact them anymore, they are telling you that there is nothing whatsoever you can do to fix whatever this is, and now you get to be free of it. Breaking up means that you don’t have to work on the relationship anymore. It’s done. Your work here is done. Grieve for what you lost. Then? Be free.

I love Captain Awkward so fuckin much

[grimmsbride]

LOVERS ROCK [ daisuke / reader ]

keeping your relationship a secret from your coworkers was no doubt; thrilling. and also, very, very challenging. it didn’t help the two of you just loved to push your limits

tags / ooc characters | semi-public sex (everyone is asleep but still) | reader & daisuke are slightly inexperienced | soft-top daisuke | mentions of marks | cowgirl | dry humping | porn with little plot | they fuck with earbuds in | mentions of the other crew members | fluffy at the beginning | pre-established relationship | sex under the stars.. | pre-crash | chubby & poc coded reader (but anyone is free to read) | i don’t know the exact time period but modern music is mentioned | you guys love holding hands | etc.

notes / #bringbackdryhumping | reader is the same janitor reader in my previous fic (obviously). i got this idea randomly, daisuke seems like the type to take his partner to scenic places for dates. and well.. the nighttime screen is about as scenic as it gets on the tulpar. i hope you enjoy and as usual please excuse any grammar mistakes or typos 🫶🏾. i feel i made him very ooc, i’m used to see daisuke smut being quite submissive to the reader so i wanted to go a different approach.. i think in situations like this he may be a little more confident, especially if his partner is reciprocating to the feeling. if you have any thoughts on the manner let me know <3

The Tulpar was filled with mundane tasks. Wake up, clean, eat, shower, and go back to sleep— a routine that’s been ingrained into your body. A continuous cycle that would have bored you to death without your beloved music. You were grateful for your position, no matter how minuscule, yet you couldn’t deny the wish for something more.

And luckily it came true; in the form of a young man nonetheless.

You weren’t one to mix business and pleasure, it just seemed like a disaster waiting to happen. Coming across Tulpar and the demographic you expected to be on the ship — older people that certainly weren’t your type — you were quite confident you wouldn’t go against your usual code. But alas, you surprised yourself while falling for a certain intern.

As bright eyed and slightly clueless he was, Daisuke was a pocket of sunshine you’ve come to truly adore. Always there when he can be, even if it means a quick kiss when you’re cleaning or a gentle pinch when passing by to remind you of who was in your corner.

Keeping your growing relationship a secret from your coworkers was troublesome but extremely necessary. You couldn’t imagine the expressions the others would display, especially Jimmy who just seemed to be far too eager to stomp on just about anyone's happiness; no matter the size.

Still, you couldn’t deny how thrilling it was at times. Pulling your partner into a quiet dark corner for a few extra kisses, or the secret looks the two of you gave each when in a public setting. The line was thinning longer and longer, close calls increasing as time passed.

And yet here you were, seated upon the living room couch; waiting for your beloved Daisuke.

Usually if the two of you wanted alone time when everyone was asleep you alternated between your bedrooms. At least there, there was a door and bed. But for some reason, Daisuke was adamant on spending some time out here; underneath the pretty nighttime screen.

Your eyes stared up at the blues and whites, head leaning back against the shoulder of the couch as music poured into your ears. Your thumb traced the little device, perfectly at ease.

That was until something delicately traced the back of your neck.

You swallowed a yelp, quickly turning with a jump to glare at the one responsible— who only grinned back at you.

“Daisuke! What if I had yelled?”

You stood up from the couch, watching the man walk around the before waltzing down the little steps. Within two strides he was standing in front of you, glancing down at you with the sweetest smile.

“But you didn't!” Daisuke chuckled the moment you lightly shoved his chest, catching your wrist in time before you could move it away. In doing so, he locked your fingers whilst his free hand went for the earbud occupying one of your ears. Pulling it out, the man then lifted it to his own, bringing himself closer to your form.

You met him, unoccupied hand sliding up to wrap your arm around his waist, laying your head against his chest. Between the melody of his heart beat and Tv Girl running through your ears, you were at complete bliss. As if you could fall asleep right then and there.

The two of you swayed, allowing yourselves to get caught up in each other rather than your surroundings. You felt his free hand sneak underneath your arm, pulling it higher until your hand was on top of his shoulder. After which, Daisuke’s hand found your waist, tugging you even closer and actually adding moves to your swaying.

You snorted softly, mumbling softly about him being corny to which the man only laughed. Silence continued after as the two of you danced slowly, carefully, as to hopefully not alert the others of your rather embarrassing nightly activities.

A step, another, and then a graceful stride. You wondered if Daisuke danced a lot back home. The thought caused you to laugh once again, just in time for your lover to twirl you.

Slithering his arm tighter around your waist, he pulled your back to his front, face being shoved into your neck.

Your eyes peeled open, staring up at the nighttime screen that stared back at you. “Dancing under the stars, huh?..”

“A perfect date.”

You smiled at his words, hand rose to reach back and lightly fuss with his hair. “Yeah, all girls love dancing at work while watching a blown up image of a fake sky.”

Daisuke laughed into your ear, the pitch perfectly going along with the music you shared.

“I told my dad I knew what the ladies wanted.”

You groaned softly, teetering between amusement and playful annoyance. You turned around in his hold, hands rising to hold his warm cheeks.

“You’re corny..”

Daisuke smiled, thumb tracing the small of your back, messing with the fabric of the top you wore. “And lucky for me, you’re into it.” You didn’t need to agree nor deny, given the sweet kiss you pressed to his lips was answer enough. He kneeled to meet you fully, tugging you so close as if wishing to melt into you. Your noses brushed against each other, cold tips warming as you consumed one another. You loved kissing Daisuke, not just because he was your boyfriend but more-so cause he was a damned good kisser.

His lips always moved so slow at first, before slowly picking up the longer you continued. A hand rose from your back to instead cup the back of your head, a shiver running down your spine the moment his fingers traced up your scalp; messing in your hair.

So desperate.. you two always were. The thought of any interruptions spurred you on to always savor each and every moment with as much as passion as possible.

And it seemed the both of you intended to do just that, as — ever so carefully — Daisuke walked backwards, leading you with him. Once close enough he was descending to the couch, taking you with him by the waist and pulling you onto his lap.

The two of you broke apart for a moment, gulping up the air around you greedily before smashing your lips together with even more vigor. Your hands were clutching his shoulders at this point, suddenly being reminded Daisuke wasn’t just some clueless man.

You shivered as you felt his hand glide, intruding your top to lay his fingers upon your warm skin. With each interlock of your tongues his fingers were digging into your flesh, a soft whine being pushed from his throat into your mouth. The sound alone caused your thighs to clench, moving carefully in his lap.

Which of course, was met with a hiss and a quick squeeze. You questioned this for a moment, before quickly realizing why it happened in the first place.

This only caused you to smile against him, lowering your hips fully before dragging them against him slowly.

Daisuke was off your lips in minutes, hands falling to your waist as a hushed groan escaped his bruised lips.

“Here?..” The man spoke gently, eyes flicking from between your bodies before back to your face. His eyebrows furrowed as you continued your languid drags, biting the inside of his cheek nervously.

You nodded slowly, leaning closer to press your lips to his ear. “Mhm.. here.”

“Then.. I want to feel— more. Please.” His words were sweet, allowing them to settle in the air for a moment before his fingers were curling to tug at your pants, allowing you to get the message. You stood up rather quickly, pushing your pants down and off, the bottoms pooling at your ankles.

You watched as Daisuke did the same, now only in plain boxers, a funny contrast to the gaudy everyday shirt he usually wore.

Stepping out of your pants, you caught his hands as you made your way back to his lap, brushing your clothed cunt right against his growing bulge as you sat down. It was your time to whine as you felt him through your thin fabrics, Daisuke capturing your lips rather quickly afterwards.

Slowly, you began that same languid pace, gripping his shoulders for stability as you dragged your hips back and forth.. back and forth. His nails were digging into your thighs, meeting your movement with a small, desperate thrust. Moans passed between the two of you, warmth, and music mixing into a sensation that you could only describe as euphoria.

Dramatic sure, but what else could you call it, exactly?

“Could come.. ju—just from this.” Daisuke mumbled the moment the two of you broke apart for air, his face falling to your neck to stamp wet kisses to your skin. He was gentle not to focus too much on a single area, worrying about leaving behind a mark. Though, it seemed rather contradictory given the location the two of you chose for your.. fun.

You were aching, panties surely soaked with arousal as that itch grew. You could only pant in his ear, unsure how exactly this felt so good. Maybe it was pent up, a mixture of stress and the misfortune of lack of alone time. Regardless, it wasn’t your job to figure it out at the moment.

The only job you had right now was to continue to chase this feeling, for as long as you could.

Daisuke pulled you closer if humanly possible, hips rising up from the couch as he ground up into you. He wasn’t lying early, despite zero actual contact he could feel himself twitching— begging for release. The effect you had on him was far too great, after all.

Desperate breaths escaped you, thighs shaky yet yearning for more. His touch, everything, you wanted to feel it all. Your fingers rose to curl into his hair, leaning into his ear as the softest more, dropped from your tongue.

Your words spurred him, fingers squeezing your flesh, nails tracing against those pretty marks that lined your hips.

“You want more?.. Of course, whatever you want.”

Daisuke could never deny you, no matter how small the request was. In minutes he was tugging his boxers down to his thighs, hand lazily dragging across his length. It was a pretty color, lighter than him, with a mole on the under side of his shaft.

The man then reached with his other hand to curl his finger on your panty, tugging it to the side and exposing your soft cunt to his hand. For a moment his finger gently circled your hardened bud, enjoy the pleasant noises you struggled to keep down.

But soon enough he was becoming as desperate as you, helping you position carefully, rubbing his weeping tip against your clit. Daisuke hissed, continuing to coat his dick in your arousal before finding your entrance, lining up, and raising his hips to push himself inside.

The both of you groaned, your eyes pinched closed as you sunk down. Your walls wrapped around his length perfectly, swallowing him up and keeping him deep inside. With each breath you released you clenched, causing the young man under you to struggle to keep his mind straight. Daisuke couldn’t help being so inexperienced, and well.. neither could you, given you felt a single movement would be enough to push you over the edge.

Your eyes slowly opened, gaze falling to his face, taking the time to map out his expression. Would it be corny to call him beautiful? Was it corny to find your lover beautiful in a such state? Under your mercy, as close as biologically possible? Maybe.. but you didn’t dwell on it long, instead deciding to graze your palms across his cheeks, thumbs coming to trace the moles on either side.

“I love you.”

Your words were earnest, laced with the sweetest honey. You smiled, watching his own signature smile cross his face, perfectly. Like any other time.

Daisuke pulled you even closer, a grip to your thigh as he leaned to just a breath’s away.

“See. Now you’re the corny one.”

Your lover swallowed the pretty laughter threatening to leave your chest, all smiles as his arms wrapped around your waist. Once tucked close and snug, his hips, the small thrust enough for the both of you to sigh into the other’s mouth.

Soon enough your knees were pressing against the cushions, hips rising and falling into his lap. With each drop, wet skin smacked against each other, certainly a worrying sound but the two of you seemed to no longer care.

You were too caught up in each other anyway.

Your fingers curled into his silky locks, crying out into his mouth as he stirred you up deeply. His length hit each spot perfectly, a mold made specifically for you. And what’s more, the moment a hand snaked under your skirt to drag his thumb across your nipple— you began to see stars.

Daisuke groaned into you, meeting each drop of your hips with desperate thrusts. You felt so good, way too good. He tried to keep his voice down as to avoid alerting the others, and hear you. You just sounded far too good to ignore.

Your shaky breaths, the way your voice pitched whenever his tip brushed against that special spot — don’t even get him started on the gasps you made when Daisuke went, just a little too deep. Alas he couldn’t focus on the growing list of reasons for his obsession you; bringing you complete pleasure was the main objective.

“You’re clenching me.. you’re going to come, aren’t you?” Daisuke drawled against your lips, pressing a kiss to them before dragging his own over to your ear. Each pant and groan hit it directly, the man at this point helping you rise and fall upon his cock.

“I want you to finish.. all over me.”

“Daisuke—!”

“Not so loud..” The intern spoke in a soft rasp, squeezing you close as his end grew closer. “I don’t need the others to hear you like this. It’s on—only for me, yeah?”

You shook your head rapidly, lip nearly bleeding from how hard you were biting down, your fingers digging into his shoulders— sure to leaves marks despite the shirt he wore.

Within moments you were seeing white, clutching him as you fulfilled his wish. Your arousal coated his dick and thighs, making a sticky mess that was surely on the couch by now.

Daisuke swore under his breath, bringing you onto his lap in one final thrust before filling you up. Luckily he remembered you took the pill as to regulate your period.

The two of you panted, in sync with each other and the music that seemed to still be blasting in your ears. How exactly your earbuds sustained that erratic movement, you will never know nor question.

You pulled back to glance at Daisuke, spotting the man already looking at you, smiling brightly.

You rolled your eyes, glancing down at the space between your two bodies.

“This is going to be so annoying to clean.”

Daisuke stifled his laughter, pulling you into a tight hug, eyes shining whilst he stared up at the screen;

“Maybe… I love you too, [Name].”

[luxmainohno]

GF!jinx headcanons

A/n: i haven't posted forever here but arcane left me with a hole to fill so I wanted to come back and surround myself with ppl who like the things I do hahaha. Anyways if you like this plz like/reblog/share and feel free to send me some request for later! And happy Thanksgiving!

S2 arcane showed us that when Jinx is with someone she feels safe around she's very cool headed and rational. I'd assume she's the same around her partner

She has plenty of inside jokes with you, some you probably don't even know about and she definitely gets pouty when you don't get the joke.

Loves doodling you. They're bad and unflattering but they're drawn out of love and adoration

If she's a jinx you're the opposite.

She thinks you saved her and can fix or make better all her mistakes. She probably even is a little unhealthily attached to you

I love writing jinx bc she is just so mentally ill (me too) I really think jinx in a relationship is a study on its own!

At first i don't think she'd be too keen on physical intimacy and genuinely you'd have to initiate any touch.

In arcane the people she is physical with like hugging and closeness are silico and vi, touch is saved for her family. If she's touching you in anyway she means you're family.

So many random soft moments with her, she's genuinely not this manic awful person when she's left alone in a safe environment. She needs a safe environment to be herself, to be jinx and powder in one.

She loves private time between you two, its the only time she can take her time to be herself without any pressure, she's allowed to not think or worry about destroying something or someone

She's terrified of ever hurting you, so much so it'll be a genuine issue in the relationship. She's so scared of Jinxing this relationship, what if she makes you hate her? What if she accidently harms you or worse ?

You'd have to spend a lot of time reminding her she's not an awful person, and her existence isn't a burden. It will never be to you, you promise and she believes it. She holds on to it and to you.

Can be very paranoid about you. You're safety, loyalty, whatever it is she just has never had any sort of stability or constant, she will question everything, and you will have to be her rock

[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.

[ir-abelas-vhenan]

Something Something Yeah It's Still Solavellan Hours (Mythal is kind of here, too)

I've seen a few very beautifully articulated posts talking about the conflicted responses players are finding themselves having in regards to the decision by writers* to have Solas' atonement route possible because of his conversation with one of the remaining fragments of Mythal.

(*honestly I hesitate to put the weight of bigger game events on their shoulders because of how much I know bigger players in the company were involved, so when you read 'writers' know I just mean whoever had final say on plot)

I love reading where people are at on this, and having now breathed, re-played the scene, cried, read some more theories, and then played the scene again enough times I think I'm now able to figure out where I'm at.

TLDR: in my humble opinion, the conversation Solas has with Mythal doesn't bring him any actual closure at all. It is only the version of the atonement ending that has Lavellan in which he is actually set upon a road to redemption.

This, like everything else where I lose my mind, will be long. I tried to restrain myself and here we are, unhinged as ever.

I was unhappy at first that Mythal's incredibly brief conversation with Solas where she releases him from her service seemed to be what finally allowed him to make a decision based on his wants and not hers. My concern stemmed mostly from the fact that a lot of us are trying to be active participants in a society that recognizes patterns of abuse and seeks to establish channels through which individuals can pursue healing without the approval, consent, or demise of their abuser.

But the more I look at the scene, the more I wonder what would have happened in a world where Veilguard got just a little more time in development. Could we have gotten a scene that more elegantly conveys the theme that we cannot heal every part of our loved ones, much as we might like to?

In an imperfect world it isn't always up to us how someone finds closure, which really sucks when you'd like to ensure a loved one finds it in a way that preserves their dignity and limits exposure to the individuals who have harmed them.

And while it could be left there, I'd like to actually push back on the idea that Mythal is in any way responsible for "healing" Solas in this moment.

I went on a different tirade a few days ago about how at the end of Inquisition, Mythal says words to Solas that on their surface seem well-intentioned or placating, but they actually just serve to further bind him in guilt and a position of servitude. In Veilguard's finale, she still does not take accountability for exactly how much of a role she played in the pain that Solas, a man others have revered and feared as a god, has gone through as he cowers, actually cowers before her.

Mythal's interaction with Solas conveys exactly two things to him as far as I am concerned (I'm going to botch these quotes but my laptop is dying so please accept some paraphrase as I rush to finish this before I go cry about this analysis to my uncaring dog):

"The terrible things we did, we did together." You are forever tied to me.

"I release you from my service." But what am I releasing you to?

Because up until Lavellan joins the fray here, all I take away from the physical and unwilling emotional cues Solas gives in this scene (he is a master in trickery, for goodness' sake, the thought of so many witnesses seeing him unable to hide behind a mask has to leave him feeling anguished on top of everything else) is that Mythal has once again reminded him of everything he did in her name and telling him that all that's left for him is to go back to the fade prison and, as he as always done, endure the crushing weight of his failures alone.

To me, in my interpretation, the Solas that hears this from Mythal with no Lavellan intervention may choose to willingly step down from his original plan (and yeah, that's gonna do some damage) but he is certainly not free of his past. He's going to be reminded of it every time he turns a corner and finds more blight to try and soothe, and even the moments that he rests will be filled with more manifestations of his regret. He says it himself: where he's going? It's terrible.

Enter Lavellan. Yeah, he couldn't bring himself to listen to her at her first plea (but like damn how many times are we going to have to watch her give a heartfelt speech only for him to be like 'something something beautiful elven rejection'). But I know that you know that our clever icon knows better than to take what Solas says at face value. She tells Rook plainly that he's absolute dogshit at lies of the heart, and she says it with her whole chest.

Lavellan sees the way his shoulders slump (in resignation yes, but you can't convince me there's not a little bit of relief there, too), she hears the agony in the "vhenan" that escapes his lips (which, don't even get me started on the fact that it's been like nine years and he has no hesitation at all calling her his heart, it just spills out of him). It is not the sound of a man delighting in the steps he's about to take. They're certainly not steps he does not dislike that lead to a destination he enjoys.

And then she watches Mythal (who I can't imagine she feels any sort of fondness or respect for) pull some weird nonsense on her love one final time, and she knows it's her moment to shine.

Mythal, I would argue, pushes Solas down one more time, shames him into seeking atonement, into once again being alone.

It is the romanced Lavellan that kneels so that he cannot fail to meet her eyes. It is she who invokes their connection, not to remind him of his failures but to reaffirm his greatest strength: their love and their love alone is inevitable. Not the consequences of his past, not the regret he thinks will consume him as he seeks to mend what has been broken. It has only ever been them.

"There is no fate but the love we share". We are forever tied together.

"There is no fate but the love we share." *I* am releasing you from everything else save for this love.

Put colloquially: get absolutely fucking wrecked, Mythal.

Body language comparison to chase up the dialogue one, anyone? The way Solas shrinks before Mythal as opposed to him walking off into the fade with Lavellan at his side and standing tall, and he does not flinch when she lifts a hand to his shoulder?

Ultimately, Mythal is a part of the atonement endings no matter what. But it is only Lavellan that refuses to let him walk alone. It is only Lavellan that guarantees that his dinan'shiral ends not in a prison of regret, but a place of promise.

Mythal bends Solas until he breaks one last time. Lavellan takes each piece, claims it as hers, and uses them to build the beginnings of a future.

[kzrosa-writes]

・︶꒦꒷ ˚ ₊ ✦ LOVE WAR ; dottore & pantalone x reader

two smitten harbingers fighting for your love and your heart, how do they try to win you over? ; love triangle between dottore and pantalone

likes, reblogs n follows are appreciated! <3

Attracting the attention of a Fatui Harbinger would be considered an accomplishment on its own. But two? That was much more than a miracle. But were you really lucky for attracting the attention of both the Ninth and Second Fatui Harbingers?

Pantalone believes that the best way of expressing love is through tangibility and quantity. As the Harbinger in charge of handling the Northland Bank's operations, he inevitably would have access to a vast amount of wealth. From exquisite jewels and necklaces to luxurious clothing specially tailored for you, Pantalone would provide you with all the splendour Teyvat has to provide. He believes that with each gift, he would be able to express his heartfelt feelings for you. You would often be greeted with a bouquet of flowers by your doorstep when you arrive back at your residence. Whenever you confront him about it, he would tell you that each bouquet is a profound declaration of his love, with each embedded a message an ardent reminder that he would always be there for you.

Dottore, on the other hand, believes that gifts are meaningless if the sender doesn't truly mean their actions. A gift could be so luxurious, but what use is it if the sender lacks sincerity? That's why he believes that the best way of expressing his love towards you is through his actions. Albeit small and subtle, it's the little things he does and the genuine effort he puts in that builds and strengthens your relationship and connection. Dottore isn't materialistic by any means, he prefers to make his love known through his deeds and actions. Are you struggling with your work? He would bring you your favourite drink to encourage you, and perhaps he would try his best to help you out, regardless of his lack of knowledge and skills in that field. Being the Fatui's lead scientist would mean that he has a good memory, and he would use it to remember everything about you. He picks up on the smallest things that you would mention during your conversations, and he would surprise you with simple acts that can easily bring a smile to your face. You would often be shocked, and mostly touched that he would remember such a miniscule detail about yourself. Dottore believes that actions speak louder than words, and therefore does his best to show you just how much you mean to him.

Unlike Dottore, Pantalone believes that words can be just as powerful and impactful as actions are. To him, words hold deep meanings to him. In the past, Pantalone had prayed endlessly to the gods, desperately seeking comfort and answers to his misery. He had never received the answers he had been longing for, and that was what caused him to believe that words are indeed equally important as actions. He had always craved reassurance, comfort and solace from the gods, looking for a sign that everything will be alright. But it never came. Pantalone uses this pain as a means of healing his own past, by offering you reassurance and words of comfort. Pantalone believes that words have the power to make or break people's spirits. Even a simple encouragement can lift spirits, even if it's just a little. Without a little push, some may not even move at all. That's why Pantalone loves to shower you with affectionate words. Hearing his smooth, soothing voice comforting you with sweet words will never fail to make your heart flutter. It's all part of Pantalone's charm. Whenever he notices a slight shift in your mood, he would ask you about it and try to make you feel better. Pantalone would never fail to make you feel special; he will always provide you with the comfort you need.

Dottore is not a sentimental person by any means. He's very closed about his true feelings and doesn't let people get close to him. But with you? It's different. There's just something about you so lovable that even the cold and apathetic Doctor can melt from your warm smiles. As Dottore struggles to explain his emotions through words, he prefers to spend his time with you to show you his feelings. He would always be there for you when you needed him. Despite his busy schedule, he would make time for you, enjoying your presence and basking in the comfort of your touch. Whenever confronted by you, Dottore would use the excuse of taking a break from work to spend time with you. But if he is really busy, you would receive attention from one of his Segments. His Segments are equally as enamoured by you, and they would be more than happy to spend time with you. Dottore says it's the least he could do if he can't be there for you when you need him.

At the end of the day, you would be showered by their affections and attention regardless. Both of them have their ways of showing you their appreciation and love. It's only a matter of who wins your heart at the end of the day. Would actions really speak louder than words? Or will the temptations of sweet words and opulent riches win you over? In the end, the choice would be yours to make.

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[billiesguitar]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ 𝐁𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐄𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡

other girls

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Smut,Dom!billie,cursing,eating out,fingering

"Long time no see, hm baby?" I feel her arms slide around my waist and her breath tickles the back of my neck as she places her head on my shoulder. Billie looks up at the girl I'd been talking to this whole party and smiles sweetly.

"Billie," I smile back, trying to keep my voice from giving away my anger, she always does this, leaves and talks to whoever she wants, reminding me of our friends with benefits agreement but gets angry when I talk to other girls. though she's so beautiful tonight. She's wearing this black suit that hugs her curves in all the right places, making my stomach flutter.

"So sorry I've been busy," she says, then glaces at the girl, "thanks for keeping my girl company."

The girl blushes and quickly excuses herself, leaving Billie and me standing there awkwardly.

"Why are you talking to her?" Billie's voice is low, almost a growl.

"I can talk to however I want. I'm not your girlfriend, Billie." I reply, trying to keep the edge out of my tone.

"No, but you're mine," she whispers into my ear.

Her hands are on my hips now, turning me to face her. I can't help but look into her piercing green eyes. "Friends with benefits, remember?" I remind her, trying to sound nonchalant.

"I do. But I don't like sharing." She says, her grip tightening.

"What do you mean by that?"

Her gaze is intense, and for a second, I think she's going to kiss me right here in front of everyone. But instead, she takes my hand and leads me through the crowd. "Follow me."

We push through the throng of people, the bass of the music vibrating through my chest, until we reach the bathroom. She locks the door behind us and turns to face me.

"I want you," she says simply. "Now."

The sudden aggression in her voice sends a thrill down my spine, and I know exactly what she means. I nod, my heart racing.

Without another word, she grabs the hem of my dress and pulls it up, bunching it up around my waist. "I should bend you over that counter and fuck you into oblivion," Billie get on her knees and parts my legs, her grip firm on my thighs, "but I'm not gonna do that."

"Why not?" I ask breathlessly, feeling a little disappointed.

"Because I want everyone to hear how much you want me," she says with a smirk, "and I want them to know exactly who you belong to."

Billie tugs my underwhere down and drapes my leg over her shoulder. She kisses my inner thigh, her hot breath sending shivers down to my core. "You're mine, aren't you?" she asks, looking up at me.

"Yes," I murmur, feeling my body responding to her dominance.

"Good."

Her mouth moves to my core, and she starts to kiss and nibble lightly before bringing in her fingers. They're gentle at first, but she quickly picks up the pace, making me gasp. Her tongue swirls around my clit, and she adds a second finger, pushing into me without mercy.

"Billie," I moan, my hand on the cool porcelain of the sink to steady myself.

"That's right," she murmurs, her voice a bit low, "let them all know."

The bathroom echoes with the sound of my moans, and I can't help but wonder if anyone outside can hear. It's so wrong, but so hot.

"I want to hear you,baby." she says, her voice muffled by my legs

And with that, she sucks harder, her tongue flicking my sensitive bud. My legs start to shake as the pleasure builds inside me.

"Oh god," I whisper, leaning back against the sink and I tug slightly on her hair.

Her response is to push in a third finger, stretching me and filling me up completely. I feel so vulnerable like this, exposed and at her mercy. But I love it.

"Billie," I call out louder, "please, don't stop."

"m'not gonna baby," she coos, "don't you worry"

I can feel my climax approaching, and I'm so close. "I'm gonna come," I whimper.

"That's it," she encourages, her tongue never leaving my clit.

The orgasm hits me like a wave, making my knees buckle. Billie holds me up, her mouth still working me through the aftershocks. She pulls away and looks up at me with a satisfied smirk.

"now, can other girls make you cum like this?"

[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

[thescarletwitchsapprentice]

Imagine: You and Rio are at the Avengers Compound for Thanksgiving and you’re in charge of baking pies….this can only lead to good things. (Rio Vidal x gn!reader)

Author’s Note: I really wanna get back into writing stuff like this. Like…I just LOVE Rio.

Now I’m wondering if I should do crossovers…like putting Anya in the Avengers universe and whatnot.

(CW: I don’t think any are applicable? Lmk if there’s one I need to put)

You still honestly don’t know how she did it.

By some miracle, your girlfriend Rio had managed to contact the Avengers and get them to invite you for Thanksgiving, or rather the day before. Sure you’d been an intern at the Compound, but it wasn’t for that long, and they likely didn’t know Rio.

And yet here you are, standing in the kitchen as Rio searches up pie recipes; while Tony is out getting some food at the last minute, Wanda, Vision, Peter, and Steve are all watching The Dick Van Dyke Show while Yelena, Nat, Pietro, and Kate are attempting—and attempting is very much stressed—Clint and Bucky how to play Cards Against Humanity; it’s honestly really funny to watch.

“Okay,” Rio huffs, breaking you out of your thoughts. “I found a recipe for a pumpkin pie.”

“What else?” you ask.

Rio blinks. “Is that not enough?”

“You’re sleeping on pecan pie,” you scoff.

“Pecan?” she asks, her face scrunching up in confusion. “Like the nut pecan?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “What else do you put in it?”

“…Fruit or pumpkin,” she exclaims in disbelief. “You put fruit or pumpkin in it. Who puts nuts in a pie?”

“I do!”

Rio huffs. “What’s next? Are you gonna tell me you put chocolate in it?”

“Yeah, actually,” Kate replies as she looks through her stack of cards. “French silk pie.”

“There’s also meat pie,” Yelena adds. “I love putting hot sauce on mine.”

Hearing this, Rio is in shock. “You put MEAT? In a PIE?”

“Yeah? Is this really such a novel concept? I mean, in Russia, there’s a pie with a filling or salmon or sturgeon, rice, hard-boiled eggs, mushrooms, and dill.”

Now both of you are shocked. “What?” you both exclaim.

“Who puts fish in a pie?” you stammer.

“Russians,” Nat shrugs.

“All pie is good pie,” Steve says, “But nothing beats a classic apple pie.”

“Pecan,” you insist. “Pecan beats it.”

“That’s up for debate,” Clint says as he looks at the cards that people submitted. “Who put down ‘Object permanence’?”

“That was me,” Kate says.

“How does ‘object permanence’ fit this?”

“It’s about abstract connections,” Pietro shrugs.

As they continue the game and sitcom, you and Rio ponder what to do about the pie selection.

“Maybe we could make small pies of everyone’s favorite pie?” you suggest.

“I don’t think we have enough ingredients for that,” Bucky says.

“Or we could just make a pie with everything in it,” Rio suggests.

Silence.

“….I’ll pass,” Kate gags.

“Remind me not to leave you in charge of the pies next year,” Steve says.

“I mean, I wouldn’t mind seeing what that tastes like,” Yelena shrugs.

“I think you’re gonna end up regretting it,” Nat chuckles.

“How much of the pie dough ingredients do we have?” Wanda asks.

“….Some,” Rio answers with a shrug.

“….Not very helpful,” she sighs. “(Y/N), any ideas?”

You blink. “What she said.”

Vision seems to be calculating something, “Hmm….”

“Vis?” Wanda asks.

“If I can recall, we have precisely enough for…..three pies,” he says.

“Great, so we choose three kinds,” Peter says.

“But which three?” Bucky asks.

“We have to have pumpkin, no questions asked,” Rio declares.

“I’m not sitting down to eat without a pecan pie,” you say.

“Wait…how did you say the name of the nut?” Steve asks.

“PEE-cahn,” you answer.

“I think it’s supposed to be pih-CAHN,” he says.

“No, it’s a long E sound,” you argue.

“Not a chance; it’s short E.”

“Who in their right mind puts an emphasis on the SECOND syllable?”

“Pretty sure it’s PEE-can,” Kate says in confusion.

“Don’t even start,” Clint groans.

This goes on for….about five minutes until Rio finally puts it to rest.

“Forget the pronunciation. Let’s focus on the pie.”

“So….pumpkin, the nut pie, and….what else?” Peter asks as Tony walks in, carrying a turkey.

“You’re still not finished with the pies?” he asks in disbelief.

“We haven’t exactly started,” you say sheepishly. “We’re still deciding on the flavors; we have pumpkin and PEcan, but we need one more.”

Tony huffs. “I don’t know, how about you surprise us?”

Immediately the compound goes silent, Rio’s grin slowly growing.

“How about you go sit down with them, my love?” she suggests in a voice that’s way too sweet. “I can handle it from here.”

“A….are you sure?” you gulp.

“No. No, we’re NOT sure,” Clint objects.

“Just leave it to me,” Rio says.

And after a lot of insistence, and complaining from Tony, you let her.

Later that night, after the main course and sides are finished, Rio serves up the pies. None of them are labeled, though. And they all look the same. You decide to pick one at random and Rio cuts you a slice.

“Close your eyes,” she tells you as she sets down the slice. “And take a bite.”

Foolishly, you decide to put your trust in her baking and take a bite.

Almost immediately, the taste hits you; it’s fruity, savory, cruciferous….a bit of everything, especially spicy. But not in a good way.

“Rio?” you ask as Yelena takes a slice of the same pie. “What kind of pie is this?”

She shrugs. “I just kinda used a bit of everything. That’s what you put in pies, right?”

“….Did you put hot sauce in this?” Yelena asks.

Rio smirks, nodding and also handing her a bottle of hot sauce.

“Yes!” she exclaims as she practically shoots the sauce onto her pie.

Tony sighs and Rio shrugs once more. “Hey, you said to surprise you.”

[callme-holly]

Hi!!! i was wondering if you could do gang x reader where they always come up with the most biazzare but funny insults on the dot. like i mean telling someone who was rude to them they have the hairline of the golden gate bridge, the build of a dented refridgerator, etc. etc. and they just pull this shit out of normal and usually uses it in playful banter feel free to delete / setaside / ignore if you want! have a lovely day!!!

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐱 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐤-𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐝!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - im back y'all. just a reminder than my requests are still open!!

The gang x quick-witted!reader

Darry Curtis:

Darry seems like the kinda guy who would try his hardest to keep a straight face when you joke/insult someone, but most times he can’t help but crack a small smile. The first time he heard one of your insults, he couldn’t help but laugh, because it was the most random shit he’d ever heard. If y’all are in public, he’ll try to shush you, or keep you somewhat calm to keep the insults at bay, but he loves hearing what you can come up with on the spot, and he’ll probably tease you for it later on.

Sodapop Curtis:

Soda LOVES your insults. They will make him double over laughing every single time, no matter what it is. The first time he heard you insult someone was when they’d pushed past you at the DX; he was so ready to defend you when you just pulled out the wildest comeback known to man. He was stunned for about 2 seconds before both of you were in fits of laughter and the person walked out without a word. 

Ponyboy Curtis:

Pony would probably get some second hand embarrassment, but he’d still love every little insult that comes from you. You don’t exactly hold back when it comes to people who have annoyed you, and most of the time he’ll just let you ramble/hurl whatever insult you can think of without stopping you. Most of the time he’ll just look away, trying to hide his smile so he doesn’t get in trouble for it. He probably admires your lack of shame and, because we know he’s sassy as hell, he’ll probably steal a few of your insults to use on his brothers and the gang. 

Johnny Cade:

Much like Pony, Johnny strongly admires what little shame you have. If someone shows even the slightest hint of rudeness towards either you, or Johnny, you’re shooting some crazy insult straight back like it’s a first language. You don’t even need time to think. He’ll give small laughs and will break out into a smile at every single one before following after you when you walk away, not even looking back at the person. You definitely help to give him confidence boosts and he loves that. 

Dallas Winston:

You and Dally are a dangerous combo when it comes to insults. The shit the two of you will say is so crazy that most people can do nothing but laugh because it’s so out of the blue and random. The first time Dallas heard you insult someone, he just grinned and wrapped an arm around you. He was pretty damn proud to say the least. After that, it became a challenge of who could come up with the best insult towards the other, and people very quickly learnt to never mess with either of y’all.

Steve Randle:

Steve is pretty much your partner in crime when it comes to insults. He loves listening to you rattle off the craziest, most absurd shit everyone has ever heard, and most of the time he’ll join in to. He’ll laugh everytime you hit someone with something especially wild, and if anyone ever dares talk back, Steve’s got five more insults locked and ready to go. He’ll always defend you, but it doesn’t take long for him to realise you can definitely hold your own. 

Two-Bit Mathews:

Two lives for your insults. To him, it’s literally peak entertainment and you’ll have him rolling with laughter every damn time. Thing is, he isn’t just cracking up at you’re insults; he’s hyping you up, egging you on, and throwing in his own little comebacks when necessary. Most times, he doesn’t even care who your target is, he just loves listening to you. And once the two of you get started on someone, it’s a one way ticket to a roast so bizarre that even the person y’all are insulting has to laugh it off. All in all, Two-bit loves your creativity, and sometimes envies how quick you are to come up with something. 

[lacucarachapisser]

invisible string colin zabel x gn! reader

a/n : had this idea long long ago and finally had time to finish it and thankyou @doll3tt33 your invisible string colin! bot still one of my fav. say i have no idea how forensic and police work i just thought this makes sense so lol just ignore it lmao. this is purely fluff and awkward uninteresting whatever only use y/n for once also apologies if theres any grammatical errors english isnt my first. sorry. i love colin zabel.

every time you cope with all the paperwork, your mind is filled with various worries. well, it's nothing new for you because as always, you just want everything to be easier, though it'll almost occupying your mind all week. this is the moment you realize that one of the papers your team is trying to identify is missing. or maybe it's misplaced? how many times have you flipped through that document?

you let out a deep sigh, hoping to relax your mind a bit. if it's really gone, the only option is to ask for a copy of the document that detective colin zabel brought this morning. you don't even know who he is. just a name in a card. maybe you'll send him an e-mail or just go right to the station? It's not a big deal, really, it's just that you want your document to be nice and neat.

the clock ticking sounds too damn loud— it's too late to continue. there's no reason to stay any longer, so you decide to go home. you shut down your computer and lock the lab door. the night is cold and the fog melt obsecured the figure behind every window, though your throat feels so hot and dry. as you walk down the stairs, there are still a few people lingering in the building, and you find yourself standing in front of the vending machine.

colin is busy with his phone whilst sipping a can of dr. pepper. he glances at you as you stand there for a while. eventually, your eyes meet with his.

stranger. no smile or anything.

colin returns his focus to his phone, and you realize you've been holding a can of dr. pepper.

a few days later, you decide to visit a coffee shop that just had its grand opening. it feels good and sipping a cup of coffee makes you sober, and as sober mean a horrible thought accured to you. shitty missing document. there’s still no reply from detective colin zabel to your e-mail. it's unbelievable how a nice coffee only exists to be sabotaged by a small trouble on your thought.

and there he is. a man at the vending machine. you discreetly glance at him while he holds his coffee and seems to recognize you as well. no smile, he just leaves without saying a word.

do you believe in fate? now you do cause you accidentally run into him, again, while you do your grocery. this time, your eyes meet for almost five seconds until you decide to smile at him. he returns your smile and then continues walking.

is that it? you wish you could just bump your cart into him and say hi.

a few weeks later, you finally meet him again under a better circumstances— at emily’s wedding— your friend’s wedding.

“may i?” that’s the first time you hear his voice, friendly and gentle, he aims the chair beside you. you turn to him and see him smiling with dimples on his cheeks. gosh he’s beautiful.

“sure,” you take a deep breath and began to adjust your sit for no reason. fuck. you know that you're gonna make this awkward.

“you here for emily?” he asks, sitting comfortably with his legs crossed.

“yeah,” you nod. “how do you know?” you furrow your brow with suspicious look while he just shrugs and smiles.

“i just guessed. i saw you talking to her a lot.”

“a lot, huh.” you both laugh. sure, you talked to emily a lot, or was he just watching you a lot? “what about you?”

“i’m here for brad,” ah... the groom’s friend. “a colleague.”

that reminds you of your conversation with brad, where you asked about detective colin zabel, who hadn’t responded to your e-mail. but brad just said the detective was busy. maybe you could ask this man.

“oh, so.... you’re a cop?” you nod, confirming your assumption.

“something like that, yeah,” he scratches the back of his neck, which you’re a hundred percent sure doesn’t itch. this was fair enough. now it makes you less worried you might ruined it because you too damn awkward.

“cool. and i’ve seen you… a few times before.”

“yeah,” he chuckles, “we’ve bumped into each other.... a few times.”

there’s a brief moment of silence, with neither of you saying a word. only the sound of breathing and the slow music revolves around. so, you decide to open the conversation again.

“do you know detective colin zabel?” you ask, turning your head to him. colin's heart skips a beat when you mention his name, and he looks at you with a silly grin.

“yeah... yes, i do. what about it?”

“oh nothing," you keep your eyes to your feet before you continue. "it’s just that i sent him an e-mail a few weeks ago." here you go, sort of like an easy shortcut to just blabbering about your work to stranger. a bad habit. "well, i don’t know him but i work at the forensic lab and i was sorting through some documents. it seems like one got misplaced in the copy i sent to him. brad said he’s always busy.”

“oh…” colin's face suddenly turns red, and he vaguely remembers the document.

“is he always that busy?” you ask.

“….yeah, always. uh yeah… not really,” colin responds shortly.

“it’s been weeks, and i’ve e-mailed him three times with no reply. i dont know, it shouldn't be hard to be a little..... cooperative?" the last word came out like whisper yet playful and your words made colin laugh a bit strange. wow.. he is having fun. “called dick for a reason i guess,” you say it nonchalantly and it makes colin laugh harder this time. you can’t help but laugh with him.

“yeah, uncooperative dick,” he nods. it’s almost funny to you that you hope this conversation will lead to both of you guys rambling about work. wow adulthood.

“see?” your eyes search his eyes excitingly, as if you wait for him to continue. “are all detective like that?”

colin shook his head without saying anything. he studied your face without even realize it could make you uncomfortable. you inhale deeply when eyes to eyes connected, heat start to creep your cheeks.

“sorry, i uh… i didn’t mean to....vent?”

“nah, it’s okay, no worries.” he shakes his head sheepishly. “i’ll make sure he replies to your e-mail tomorrow.”

“really?”

“really.”

his eyes are so dark yet comforting.

“thanks. i’m y/n, by the way.”

“i’m colin. colin zabel.”

.

.

.

and that’s it. wish you can just run away fast and leave the earth. embarrassment weighs heavily on your mind and your smile disappeared instantly.

“you’re joking.”

“am not.”

“oh god.”

you lower your head and hide your face in the palm of your hands, as you try to cover up your sin. “hey, it’s fine. sorry for being uncooperative… dick,” he’s still chuckling, and there was a definite tone of teasing in it.

“jesus now you tell me,” you mumble.

“okay, okay now, listen to me.” he tries to remove your hands from your face. “i’m—”

“wait. no, me. i am sorry” his big masculin hands enveloped yours and you found yourself blushing and so was shy to face him. you didn’t even realize you just interrupted him.

“well— okay, now we’re both sorry,” he nods reassuring and for a few seconds, his hand still holds yours. clearly this thick tension gonna be one of your newest core memory. probably his too?

“…so embarrassing.” you shake your head a little and murmur almost like to yourself.

“i know, but it’s nice to finally know you.”

•

•

•

another notes: thankyou so much for reading this. sorry i took your precious time for this shitty writing thing. every like comment and reblog are appreciate<3

[millieisawriter]

La redención de un tonto

javier escuella x reader

summary: the fall of the van der linde gang was the thing that doomed what had been between you and javier. you loved each other, you truly did, but after he chose dutch's side, and you stood by arthur, you knew this is the end. however, a few years later the fate had led you right back to javier.

wc: 2.7k

all pics taken from pinterest

!!!rdr2 spoilers!! rdr1 spoilers too i guess?

♡this was requested!♡

a/n: okay so i have never played rdr1 nor have i watched any gameplays, but i conciously spoiled it to myself after having finished rdr2, so i know what happens in rdr1, but forgive me if i have missed some details from the game

You never had the intention of heading to Mexico. Well, back when you and Javier were a thing, he always talked about how he was someday going to take you there. But due to what happened to the gang, it never happened, so you buried the memories six feet deep.

Long story short, Javier sided with Dutch and his ideas that got crazier each day, one worse than the other. On one hand you understood his loyalty, but you looked at the problem more objectively. Dutch's brilliant ideas were dangerous, leading the gang into a dead end, from where there was no saving.

"Loyalty is the only thing that can save us." Javier would often remind you.

By then, the gang had moved somewhere near Annesburg. The damn cave you had cleared of its previous tenants was making the camp feel cold, unfamiliar, even scary. Or maybe it wasn't the cave's fault. So much had changed the past few months since that failed job in Blackwater.

"Look, I love Dutch like a father, he practically raised me," you had replied, "but right now he's leading us all into a grave!"

"So what, you're going to side with Arthur? With John? Turn your back on everything we've built?"

"I can't be with you if you support ideas of a man who doesn't give a shit about none of us anymore!"

In that moment, you had been ready to leave. If only Javier wanted to, you two would have left the gang, keep your head low for some time, and eventually leave a happy ever after.

But that never happened. Javier had been blinded by his loyalty to Dutch, and you saw it even without Arthur pointing it out. Because Dutch saved Javier's life a few years before, Javier was now willing to give it up for plans that were doomed from the start.

After you had left, you had no idea what happened to any of the others. You've heard a whisper here and there in saloons, talking of the great fall of the Van Der Linde gang, some people that died, but never any details.

"I guess this is where we part ways." You had stated the last time you ever saw Javier. It were as if you needed to say it for yourself, because it still didn't feel real.

Old you never thought a breakup with Javier would ever have to happen. But then, the old Javier wouldn't put Dutch over the love of his life. Maybe it just wasn't what you were to him, after all.

He knew you still loved him, even if you hated you were on separate edges of the war within your gang. "You don't mean that."

Did he say that because he still loved you too? Or was he just so full of himself? In that moment it hit you, the memory of how John had called Javier a cynic that tried so hard to be a romantic. Maybe the fall of the gang caused Javier's true colors to show.

"I do." Tears appeared in your eyes when you thought about how you'd often imagine saying these words to Javier, but in slightly different circumstances.

For a moment, you thought he might argue, that he would try to convince you one last time. But instead, he looked at you with an expression you had never seen on his face before. There was sorrow, and regret. And the sign of an internal struggle within him.

"Then go," his final words pierced your heart, "just don't expect me to save you when everything falls apart."

Like a prophecy, everything did fall apart. The next few years were so difficult for you. You couldn't get a job, you had practically nothing left. You left the gang, but you never left the life of crime. It was the only way of living you knew.

The price on your head grew, at some point you stopped keeping track of how much it was. You had no way to redeem yourself, but there wasn't a thing you'd regret. You did what you had to in the order to survive. Regret wouldn't feed you, and it sure as hell wouldn't protect you from the men who wanted your head.

The next job was supposed to be simple. You were going to deliver a shipment of rifles to a small band of people like yourself near the border. But nothing ever went according to plan and you were ambushed. You ran, and all you knew was that now you were in Mexico, the place you were supposed to someday visit with the man you once had loved.

Coming back to America would be too risky, maybe fate just wanted for you to end up in Mexico, so after weeks of travel you thought you finally found a safer place to rest. The building looked like an abandoned house, falling apart, but it was better than the lack of any roof over your head.

You woke up one night to a group of unfamiliar male voices talking to each other outside. In Spanish, so you didn't even understand a single word. Before you could silently flee, the door opened, and you had been found by a group of Mexican bounty hunters.

Maybe it was the dehydration, the hunger, the lack of good sleep, but you could swear one man looked way too familiar.

"Javier..?" You asked quietly, to shocked to be scared by the three other men pointing their guns at you.

"¿La conoces?" One of the men asked, as Javier's shocked expression didn't go unnoticed.

["Do you know her?"]

Javier quickly recomposed himself, as if slipping into a role. "Es mía." It was a gamble, but Javier had always been good at those.

["She's mine."]

"¿De qué carajos estás hablando, Escuella?"

["What the fuck are you talking about?"]

"Vale más viva. Y no pienso compartir la recompensa. Váyanse ahora o ninguno de ustedes se va a ir caminando."

["She's worth more alive. And I'm not going to share the reward. Leave now, or none of you will walk away walking."]

The other bounty hunters passed knowing looks among each other. "Bien," one of them nudged Javier, you reckoned it was a playful gesture, "es tu problema."

["Fine, she's your problem."]

The other men left, and you were confused. How the hell were you having a reunion with Javier in such circumstances? As if out of habit, your reached for your gun, resting your hand on the holster at your hip.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, standing up.

"I could ask you the same thing, querida." He raised his hands to show you he doesn't mean bad. "I'm not going to hurt you." He's always had an accent when he spoke in English, which you had always adored. Now, the accent was even more prominent.

You pointed the gun at him, unlocking it. "Yeah, just hand me over so I can swing." You snapped. "That's the great Javier Escuella! Bounty hunting, of all things! That's ridiculous!"

"At least it's honest work. Continuing the way you chose... did you think the law will never catch up to you?"

"That's rich coming from you."

Javier's jaw muscles twitched, betraying the calmness was just a mask he put on. He lowered his hands slowly, but didn't reach for his weapon. "You don't know what I've been through. I lost everything."

"Just as I did! I've lost the gang, the life we had... you..." you paused before you seethed at him, "don't you dare act like you're the only one who's suffered. Nothing justifies selling people out for a few... whatever currency you have here."

Javier's gaze softened, you could swear you saw his lips twitch into a smirk momentarily. "I didn't sell you out, did I?"

Suddenly, the words 'then go, just don't expect me to save you when everything falls apart,' rang in your mind again. Truth be told, those words were said in anger, and right now... Javier was far from angry.

He hadn't seen you in years, but he still loved you. Maybe even more than before. After the gang fell appart, he quickly came to the conclusion you were the love of his life. There was no one better before, nor after. Meeting you again was felt like life giving him another chance.

"Why don't you sell me out, then?" You asked, lowering your weapon.

Javier smirked, as if the answer was supposed to be obvious to you. "Because I don't want you to swing, querida." He took a few steps closer, carefully as if approaching a wild animal.

"You don't get to suddenly act as if you care." Your voice was aggressive, but it sounded forced, almost cracking. "Let me go, and tell your... friends that I ran away."

"I couldn't let you go for all these years. You think I haven't thought about you every day since we parted? You think I don't regret the choices I made?"

You knew Javier has always had a way with words. In the charming way, not in the brash way Sean used to. Javier's words were like quiet, seductive whispers whenever he wanted or needed them to be. And maybe right now he just needed to sweet-talk you into giving in.

"Regret doesn't mean shit," you tried to snap at him, "you chose Dutch over me. We could leave the gang, leave a good life—"

Javier interrupted you, "Dutch knew how to get inside our heads."

"Just help me get out of here."

Javier took a deep breath, glancing outside the broken window momentarily. He could see the other bounty hunters leaving, the road's dust raising at their horses' hooves. They were far enough.

"Fine." Javier said finally, his voice disappointed.

The man grabbed your wirst, sternly but without hurting you. Now that he had you again, he was supposed to let you go. That wasn't what he wanted.

After he led you outside, you felt his grip loosen up to eventually let go of your wrist completely. Contrary to what it should make you feel, you were... disappointed? As if at some point you thought he would fight harder to win you back.

Then you realized. Javier didn't want to part ways again, but neither did you. And just when you thought there was no more hope, the man spoke up.

"You don't know this place," he said, "you're hungry, exhausted, don't know the language. Let me help you."

Your stomach had been empty for a long time, your legs ached, and the pounding in your head was getting unbearable. There were more reasons not to trust Javier, than to trust him, but you needed help. Maybe you could just sneak away after he helps you.

"And what do you get out of this?" You asked.

"I get to make up for my mistakes." He replied. "I'll show you I'm not the same man that let you go. Maybe I'll even get to keep you safe this time."

"I don't need saving. I can survive on my own."

"Not here, querida. This isn't the United States. How are you going to survive if you don't know how to even buy a damn apple in Spanish?"

Scoffing, you crossed your arms. "Don't need talking to steal."

"And make your bounty grow?" He sighed. "Admit it, you need help. Let me to that, please."

You replied after a moment of silence, "Fine. But don't think it makes up for what you did."

Javier nodded, smiling faintly. He led you to his horse, offering his hand to help you mount. Hesitantly, you took it. You pride didn't want to, but you were too exhaused.

Before climbing up himself, Javier reached for his sombrero and handed it to you. "Here."

It wasn't much, but it was better than leaving your face fully exposed, so you accepted it. You hoped wearing a man's hat didn't mean the same thing in Mexico as it did in the United States, but you tried to push that thought away regardless.

Then, you pulled the bandana from around your neck up over your face, completing the makeshift disguise. It was better than nothing, but what you really needed, were new clothes. Maybe something that wouldn't scream wanted criminal.

Some time later, a time that felt like enternity to you, Javier's horse came to a stop at a saloon. It looked as if it was about to collapse, but apparently the interior was full of life.

"Don't worry," Javier reassued you, dismounting, "most of them got a bounty on their heads. No one will care."

You reluctantly followed Javier inside. The saloon was dimly lit, and no one even seemed to care when you two walked inside. Despite the location being rather safe, Javier paid for a room, and that was where you ate your meal.

The meal wasn't fancy, but it tasted like heaven after weeks of surviving on whatever you could find. Either the saloon's cook was wasting his talent working in a place like this, or the fact that you hadn't had a proper meal in so long made it seem that way.

Javier leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching you. "Good?" He asked.

You nodded, swallowing the last bite. "Yeah."

Javier watched you for a moment longer before looking away. For all the tension between you, there was something in his gaze that you recognized well. Inside the man he was now, was still the man you once loved.

He was different. Older, worn by life and everything that had happened the past few years, but so were you. Thinking about what to say next, you moved from the tiny table to the bed.

"Why are you doing this?" You asked, making Javier's eyes shift back to you.

"Because..." he hesitated, "I never stopped thinking about you, about what happened. I didn't even know if you were alive. I was a fool, querida. I thought loyalty was everything, that Dutch had all the answers. Turns out he didn't, and it cost me the only thing that ever really mattered."

You didn't know what to reply. Of course, years of anger wouldn't disappear after a bunch of nice words. But it definitely cracked the surface of your shell. Part of you wanted to push him away, to protect yourself. But another part wanted to believe him, the part that saw in him your former lover.

When you didn't answer, Javier continued talking, making a bold move by sitting down on the bed. Right next to you. What it made you feel was so familiar yet so distant, you had to shift in spot, attempting to make the distance between the two of you a bit bigger. It barely worked.

Javier leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, hands clasped. He wasn't looking at you when he spoke. "I know I don't deserve forgiveness," he couldn't look at you when he said this, "but I need you to know I never stopped loving you."

His words were an arrow that pierced right through your heart. As painful as it was, his feelings for you never faded. Even back when he made that choice to stand by Dutch. Especially then.

You took a breath to reply, but you couldn't come up with any words. So it just sounded as if you let out a sigh. That didn't make Javier feel any better.

He turned to look at you. "I'd take it all back if I could. I'd leave it all behind for you, right here, right now. Just say the word."

It was the way he said it that finally broke your shell completely. The way his voice was vulnerable. It proved to you that he wasn't trying to manipulate you.

Without thinking, you reached for his hand. He didn't know what to do, but he surely didn't want you to let go.

"You're an idiot." You said, but your voice was soft, without malice. "But so am I for what I still feel for you."

Judgning by how he's been acting, you thought he'll catch a hint this is the moment where he kisses you. It seemed as if he was too stunned to react immediately, so you took the matters in your own hands and leaned in.

It started hesitantly. He kissed you back, but the both of you were carefully walking along the thin thread of any trust that there was left. It took Javier a moment, but his hands eventually pulled you closer. He used to think he had lost you forever, so when he finally found you again... he didn't want to let go.

[dogswest]

Friendly reminder that Viktor is asexual (mostly) canonically

EDIT: I also strongly suggest reading the comments as it explains why its not a 100% valid and/or canon thing. Don't forget to view both sides of the matter!

Co-creator of arcane had said that they'd seen viktor as an asexual and had written him in a way where, although theres love involved between Jayce and Viktor, its represented in a way that doesn't have to be sexual (is the best way I can summarize it) *TLDR summaries will be mentioned.

Something similar is said in reddit post below which also links a vod from where it was said by the co-creator

reason why I say mostly is because they worded it in a weird way and—although its mostly confirmed based on a bunch of other sources also saying this and proof is sourced—its in German and I cannot confirm if it was said, but based on a lot of other posts and that they linked a vod, it sounds valid. feel free to take it with a grain of salt*, but (TLDR:) I'd strongly advise it (Viktor being ace) be considered when writing, drawing or implying anything related to Viktor and his love life, even if its an implied canon and not a written canon.*

ALSO a reminder that asexuals can feel love and still be in relationships

Its stupid I have to say this because asexual and aromantic are obviously two different words, but a lot of people—even the co-creator made it sound like they dont know what they're talking about entirely—always mix up the two for some actually stupid reason. JUST because someones asexual doesn't mean they (for example Viktor and literally any other asexual–including me) can't be romantically involved. (TLDR) So let this be a reminder that asexuals can still feel romantically towards others. This means that Jayvik is also still heavily implied to be canon.

also asexuality is a spectrum. Look into it, I can't tell you everything. I'm just a mostly biased teen online, take shit as you will 🗣🔊

[honeyhae-svt]

🎮Part-Time Lover | JxW 🎭 `~^\___TEASER___/^~`

JxW Fanfiction / Jeonghan & Wonwoo FF (SERIES)

Afab!Reader x Jeonghan & Wonwoo - MDNI Genre: Smut, CEO x Streamer, CEO x Employee, Gamer x Gamer, Streamer x Gamer, Streamer x Streamer, Enemies to Lovers(?), Friends to Lovers(?), Friends with Benefits, Slowburn, Angst, Romance, RomCom, Workplace Romance, Love Triangle(?), Slice of Life, Modern AU, (inspired by GAM3B01) ⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️: explicit sexual content (18+, smut), alcohol consumption, mentions of drunken behavior, slight workplace power imbalance (CEO x Employee dynamic), strong language (profanity), cyberbullying/online hate (mentions of rumors, edited content), emotional manipulation (mild, e.g., jeonghan’s cold treatment), petty arguments (playful/tense, potential verbal sparring), depictions of stress/anxiety related to online and work life, light suggestive jokes/humor, mentions of romantic/sexual tension between characters, enemies to lovers-style tension (includes teasing, rivalry, jealousy), and my shitty writing (lol I hope y'all enjoy on this one) wc: 734

TEASER

🎮 "In a world where gaming isn’t just a hobby but a battlefield..." 🎭

By all accounts, your life shouldn’t be this complicated. You’ve mastered the double life effortlessly—or at least, that’s what it looks like from the outside.

By day, you’re the razor-sharp assistant to Jeonghan, a CEO whose reputation is as sleek as the tailored suits he wears. In the professional world, you’re known for your no-nonsense attitude, your precision, your ability to keep up with a man whose demands leave most people in the dust. By night, though, you’re a completely different force: Kitsunya. The streamer with a bite, whose persona is as sharp as her gameplay. You’ve carved out a name in a world that doesn’t give second chances, where every mistake—or perceived mistake—can uncover years of hard work.

And for a while, you had it all figured out. A rhythm. A balance. Two worlds, perfectly parallel, never touching. Until that night.

You don’t need anyone to remind you what happened—though your brain seems to enjoy doing it anyway. One drink too many, a kiss you didn’t mean to give, and suddenly, Jeonghan was no longer just your boss. He was the man you’d kissed. The man whose lips lingered far too long in your memory, though you can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or something else entirely.

The fallout? Silent, subtle, but impossible to ignore.

Jeonghan hasn’t spoken a word about it since. But he didn’t have to. His actions say it all: the coffee runs to nowhere, the cold detachment, the subtle but deliberate way he keeps you at arm’s length. And yet, his eyes linger. Longer than they should. As if he’s waiting for you to say something—or maybe daring you not to.

But here’s the kicker: you’re not even sure you know what you’d say.

And then, there’s Wonwoo.

Oh, Wonwoo. The thorn in your side, the bane of your streams. The gamer who seems to have made it his life’s mission to get under your skin. What started as casual teasing during streams has evolved into full-on verbal warfare, the kind that has fans pulling out popcorn and hashtags. It should be easy to dismiss him as just another troll in your life, but there’s something about him that’s… infuriatingly magnetic. You hate that you’re even thinking about him right now.

The tension between you and Jeonghan is one thing. But now, people are starting to notice the dynamic between you and Wonwoo—particularly Jeonghan. You can feel it in the way his gaze sharpens when your name comes up, the way he watches your streams a little too closely. It’s not possessiveness, not exactly. But it’s something, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel the heat from it.

Then, just when you thought things couldn’t get messier, the gaming world turned on you.

A viral clip. A doctored video accusing you of hacking. In a space where credibility is everything, the hit was personal. Haters piled on, armed with accusations and hashtags, while loyal fans fought to defend you. It was chaos. But you? You handled it like you always do—with a smirk, a quip, and a gameplay session that shut them all up.

Still, the stress is starting to seep in, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep your walls intact.

And then, Seungcheol happened.

A party, he said. Just a casual get-together for streamers and friends. You’d turned him down initially—your schedule was packed, and honestly, you weren’t in the mood to socialize. But Seungkwan and Hoshi wouldn’t let up, their constant nagging somehow finding its way into your streams and DMs. By the time the weekend rolled around, you found yourself with no choice but to show up.

So, here you are.

Jeonghan’s there, of course. Polished, poised, and watching you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. Wonwoo’s there too, leaning against the bar with that infuriating smirk of his, as if he knows something you don’t. And the rest of your circle? Laughing, teasing, acting like life isn’t one giant chess game where every move feels loaded with meaning.

The night is young, and the air hums with the kind of energy that promises something big.

You thought boss battles in gaming were tough? This tension, unresolved feelings, and unexpected rivalries would be enough to make your hairs attached to your head fall out. Because the real game? It’s just getting started.

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

a/n: to make up the loss of my sudden-long vaca, i wrote this for the reader-anon who requested this ages ago (a wonwoo ff but i decided to add my lovely wife, jeonghan to the mix cause i love and miss him so fucking bad). and now, im making a teaser cause i feel bad for staying out far too long. i have a ton of works pending and im already on it cause like wtf i love writing and this has been on my head far too long. I HOPE YOU GUYS WOULD WANT TO READ THIS AND LMAO I HAVENT EVEN FINISHED OMC SERIES AND IM ALREADY MAKING ANOTHER ONE WTF ajwnruoenfguoaofa im making a masterlist, for those who wants to be added on the taglist reblog / comment on this post and you'll be automatically added ! TY FOR READING ILY GUYS SM