#that are so obsessed with me AND each other | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

liuhsng · 2 days ago

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✩ˎˊ˗ no-fly zone ( pjs ! ) — part 1

✩ˎˊ˗ part of the untouchable series | enhypen masterlist

⤷ pairing — jay x fem!reader ⤷ part 1 | part 2 ⤷ word count — 14.5k ⤷ taglist for the series — open ! ⤷ warning/s — a/b/o au, foul language, fem!reader, enemies to lovers trope, forced proximity, lots of sexual tension, jay’s a menace = you’re a menace, jay is emotinally constipated, jay has issues (but he’s your issue now), jay is confused and lowkey obsessed, mentions of the other parts from this series, not proofread ⤷ a/n — i'm back baby, this is literally my favorite work rn i can’t even lie + I SWEAR, THIS HAS A PART 2 JUST GIVE ME A FEW HOURS, enjoy !!

✩ˎˊ˗ summary: park jongseong—better known as jay, had everything: wealth, power, and a name that carried undeniable influence. a pureblooded alpha and the only son of a family that dominated the aviation industry, he was sharp enough to take over the business and reckless enough to make the upper-ups lose patience. despite his position as student council treasurer, his reputation preceded him: missed deadlines, flawless grades, and a habit of picking the wrong fights. their solution? a tutor. a glorified babysitter. and, of course, it had to be you. an omega with a spotless record, a name as weighty as his own, and an infuriating presence that had always stood in his way. your families worked together, but you and jay never had. now, forced into each other’s space, the line between rivalry and something far more dangerous begins to blur.

The atmosphere in the lecture hall was suffocating, tension thick enough to choke on.

Jay sat back in his seat, legs stretched out in front of him, one arm draped lazily over the chair’s backrest. His expression was unreadable, a careful mask of boredom that only made the fury in his professor’s voice sound more desperate.

“You think just because you have power, you don’t have to put in the effort?” The professor’s voice cut through the silence, accusing. “That your name alone is enough to get you by? That you can just waltz in and out of this classroom and still expect to be given the same respect as those who actually work for it?”

A few students stiffened in their seats. Others exchanged glances, some barely breathing. No one spoke. No one dared to.

Jay, however, barely looked fazed. If anything, he looked bored. He blinked, slow and deliberate, before tilting his head slightly.

“That’s an interesting accusation,” he mused, voice smooth, laced with something dangerous. “And what exactly have I done to ‘abuse’ my so-called power?”

The professor scoffed, crossing his arms. “Do you even hear yourself, Park? You show up when you feel like it, you turn in work whenever it suits you, and yet you still expect to be at the top of this class. You might be the student council treasurer, but that doesn’t mean you can—”

“—handle my academics?” Jay cut in, raising a brow. His voice was quieter now, but somehow even sharper. “I do my council work, don’t I? So tell me, if I can run the financials of this entire school, why wouldn’t I be able to keep up with my classes?”

His professor faltered, lips pressing into a thin line. But Jay was already done with this conversation.

His gaze dropped, falling to the Cartier watch wrapped around his wrist. He stared at it for a long moment, watching the second hand tick forward, before exhaling slowly.

Then, without another word, he pushed back his chair. The legs scraped against the tiled floor, the sound ringing through the lecture hall like a gunshot.

He stood, grabbing his bag in one fluid motion. On the desk beside him, a thick folder sat untouched; the very project that had been due yesterday. Without looking, he picked it up and strode to the front of the room, his footsteps slow, measured, deafening in the silence.

And then, with the kind of careless precision that only he could pull off, he dropped the folder onto the professor’s desk with a heavy thud.

A few students flinched. The professor barely breathed.

Jay adjusted the strap of his bag over his shoulder, finally meeting the man’s eyes again. His expression was unreadable, but there was something almost amused lurking beneath it.

“Here,” he said simply, his voice dangerously quiet. “On time, as always.”

And then, without sparing another glance, he turned and walked out.

No rush, no hesitation. Just Park Jongseong, unbothered as ever, leaving behind a stunned professor and a classroom full of students who could do nothing but watch in awed, uneasy silence.

Because even when Jay didn’t follow the rules—he never once lost.

Jay moved through the halls with the ease of someone who belonged, not just in the school but above it. His strides were unhurried, exuding a quiet authority that made people step aside without him ever asking. Conversations dipped the moment he passed, whispers filling the void he left behind.

Most watched him with admiration, others with wariness, but they all watched.

It was always like this. Jay wasn’t just a student; he was the heir to a business empire, a pureblooded Alpha; he never begged, never chased, never had to ask for anything. The world bent in his favor.

And even when it didn’t, he simply took what he wanted anyway.

He barely acknowledged the attention, barely registered the murmured voices trailing behind him like a shadow. He had no reason to care. The class he had just left had been nothing short of a joke— lessons he had already known for years. A complete waste of time.

Now, he had better things to do.

The student council room was quiet when he arrived, the heavy doors clicking shut behind him. Jungwon sat at the far end of the room, hunched over his own stack of files, brows furrowed in concentration. He didn’t even glance up. On the opposite side, Ni-ki was slumped over his desk, one arm draped over his face, mouth slightly parted in sleep.

Jay stepped inside like he owned the place, because he did.

His desk stood exactly where he left it, neat and untouched, save for the stack of papers waiting for his approval. The nameplate perched on the edge gleamed under the fluorescent light: Park Jongseong, Student Council Treasurer.

He didn’t waste time. Shrugging off his blazer, he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the toned forearms littered with faint bruises from a fight long since forgotten. Then, without hesitation, he reached for the first document on the pile, flipping through the pages with the same sharp precision he applied to everything else.

The weight of the world balanced between his fingers.

And Jay, as always, carried it like it was nothing.

The room remained steeped in silence, save for the rustle of papers and the occasional shift of Ni-ki’s sleeping form. The quiet was almost welcome—almost.

“Another disagreement with a professor?”

The words came from across the room, flat and unsurprised. Jungwon didn’t even bother looking up from his stack of files, his pen scratching lazily against the paper.

Jay exhaled sharply through his nose, a scoff more than an actual laugh. Not at Jungwon, but at the fact that word had already spread.

“Didn’t take long, huh?” he muttered, flipping to the next page in his file without much thought. His voice held the same easy arrogance as always, laced with something almost amused.

Jungwon smirked, still not looking up. “Dude, it’s you. At this point, it’d be bigger news if you actually went an entire week without pissing off a professor.”

Jay hummed, leaning back against his chair, stretching his arms over his head before letting them drop onto the armrests. “And? What about it?”

Jungwon let out a breath that was more laughter than sigh, finally setting his pen down. He clasped his hands together, resting his chin atop them as he gave Jay a knowing look. “You know, for someone who checks every box of a perfect student, you really need to start giving a damn about these kinds of shit.”

Jay’s eyes flickered up, “Why would I?”

Jungwon merely chuckled, shaking his head. “Because you’re giving the higher-ups exactly what they want.”

For a moment, Jay didn’t respond. Then he leaned forward, arms resting on the desk, voice low and laced with something just shy of amusement. “And what exactly is that?”

Jay let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Jungwon,” he started, voice dripping with something close to condescension, “their salaries come from us. From our families,”

He tilted his head slightly, watching Jungwon carefully. “So tell me, do you really think they’d risk stepping out of line?”

Jungwon only shrugged, picking up his pen again. “I think you’re making it easier for them to try.”

Before Jay could respond, the heavy doors swung open, cutting through the conversation.

Heeseung was the first to walk in, adjusting his cufflinks, his brows furrowed slightly like he had just come from something particularly annoying. Jake followed soon after, his lips twitching with amusement, and Sunghoon strolled in right beside him, looking thoroughly unimpressed. Sunoo had his arms crossed, a knowing glint in his eyes.

“Jay,” Heeseung drawled, dropping into one of the empty chairs, “you really need to stop pissing off the professors.”

Sunghoon huffed, tugging at the loosened tie around his collar. “And you say we’re reckless.”

Jake smirked, shaking his head. “I just saw your professor storming into the admin office, he didn’t look too happy.”

Jay didn’t even look up from the papers in front of him. “Should’ve assigned something actually worth my time, then.”

Sunoo let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “You are so full of yourself.”

Jay finally glanced up, resting his elbow on the desk and tilting his head slightly. “And?” His smirk widened, voice laced with amusement. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Jake whistled lowly, shaking his head. “One day, man. One day, they’re actually gonna pull something on you.”

Jay only chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Then let’s see if they have the nerve.”

And just like that, the conversation was over.

Jay wasn’t looking for trouble.

Not this time, at least.

He had left the council room with one goal in mind—find a vending machine, grab a drink, and get to his next class before the headache forming behind his eyes got any worse. With his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, he looked more like someone who ruled this academy than simply walked through it.

“Fucking useless council doesn’t even do shit. Bunch of spoiled leeches living off family names.”

Jay’s steps didn’t stop. He’d heard worse. He wasn’t in the mood.

But then—

“And Park Jongseong? That bastard’s a walking headache. Always in fights, never in class. Total burden, that one.”

That made him stop.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, jaw tightening as he turned on his heel. Three Alphas. Not just any Alphas—delusional ones. Ones who thought that just because they shared the same title, they were anywhere near his level.

Jay’s gaze swept over them with cold indifference, expression unreadable. A predator surveying prey.

One of them, a bulky second-year with more muscle than sense, met his gaze with an arrogant smirk.

“What did you just say?” His voice was soft. Almost pleasant. Almost.

Jay took a step forward, gaze steady. His bag slid off his shoulder and hit the ground with a dull thud.

The guy scoffed, chin raising like he thought this was going to be some pathetic pissing contest. “You heard me. You’re a burden, Park Jongseong. Just throwing your weight around, hiding behind your family’s name.”

Jay’s jaw twitched. Not with anger.

With boredom.

“You really think this is the hill you want to die on?”

Before they could answer, Jay’s fist connected with the guy’s jaw. The crack echoed across the stone path, followed by a sharp grunt as the Alpha stumbled back, crashing into the iron bench behind him.

The other two didn’t waste time—they lunged.

Jay ducked under the first punch, letting it sail over his shoulder before delivering a brutal elbow to the side of the Alpha’s head. The third tried to grab him from behind, but Jay twisted free, slamming his palm against the guy’s face and shoving him backward with enough force to send him toppling over his friend.

Blood spattered across the edge of his collar. Someone groaned. Another cursed.

Jay barely blinked.

One of the Alphas managed to swing wide, landing a weak punch to Jay’s side. He barely flinched. Instead, he turned and landed a right hook that sent the idiot reeling to the dirt.

It didn’t last long. It never did.

Jay adjusted his sleeve, breathing steady as he looked over the mess he left in the grass.

One of them groaned from where he lay curled on the ground, and somewhere in the distance—a shrill cry.

Jay’s head tilted slightly.

A girl, probably one of their mates had appeared from around the hedge, gasping in horror as she caught sight of the scene.

Her hands flew to her mouth. “Oh my god, what happened—what did you do to them?!”

Jay didn’t even look at her. He grabbed his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and wiped a streak of blood from his knuckle with the corner of his uniform.

“Tch.” He scoffed under his breath, turning away from the mess like it wasn’t even worth the effort of acknowledgment. “Tell them to watch who they run their mouths around.”

The girl’s voice rang out behind him—shaky, pitched with fury and disbelief. “You’re gonna pay for this, Park! You think you can keep getting away like this?”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow down.

The sound of her threats faded behind him, buried under the weight of his own indifference. Her voice was just another noise in a world that had too much of it already. He tugged at the sleeve of his uniform where blood had stained the cuff, and with a quiet scoff, flicked the edge down like it wasn’t even there.

What was she going to do? Cry to the higher-ups?

Jay stalked through the side halls of the academy, his pace unhurried, movements fluid with the same dangerous calm that had haunted the bruised and bloodied trio left behind on the grass. He passed by a few students, some whispered. Some stared. Most pretended not to notice the faint smudge of blood near his collar.

The classroom was quiet when he pushed open the door. Second period. Business Strategy. Another joke of a class with a professor who acted like theory ever meant anything in a real-world empire.

Jay’s eyes scanned the room once, sharp and bored, before they landed on the only person who mattered in the moment.

Sunghoon.

Sitting by the window, legs crossed, silver-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he scribbled something into his notes with a blue pen. His back was straight, posture perfect. He didn’t even need to look up, he already knew.

But unlike him, Sunghoon didn’t indulge in chaos. He didn’t need to. His brand of power was colder, quieter, a silent scalpel instead of a roaring fire.

Jay made his way to his seat without a word, dropping his bag with a thud, the chair creaking under his weight as he leaned back.

Then—

“You smell like blood.”

Sunghoon’s voice broke the stillness, calm but edged with that unmistakable disapproval only he could manage. He didn’t look up from his notes. Didn’t need to.

Jay smirked. The one that twisted the corners of his mouth into something sharp and crooked. The one that came right before someone regretted crossing him.

“Wasn’t my fault this time.”

Sunghoon finally looked up, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowing as they landed on the faint red on Jay’s knuckles.

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

Jay leaned forward, elbows on the desk, resting his chin on his hand as he stared back, amused. “They were talking. Spouting shit about the council. About me.”

Sunghoon didn’t respond right away. Just studied him. Like he was debating whether to call him out or let it slide.

“They’re just jealous.” Jay’s voice dropped into something lower, laced with pride. “No pedigree. No power. Just noise trying to echo louder than it should.”

Sunghoon sighed, setting down his pen.

“You’re going to end up on the university's front page one day, you know that?”

Jay chuckled under his breath, stretching out in his seat like the whole world owed him space.

“Good. About time they started printing things that matter.”

And with that, he turned his head toward the window, letting the sunlight catch the faint smudge of red still clinging to his skin, completely unbothered.

The council room was quieter than usual, the afternoon sun slanting through the high arched windows and casting golden streaks across the dark wood table.

Only seven seats were filled, the rest empty; a rare, informal meeting between the inner circle. Jungwon sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable as he flipped through several clipped pages of final project proposals, while Heeseung leaned closer to get a better view, murmuring comments here and there.

“We’ll need to finalize the proposals by next week,” Jungwon said, his voice calm but laced with authority. “Heeseung, double-check which department submissions are missing and send a notice before tomorrow’s end. Jake, make sure the permits are in by Friday, I don’t want delays. Sunoo, go over the communications plan, see if it fits the timeline.”

Jake nodded, scribbling something into his notes. “Already on it.”

Sunoo offered a small salute from across the table. “Social media templates are halfway done. I’ll send them for review tonight.”

“Sunghoon,” Jungwon continued, “you’re in charge of marketing coordination for the week. Keep our outreach tight. Ni-ki, check in with the lower-year reps, remind them this isn’t vacation season.”

Ni-ki groaned but gave a thumbs-up, clearly still half-asleep as he twirled his pen lazily between his fingers.

“And Jay,” Jungwon said, his eyes shifting to the treasurer who sat farther down the table, lounging like the meeting was a minor inconvenience. His legs were crossed, one hand twirling a pen while the other balanced the budget folder against the table's edge.

Jay sighed, snapping the folder open. “Yeah, yeah. Budget review. Let’s get it over with.”

He glanced at the numbers and began reading aloud with casual detachment. “We have more than enough to fund this cycle’s cultural and academic allocations, assuming no new surprise expenses show up.”

He flipped to the next page, eyes narrowing slightly. “Also, whoever ordered last term’s light rentals should be banned from touching a receipt again.”

Jake chuckled under his breath, already knowing who Jay was referring to.

Jay paused briefly, his fingers tapping against the wood. There was something contemplative in the way he stared down at the inked numbers, like his mind had wandered elsewhere. “Isn’t it funny,” he muttered, voice low but clearly audible, “how I’m the irresponsible one, and yet I’m still the one cleaning up their mess?”

A knock interrupted the moment.

Jay didn’t bother looking up. “Probably someone wasting my time,” he mumbled, flipping the folder closed.

Another knock came, louder.

He clicked his tongue, annoyed. “Come in,” he snapped.

The door creaked open, revealing a first-year beta standing awkwardly in the doorway, clutching a folded paper like it might protect him. He hesitated before stepping fully inside, his face already pale.

Jay’s eyes locked on him, slow and deliberate. The beta visibly tensed as the scent of sandalwood and tequila thickened, laced with a bitter edge of annoyance. Jay raised a brow, unimpressed.

“Spit it out.”

The boy’s hands shook. “Y-You’re needed at the Head Office, sir. The Headmaster… he said it’s urgent.”

Jay didn’t respond. He simply stared, the silence stretching long enough to make the boy fidget.

Jake reached over and gently pulled the folder from Jay’s hand before the latter’s temper could ignite. “Just go,” he said with a half-smile. “You’ll melt the poor kid with that glare.”

Sunghoon didn’t look up from his tablet. “Try not to start a war while you’re at it.”

Jay scoffed, rising to his full height, his movements smooth and deliberate. He tugged the cuffs of his blazer into place, the air around him still crackling faintly from his earlier irritation.

“Tell the Headmaster he owes me ten minutes of peace,” he muttered coldly, shooting one last glare at the messenger as he strode past, his presence still lingering heavily even after the door clicked shut behind him.

The hallway was quiet, footsteps echoing as Jay and the first-year beta walked side by side—or rather, the beta trailed half a step behind, nervously glancing up at him every few seconds. Jay said nothing. His silence was as sharp as a blade, stretched taut like a wire ready to snap.

They hadn’t made it more than a few turns from the council room when the boy fumbled with the folded paper and held it out, his voice almost a whisper. “S-Sir, the letter… the Headmaster asked me to give it to you.”

Jay stopped. He took the letter slowly, opening it with a lazy flick of his fingers. His eyes scanned the contents. Whatever was written on the paper didn’t seem to amuse him in the way it should have—instead, a sarcastic laugh slipped past his lips.

“Of course,” he said under his breath, crumpling the letter in one hand before stuffing it into his blazer pocket like it was trash. “If he makes me late for my next class, I’m filing a harassment complaint.”

The beta beside him paled even more, sweating nervously under the weight of Jay’s sharp tone and overpowering scent. Jay didn’t spare him another glance, already walking forward again as if the entire thing was an inconvenience unworthy of his time.

By the time they reached the administration wing—tucked at the far end of the sprawling campus like a punishment in itself, Jay was already dragging his feet. The place smelled like polished floors and expensive paper. Too clean. Too suffocating.

The receptionist stood up the second she spotted him, mouth already opening to offer a polite greeting. But Jay walked right past her without so much as eye contact. He didn’t care. Didn’t need the fake pleasantries. And certainly didn’t have the patience for it.

Without knocking, he pushed open the heavy door to the headmaster’s office, letting it swing in with a dull thud against the wall.

Inside, seated like a damn tribunal, were the Headmaster, the Disciplinary Director, and one of the academy’s Legal Advisors.

There was a single, untouched glass of water placed neatly on the desk in front of the empty chair.

Obviously for him.

Jay didn’t sit.

He didn’t even step fully inside yet, standing just past the office with a look of total disinterest.

“If you’re trying to scare me with the full panel,” he said, voice dipped in sarcasm, “you should’ve invited my father. He would’ve appreciated the effort.”

The Legal Advisor raised a brow. The Disciplinary Director narrowed her eyes. The Headmaster just sighed, already bracing for the kind of conversation only Park Jongseong could bring to the table.

“You’ll want to sit, Mr. Park,” the Headmaster offered, gesturing toward the chair.

“I’m good,” Jay replied, tone clipped. “Let’s not pretend we enjoy each other’s company.”

“Suit yourself.” The Headmaster folded his hands over the folder in front of him. “We’re here today because of your recent behavior.”

Jay narrowed his eyes. “You’re gonna have to be more specific. Recent is vague.”

The Headmaster exhaled, already used to the boy’s theatrics.

“You’ve been in four separate altercations this month alone,” he began calmly, lifting a folder and flipping it open. “Three of which resulted in faculty involvement. One of which resulted in the school clinic being called in. You’ve submitted two assignments this term, both a week late, and there are five courses where your professors have yet to receive even a syllabus outline from you.”

Jay blinked. “And?”

The Disciplinary Director tensed. “Mr. Park, that isn’t—”

“But your council duties,” the Headmaster interrupted, ignoring the tension. “Perfect. Every report on time. Budget reports accurate. Project proposals double-checked. Even your attendance is flawless.”

Jay scoffed quietly. “Because I actually give a shit about that.”

The Headmaster raised a brow but didn’t respond to that. Instead, he closed the folder and folded his hands together.

“No one here is threatening expulsion, Mr. Park. That would be a waste of everyone’s time. You’re not a delinquent. You’re intelligent. Capable. You just lack… consistency.” He paused. “What you need is someone to keep you grounded. Someone who’ll remind you that your brilliance doesn’t exempt you from basic responsibility.”

Jay’s eyes narrowed. His posture stiffened slightly. “Don’t tell me you’re assigning me a babysitter.”

“In a sense,” the Headmaster said slowly, reaching for a second file from beneath his desk. “I’ve spoken with your father about this. He’s agreed.”

Jay finally moved. He dropped himself into the empty chair across the desk with a mockingly loud sigh, slouching in the seat like he had nothing to lose.

He leaned forward then, elbows on his knees, tone dripping with fake concern. “So what now? You gonna slap me with another warning? Extra hours in the archives? Gonna pair me with some first-year Omega who’ll sob if I raise my voice?”

He sat back with a grin, fully expecting the usual lecture.

But then the Headmaster slid a new folder across the desk.

And said your name.

“(L/N) (Y/N),” he announced, calm and final. “You’ll be paired with her for one month.”

Jay’s entire body went still.

Gone was the amused posture, the lazy grin, the biting sarcasm—replaced by a cold, simmering silence. His face didn’t just fall; it contorted, the corners of his mouth pulling down into something bordering on disgust, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles ticked.

The glass of water on the desk remained untouched, condensation dripping silently onto the wood.

“You’re kidding,” he said finally, voice low and razor sharp.

The Headmaster merely straightened his papers. “Her academic record is exemplary. No demerits. No late submissions. Excellent conduct and a proven sense of leadership. You both rank highest in your respective year levels.”

“You know your families have been close for generations,” the Headmaster continued. “She’s one of the top students in her year, and her record is—”

“Clean. Of course it is,” Jay snapped, voice low and dangerous now.

The Legal Advisor cleared her throat, flipping open a second folder. “In fact, your records side by side paint quite the contrast.”

She held up the paper, a side-by-side chart. One half filled with distinctions, glowing reviews, recommendations. The other half, Jay’s half, filled with warning slips, missed assignments, and disciplinary notes scribbled in rushed red ink.

Jay just stared, harder and colder than ever before, like he was mentally setting the entire office on fire.

“You excel when you care,” the Headmaster said, voice even. “But you don’t care enough, and that’s the problem. So, for one month, she’ll be tasked with overseeing your academic responsibilities. Any delays or failures in submission will reflect on both of you.”

That made Jay’s brows twitch.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, you want her to babysit me?” he muttered under his breath.

“She’s not a babysitter,” the Disciplinary Director corrected. “She’s your academic liaison for the month.”

Jay gave a dry laugh. Cold. Humorless. Like someone told him the world was ending and handed him a glitter pen to sign the paperwork.

“She won’t last a week,” he sneered. “She’ll run the moment she realizes I don’t play by honor student rules.”

“You’ll be surprised,” the Headmaster replied simply. “She agreed.”

That made Jay’s smirk falter. You agreed?

Jay leaned back again, arms crossed, and stared them down with a look that could've burned holes through solid steel.

“If you’re top of the class,” the Headmaster said, “it’s time you start acting like it.”

Jay gave a short laugh—dry and humorless as he stood.

He didn’t bother collecting the folder. Didn’t look at the water. Didn’t thank them for their concern.

He just turned, the sneer still tugging at his lips as he opened the door again without a word. His shoulder brushed the frame just enough to make it swing back sharply behind him as he walked out, scent sharp and bitter in his wake.

And the silence that followed was louder than anything he could’ve said.

The scent of sandalwood and tequila spiked in the halls like a warning bell.

Students cleared the way without needing to be told, no one wanted to be collateral damage to whatever mood Park Jongseong was in. His bag was slung over one shoulder carelessly, steps heavy and sharp as he made his way toward the admin wing. Again.

“This better be the last damn time,” he muttered under his breath, jaw tight.

The moment he reached the polished wooden doors, he didn’t knock. With one swift shove, the door swung open and slammed against the inside wall with a loud crack that echoed through the room.

And then he saw you.

Sitting pretty on one of the chairs opposite the Headmaster’s desk, legs crossed at the ankle, back straight, hands folded neatly over your lap.

Jay blinked once, twice.

You didn’t look at him right away. No, of course not. You were too busy conversing with the Headmaster like you weren’t just assigned to be his personal nightmare for the next month.

He scoffed quietly, stepping further in and letting the door close behind him with a solid thunk.

The Headmaster glanced up. “Ah. Mr. Park. Right on time.”

“If this is another lecture, skip it,” Jay said flatly, “I’ve already heard yesterday’s greatest hits.”

The Disciplinary Director looked mildly amused. The Legal Advisor didn’t even blink.

The Headmaster simply gestured toward the chair beside you. “Sit.”

Jay didn’t move. Instead, he looked at you again, finally catching your eyes as you turned toward him with the smallest smile. Innocent. Too innocent. It made his teeth grit.

And he hated that he noticed how good you looked, you always do.

“Park.” The Headmaster’s voice was firm. “Sit.”

Jay sighed through his nose and dragged the chair back with a loud scrape, dropping into it like it offended him to be told what to do. He leaned back, arms crossed, one ankle resting over his knee.

The Headmaster folded his hands. “Now that you’re both here… Let’s discuss the terms of your arrangement. It’s one month. Ms. (L/N) will be overseeing your academic responsibilities alongside your council work. Every submission, every report, every meeting—you two will handle together.”

The Headmaster continued. “Your records are being compared as we speak. While you may be leading your class in terms of final results, Jay, it’s clear you’ve neglected basic academic structure. Submissions late. Skipped consults. Zero communication with your professors.”

Jay sneered. “They get the work, don’t they?”

The Headmaster ignored him. “Ms. (L/N), on the other hand, has an impeccable record.”

Jay laughed. A soft, breathy scoff that held zero amusement.

“Of course she does.” His voice dropped into something darker. “Perfect little (L/N).”

You turned your head toward him slowly, brows raised just slightly. Not enough to argue. Just enough to say try me.

Jay didn’t look away.

“So,” he said, voice dripping sarcasm. “I’m to be micromanaged for the next month by Miss Honors?”

“You’re to be held accountable,” the Headmaster replied, voice stern. “By someone who understands the responsibility your title carries. You're not just a student, Jay. If you're top of your class, it's time you act like it."

Silence.

“Are we understood, Mr. Park?”

Jay didn’t answer.

He stood slowly, the chair scraping back again as he pushed it away, and with one final glare that could’ve shattered glass, he turned on his heel.

And walked out.

You stood the moment the door clicked shut, smoothing the crisp pleats of your uniform and adjusting the bow behind your head. You didn’t need a mirror, you knew everything was in place. It always was. Your image was pristine. Polished. Perfect.

But your patience? Absolutely gone.

The moment they told you who you’d be paired with, something in you snapped like a frayed violin string. Park Jongseong. Park fucking Jongseong.

The bane of your existence since you were little. A pureblooded Alpha with more detentions than he had emotions. The only student who could match your grades and outmatch your blood pressure.

You hated him. Down to your last well-behaved nerve.

But of course, you smiled. Nodded. Bowed your head like the good little Omega everyone expected.

Until you walked out.

Jay was leaning against the wall just outside the office, arms crossed, head tipped back like he was the picture of unbothered royalty. But the moment your heels hit the marble, he lifted his head. His eyes raked over you once, and you didn’t miss the flicker in his gaze, a flash of recognition, followed by instant, irritated regret.

You looked perfect. As always.

Hair pinned into place with your signature ribbon, uniform wrinkle-free and tailored to academy standards, not a single thing out of line. Your heels clicked across the floor with infuriating grace, and your thigh-high socks—dress code approved, of course—drew eyes whether you wanted them to or not.

To Jay, you were the image of a perfect Omega.

Too bad you were a pain in his ass.

You brushed past him without a glance, your lavender perfume lingering in the air like a silent challenge. But Jay’s nose twitched, beneath the floral sweetness was the faint, sterile bite of scent blockers.

His sneer was instant.

And for some reason, that pissed him off more than it should’ve.

“I’m not doing your reports,” Jay muttered after you, voice sharp with disdain.

You stopped and turned on your heel with the calm of someone born to kill with kindness.

“Good,” you bit back, lips curling into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Because I wouldn’t trust you to spell your own name right on a cover sheet.”

Jay pushed off the wall, stalking forward with that arrogant, deliberate stride. “Keep talking, princess. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll forget you’re the one who begged the Headmaster to babysit me.”

Your jaw twitched. “I didn’t beg. I was assigned. Believe me, I’d rather chew glass.”

He stepped into your space, just close enough to make your skin crawl.

“You’d probably find a way to do it politely.”

Your eyes narrowed. “And you’d probably choke on it.”

The tension in the air snapped. His scent spiked, darker, colder.

“Let’s be clear,” you said, voice low. “You don’t scare me. You don’t impress me. And if you think I’m going to fall into line just because you’ve got a title and a family name—”

Jay leaned closer, a breath away from your face.

“You know, Jay, I don’t need you to fall in line. I just need you to keep up.” You laughed once—cold, and walked away, heels echoing like gunshots across the hall.

He watched you go. Jaw clenched. Eyes narrowed. Every inch of his body screamed irritation.

You were going to ruin his life even more than you already did.

It had been a week.

One whole week of walking down hallways like you didn’t want to claw each other's throats out, of sharing study sessions where pens nearly snapped from the pressure of your grip.

And now, here you were. Walking toward the council room, side by side with him.

Whispers followed almost immediately, they were sharp and insistent, bouncing off the marble halls like a chorus of disbelief.

“Are they seriously—”

“No way. They hate each other.”

“Didn’t (Y/N) throw a stapler at him in sophomore year?”

“I swear Jay once said she’d haunt his nightmares.”

You didn’t bat an eye. Jay didn’t, either. But the tension between you both was impossible to miss.

He reached for the heavy wooden doors first, pushing it open with a grunt, shoulders tense as he muttered under his breath, “Get your ass inside.”

You clicked your heels deliberately loud as you stepped in, pausing just long enough to throw him a side glance.

“How chivalrous,” you said, nose tilting upward with a picture-perfect scoff as you walked right past him.

Jay growled behind you, hands tightening at his sides as you strutted into the council room like it was your runway.

You took your usual seat beside Jake’s mate, crossing one leg over the other as you adjusted your skirt like it was second nature.

“There you are!” she gasped, pulling her phone out with a sparkle in her eyes. “Look, they dropped the preview for the new Dior line.”

You leaned in with genuine interest, annoyance dissolving for a moment as you gasped softly. “The saddle bag in navy, is that matte leather?”

“Yes!” she squealed. “But I can’t decide between that or the canvas one.”

“I’d go matte. It’s more timeless. We’re getting matching, right?”

Sunghoon’s mate slid into the conversation with a flawless grin. “I knew you two would be twins again. I’m getting the boots, though.”

Jake’s mate giggled. “We’re just waiting on the others. Where are they?”

You shrugged lightly, not even glancing up from the phone screen. “Saw them heading to the washroom a minute ago.”

As the three of you giggled and gushed over your plans, Jay dropped into his seat across the room with a sigh so heavy it practically echoed.

The chair creaked under him as he sank down, dragging a hand down his face before reaching into his bag to pull out the thick folder of budget reports he’d stayed up half the night organizing.

Sunoo rolled across the room in his chair with Ni-ki right behind him, both of them practically vibrating with the need to be menaces.

“Bro,” Ni-ki grinned, whispering, “we seriously thought you were kidding when you said (Y/N) would be up your ass.”

“She’s not just up there,” Sunoo added with a snort. “She built a house. Probably a pool too.”

Jay didn’t even bother looking at them. “She’s not up my ass. She is the pain in it.”

Despite the chaos, the other boys started to trickle in one by one—Jake, Jungwon, Sunghoon, and Heeseung—each taking note of your presence with quiet glances. They all knew the drill by now: acknowledge you, be polite, and above all… don’t spark anything.

They greeted their mates with soft smiles and casual kisses on the cheek, but when their eyes met yours, they all gave short nods and carefully neutral expressions. Polite, yes. Friendly, sure.

But when Jay was in the room with you, they kept everything restrained, their own mates sometimes exchanging glances that said, not today.

The murmuring died down when Jungwon cleared his throat and looked directly at Jay, motioning toward the front of the table. “Let’s get started,” he said simply. “Jay, you’re up.”

Jay stood with that usual bored elegance, flipping open his laptop and connecting it to the monitor in one smooth motion. The screen flickered to life, revealing a neat layout of monthly budget allocations, proposals, and expense reports.

He scrolled through his slides as he spoke, voice low, crisp, and straight to the point. “Quarterly allocations are being finalized. Clubs requesting additional budget this month include Performing Arts, and Athletics. Most proposals passed the standard review. Here’s the breakdown.”

Bar graphs. Pie charts. More numbers you couldn’t care less about, but you still kept your gaze steady. Even if he was a pain in the ass, Jay knew how to present well. Of course he did. He didn’t get to be top of the class and treasurer of the council without being dangerously capable.

But he wasn’t perfect.

You leaned back in your seat, arms crossed, eyes narrowing ever so slightly when a certain number blinked across the screen. He clicked to the next slide without pause.

You raised your hand.

Jay paused mid-sentence, jaw clenching for half a second before he forced his voice to stay even. “Yes, (L/N)?”

You uncrossed your arms slowly, tapping a manicured nail against your phone screen as you double-checked the file Jungwon had shared earlier. “You listed the Performing Arts’ costume fund under miscellaneous expenses. That’s a flagged violation from last semester’s audit. It’s required to be under equipment to fall within the allowed allocation.”

The room went still.

Even Ni-ki, who had been quietly fidgeting with Sunoo’s pen, stopped. Eyes darted between you and Jay like this was the moment someone’s house would be set on fire.

Jay blinked once. Twice.

He didn’t look at the screen. He didn’t need to.

His lips curled into a frown. “Noted,” he muttered, switching slides.

Still, you turned your eyes back to your phone with the same calmness as before, like correcting him wasn’t something worth breaking a sweat over.

Because it wasn’t, not to you.

The room stayed quiet even after the meeting wrapped up, the final slide lingering on the monitor like it was scared to leave before Jay did.

Jungwon began to close his notes, his mate already standing from her seat on the far end of the table. Without skipping a beat, she turned toward you with a practiced smile and a glint of urgency in her eyes.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, sliding her phone across the table to you, screen lit up with soft pastel colors and a fresh Louis Vuitton collection, “they finally dropped the new ribbon line. I’ve been waiting for this for weeks. You’re going to love this on, it’d look so good with your white blouse and that nude gloss you wore the other day.”

You blinked—just once—before your eyes lit up, your sharp features softening into something more playful as you leaned in. “Wait, that’s the one you mentioned at brunch? I thought they delayed the release?”

Jungwon’s mate grinned, clearly pleased with your reaction, and shot her Alpha a subtle wink as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Jungwon, who’d been standing by the head of the table with a clipboard in hand, caught the look and smiled faintly

Jay had stayed seated for a beat longer than usual, arms crossed, eyes unreadable. The low buzz of post-meeting chatter picked up as if nothing had happened, but the muscles in his jaw hadn’t quite relaxed.

You were too busy comparing satin tones with the other omega, voice light and sweet, like you hadn’t just called out one of the most feared Alphas in the room mid-meeting.

Then his voice cut through the chatter like a knife. Low, firm, utterly annoyed.

“We need to go. That report for the R&D proposal isn’t going to fix itself.”

He didn’t even spare you a glance, just pushed the door open halfway and walked out like the air in the room wasn’t worth breathing anymore.

The moment it clicked shut behind him, you blinked twice and muttered under your breath, loud enough for the right people to hear, “What an absolute dickhead.”

Heeseung’s mate laughed, hand immediately flying up to her lips, trying and failing to mask her laugh. Sunghoon’s mate nudged her sharply, eyes wide with warning, but even she had her knuckles pressed to her mouth to keep the giggle down.

You, ever the picture of grace, turned back to your girls with a polished smile and the kind of voice used at press conferences.

“Ladies, I’ll see you all tomorrow—don’t forget to reserve our usual table, alright?”

They nodded, still stifling laughter.

You leaned forward, placed polite air kisses on each of their cheeks, then straightened your skirt and flipped your hair over one shoulder with the elegance of someone about to chase after a walking migraine.

Then, with a sharp turn, your smile dropped. You stared down the half-open door like it insulted your entire lineage.

“God give me strength,” you mumbled under your breath, and scowled as you followed the retreating figure of Jay.

The two of you descended from the pristine council wing toward the private university parking lot, which gleamed with rows of high-end luxury vehicles.

Jay walked ahead like the world owed him something, hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks, his white button-up rumpled, the two top few buttons left undone, hair tousled in that deliberately careless way, and his scent…

It had been faint earlier, he was clearly trying to suppress it—but now that you were outside, the sharp, rich scent of sandalwood and tequila started bleeding through.

It lingered in the air, bitter at the edges as his irritation was slipping through in whispers.

“You’re coming over,” Jay said, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your eyes snapped to the back of his head. “Excuse me?”

He didn’t even slow down. “To my house. We’ve got to fix the R&D layouts. I’m not failing just because you’re allergic to being useful.”

You scoffed. “I’ll send my revisions through email. You don’t need me breathing the same air.”

Jay turned his head just slightly, his lips curling into that condescending smirk that made your blood boil. “I already called your dad.”

Your steps halted. “You what?”

“I called him.” He stopped too, finally facing you with the kind of confidence that only someone who knew they were always five moves ahead could have. “He said—and I quote—‘Of course, anything for my favorite son.’”

Your entire body went rigid.

You didn’t reply. You didn’t trust yourself to. But your glare? Sharp enough to slice diamonds.

Jay’s smirk grew. “Aw. Don’t look so hurt.”

You pushed past him, determined to put space between you and his smug little existence, but fate, or something far more dramatic—had other plans.

The moment you spotted your car—your custom pearl-white Porsche Panamera GTS, trimmed in gold accents; your stomach dropped.

Both of your front tires were flat. Completely.

You blinked and looked again, still flat.

“What the actual fuck?”

Jay’s quiet, amused chuckle cut through your spiraling thoughts like a dagger. “Damn. Looks like you’re out of luck, princess.”

You turned toward him slowly. “If you had anything to do with this—”

“I didn’t,” he said immediately, voice too casual. “I don’t have time to sabotage your Barbie car. Besides, why would I? You’re already being forced into my passenger seat.”

He clicked his keys, and his black Ferrari 812 Superfast lit up like a siren call from hell. Powerful and loud, just like him.

You straightened your spine, clenching your jaw. “I could call a driver.”

Jay leaned back against his hood, crossing his arms. “Sure. Call him. He’ll get here in, what, forty minutes? An hour? Long enough for me to finish the whole thing myself and tell your dad you flaked.”

You inhaled deeply through your nose. The bitter twist in his scent was stronger now, like the burn of tequila was stronger. He was annoyed. And suppressing it. He could’ve easily let his Alpha pheromones flood out, scare you off. But he didn’t.

Not because he respected you.

Because he didn’t want to give you the satisfaction of reacting.

“I hate you,” you said, voice dripping with venom.

Jay opened the passenger door like a damn chauffeur. “Get in.”

You stared at him for a moment. The door. The smirk. The scent. The absolute nerve of him.

Then you huffed, stepped forward with the grace of a practiced heiress, and climbed into the car like it offended you to touch it.

Jay slid into the driver’s seat without a word. The engine roared to life.

So did the silence.

So did the tension.

The hum of the Ferrari’s engine was a low, luxurious growl as it sped down the private road, headlights slicing through the evening haze. Inside, the silence was suffocating, except for the occasional click of the turn signal and the quiet sound of leather shifting under your movements.

You sat rigid in the passenger seat, arms crossed over your chest, gaze fixed on the window like you could pretend Jay didn’t exist a foot away.

But unfortunately, he did. In his own school uniform, shirt sleeves rolled just enough to show the veins on his forearms, tie tossed into the backseat, collar unbuttoned like the world bent to him instead of the other way around.

“You’re still handling the KBC merger reports?” he asked eventually, his tone low and clipped.

You didn’t look at him. “Obviously. My dad would have my head if I dropped the ball.”

Jay’s jaw flexed, one hand tightening on the wheel. “Yeah, mine too. Legacy, bloodlines, whatever. Apparently, being born rich means your life isn’t yours.”

You scoffed, brushing invisible lint off your pleated skirt. “At least they’re not trying to marry you off to some desperate heir from a dying charter airline.”

Jay’s head snapped toward you, just for a second. A twitch in his brow. A deeper furrow in his jaw. The kind of tension that wasn’t all anger but wasn’t calm either.

“What?” you muttered, catching the change.

He exhaled through his nose, eyes on the road. “Nothing. It's just stupid.”

The silence came again, colder now.

You tilted your head slightly, voice quieter. “It’s not like I’d ever say yes anyway.”

“Neither would I,” he said quickly, sharper than intended. Then he added, almost to himself, “Even if they tried.”

Another pause.

“Because you’re the golden boy,” you muttered.

Jay let out a humorless laugh. “Golden boys don’t get choices. They just get told who to be and when.”

You finally looked at him, eyes narrowing. “You are such a self-righteous ass.”

“And you’re a know-it-all omega with a god complex.”

Your lips twitched, annoyance blooming into something more twisted. “Still predictable, I see.”

“So are you,” he said, glancing at you sideways. “Still impossible.”

The silence that followed wasn’t calm. It simmered. Buzzed.

Because you weren’t just heirs to multi-billion dollar aviation empires—you were rivals. Old friends turned competitors.

You knew how he tapped his thumb against the steering wheel when he was deep in thought. He knew you always stared out the window when you were trying not to say something you’d regret.

You’d grown up together—vacation homes, shared private jet rides to summit meetings, side-by-side seats at galas and charity auctions. Him: the sharp-tongued pureblooded Alpha with the perfect face and a reputation that couldn’t be touched. You: the picture-perfect omega with a brain that could out-deal most adults in the boardroom.

But somewhere along the way, the teasing soured. The closeness cracked. And now, here you were, two loaded weapons in high-end school uniforms and too much shared history.

Jay pulled up to the gates of the Park estate, and even that was overkill.

Black wrought iron, towering and laced with gold detailing. The Park family crest—two outstretched wings around a crown that was stamped on the gate’s center. Guards in sleek black uniforms stood at attention on either side, already confirming Jay’s identity through biometric scanners built into the intercom posts.

The gates peeled open with a soft mechanical hum, revealing a winding driveway that looked more like a runway. Perfectly sculpted hedges ran along either side, interspersed with glowing path lights and imported pines.

The Park mansion wasn’t just big, it was power incarnate.

Limestone and ivory stone. Classical architecture with steel accents. Towering windows, slate rooftops, and a line of vintage jet turbine sculptures flanking the entry path. A private helipad lay just beyond the side courtyard. The entire estate was surrounded by land: quiet, cold, expensive.

Jay parked neatly at the base of the steps, but instead of grabbing his door first, he moved with quiet precision. You barely had time to touch your seatbelt before he was already out of the car and rounding the front.

You blinked as your door swung open.

Jay stood there, not meeting your eyes. One hand on the door, the other shoved into his pocket. His jaw was locked. His eyes fixed on the trees ahead, not you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Chivalry? From you? Again?”

“I’m not a monster,” he muttered.

You stepped out, ignoring the subtle warmth that hit your cheeks. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He let the door close behind you with a soft click. Then, voice dry and low, he added, “My mother didn’t raise a savage. I know how to handle an omega.”

You turned, fixing your uniform ribbon as you looked him dead in the eye. “Good. Handle yourself first.”

Jay’s lip twitched, whether it was a smirk or a sneer, you weren’t sure—and then he was already walking past you, up the stairs.

The massive front doors of the Park estate opened with a soft click the moment Jay reached them, as if the house itself recognized him.

Marble floors stretched endlessly beyond the threshold, gleaming under the glow of the chandelier above. The foyer was immaculate—pristine white walls, polished gold accents, and fresh lilies arranged delicately in a glass vase near the staircase. The air smelled like jasmine, aged oak, and old money.

Jay stepped in first, face unreadable, his blazer now slung lazily over one shoulder. You followed, brushing invisible dust from your pleated skirt.

Despite the animosity that practically radiated off Jay, he slowed his pace just enough to reach back and open the door for you, eyes flat and uninterested.

“Don’t read into it,” he muttered before you could even say thank you. “My mom didn’t raise a monster.”

“You sure?” you hummed back, voice laced with annoyance.

Before either of you could say more, a warm, familiar voice called from deeper inside the estate.

“Ah! Ms. (Y/N), welcome back!”

You turned to find Mr. Cho, the family’s long-time butler, walking towards you with a small, respectful smile. He took your bag as naturally as if he did this daily. “Shall I prepare your usual tea?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

“She doesn’t live here,” Jay muttered.

Mr. Cho remained unfazed. “Of course not, Master Jay. I was merely offering Ms. (Y/N) our hospitality. She always enjoyed the Kyoto chamomile.”

“Still does,” you added with a soft smile.

As Mr. Cho disappeared, a young maid passed by and paused when she saw you. “Ms. (Y/N)! I’ll have the blueberry cheesecake sent to the living room, just like last time.”

You blinked. “You still remember?”

“Of course! You always said it helped you focus during study sessions.”

Jay looked like he was physically restraining himself from exploding. The staff adored you. Genuinely. Fully. And not in the polite, distant way they treated him, but with familiarity. Like they cared.

And unfortunately for Jay, things only got worse.

A pair of footsteps echoed from the top of the spiral stairs. “Jay, darling—”

You turned just as Mrs. Park appeared at the landing. She was elegant in a soft blue silk dress, simple and flowing, sleeves delicately cuffed with pearl buttons. Her makeup was fresh, understated, and her smile lit up the room when she saw you.

“(Y/N)!” she practically sang. “Oh, what a pleasant surprise!”

You bowed your head slightly. “Good evening, Mrs. Park.”

Jay’s shoulders visibly tensed. “Mom.”

His mother didn’t even look at him. She descended the stairs with grace and opened her arms, embracing you warmly. “You’ve gotten even more beautiful. And that uniform on you—still so well-kept! You always take care of yourself.”

You smiled, still polite but not overly so. “You look amazing, ma’am. That dress is beautiful.”

She laughed, lightly patting your cheek. “Oh, this old thing? Thank you, dear. It’s one of my favorites, you like it?”

“I do, actually,” you said, fingers brushing the hem with admiration. “I’ve been looking for something similar. It’s the kind of style I’d wear even outside formal events.”

That made her beam. “You’ve always had taste. You’re so much like me when I was your age.”

Jay nearly gagged.

The conversation flowed naturall. It was as if you belonged in the Park household more than he did. Mrs. Park looped her arm through yours and began walking with you toward the living room.

“You know,” she said with a not-so-subtle glint in her eyes, “you’d make such a wonderful daughter-in-law.”

You choked on air.

Jay stopped walking entirely. “Mom—”

“I mean it! You’re smart, elegant, and you carry yourself so well. Our family just adores you, (Y/N). Don’t we?”

As if summoned, one of the estate's gardeners who’d come in to drop off fresh flowers—paused by the doorway. “Miss (Y/N)? Always so kind. The roses you suggested for the east garden look stunning now.”

You nodded, cheeks heating. “I’m glad they turned out well.”

Jay looked ready to combust. His jaw clenched. His eye twitched.

“She’s not here for dinner,” he reminded sharply. “She’s just here to make sure I don’t flunk some projects.”

You smiled sweetly at the older woman. “A job I take very seriously.”

His mother waved him off with a laugh. “Yes, yes. Academics. But it doesn’t hurt to get to know each other better, hmm?”

You chuckled nervously, but before the topic could spin further into dangerous territory, Jay suddenly called, “(Y/N).”

You glanced over. His tone was flat, but his eyes were sharp. “We should start,” he said.

You cleared your throat, nodding. “Of course.”

You didn’t rush after him. Of course you didn’t. You just turned to Mrs. Park with a polite nod and a small smile, excusing yourself with the grace of someone who had no interest in chasing after a moody boy.

Jay’s footsteps were already fading down the hallway as you began walking like the floor belonged to you too. Head held high. Skirt swaying. If he was going to call you princess, you’d damn well wear the crown.

By the time you stepped into the sitting room, the warm golds of the afternoon had dimmed into bluer hues, early evening creeping in with a hush. The chandelier above glowed brighter now, casting a soft sheen over everything, from the velvet couches to the massive coffee table between you and Jay.

He was already on the floor, back against the couch, legs spread like he owned the room, laptop balanced on one knee. He didn’t look at you when you entered, just clicked his pen and muttered, “Took you long enough.”

You dropped your bag on the opposite side of the table with just enough force to make a point. “I don’t run for anyone. You should know that by now.”

“I forgot,” he replied dryly. “Princesses don’t hurry after all.”

You sat down slowly, folding your legs beneath you with practiced poise, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt before pulling out your notes. “And crownless boys don’t get to comment on royalty.”

Jay looked up at you then, eyebrows arching. “That supposed to hurt?”

“No,” you said sweetly, flipping your folder open, “just a reminder.”

Between you, the oversized coffee table gleamed. A silver tray sat in the center, stacked with delicate desserts and a fresh pot of tea. You reached out carefully, nudging a teacup to the side to make space for your things.

Jay scoffed, eyeing the setup. “Of course she pulled out the royal treatment. Blueberry cheesecake, fresh tea… should’ve just set the dining table while she was at it.”

“She’s being kind,” you replied, tone cool, but your fingers tapped once against the table. “Something you could try once in a while.”

“I’m not fake,” he snapped. “And I don’t kiss ass to people who walk in like they already belong here.”

You looked up at him then, full stare. “You think I’m kissing ass?”

Jay met your eyes without flinching. “I think you’ve got everyone wrapped around your finger.”

You smiled, all teeth and ice. “Maybe that’s because I don’t sulk through life like a kicked puppy, Park.”

He barked a laugh. “You think you’ve got me figured out, huh?”

“No,” you said, pulling your textbook into your lap, “if I did, I wouldn’t waste my time talking to you.”

Jay reached forward without warning, sliding the cheesecake slightly closer to your side.

You blinked. “What, is this a peace offering?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, not looking at you. “You’re just less annoying when your mouth is full.”

You let out a quiet, sarcastic laugh. “Right. That ego of yours must need hourly feeding too, huh?”

Jay didn’t respond. He didn’t have to.

Because the silence that followed said enough.

It had been quiet. Too quiet.

Three hours in, and the tension that once burned like a wildfire had simmered into something else, maybe it was an unspoken truce, or maybe just mutual exhaustion.

Papers were scattered between you both. The once-pristine coffee table was now a war zone of half-solved equations, scribbled graphs, and open textbooks stacked like makeshift barricades.

The cake was mostly gone, your teacup emptied long ago. Even the silver fork had been abandoned at some point, lazily resting on a napkin with a streak of blueberry at the tip.

Jay was deep into the budget projections for next quarter, fingers tapping steadily against the keyboard of his laptop—when he suddenly paused.

Something felt off.

He frowned.

You usually threw in some sarcastic comment every twenty minutes. A jab at his handwriting. A smug comment about how even your cat could organize files better. A dramatic gasp every time he actually agreed with your suggestions.

Jay glanced sideways, and there you were.

Head resting on your folded arms, body slumped slightly forward. Breathing even. Completely still.

Your hair had slipped over your cheek, and the soft chandelier lighting caught on the curve of your nose, the edge of your lashes, the way your lips were ever so slightly parted in sleep. The rise and fall of your shoulders was slow and steady, peaceful in a way that didn’t match your usual fire. Even the stubborn furrow of your eyebrows had softened.

Jay stared for a second too long.

He narrowed his eyes, like he was trying to find a reason to roll them. But nothing came out of his mouth. No insult. No complaint.

Just a long, sharp sigh.

Because for fuck’s sake, even asleep, you had to look—ethereal. And worst of all? You looked peaceful. Something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

He set the laptop down on the table with a soft click, leaned back, and rubbed a hand over his face.

"Unbelievable," he muttered under his breath, like it was your fault for being like this.

Then, with ease, Jay reached behind him, tugged his blazer off the couch, and stood. The fabric slid over his shoulder in one swift motion, and without a single dramatic exhale, he walked over to your side of the coffee table.

Each step was careful. Silent. Like the heir of one of the most powerful families in the country hadn’t just decided to play blanket-boy for the rival heiress who haunted his every waking moment.

He paused when he reached you, and watched just a second more.

Then he draped the blazer over your shoulders with slow, precise hands—adjusting it so the collar covered the back of your neck, fingers brushing against your arm for the briefest moment before pulling away.

And right when he was about to back away, you moved.

Jay froze. Held in a breath.

His hand stilled mid-air as your body instinctively curled further into the warmth. One soft nuzzle, and then…

You sighed contentedly.

Right into his blazer.

He stared like you’d just committed a crime.

He finally took a step back—reluctantly—and returned to his seat with a scowl trying to eat his face.

You weren’t supposed to be unguarded, you were supposed to be a brat—his bratty little academic babysitter.

Jay sighed again, loudly this time.

About thirty minutes later, you stirred.

It started slow. A flicker of your lashes. A barely-there shift in your breathing. A little crease between your brows as your body tried to figure out why it felt suspiciously cozy in the middle of an air-conditioned mansion that usually felt like the inside of a freezer.

You blinked, sluggish and dazed, slowly dragging yourself out of sleep. The world was quiet, too quiet. Just the faint hum of the AC, the occasional distant clink of dishware.

But more importantly—you were warm.

Your brain stalled. That… wasn’t right.

You shifted slightly and felt the weight of something thick and heavy draped over your shoulders. Your brows furrowed. And then—you inhaled.

And you knew.

The scent hit you like a truck—clean, sharp cologne, with his scent of cedarwood and tequila, something undeniably Alpha, something that was not yours, and it curled through your lungs like a goddamn curse.

Park Jongseong.

No. No, no, no.

You sat up an inch, heart hammering in your chest as your gaze dropped to the dark blazer now resting over your frame. His blazer. Neatly placed.

“What the f—” You didn’t even finish the curse. You were too busy spiraling.

When did he do this? Why did he do this? Was this a pity move? A trap? Was he trying to prove some twisted point? That he could be thoughtful or soft or human?

God, you hated him.

You hated that your first instinct was to pull it tighter around yourself because the warmth was just that comforting. You hated that it smelled like him, and that it wasn’t disgusting. You hated that your cheeks were warm and you didn’t know if it was the blazer or the mortifying realization that he’d seen you asleep and had the audacity to care.

You glared at it like it personally betrayed you.

You wanted to chuck it across the room, you wanted to march over to him and kick him in the shin with your heels, you wanted to scream and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing being—decent.

But just as you sat up, ready to commit violence, your gaze lifted—Jay was asleep.

Head down on the table the same way you had been minutes ago, lips parted just slightly, one arm bent awkwardly under his head, the other still loosely holding onto the edge of his laptop. His brows, usually furrowed in perpetual annoyance or superiority, were finally relaxed. His sharp jaw was tilted your way, soft in sleep, like even gravity didn’t dare ruin his symmetry.

And for a second—you stared, and God, He was gorgeous.

His dark blonde hair had fallen slightly over his forehead, just messy enough to make your stomach twist in frustration. His eyelashes were too long to be fair, brushing softly against his cheeks. His lips were tinted that stupid natural pink, curved in a way that would be charming if he wasn’t, well, him. His nose—the one you had once insulted out of spite for being too perfect, was somehow even more annoying up close.

The kind of beautiful that was cinematic.

The kind of beautiful that made your blood boil because it was attached to a man you actively fantasized about strangling.

You pressed your fingers to your temple, sighing quietly, mind racing with a war of contradicting thoughts.

You were this close—this close—to standing up and throwing the jacket at his face like a grenade. But your body betrayed you and stayed seated, clutching the fabric instead, heart still hammering.

This couldn’t be happening, he was Park Jongseong.

You groaned softly into your hands, blazer still wrapped around your shoulders like some cursed reminder of your ongoing descent into hell.

You had to leave.

Not because you were done. Not because you had calmed down. But because something about sitting here, wrapped in his blazer, watching him sleep, made you feel like you were standing on the edge of something you didn’t want to name. Something dangerous.

You didn’t do dangerous with Jay.

You did rivalry. Snark. Academic warfare. Arguments with sharp tongues and bitten-back smirks.

Not… this.

So, you moved.

As quietly as you could, you pulled away from the coffee table, the plush rug soft under your heels. You began packing up your things—the papers, the scattered pens, the flash drive you had almost forgotten. You glanced over at Jay once, just to make sure he was still sleeping. He hadn’t moved. Still slumped over the table like he was seconds away from snoring.

Then you reached up, fingers brushing the edge of the blazer still wrapped around your shoulders.

Returning it now would be the decent thing to do.

Which was exactly why you didn’t do it.

If you handed it back now, it would be simple. Done. Over.

But if you left with it? Oh, he’d hate it.

He’d hate that it would come back smelling like your expensive perfume—the one you wore to events just to piss off old men who said women should dress modestly and stay silent.

The one you wore like a weapon. Sweet, intoxicating, with a cold bite underneath. A perfect contrast to your scent-blockers, which left your natural scent unreadable by anyone—even him.

So yes, you were going to bring the blazer home.

Dry clean it? Of course. You weren’t a monster.

Smiling faintly, you folded the blazer over your arm and reached into your tote bag for a notepad. You scribbled something quickly, your handwriting elegant and infuriatingly neat.

You placed the note where his laptop used to be and glanced at him one last time. He was still dead asleep. You rolled your eyes.

“Of course you sleep like a rock when I actually have something to say,” you muttered under your breath.

With that, you turned on your heel and left the room.

You made your way through the quiet mansion, heels ticking softly against the polished floor, the gentle hum of the chandelier casting warm light over the entrance hall. The foyer was peaceful, bathed in a mellow amber glow that clung to the air like honey.

Jay’s mother sat near the base of the staircase, a tablet resting on her lap, glasses perched delicately on her nose. She looked up when she heard you, her expression instantly brightening.

“Oh, you’re leaving?” she asked, her voice soft but touched with disappointment.

You nodded politely, shifting the bag on your shoulder. “Yes, ma’am. It’s gotten pretty late, and I didn’t want to wake Jay. He looked… like he needed the sleep.”

She smiled knowingly. “He always overworks himself. But I was hoping you might stay a little longer.”

You blinked, a little surprised. “Really?”

“Of course.” She stood, placing the tablet aside and walking over to you, her lips curled slightly. “Your banter kept the house interesting today.”

You chuckled, genuinely this time. “I’m sure Jay would say otherwise.”

She reached out and gently pulled you into a light hug, arms warm and motherly around your shoulders. You stiffened for half a second, caught off-guard… and then relaxed. It was nice. Disarming. Familiar in a way that scraped against the icy corners you usually kept up.

You pulled back with a soft, genuine smile. “Thank you. For the tea. And the cake.”

She laughed lightly. “Come by again. Preferably when he’s less cranky.”

You grinned at that, nodding once. “No promises.” Then, ou stepped out into the evening.

Your driver opened the car door as you approached, holding it just long enough for you to slide in without needing to break stride. As you settled in, you kept Jay’s blazer folded neatly on your lap, fingers idly running over the fabric.

The car pulled away from the estate, disappearing into the night.

Back in the living room, Jay stirred.

His head ached in the weird, groggy way it always did after falling asleep at a desk. He sat up slowly, blinking at the dimmed lights and the stretch of silence around him.

Something felt off.

His eyes scanned the room. The papers had been tidied. Your bag was gone. And so was his blazer.

Then—he spotted the note.

Right where his laptop had been, placed delicately like a landmine dressed in silk.

He picked it up, already exhaling like he was bracing for a slap.

thanks for your stinky blazer, shit head. returning it ASAP. don’t miss me. — (l/n)

His jaw ticked.

“Stinky—are you fucking serious—”

He stopped, the words were ridiculous. Petty. Absolutely you. The handwriting? Annoyingly perfect. Not a single letter out of place.

Jay scowled, letting the paper crumple slightly in his hand.

But then, his scowl faltered.

It softened, not into anything gentle, but into a low, frustrated frown. The kind that twisted deep between his brows and lingered. He leaned back in his seat, note still in hand, blazer gone, and a sudden, unwanted awareness in his chest.

You’d worn his blazer. And you’d taken it with you.

His eyes slid to the spot where you’d been curled up not even an hour ago.

And then they narrowed.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered under his breath.

He stared at the note for another few seconds.

And then he folded it. Neatly. Slid it under his laptop.

He’d burn it later. Maybe.

Jay was spiraling.

Which was ridiculous, really, because Park Jongseong did not spiral. He was composed. In control. Cool, collected, cold even, especially when it came to you.

But as he stepped out of his sleek black car, designer shoes clicking against the pavement of the academy’s private parking lot, his jaw clenched. His usually sharp mind was fogged up with one thing and one thing only: you still had his blazer.

His personal, custom-fit, dry-clean-only, still-drenched-in-his-scent blazer.

And not just handed to you. No. He had fucking placed it over your shoulders like some old-school, gentlemanly, possessive courting maneuver from a textbook.

Which, in Alpha society, it kind of was.

His inner Alpha had been screaming about it since the moment he stepped out of the shower that morning. The memory hit him like a train—the sight of you curled up, breathing evenly, his blazer slipping slightly down your arm as you unconsciously pulled it closer. His scent wrapped around you.

He stopped walking. Just for a second. Just enough for his eyes to flutter shut and for him to mutter under his breath, “Shit.”

Then he straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and shoved the panic down where he shoved everything else he didn’t want to deal with. You probably still had i. Or worse, you were going to return it drenched in your expensive perfume, just to rub salt in the wound.

His hate for you burned hotter.

By the time he reached the student council wing, his expression was blank again. He adjusted the strap of his bag, reached for the door to the council room—and paused.

There were voices inside. Heated ones.

He slowly pushed one of the double wooden doors open only to be met by the searing glare of Jake’s mate.

Usually the quiet one. Reserved. Soft-spoken. But right now? Absolutely fuming.

She was already standing, arms crossed so tight it looked painful, expression twisted in something close to betrayal under the soft chandelier light.

“Jay, I thought you hated (Y/N)?”

Jay blinked. “I do.”

“Then why the actual fuck would you give her your blazer?!”

He opened his mouth to speak. Then shut it.

She stormed a few steps closer, each one heavier with rage.

“That’s a courting gesture, you moron! That’s like waving a giant flag in Alpha society! Do you not think before you act? Or did your brain short-circuit the moment she looked remotely human to you?”

Jake, from behind her, threw his hands up like a hostage. “Nope. Not getting in the middle of this. She’s gonna kill me, man. Don’t even look at me.”

Jay stared at him. “Get your girl.”

Jake shook his head even faster. “Hell no.”

“You do realize stepping into an omega’s wrath is like signing a death warrant, right?” Heeseung added lazily from the couch, sipping his coffee with a smirk. “Might as well start drafting your will.”

Jungwon didn’t say anything, but he shared a look with Heeseung that said it all.

Jay dragged a hand down his face and sighed heavily, the ache behind his temples pulsing stronger with each passing second. “This is all your fault,” he muttered.

Jake’s mate’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “My fault?”

Jay gestured vaguely toward the air, the universe, toward you—wherever the hell you were. “Yes. Yours. Hers. Everyone’s.”

She looked ready to lunge at him.

Jay turned on his heel and strode right back out of the room, tossing over his shoulder, “Unbelievable.”

The door thudded shut behind him, muffling the noise.

The afternoon sun poured in from the floor-to-ceiling windows, catching in the glossy floors as you walked side-by-side with Heeseung’s mate, laughing about something stupid from earlier that morning.

“Seriously though,” she giggled, bumping her shoulder lightly against yours, “you and that old history teacher— I thought he was gonna combust when you corrected him in front of the whole class.”

You laughed, bright and easy, flipping your hair over your shoulder. “Not my fault I actually read the assigned chapters.”

She snorted, tossing you a fond look. “You’re dangerous.”

You grinned back. “Tell that to Park. He still thinks I’m a walking plague.”

Unknowingly, you and Heeseung’s mate stole every pair of eyes in the hall.

Heads turned. Conversations faltered mid-sentence. It was impossible not to notice the two of you—two Omegas, looking every bit the part, effortless and untouchable, with unreal beauty and an almost unfair kind of perfection. Every step you took seemed to hum with power, the kind that made even passing Alphas stop in their tracks just to get another look.

Jay caught sight of you just as he rounded the corner, heading lazily toward the vending machines.

He told himself to keep walking. To pretend he hadn’t seen you.

But the second Heeseung’s mate chirped something about using the bathroom and peeled off with a wave, leaving you alone—he moved.

In three long strides, he was in front of you. You barely had time to blink before his fingers wrapped tightly around your wrist.

“Hey!” you protested, yanking instinctively, but his grip was iron, burning against your skin.

“What the hell, Park—”

“Shut up,” he hissed under his breath, casting a quick glance down the hall where classroom doors remained closed and the faint sound of teachers’ voices carried through the cracks. Without waiting, he dragged you with him, your heels skidding against the marble as you struggled to dig your heels in.

“Let me go!” you seethed, twisting in his grasp. “You’re insane—!”

Jay didn't spare you even a look. He hauled you to the very end of the corridor, shoving you back behind one of the thick stone pillars that lined the old architecture of the school.

You stumbled, slamming into the cold stone, only to find Jay caging you in, one hand pressed hard against the pillar beside your head, the other still wrapped tight around your wrist.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” you snapped, glaring up at him.

Jay’s eyes were burning—not with heat, but with something more violent. Dark, furious. Dangerous.

“Where is it?” he demanded.

You blinked. “Where’s what?”

“My blazer,” he gritted out. His gaze flickered down your figure, eyes narrowing when he saw the clean navy blue blazeryou were wearing —your own—instead of the one he had forced on you last night. His jaw tensed so hard it could’ve been carved from stone.

A laugh tore out of your throat.

“Ohhh,” you drawled mockingly. “That.” You leaned back against the pillar, smirking up at him. “I left it in the council room hours ago.”

“You’d know that if you actually showed up for your own responsibilities instead of lurking around like a damn creep,” you said sweetly, dripping venom with every word.

Something flickered dangerously in his gaze. His hand slammed harder against the stone, right by your ear, but you didn’t even flinch.

If anything, you pushed closer, close enough to catch the faintest trace of his scent still clinging to your skin, stubborn even after all these hours.

“You’re unbelievable,” Jay muttered, his voice low and rough.

“Right back at you, Park,” you sneered. “Next time you want to play knight in shining armor, pick someone who actually wants your damn jacket.”

Jay’s breathing was harsh, every muscle in his body visibly tense. “You think you know everything, don't you?" he bit out.

“I know enough,” you shot back. “I know you hate me. And guess what, Park? I hate you more.”

The tension between you two was electric, suffocating, so thick you could practically taste the anger rolling off him in waves. Your heart hammered in your chest—not from fear, but from the pure adrenaline of it all.

His gaze dropped to your lips for the briefest, most dangerous second.

No. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t dare.

Finally, with a furious, muttered curse under his breath, Jay ripped himself away from you like you physically burned him, storming down the hall without another word.

You stayed leaning against the pillar for a second longer, catching your breath, a small, wicked smirk curling on your lips.

Without hesitation, you pushed yourself off the cold stone with a deep breath, smoothing down your skirt like it could fix the way your blood was still rushing hot under your skin.

You turned the corner—and there she was, Heeseung’s mate leaning casually against the wall, waiting exactly where she said she would.

She didn’t say a word when her eyes landed on you. Just smiled softly and reached out, fingers deft as she adjusted the ribbon tied at the back of your head.

“You okay?” she asked, her voice light but her gaze a little too knowing.

You just smiled, slow and sweet, like you weren’t still shaking a little on the inside. “Perfect,” you lied easily, eyes twinkling with mischief.

She narrowed her eyes, clearly not believing you for a second, but said nothing else. Only slipped her arm through yours again, guiding you both back down the hallway toward your next class.

The council room was packed.

The long conference table overflowed with council members and their mates—Heeseung and his omega tucked close together at one end, Jungwon whispering something that made his mate giggle, Jake and his tossing casual grins across the table, Sunghoon lounging like a king with his arm slung behind his omega's chair.

Even Sunoo’s mate was there, perched elegantly beside you.

The air was thick with bodies, with heat, with the buzzing undercurrent of alphas, betas, and omegas crowding too close.

But you only saw one person. Jay.

You sat poised, the sharp line of your jaw held high, your nails—perfectly manicured, painted a sleek, mocking black; tapping against the folder in front of you.

You stared at him like you could set him on fire.

And Jay—that cocky bastard, barely spared you a glance.

Sunoo’s mate leaned toward you, voice soft. “Hey, Y/n. After this, can you help me with the decorations list—?”

“Of course,” you answered smoothly, your tone light and sweet, but your eyes never once left Jay.

You watched as he lazily flipped a page, jaw ticking ever so slightly.

He knew you caught the mistake in the proposal you worked on together, the one he touched last without telling you.

You could practically feel the smugness radiating off him, like he thought it wasn’t a big deal.

It was a big deal. And you wanted to gut him for it.

Jungwon’s voice rang loud and clear from the head of the table, “Meeting adjourned.”

Chairs screeched against the marble floor instantly, papers shuffled, and the whole council meeting room turned into a buzzing hive of motion and noise as everyone started packing up.

And just when it should’ve ended neatly—

Jay pushed off his chair with a lazy, almost predatory grace. Slamming his palm hard enough against the table that several people jumped, including you, though you masked it behind a lazy blink.

Heads whipped towards him.

Jay just smiled—that slow, confident, devastating smile that made you want to slap it off his face with your perfectly manicured hand.

“Party at my place tomorrow night,” he announced, voice booming across the council room like thunder.

“Bring everyone. Seniors, juniors—hell, bring half the damn school if you want. I want it packed.”

A collective gasp, then a loud eruption of cheers and whistles filled the air.

Someone from the Public Relations Committee actually banged a fist on the table in excitement. Another kid from Jungwon’s group whooped so loudly, it startled Heeseung.

Jake whistled low and threw an arm around his mate’s shoulders, grinning wide. Ni-ki immediately started planning out a playlist with two of the juniors trailing behind him like excited puppies.

Sunoo’s mate leaned in to whisper something excitedly into your ear about outfits—but your eyes stayed locked only on Jay. You barely heard anything over the roaring in your blood.

Jay wasn’t looking at anyone else. He was looking straight at you, one brow cocked high like a fucking challenge, daring you to say something.

The way he stood there, hands in his pockets, broad shoulders soaking up every ounce of attention in the room like he owned it—like he owned you.

You felt your jaw clench so tight your teeth ached.

Jay’s smirk grew wider.

He was baiting you, he wanted you angry, he thrived off it.

You lifted your chin higher, giving him a lazy, mocking once-over, from his disheveled tie down to the way his expensive shoes tapped against the marble floor like he couldn't stand still.

Jay’s smile faltered for half a second.

Sunoo’s mate nudged you, beaming. “What are you wearing to the party?”

Without tearing your glare away from Jay, you answered smoothly, “Whatever works.” Your voice was sweet as syrup but your eyes spat venom across the room at the boy you hated most.

Jay’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, a slow, dangerous movement that made your stomach twist—in rage.

He tilted his head at you, smirking wider, like he was thinking the exact same thing.

The room swirled with laughter and plans and wild energy, but right then, it felt like only you and him existed.

Two storms waiting to crash into each other.

And when he finally tore his gaze away to clap Jungwon on the back and bark out something about making it the best party of the year.

You were left standing there, fuming, heart racing, hands trembling slightly from the effort it took to keep yourself composed.

The war had just begun.

And Jay had just thrown the first grenade.

⤷ read part 2 here !

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salem-s · 10 hours ago

Text

08 ── PLAYING THE PART UNDER THE SICILIAN SUN ── RAFE CAMERON

── SYNOPSIS when your image-obsessed mother catches you and Rafe Cameron ─ your friends with benefits ─ in a compromising situation, you must lie and say you're dating. It spirals out of control when your mother invites him to your cousin's upcoming wedding in Italy, and spirals even further when he says yes. ── WARNINGS language, angst (familial issues, miscommunication). 18+ mdni. ── WORD COUNT 9.6k. ── NOTES edited from third person perspective to second, so let me know if there are any mistakes. apologies because this is very description heavy. ── SERIES MASTERLIST ── SONG OF THE CHAPTER fake plastic trees by radiohead

Barbaric knocking jolts you both awake.

Your head pounds so achingly hard that you audibly whine, burying your face into Rafe’s warm chest without hesitation.

He lifts his head up off the pillow, blinking the bleariness out of his eyes as he tries to gauge the situation. Head pounding, he curses, leaning back on the pillow and throwing an arm over his eyes.

Eventually the loud knocking stops, and you feel like you can breathe again, sighing in relief against his skin as he lazily rubs your back. But then your eyes snap open when you hear the door click open, putting all of your strength into lifting your head to see who is entering the room.

You nearly cry when you see your mother, standing at the end of the bed and peering down at the two of you.

“You two are late. Let’s go.”

You've got to be kidding.

You and Rafe simply blink up at her, unsure if the hangover is playing mind games on you or if Paulette is actually standing in front of you both right now, clad in a beach coverup and a purse so comically large it looks cartoonish.

“They won’t hold the reservation if you’re more than fifteen minutes late,” Paulette snaps, clapping her hands to get you to wake up. “Get up!”

The noise sounds like artillery fire.

“Ow,” you mumble, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes and dropping your head against Rafe’s chest. “What are you talking about?”

Paulette shakes her head in disbelief. “You two have a couple’s spa reservation that Jessa so graciously booked for you guys.” With a manicured hand, she grabs the sheets and rips them off of you.

You and Rafe audibly groan at the sudden coldness, the lack of clothes barely fazing your mother.

“I’m not leaving until I know you two will get out of bed.”

Eventually, you pick your limp body up to pull yourself to the edge of the bed, throwing your feet over the edge and rubbing out the piercing migraine. You look back to Rafe, who manages to sit up and curl into himself. Regardless of your double zombie-like state, Paulette seems to be satisfied that you're both sort-of up and at it.

She hums like a priss. “I’ll be waiting outside the room, and I will come in again in five minutes if you’re not out here.”

Then, Paulette leaves the room and the door shutting behind you is as loud as thunder.

“Oh my god.” You moan into your hands, nearly shaking from the force of your hangover. “Rafe, I feel like I got hit by a bus.”

“More like a train.”

You groan again, willing yourself to stand and stumbling at the dizziness.

It's comical, really. You'd laugh if you didn't feel like dying.

You and Rafe navigate in the dimly lit room like baby fawns learning how to walk, bumping into each other as you attempt to get dressed and go to the bathroom. You gag when you brush your teeth, nearly hurling right then and there. Rafe at one point trips over his suitcase, landing harshly on the cold tile with a groan, and it takes you at least two minutes to get him up off the floor.

By the grace of a higher being, you make it out into the hallway before Paulette can forcibly enter again, rolling her eyes at your clearly disheveled state as she wordlessly leads you to the elevator and down to the lobby.

You have to grab Rafe’s forearm to steady yourself, cursing under your breath that you didn’t grab sunglasses to shield from the blazing sun that shines directly into your eyes as you walk towards the spa treatment center.

You both don’t have the capacity to even ask what the hell she means by a couples spa treatment until you're standing at the entrance, your heart dropping when you see Jessa and Kevin, and Yara and Grant waiting there as well.

This couldn't get any worse.

“Oh my god, I’m actually going to throw up,” you mumble, Rafe nearly wincing at the mere thought of vomit right now.

“Don’t say that,” he groans. “Don’t bring it up.”

The spa therapist emerges from the back with a smile to chipper, too bright, that it makes the both of you wince. “Buongiorno, tutti!”

You and Rafe join the group, lingering in the back as you practically lean on each other for physical support.

“My name is Giuditta, and I will be your group therapist this morning! Thank you for signing up for our exclusive Couple’s Spa Retreat!”

God, her voice is way too loud right now.

Also, what?

Before you can comprehend the scene in front of you, Jessa nudges your arm with a sly smile. "Long night?"

Your cheeks burn when you see her gaze flicker between you and Rafe teasingly, unsure if he can hear her right now. You want to tell her to shut up, to make up an excuse to get you out of here, but the sight of her darting eyes gives you motion sickness so you squeeze yours shut.

"Dude," you whisper painfully, "what the fuck did you sign us up for?"

Jessa snorts quietly, finding your state amusing. "Something expensive, so enjoy it while you can."

You want to bite back that you really don't care if it's free or the most pretentious treatment on the planet, you'd much rather be in bed gaining a few extra hours of sleep instead of wavering nauseously in the same room as your ex and high school acquaintance, but when you try and speak you nearly throw up.

So you settle on a groan.

Giuditta doesn't notice your conversation, and even if she does, you'd never know given how chipper she is. “...is our highest recommended treatment for all kinds of couples to unlock their inner personal connection, enhancing the bond between souls through physical and mental contact.”

Meanwhile, Rafe frowns once he digests the words.

What? What are they about to do?

Before he registers it, everyone is being coaxed into the large private room. It’s dimly lit, thank god, but overtly romantic with candles being the only source of light.

He studies the set up: three huts evenly spaced from one another. The curtains draw open to showcase the inside, a double bed with soft sheets, with a smaller table full of supplies for each hut. Two robes are neatly folded on each bed as well as matching slippers.

Slowly blinking the hangover fog away, Rafe's heart drops when he realizes where he is. What you're about to do.

“We’ll have each couple assigned to one hut,” Giuditta happily explains. “Once you’ve picked your spot, please use our private fitting rooms to change into our pillowy soft robes! It is preferred if undergarments are removed, but this is a safe space, so you may leave them on if it makes you more comfortable.”

Jessa and Kevin take the bed on the left, Yara and Grant take the one on the right, leaving you and Rafe to approach the bed smack dab in the middle of the two couples.

Great.

If you weren't hurdling towards death you would’ve made a joke to Rafe, who probably would’ve laughed if he wasn’t also on the verge of death.

You head into one of the changing rooms and strip out of your dress cover up, slipping on the butter-soft robe that nearly has you melting. All you want to do is lie down in bed with your head stuck in a giant ice cube. Or at least lay on the beach with your head in a giant ice cube.

Anything, you mean anything, would be better than this right now.

Exiting at the same time as Rafe, you nearly snort when you glance at him.

His hair is disastrously unruly while his robe is way too short, exposing his already lanky legs to heights unknown. He immediately shakes his head at you, jaw clenching so hard you're sure it’ll break off. A hand instantly finds the small of your back as you retreat back to your hut, almost a warning to keep walking and not say anything about it.

“Not a word,” he grumbles miserably.

It only makes you stifle a laugh, poking his over-exposed thigh. “I don’t know. I think you’d rock the five inch seam shorts.”

“Shut up.”

“It’s kind of hot.”

“Sweet girl,” he warns as you both sit down on the bed. It only makes his robe hike up further.

You go to pinch his thigh again, but is interrupted by Giuditta's excited clap, one that makes you both wince at the volume.

“Okay!” She stands in front of all the huts, each couple looking at her expectantly. “Now, we understand privacy is of the utmost importance, so we will be shutting each hut door to give each couple the intimacy that is promised on the brochure.”

Two assistants line up at each hut door, waiting for the green light to enter and shut them to start the treatment, which suddenly makes the entire scene way more intimate, as it essentially cages you in together. You shift uncomfortably next to Rafe, who rubs a hand down the side of his face.

God, the room reeks of eucalyptus and you sigh, unsure if it’s out of nausea or irritation.

“Now, you will each have your own intimacy coordinator who will lead the spa treatment, along with some exercises to get you more in tune with your partner,” Giuditta explains. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy!”

Rafe takes a long deep breath, about to say something regarding the BS of this entire thing, but closes his mouth when your two coordinators enter the makeshift hut, a short woman with a soft smile and long dark hair and another woman who’s much taller with a bob.

“Hello,” the shorter one greets politely. “I am Amelia and this is Birdie, your massuses for this session. Please remove your robes and we’ll cover you with a sheet. Let’s start on our stomachs, please.”

You and Rafe navigate onto the bed essentially in the dark. Slowly, you start to strip out of the robes. Rafe left his boxers on that he wears under his swim suit as you still have your bathing suit on, unsure if you wanted to be naked for this ordeal.

Of course, you take one last attempt to be funny as you pinch his thigh again, causing him to gently swat your hand away with an incoherent grumble, flopping on his stomach as he rests his head on the fluffy pillow. You follow suit with a quiet laugh, laying down and turning your head away from him so you're facing the wall.

The bed is actually pretty comfortable, and you find yourself nearly sighing. Perhaps you'll get the sleep that's been calling to you instead of participating in whatever bullshit is in store.

You assume Rafe thinks the same because Amelia clears her throat. “Please face each other and lock hands. We’re going to begin our breathing exercises.”

Right.

Awkwardly, you both adjust and crane your necks so you and Rafe are facing each other, cheeks smushed against the pillows as you blindly reach down to find each other’s hands. Rafe’s hand engulfs yours, locking your fingers together and squeezing once, as if in solidarity that you will get through this despite how sick you feel.

You lock eyes for a moment, your breath hitching at the physical intimacy of it all.

This is all of a sudden too much.

You blink a few times and then close your eyes, not wanting to know if he’s done the same or if he’s still looking at you. Regardless, he squeezes your hand again a little lighter than before, but not without smoothing over your skin with the pad of his thumb, as if he's tracing over a map.

God, this is only going to make your hangover worse, since every small doting gesture he does makes your stomach flip anyway, so you can’t imagine how you're going to feel if this whole treatment is about connecting with your partner on a level deeper than physicality.

“Scusate?”

You open your eyes to Birdie leaning down.

“May I untie your top?”

You blink, short circuiting and trying to ignore his eyes on you. “Uh, yeah. That’s fine.”

Birdie thanks you and begins to untie your swim suit top, your back now bare, both masseuses preparing their lotions.

Rafe’s eyes travel to drink in your exposed back, swallowing thickly at the sliver of side boob that smushes out from laying on your stomach.

Instinctively, he grabs your hand a fraction tighter, tearing his gaze away from your body and shutting his eyes instead.

He's fighting a million different demons right now. Starting with the one in his head that's telling him how nice your hand feels in his right now.

“Okay,” Amelia says calmly, “we are going to start with a light back massage to start that should ease us into a more relaxed state. Take a nice, deep breath in through your noses.”

You and Rafe do so as cool hands meet the smalls of your backs at the same time, lathered in lotion as they press the heels into the muscles and push up your spine.

Once they reach your shoulder, Amelia adds, “Now exhale out your mouth.”

The masseuses do this a few times, breathe you both through a basic massage that lasts about fifteen minutes.

You close your eyes, feeling sleep overtake you as your breaths get deeper. At one point, you feel your fingers twitch against his, lips parted as you're so close to peace, so close–

“Alright,” Amelia’s voice breaks you out of your trance, blinking your eyes open blearily as Rafe does the same, probably almost falling asleep as well. “Now that we’ve connected our breathing, we’re going to sit up to a criss-cross position and face each other.”

You want to cry. You're so goddamn tired.

Birdie ties your swim suit before you can sit up, groggily pushing yourself into a criss-cross as Rafe does the same, although it takes him a little longer to get comfortable due to his long legs.

He shoots you a pointed glare when you bite your lip to suppress a laugh, noticing you struggling to keep a straight face while watching him, especially when Birdie motions you to scoot closer together so your knees are touching.

The contact makes your heart skip.

The masseuses pay it no mind. “Alright, now straighten your spines with a deep inhale.” You do as told. “Then an exhale. Let’s join our hands together by our knees and we will begin our soul ties segment.”

Sorry, the what segment?

You and Rafe shoot each other a nervous glance, reluctantly doing as you're told and locking your hands together once more.

Sheepishly, he averts his gaze up to the makeshift ceiling of the hut, the thrum of his heart beating louder than ever. He blames the hangover for amplifying his senses, dialing them to eleven, hating the magnetic pull he has towards you, especially right now as he can feel your gaze burning into his profile.

Rafe hopes the candles don’t show his rising blush.

“Our exercise will start with a light massage to further release inhibitions,” Amelia explains, standing behind Rafe as Birdie stands behind you. “We will start at your forearms and work our way up to the shoulders to release any tension built there from bottled emotions. While we do this, you two will participate in a verbal exercise. Please look each other in the eye and take turns listing qualities that you admire about the other.”

Silence fills the hut.

His piercing blue eyes meet yours and for a moment, you both come up short on what to do.

You nearly speak up, wanting to give a huge disclaimer that the relationship is very much unlike the others, that this isn’t what they think it is. Your heart races, and for a second, you consider hurling all over him to give an escape route.

Then, Rafe’s stupidly arrogant voice interrupts your internal panic. “Ladies first.”

God, you want to smack that stupid smirk off of his face.

Shaking your head lightly in disbelief at him, you clench your jaw, but is jolted out of your moment of pitiful anger as Birdie’s hands meet your forearms, signaling the start of the exercise.

Rafe raises a brow at you expectantly, almost mockingly, and you grip his hand bruisingly tight as your heart races with the pressure of initiating this part of the treatment.

“Uh, uhm,” you stutter, unsure of how casual you can keep it without raising alarm bells. “You have nice, uh, hands.”

Rafe stifles a snort, cocking his head to the side. God, he’s way closer than you realized and it makes your head spin. “Nice hands?” he drawls out slowly, mockingly.

“Yes.” Your cheeks flame in embarrassment. You're going to kill Jessa for booking this. “That’s what I said. Now you go.”

He chuckles softly, running his thumb over the smooth skin of your hand as if it means nothing. He darts his gaze between your narrowed eyes, clearly displaying his amusement for this whole ordeal.

“You have a funny laugh.”

Your lip curls in disgust. “Really?”

Rafe shrugs as much as the masseuse will allow him. “It’s adorable.”

“Oh my god,” you grumble, ignoring the insinuation. “Okay. Your music taste isn’t that bad most of the time.”

“I knew you liked it, baby.”

“It’s your turn.”

Rafe smiles lazily and your heart skips a beat. “You sometimes talk in your sleep and I find it very amusing.”

"Rafe."

"Your turn."

If it’s possible for your face to feel even hotter, it is. “That's not admiration, that's a form of entertainment."

"Fine," he says, indulging your dispute. "I admire how you talk in your sleep. We had a full conversation once."

"I do not. And I never did that.”

“How would you know? You were asleep.”

“You probably imagined it.”

He nods. “Sure.”

At your silence, he squeezes your hand gently.

“Your turn.”

Cool hands meet your shoulder blades and you nearly forgot there are other people here, who are probably confused at the lack of seriousness this conversation has.

You hate how easy it is to get lost in his eyes, hating how captivating they are, how much joy they hold at the moment. He’s totally eating this up, because if there’s one thing he loves to do, it’s rile you up and make you a blubbering, flustered mess.

It only frustrates you further, huffing quietly. Especially when he's clearly joking about this whole exercise.

You want to flip the script back to him. If he wants to play this game, then you can, too.

“You have a nice singing voice.”

That has him raising a brow, confusion plastered all over his pretty features. He goes to say something in clarification, but you interrupt him.

“I heard you the other day,” you say, softer. “It was the second day here. I obviously wasn't really asleep, not deeply, anyway."

The memory of what happened after he came into the room as your heart skipping a beat. How he made you beg for it.

But you refuse to cower. "You were singing an Ariana song. It was really sweet.”

Rafe gapes his mouth open like a fish.

“Shut up,” he stutters, embarrassed at the call out.

But he narrows his gaze when he recognizes the game you're playing, at the little smile ghosting your lips as you take in his flustered appearance. Rafe can't help but straighten up, knowing you can go band-for-band right now if that's how you want to play.

Game on, sweet girl, he thinks.

“Alright, you’re a grade-A nerd.”

You narrow your eyes. "That feels like an insult."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm saying you're smart. One of the smartest people I know. You know a bunch of history shit off the top of your head and it's mildly impressive."

"Only mildly?"

"Immensely, sweet girl." His voice is faux saccharine, trying to get you to crumble. "Your turn."

But. it doesn't faze you.

“You’re super protective. Physically. I remember being trapped in the mosh-pit at Davo’s and you pushed your way through to get me out,” you recount the memory almost defensively.

Rafe wants to tell you I told you so, as he remembers that day vividly. He felt like a damn hero, and teased you relentlessly after you refused to thank him because you said you could get out of it yourself (he knew you couldn't). It only took three orgasms back-to-back-to-back for you to give him what he wanted: a simple thank you.

“You have a cool style, and you’re always annoying well-put together.”

“You’re the one to talk." You scoff. "You can simply throw on jeans and a t-shirt and look like you’re straight from a magazine.”

The notion makes him snort as an attempt to hide his flustered mind. “You’re basically a Sour Patch Kid,” he retorts. “You’re sour because you like to make fun of me and act all mean and tough, but then you’re-"

"Let me guess, a sweet girl?"

Rafe hums. "Yup. The sweetest." Then, before he can shut his mouth, he adds, "Like when you read to me the other day.”

The memory makes you falter, dropping the competitive demeanor and soaking in the weight of his words.

You stare at him, unsure if there’s more to it, but there isn’t, and he almost looks startled at the confession, eyes wide with a flicker of uncertainty, as if he’s said too much. He swallows thickly as you feel a tonal shift in the air.

Playtime’s over.

“I liked reading to you,” you admit gently, genuinely.

Rafe studies your expression, trying to really decipher if you're joking around still. But you don't crack a smile, or laugh, or give him any indication that your words are untruthful. In fact, you look appreciative. He isn't sure what to make of it.

Just barely narrowing his gaze, his confusion grows. "You did?"

You nod earnestly. “I like when you let your guard down, because then I can see you.”

Rafe stares at you, that flicker of uncertainty leaving his eyes and instead is replaced with something you can’t pin point. Appreciation? Gratitude? You barely register that he squeezes your hands a fraction tighter, and whether he does it intentionally or not, it makes your heart pound all the same.

His voice is small. “You’re the only person I feel like I can let my guard down to.”

That makes you frown slightly. You think back to his friends at school, his best friend Elliot, his sisters. He has a support system, people who care about him. How are you the person he feels he can be the most authentic with? Is this a joke?

You swallow that thought. “I admire how you’ve seen some ugly parts of my life and you didn’t run.”

Not that he could, you think immediately. You're trapped in a foreign country together.

But Rafe's heart drops at that, resisting the urge to cradle your face.

“You’re selfless in a way you don’t want people to know about,” he says quietly, “like how you’ll bring me a coffee without my asking or clean Maggie’s room when she’s going through another episode.”

You hum. “You care more about people than you think. You noticed when I was upset on my birthday and you didn’t make fun of me even though you had the perfect opportunity to do so.”

His next words punch you in the gut. “Despite what other people may think,” he whispers, “you deserve a lot more than you’ve been given.”

The confession slips from your mouth before you can stop it.

“You have pretty eyes.”

Rafe’s breath hitches, and then his eyes blink rapidly, as if he’s realizing something devastatingly important. He squeezes your hands a little tighter, more firmly and certain than before, opening his mouth to say something else, to spill his confession that he’s been bottling up for so long now.

He says your name slowly.

But then Amelia clears her throat.

You blink out of your trance, losing eye contact as the masseuses’ hands aren’t even on your bodies anymore and instead gesture you to lay back down.

How long have they been done?

“Now, we will move into the third and final segment of the session,” Amelia instructs gently, darting her gaze cautiously between the two of you. “If you’ll please lay down on your backs, please.”

The rest of the day is…weird.

After the spa treatment, you feel even more wound up than before, a newfound tension easing its way to your shoulders as the weight of the confessional rests upon you.

The things you said to each other, the rawness of it, make your head spin in a way that’s not solely from the hangover. It’s something else entirely, something more than just spewing out lies to get through the session, something that both of you conjured.

Something real.

You shake the thought away.

Because, no. No.

This isn’t real. This is simply forced hormonal proximity that makes people say things they don’t mean. Rafe, the King of Sleeping Around, is incapable of such feelings or even the mere thought of being with one person. He said it himself last night, he doesn’t know how to date, and even if he did, there’s no way you’d be able to fulfill anything of what he needs.

It wouldn’t work.

Guys don’t like you. They don’t harbor crushes on you, because you’re not that kind of girl that grabs attention like that. You don’t command a room, or turn heads, or make people believe that you want more than just a hook up.

All your life, you’ve been rejected by the one person whose approval would mean the world, constantly being tossed aside by your mother and regarded as a thing, not a person, not a daughter.

And the thought of being rejected romantically too makes you utterly nauseous.

Given that, you don’t even allow for the opportunity to come, kicking guys to the curb when they show an ounce of emotion beyond merely sex, nipping that chance for rejection right in the bud. It's simple: you leave before you can be left.

So, no. It wouldn’t work between you and Rafe.

Because you will never let him, nor anyone for that matter, get the chance.

It’s devastatingly hard to concentrate on anything for the rest of the day, especially when your immediate family plus Yara and Grant pile on a yacht to ride around the cove for a few hours. The boat is ridiculously big, and normally you’d roll your eyes at the blatant flaunt of money that your family loves to parade around, but for once, you’re grateful because the ship’s giant size allows for you to sneak away from them without anyone noticing.

Well, anyone except for Rafe.

You and Rafe lounge silently on the pull-out hammock that juts out the side of the yacht, dangling directly over the clear water.

Despite the tumultuous emotional exchange earlier, you lay opposite one another, your legs bending as your calves rest against the side of his ribcage as his legs stretch long beyond your head, your temple resting against his calf.

The position is alarmingly inclusive of the best of both worlds: you’re still close enough to him, practically on top of him, which is where you like to be as of late, but that this position gives you a perfect vantage point of his face since you face each other, and looking at him after that spa treatment makes your cheeks flush.

You both nurse cold glasses of water, the thought of drinking again nearly making you yack off the side of the boat.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t realize he’s speaking to you until he taps your thigh with his hand.

“Hmm?”

“Tired?”

You nod shyly. You could sleep for twelve hours if you were allowed to. “What’d you say?”

Rafe smiles gently. “I said that someone’s having fun.”

You quirk a brow.

He elaborates by nodding his head to something behind you. You look up to see the view upside down, which is Yara drunkenly dancing with Jessa and squealing obnoxiously loud over the music.

What’s worse is that no one seems to be annoyed with it, maybe except Grant, but surprisingly Paulette watches the blonde with an endearing smile, sipping her drink with a proud gleam in her eye.

Something foreign pulls at your chest at the sight of your mother flashing someone else - Yara, for that matter - a smile like that.

She’s never smiled at you like that.

You force yourself to look away and turn back to Rafe, knowing if you continue staring that you will, no doubt, spiral.

Instead, you rest your head against his shin and shut your eyes, cradling the water on your tummy. The coolness of it does nothing to settle the kettlebell in your stomach.

“I hope she has a horrible hangover.”

Despite the bitterness in your tone, Rafe laughs boyishly, a sound you have grown to love and hate. “Baby, I wouldn’t wish this hangover on anyone. That’s evil.”

“Maybe I am evil.”

“Yeah,” he snorts. “Sure, alright.”

“I don’t appreciate your sardonic tone,” you huff. “I could be if I really wanted to.”

Rafe’s hand absentmindely traces up and down your shin, going as high as your knee and as low as your ankle. “You wanna know what Elliot told me a few weeks ago?”

You hum in instigation.

“He told me you went over to smoke with him, Maggie, and Ian, and cried like a baby when he was telling the story of when he lost his virginity. Like, totally inconsolable. Maggie had to bring you back to the dorm.”

Your cheeks burn at the memory. You’re going to kill Elliot. And based on the wide grin adorning his lips, you’re also seconds away from throttling Rafe as well.

“So?”

Cocking his head to the side, his tone is low and mocking. “That doesn’t sound like something someone evil would do.”

“Whatever. At least I wasn’t the one who cried when their shoulder popped out so they couldn’t play video games for two weeks.”

Rafe’s jaw slacks, his teasing demeanor gone.

Oh, he’s going to kill Elliot for that. “Hey, it was the day the original Fornite map came back. I was looking forward to it for weeks.”

You simply raise a quizzical brow at him as he attempts to defend himself.

He says your name seriously. “They brought back the double pump.”

“I have no idea what that means,” you deadpan.

Rafe scoffs. “You know, I oughta throw you in the water.”

“Oughta?”

“Yeah. I oughta. You’re being a brat.”

“Me?! You’re the one who started it.”

He then sits up on the hammock, the bed dangerously swaying at the movement and for a moment, thinking you are about to flip overboard. But the precariousness ceases, but a new problem arises as Rafe is now directly above you, leaning forward to rest his arm on your bent knees and caging you into your laying position.

All Rafe does is stare at you for a few moments, and you forgot your train of thought as you look into his pretty blues.

You have pretty eyes.

Heat rushes to your neck as you remember what you said to him in the soul ties treatment, nearly cursing yourself for your big mouth that has to always ruin a moment.

But you remember how he said your name, as if he wanted to say more after you complimented him.

You need to know.

Before he can say anything snarky, you peer up at him with a newfound curiosity.

“What were you going to say at the end of the soul ties treatment?”

The question catches him off guard, eyes widing slightly at the audacity of you to ask.

Rafe pauses, reaching up to push the hair off his forehead as an anxious tick. But the nerves go as quickly as they came, that sly smirk reappearing on his face as he gazes down at you.

“Probably something stupid,” is what he settles on.

Yet you yearn to know more, to know if your thoughts were truly irrational and delusional. “You don’t remember?”

Please say it, you think desperately. Don’t make me look like an idiot.

Your chest constricts when he shrugs nonchalantly, brushing the whole thing off.

“No. I kind of blacked out during it, if I’m being honest.”

The confession knocks the wind out of your lungs as you nod slowly to mask your disappointment, your embarrassment.

Unfortunately, it’s not a surprise he chooses to forget the exercise that exposes deep emotional vulnerability, the only part of the entire treatment that you wish was longer so you’d know more, you’d know what he was about to say.

Wow. You want to scoff.

You really believed every word that came out of his mouth during that, and now you’re not so sure about his genuinity, probably faking his way through it so the time would pass quicker than if he said nothing. Embarrassment pools in your tummy, because you were being truthful in your admirations.

Of course he didn’t take it seriously. Why would he?

You swallow the lump in your throat.

“Right,” you find yourself saying.

Suddenly, you feel trapped here on this hammock with him, anxiety bubbling in your chest as the need to leave augments.

You sit up so abruptly that it startles him, scrambling to get off as soon as possible. “I’m gonna…uh… I’ll be back.”

Despite his confusion, he helps you get off the hammock with pinched brows. “Are you good?”

“Yeah. Fine.”

Rafe hates the distance in your tone. “Alright, well, do you want me to come–?”

“No,” you respond immediately, noticing your harsh tone and then reeling it in. “I’m just…I’ll be back,” you repeat before turning tail and leaving him alone.

Sitting alone with his thoughts, Rafe replays the past five minutes in his head and tries to come up with things that would warrant that kind of reaction.

But he genuinely comes up short as he watches you mingle with your family, knowing he must’ve done something incorrigible to have you wanting to spend your time with them instead of him.

It makes Rafe spiral.

He thought you were on the same page about the spa treatment, since he could hear you muttering how stupid it was under your breath when you left the hut.

…Unless, you were calling something else stupid, maybe your hangover, or the fact that you were immediately carted to the yacht without a moment to catch your breath.

That makes him recoil. Maybe you weren’t on the same page, and you think he was calling your moment stupid.

Rafe wants to believe it was stupid and a complete waste of time. He really does because it would save him from the amount of spiraling he’s done. But no matter how hard he tries to make himself believe that, he simply can’t.

He can’t because you said his eyes were pretty.

Not oh, you have nice eyes or your eyes are really blue. No, you called them pretty.

Pretty.

No one’s ever said that to him before and meant it. Or at least he thinks you meant it. You looked too damn pretty when you uttered it, your eyes boring into his with such intensity that it – literally – took his breath away.

But now you won’t even look at him.

For the entirety of the yacht ride, you avoid his eyes, the ones you called pretty.

Sure, you curl into his side when you chat with uncles and aunts, and play the hell out of the doting girlfriend part, but never once look up at him.

It drives Rafe nuts, and he tries to add ridiculously fake anecdotes into the conversation that’ll get you to do so, like how you popped his shoulder back into place one time or how you heroically helped him save a cat from a tree on campus. One after the other, he tries to one up himself, to get you to acknowledge him – even if it’s out of confusion – but you don’t.

You don’t even look at him when Paulette pulls you aside, berating you about something he can’t hear.

He hates the dejected look on your face, the far off gaze in your eyes as your mother goes on and on about stuff, occasionally pointing to parts of you you or towards certain people – Yara – on the yacht. Paulette even gestures to Rafe at some point, no doubt saying something about him, and it only makes your shoulders sag.

Rafe can only imagine what she said to you.

When you return by his side, he gives your waist a gentle squeeze and asks if you’re alright, to which you only nod.

Still not looking at him.

And it pisses him off.

It’s torture. This whole week has been slowly killing him, because he has no idea where he stands with you.

Everyday throws Rafe for a whirlwind, because sometimes in the mornings it seems like you want to lay in his arms forever and you smile at him involuntarily, like it’s the only thing you’re meant to smile at.

But then by lunchtime, you’ll be distant, detached, so far removed as if you’re going to burn your hand from touching his skin.

Then, maybe, by dinner you’ll be back to caring for him, smoothing down the ends of his hair that stick up or the wrinkles in his shirt. It’s almost as if you catch yourself playing the girlfriend role in private, knowing you’re not supposed to be acting like that if it’s not in front of your family.

He hates it.

Rafe wants you to act like that all the time.

But he doesn’t know how to ask you to let your guard down. He doesn’t know how to ask if you trust him, because it doesn’t seem like you do, or ever will. Not to the extent of trust that should be between a boyfriend and girlfriend.

You keep yourself at arms length away, revealing breadcrumbs about yourself but always leaving him wanting to know more.

Rafe hates rejection, and won’t pursue someone if he knows he’s not going to get what he wants.

But with you, he has no idea.

Sometimes, he thinks you’re on the same page. But other times, like on the hammock, you push yourself away from him, as if you’re repulsed by him.

Who’s he kidding? You probably are.

You know of his history, his tendencies, his reputation on campus. Why would you want to be with someone like him for real?

He wants to be the one who holds you at the end of the day, the only one who gets to fuck you, the only one who knows your secrets.

And he’ll never be able to tell you.

You arrive back at the resort around five, giving you about three hours until the rehearsal dinner. You and Rafe silently agree to go back to the room, exhausted after standing in the sun all day while trying to actively fight a hangover.

His touch on your back lingers a little longer than it should while you walk to their door, and you don’t acknowledge the gesture in the slightest.

Instead, the only time you make an effort for conversation is when you sigh once you step foot into the room, immediately kicking off your sandals.

“You mind if I shower first?” is all you ask, and all he can do is silently nod and watch you retreat into the bathroom, shutting the door and leaving him in silence.

Rafe sits on the balcony attached to the room, the view overlooking the coast and all of its beautiful scenery. He snaps a few photos but there’s no muse behind it, no parts of you sneaking into the photo that give him an excuse to look at the photo longer than he should.

Scoffing to himself, Rafe shakes his head.

He feels pathetic, and he hates losing control of things he should have easy control over. For starters, he should be able to dictate his feelings and not have to worry if he’s going to involuntarily do or say something that he has no control over.

It scares the shit out of him.

It almost happened today during the spa treatment, he was seconds away from spilling chained up secrets to you, feelings that he isn’t sure should reach the light of day.

But the ache in his heart weighs him down.

Everytime he looks at you, hears you, even thinks about you since all he sees when he closes his eyes is you, it’s as if his breath is being stolen from him. And it pisses him off.

He’s supposed to be the untouchable Rafe Cameron. He doesn’t grovel. He doesn’t submit. And yet, he finds himself completely at your mercy.

Rafe takes a quick shower after you’re done, leaving the bathroom to discover your sleeping figure on the bed.

He stops and stares at your body curled in on itself, arms hugging yourself tight as your wet hair cascades over the pillow, and realizes that you’re probably cold. Or, at least, you look cold.

But he doesn’t want to move your body to put you under the covers, so he simply takes the one crewneck he brought and drapes it over your figure.

A voice in the back of his mind mutters pathetic.

Instead of joining you and providing the warmth himself, Rafe goes back out onto the balcony and simply sits in silence.

He doesn’t trust himself to lay down with you, thinking about the last time he did that where it turned into a fuck. Not that he doesn’t want to sleep with you right now, but today carried an unusual emotional weight that spooked him, and he doesn’t want that to translate to how he sleeps with you.

Minutes turn into hours and, before he knows it, it’s about to be seven.

Rafe sighs, knowing he should start getting ready or at least look in the mirror and pray his hair dried semi-presentable. But when he slithers back into the room, his heart lurches when he sees you still asleep, lightly snoring, with his crewneck pulled snug against your chest as if you’re cradling it.

He can’t help but gravitate towards you, hating to wake you but knowing you need to start getting ready before Paulette barges in again.

Kneeling on the floor right next to your sleeping figure, he places a gentle hand on your shoulder, shaking very lightly.

“Hey, you need to get up.”

You don’t budge at first, still knocked out cold.

Rafe moves his hand to cradle your face, his cool ring brushing across your jaw to push the stray hair that falls in front of your face.

Whether it’s the gesture or the cold sensation of his ring, it makes you stir ever so slightly, pinching your brows and nearly pouting. He tilts his head so he’s looking at your face straight on, continuing to push the hair back from your eyes as if he’s petting a kitten.

God, the act is so soft that part of him wants to scoff at himself, but another part relishes in it.

You groan quietly, trying to nuzzle yourself deeper into the mattress.

“Sweet girl.”

“Mmrph.”

“You have to start getting ready.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, as if you’re in pain. “‘M so tired.”

Rafe’s chest pulls at your tone, so much smaller than he’s used to hearing.

It makes him frown. “I know, baby. But you can’t sleep any longer.”

“Mhm. No.”

He continues smoothing down your hair. “You can’t.”

You sigh deeply, getting more comfortable. “Five minutes.”

“No.”

“Please?”

The word sends a shiver down his spine. He wants to curse, knowing that’s his weak spot, how much he loves hearing you say that, how he knows you hate using it. Rafe doesn’t understand why you don’t say it more often, why you don’t ask for things, because he’ll give you anything you want, with or without the please.

But he needs to hold his ground. You’ll be scrambling to get ready if you don’t start soon.

Rafe says your name gently.

The use of your name makes you open your eyes slowly, blinking to adjust to the lamp light.

Finally, after all day of nothing, you look at him sleepily, rubbing the bleariness out of your eyes with the back of your hand that once fisted his crewneck. The smallest of smiles ghosts his lips at the sight of you, how pretty you look even after just waking up with your face bare and half dried hair.

As if you temporarily forget the grudge you’ve been holding against him all day, you sheepishly match his smile.

“Can I get five more minutes if I call you Rafey?”

The nickname makes his heart skip a beat, and he tries to mask how fucking sweet it sounds from your lips by rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disbelief.

God, you really know all the steps to get him to back down.

Rafe hums, despite the stupid warmth blossoming in his chest. “Nice try, sweet girl.”

You groan, closing your eyes again but seceding, stretching your legs and arms out like a cat and flipping onto your back. Eventually, you slowly blink to wake yourself up, subconsciously grabbing his crewneck to throw it back over your chest.

Rafe ignores the flare of possession in his chest.

“What time is it?” You ask softly.

“Seven,” he answers. “We need to be downstairs for eight.”

You groan again, dreading the rehearsal.

It takes longer for you to mobilize and get out of bed than it does to do your makeup, deciding on a simpler look tonight and saving the grand makeup for the actual wedding tomorrow.

Obviously, Rafe takes less than five minutes to get ready, simply lounging on the bed and watching you do your hair, offering a few quips to fill the silence. It pisses you off, rolling your eyes at his lazy smirk as he gets to lay around and watch you work.

Ten minutes to eight, you slip on a plain green dress he’s never seen before and wear the heels you originally brought, not the ones he bought you, and he almost has half a heart to ask you why you aren’t wearing any of the stuff he got you on your birthday, but bites his tongue at the possessiveness of it, and wordlessly ushers you out of the room with a clenched jaw and closed fist.

When you emerge from the elevator into the lobby, Rafe doesn’t slip his hand into yours as he’s been doing, instead pretending to fidget with his button down to keep himself from doing so.

You don’t make an effort to grab his, so you silently walk side by side to the resort ballroom where your family waits, some still trickling in and others already seated. You politely greet some of them, offering tight lipped smiles for others, all while Rafe trails quietly behind you, tucking his thumb through the belt loop of his dress pants to refrain from putting a hand on your back.

Approaching your assigned table, you curse the gods above when it consists of the two of you, your parents, Patrick, Yara and Grant, and one of your other degenerate cousins that your brother is close with.

No wonder, because they’re both pricks.

You internally groan. You don’t even know who’s the best person to sit next to, but don’t get the choice because your mother is nodding to the seat next to her, which ultimately translates to you’re sitting here and don’t even think about complaining about it.

So, begrudgingly, you saunter over and sit next to your mother, Rafe following suit and sitting in the vacant seat next to you.

“You’re practically wearing a nightgown,” Paulette seethes under her breath to you. “Have you no decency?”

You only shrug, too tired to put up with your mother. Too done.

Plus, you don’t need to face Rafe to know he’s staring at you, instead looking down at your hands that pick the ends of the tablecloth. Paulette continues to whisper in your ear, on what you should’ve done with your hair or how you could’ve put more makeup on. Frankly, it goes in one ear and out the other.

“If you don't put effort into your appearances, your boyfriend is going to find someone who will,” is the last thing she says before Jessa interrupts her with the microphone on the grand stage.

Paulette turns her scowl into a bright smile, as if she wasn’t just visceral berating her daughter into the next dimension.

You half listen to Jessa’s speech to the family, and you’re sure that it’s nice and wonderful as expected, but you’re just so damn tired that you can’t seem to care.

It doesn’t help that everything your mother has said to you today has been ringing in your ears, a constant thrum that you can’t get rid of.

Would it kill you to smile? Notice how Yara smiles at people, like that. Where’d you get that bathing suit? Honestly, angel, whoever told you that fit wasn’t being a very good friend. If you went down two sizes it would look much better, if only you listened to me when I told you to start that diet over the summer.

It’s taken years for you to learn how to not let your mother’s words get under your skin. Now it feels like you’re in high school all over again, constantly reminded of your deepest insecurities by the one person who should be lifting you up. You’ve grown to learn how to defend yourself, to feel compelled to go back and forth and set it in stone that you’re healthy, but you can’t seem to get back up.

At least not today.

All you want to do is grab Rafe’s hand, to ground yourself to something, but you don’t.

He doesn’t want you. Pull back.

It isn’t until Paulette gets up to do a speech where you truly feel like you’re losing it.

You listen to your mother drone on and on and on about absolutely nothing, how privileged she is to be standing here, to have organized the backbone of the wedding, to have a blatant excuse to flaunt her bottomless pit of funds. She gives a big thanks to Jessa for how open she was to all of your mother's ideas, though you assume she didn't give Jessa much of a choice considering how much money she was putting towards the itinerary.

“Last but not least,” your mother says into the microphone after eons, “I need to thank a very special person tonight.”

Your heart skips when Paulette looks at you.

"It's no secret we occasionally butt heads from time to time," she says, earning a few chuckles throughout the crowd, "but truthfully there's no easier way to express gratitude than through tough love."

You can’t remember the last time your mother looked at you with such…warmth.

Paulette continues humbly. “I'm incredibly honored to share this room with her today, to share my life with her. It's been a privilege to connect with her after all this time. So, let’s raise our glasses and toast–”

Then your mother’s eyes shift beyond you.

“--to my assistant, Yara.”

Applause and chatter falls onto deaf ears, because your ears start to ring and, suddenly, you can’t hear anything besides the rapid thumping of you heart.

You absentmindedly notice Yara standing two chairs down from you, waving away the claps and blowing kisses to your mother as if she’s won the greatest honor.

Then there’s the sight of your brother clapping excessively while staring directly at you with a wicked smile etching his lips, as if he’s been waiting for your reaction all night. The blatant joy in his expression engraves in your brain, as if he’s getting off on seeing you upset, especially when it comes to the lack of your mother’s love, something he gets so easily without needing to try.

Suddenly, you're fuming.

You aren't sure whether it’s out of anger or embarrassment or humiliation, but regardless your cheeks flame bright red, your heart beating faster and faster as your gaze darts from your mother on stage, to Yara wiping away her tears, to Patrick’s obvious laughing at you.

It’s not fair.

Paulette likes to reel you in just to cast you aside at the last second, a common act she’s done to you all throughout your life.

And the worst part is that you never expect the rejection. There's always a small part of you that hopes it'll be real, it'll be you that she chooses. But it never is, and you falter with every occurrence. Every. Single. Time.

You don't notice your hands are shaking until a large hand engulfs yours.

“Hey.” You can hear Rafe’s voice, but it feels far away. “Are you alright?”

It’s a stupid question. It only makes you more embarrassed that Rafe Cameron of all people had to witness that blatant humiliation.

He’s only asking as a courtesy, he feels like he has to. He doesn’t care. He’s not capable of caring, and if you allow him to think you believe his bullshit, then he’ll only keep doing it. He’ll do it until you fall for him, and he’ll have to reject you, too.

You have to pull away first.

You yank your hands away. “Fine.”

But Rafe only says your name. Your name.

If he keeps pushing, you’ll cry.

“Stop.”

The harshness in your tone makes him pull back reluctantly, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him.

You hate how mean you sound, how horrible you feel, how nice it was to feel him despite your thoughts telling you that you shouldn’t. All you think about is how you don't want to be here, how you hate the blossom of hope in your chest when your mother looked at you, how stupid you feel now.

Instead, you dig your nails into your palms, no doubt breaking skin at the ferocity of your grip, and say nothing else for the rest of the night.

Not during appetizers. Not during dinner. Not during dessert.

Rafe speaks on your behalf on the odd chance you're somehow roped into the conversation, only making your humiliation bloom, that he feels so pitifully bad for you that he feels like he needs to take over.

It nearly makes you scoff, pushing around your kid-like portions with a fork and eating maybe a few bites the entire night. You're nauseous all over again, knowing if you have more you'll probably puke all over the table.

Ugh. And you just got over your hangover, too.

The night stretches on for what feels like forever until people are getting up, walking from table to table to mingle and catch up since all the speeches and formalities are over. You nearly sigh in relief that it’s all over, willing yourself to stand on wobbly legs and excusing yourself from the table so quietly you aren't sure anyone hears you, nor do you care, really.

But your mother does.

She grabs you by the elbow, ducking her head low to avoid drawing suspicion.

"Where are you going?"

Your mouth opens and closes, unsure if you can trust your voice right now because the waterworks might start if you even attempt to say anything right now.

Paulette says your name quietly, a hiss amongst chatter.

Her talons grip your elbow a fraction tighter, a warning to not cause a scene. "Gemma from Kevin's firm wants to talk to you. Go."

You're frozen, unable to tug away and unable to speak, stuck in the grasp of the worst captor. Tears start to brim your waterline, and you will them to not fall. Not in front of these people, and especially not in front of her.

A flicker of panic rises in your throat, just wanting to get the fuck out of here.

And before your mother can say anything else, a large palm is splaying around your waist, practically yanking you from your mother's talons and freeing your arm. You stumble slightly at the ferocity, but a wave of relief washes over you as Rafe pulls you impossibly taut and completely out of her grasp.

Paulette looks to Rafe incredulously. "We were having a discussion."

"Not anymore," Rafe responds coldly, ice lacing his words unlike anything you've heard before. His grip is tight, grounding, possessive.

You're thankful for it.

"She needs to make connections tonight," your mother says, matching his tone. Then, her gaze narrows on you, "Go see Gemma."

Your breath hitches in response at the proverbial fork in the road, but Rafe side-steps so he's in front of you, blocking you from seeing your mother, as he leans down and cradles your jaw with one hand, so much gentler than what his voice conveys.

He's pissed, you realize.

"What do you want to do?" He asks low, soft but firm in a tone reserved for you. When you can't offer words, he adds, "Room?"

You nod.

He seems to accept your lack of words, brushing the pad of his thumb over your chin as he murmurs a soft, "Okay." Rafe holds you for one more moment before letting you out of his grip.

Instead of heading to the bathroom, or the bar, or the smoke area, you beeline for the exit.

Rafe, however, lingers in the aftermath of the tension-filled atmosphere, turning slowly to face your mother who still looks offended at his intervention.

Paulette isn't intimidated by him, but rather irritated. "She has to-"

"No."

The ice in his tone makes her freeze, gaping up at him with wide eyes as if to question his audacity.

Rafe doesn't let her speak again as he stares down at her. "She doesn't. Especially not for you."

"I've done everything for her-"

"You've done enough," he spats.

Paulette stares at him for another moment, stunned at his outright crudeness yet completely speechless.

And he glares right back at her, letting her squirm under his intense stare for one, two moments before giving her an up and down glance, and turning heel to find you.

You're in the lobby waiting for the elevator, thinking you slick enough to slip out without anyone seeing.

Of course, not to Rafe, who’s right on your tail and clutching your purse that you left on the table so tight that you're sure he's probably cracked a few of your lip liners in half.

You aren't sure what’s going on through his head, but he offers nothing.

No lingering touches, no comforting hand squeezes, no words at all. Just his presence, standing broad and tall next to you in the elevator, centimeters away from you. He’s so close, he’s right there, yet he couldn’t be further.

Because you pushed him away. Because that’s what you do best.

When you enter the room again, the door shutting is the loudest noise. Silence engulfs you, and you suddenly feel humiliated all over again as he stands still behind you, waiting for you to move first. Probably waiting to see if you want a quickie to make you feel better.

But you don't move, you can't.

All you can do is simply stare into space and relive the moment over and over again.

How Paulette looked at you. How she called Yara your childhood nickname in front of your entire family. How the split second your mother looked at you in a way you've been yearning for for years, only for it to be a tease, meant for someone else. It’s as if she enjoys dangling it on a fishhook in front of you, so close yet so far.

Before you can register it, Rafe is gently guiding you from the doorway to stand beside the bed.

Lost in your thoughts, you quietly watch him gather a few things, sighing and straightening your posture to get ready for the night ahead.

There’s no doubt he wants to have sex, probably distracting himself to delay the inevitable and figure out how to ask you at the right moment. You suppose you could get into the mood, as it would be a nice distraction from the weight of dinner.

Although the thought of being naked in front of him right now churns something ugly in your chest.

He bunches clothes in his hand, most likely to change into after you're done.

Your chest constricts when Rafe moves right in front of you, but instead of leaning down and initiating it, he’s tugging his crewneck over your head with such gentleness that it makes you frown.

Why is he putting more clothes on you? Covering you?

He doesn’t put your arms through the hole, instead pulling the sweater down so that it fully covers your torso before trailing his hands underneath it, gingerly slipping the dress off your shoulders so it falls to your ankles without exposing your bare body, and then assists with getting your arms through the right holes.

Then, he kneels to start unbuckling your heels, patting your calf when you're good to step out of the shoe, further proceeding to get you to lift your foot a fraction so he can slip a pair of his boxer shorts up your legs to rest on your waist.

The whole time he offers no words, no gentle kisses, no nothing.

Rafe stands, reaching his hands up to pull your hair out from underneath the crewneck and brushing a few strays that fall in your face away behind your ears. His pretty blue eyes search your face, as if he’s waiting to see if you want to say anything. There’s a softness behind them that you can’t discern from pity.

But you say nothing.

You simply look up at him. And he looks down at you.

And for a moment, it’s just you. No racing thoughts in your head. No insecurities brewing in your chest. No nausea bubbling in your stomach.

For the first time tonight, you feel like you can take a deep breath.

Rafe runs his hands up and down your arms with a feather-light touch. Wordlessly, he guides you to the bed, pushing you to lie down in the same place you napped earlier and bringing the covers to you chin, making sure you're all set before tending to himself.

You watch him quickly change out of his dress clothes, discarding them carelessly as he rounds the bed and slips under the covers. The mattress dips under his weight as you wait for him to press himself against your back.

But the contact never comes.

When you feel him move again, the spark of hope dulls when it’s to turn off the lamp light, not to hold you.

Then he lays at an arm’s length away, plunged into darkness.

You realize he’s giving you the space that you demanded at dinner.

Heart aching, you want to reach out to him, to feel him, to thank him for dressing you. But the words don’t come. You can’t move. You're frozen where he left you, curled in on yourself and enveloped in his clothing that smells like him.

God, he’s surrounding you but not where you need him to be.

The realization only makes your night worse, knowing the end of the trip – and therefore the agreement – is coming to an end, and having to adjust to the reality of not being with him settles a pit in your stomach. You know things will return to normal: you'll go back to sleeping together with no strings attached without any of the romance that’s been infused this week, without the qualities that couples have, and certainly without all the emotions.

But right now, you're still technically dating. Even if it’s fake.

Even if he says yes out of pity, you don't care. You can’t be alone right now.

“Rafe?”

“Yeah?”

You almost wish he doesn't hear you, as it would make detaching from him much easier in the long run.

“Can you hold me?”

He’s pulling you flush against his chest and wrapping his arms around you in an instant, as if he was waiting for the green light.

It feels familiar, so much that you feel like you can find sleep eventually. The act is done like a second nature, as if you're meant to be taut against each other at every waking moment, as if it pained you to be apart for as long as you were.

But you can’t help but feel stupid at your own helplessness, frowning at how much you enjoy being taken care of.

All your life you've been fending for yourself emotionally, closing yourself off to any opportunities to expose your vulnerabilities and shielding your heart from people who act like they want you, but deep down, don’t.

But now, curled up in his arms, you don't realize how desperately you yearned for the chance to be held, appreciated, cared for.

Even if it’s all for show.

A thank you rises but dies in your throat, unable to find your voice again. There’s so many things he did tonight that he didn’t have to, selfless acts that he maneuvered all on his own without you asking.

You're grateful for it, and it’s almost as if he can sense the feeling because he pulls you a little tighter, his hand finding yours in the darkness and lacing your fingers together.

The gesture is so fucking sweet that it makes your heart flip.

But you know you'll need to find your footing come tomorrow. You've been dealing with your family alone for your entire life, so there's no point in getting used to having Rafe shield you left and right.

The only mechanism that calms your rapid heartbeat is the feel of his beating steady against your back, a syncopated thump, thump, thump that lulls you to sleep, hand still holding his.

notes sorry this is actual word vomit.

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obsessivevoidkitten · 2 days ago

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Upon seeing his massive manhood, you trembled and struggled even harder, beyond your prior limits. But it was hopeless.

Obsessed Drider: "Don't fret! It'll feel so so good I promise!"

You were swaddled in extremely strong webbing that just wouldn't yield. Only your face and neck were unshrouded.

He took a clawed finger and used it to slice away all the webbing. But before you had a chance to run, he had you in his arms, teeth sunk into your neck releasing a tiny fraction of his venom.

Not enough to knock you out, just enough to make you wobbly and unable to struggle now that you were unwrapped.

Obsessed Drider: "There we go, nice and relaxed~"

He held you close and angled his cock up into you, pumping you full over the course of the next couple hours.

The venom had worn off but then you were left in a hellish prison of overstimulated pleasure. Your hole abused as he continued battering away at it with his cock.

You couldn't do much other than whimper, wiggle, and cry as he continued to have his way with you, each of his climaxes filling you with even more eggs as he kissed you and wiped away your tears.

He placed one of his four hands on your egg stretched belly as he continued breeding you.

Obsessed Drider: "I know you're tired, but just a few more, darling! You're such a good incubator for me~"

Obsessed Male Drider who has been carefully stalking you for months and has finally decided to confront you when you are alone in the forest: "Hey, do you realize how cute you'd look stuffed with my eggs?"

The next thing you see is a wad of webbing flying towards you. You struggle wildly on the ground but after feeling two pin pricks to the neck you go limp.

#yandere teratophilia #yandere terato #yandere x reader #monster boyfriend #gender neutral reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere monster #male yandere x gn reader #yandere scenario #yandere spider #yandere drider #yandere spidertaur #male yandere #yandere imagines

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bangchanwifey · 2 days ago

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the dress - sim jaeyun !

jake being so obsessed w his pretty girl in her pretty little dress that he has to take her home and show her just how much he loves her.

contains: 심재윤 x female!reader

warnings: smut w no plot, fem implied reader, language, pet names, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap before u tap!)

jake absolutely loved it when you wore his favorite dress.

whenever he saw you in it, it’s like he couldn’t control himself. he was immediately thinking of any possible way to get you all alone.

he absolutely knew you were doing it for his attention too. the occasional glares across the room. the way the bottom of the dress kept riding up slightly to reveal your thighs.

he couldn’t keep it together anymore. so it was no surprise when you two were back at your place practically attacking each others faces as you walked in the door.

“you’re such a tease.” jake muttered out before laying you down on the bed. he wasn’t wasting his time anymore and you weren’t complaining.

“i thought you loved this dress.” you replied with a slight frown, teasing him even more. “oh i do baby, too much.” he said before connecting your lips once again.

you let out a soft moan as you felt him move down to your neck spreading kisses until he left marks. it was only a matter of seconds before the two of you were completely naked on the bed.

jake was lining himself up with your entrance before you could even get a word out. you could feel his cock twitching as he slowly inched himself further into you.

you let out a moan when you felt him bottom out inside you, causing him to smirk. “that’s my girl.” he growled.

“fuck.. feels so good jakey.” you whimpered as you held onto his shoulders. jake moaned as he looked at the sight in front of him, you absolutely being wrecked by his cock.

“doing so good for me.” he muttered out as he moved faster, never wanting the moment to end. “my beautiful girl taking my cock so well.” he whispered as he placed a few more kisses along your collarbone.

your moans kept getting louder and louder as jake pounded himself into you, not being gentle whatsoever. you could feel your climax approaching and he knew you were close too.

“cum all over my cock princess. let it out.” jake whispered in your ear as he held you close. you could feel how deep he was as he moved faster and harder wanting to pleasure you.

he smirked down at you when he felt your release paint his cock, before giving you a warm smile. “you’re so perfect.” he said, the smile never wiping off of his face.

you smiled up at him taking in what had just happened. you were about to get up to clean yourself off but jake grabbed a hold of your wrist, keeping you beneath him.

“mhm, you’re not going anywhere. i’m not done with you yet angel.”

you were in for a long night.

⇾ MAIN MASTERLIST | ENHYPEN MASTERLIST

⇾ first fic for enhypen!!!! im hoping to write more soon and i hope you all enjoyed! thank you for reading <3

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popcornpoppypop · 1 day ago

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Butterfly

A/N: Well, The Pitt dragged my depressed ass back into fanfic writing and this weird, depressed, little guy has wedged himself into my brain and will not leave. Be gentle, it's been a while! I have a few stories with this OC, kind of a series but not really. Enjoy!

Summary: Callie is vet tech with a silly sense of humor. Jack Abbot was immediately obsessed. When she lands herself in The Pitt from a work injury, Jack falls apart.

Warnings: Blood, medical inaccuracies, mentions of death, facial trauma

Word Count: 3,295 (it took me and ran)

It was one of those moments where everything had to line up perfectly to happen. The butterfly effect some call it. If Callie had stayed home like she wanted to that rainy Tuesday afternoon, she wouldn’t have gone to work and she wouldn’t have had to deal with the aggressive chihuahua and she wouldn’t have gotten bit and she wouldn’t have had to go to the ER and she wouldn’t have met Dr. Jack Abbot and she wouldn’t have flirted her ass off until his face turned beet red and they wouldn’t have gone out for coffee and they wouldn’t have slowly and completely fallen in love. She thinks about it a lot.

“So, what bit you?” Dr. Abbot asks as he pulls his gloves on with a snap.

“The most feared creature in all of veterinary medicine.” Callie sighed, mocking terror.

“What? A rottweiler? German Shepherd?” Jack looked at her with a flat expression.

“Chihuahua. Vicious little fuckers.” Callie snorted. Jack stared at her for a long beat before a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, one he was clearly trying to subdue.

“Never understood why anyone wanted one of those rats in their house anyway.” He said as he pulled the overhead light into position to examine the wound on her forearm.

“Sometimes they can be cute. But it is few and far between, at least when I see them.” Callie winced as Jack prodded at the wound.

“Well, he got you good. We’ll clean the wound out and give you some pain management, antibiotics. Can’t close it though. Dogs mouths are nasty things.”

“Like yours is better?”

“Excuse me?”

“It was a joke. I’m joking. You should give it a try.” Callie winked. Jack stared again, almost frozen with what to do. He was not unfamiliar with being flirted with at work. Hell, Myrna said some pretty vulgar shit most days. This woman, she was something else. He couldn’t quite figure out why, besides the fact that she was stunning. But pretty people rarely interest him.

“I, uh, will be back. With antiseptic.” He gave a curt nod, rolled his chair back so hard it flew into the wall when he stood up. He closed the curtain and stomped over to the nurses station.

“Dana you got a nurse free to clean out the wound in 7?”

“They are all taken for the next twenty-ish minutes, can send them that way when I have one.” She said, her readers falling down her nose. Jack fidgeted for a moment before growling as he ran his hands through his hair.

“What’s up your ass? They being that bad?” Dana smirked.

“No. No, that woman is just the kind of person to throw me off.”

“She was very pretty. Nice, too. But you’ve had prettier patients.” Dana looked him up and down, hands on her hips.

“No. No, I haven’t. She’s fucking silly.” Jack groaned, his frustration making his face flush.

“Silly? That’s what does it for you?” Dana didn’t try to hide the laugh.

“Fuck yeah it does. I’ll go clean it. If I’m not out in fifteen minutes, send someone to rescue me.” He grabbed supplies and headed back to bed 7.

“No use, you’re already a goner!” Dana shouted, shaking her head.

Two years later, Callie was still making terrible jokes to make Jack laugh. Others would try to get him to laugh, telling the same jokes, but he wouldn’t flinch. They were only funny when she said them.

They would talk medicine with each other often, Jack was fascinated with the difference between Veterinary medicine and human medicine. Intrigued by the creativity of it. Callie was in awe of how fast emergency medical staff had to think and move, like a well-oiled machine.

Callie was a good technician. She had been doing the job in various forms since she was out of high school. She was efficient and quick. Most days she was quick. Most days she could read a dog or cat like a book. Knew when they were going to bite before they did. Today, she was not so quick. Today her reading was off. She was tired and she thought the cute golden retriever was nice and calm and would be fine to get subcutaneous fluids on her own. The needle went in and the dog turned and took a bite at her face. She fell backwards, the dog was pulled off by her coworker. She felt the warm blood trickling down her neck.

She was confused for a moment, there wasn’t pain. She felt fine, but when she put her hand on her cheek she felt the flesh missing and the blood, she saw the blood. But the pain wasn’t there. It made her panic. Did something happen to her brain? Next thing she knew, paramedics were in front of her asking questions.

“Just get her in the rig before she bleeds out!” one of her coworkers yelled.

“I want to go to Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center. My boyfriend works there, please.” Was the last thing she said before she was overwhelmed and passed out.

“We got a trauma coming in, ETA 7 minutes.” Dana called out.

“I swear, I’m never switching shifts with Collins again.” Jack groaned as he grabbed gloves from the wall dispenser.

“She is hard to say no to.” Robby laughed.

“What’s coming?” Langdon asked, practically drooling.

“Uh, looks like a dog bite to the face, female, mid-thirties.” She said looking up to meet Jack’s eyes.

“It’s not her. They would have called you, it’s not her.” Robby patted Jack’s shoulder, it didn’t stop the ice from flowing through his veins.

“Damn, that sucks. That’s why I tell my kids to keep their face away from the dog. You never know. The way some people just act like dogs are stuffed animals is crazy! Maybe she’ll learn her lesson.” Langdon prattled on.

“Shut the fuck up.” Jack growled. Langdon went white and took a few steps back. The paramedics came bursting in with their patient; blood covered the gurney.

“Female, mid-thirties, vet tech was performing treatments on a patient when it attacked. Bite to the face and neck, took some of her cheek with her. She lost consciousness not long after we got there. She requested to come here. Said her boyfriend works here.” The medic said. As Callie’s face came into his view, Jack felt his knees try and buckle.

“Fuck.” Was all he could get out.

“Jack you sit this out. We got her.” Robby pushed him out of the way as he and Langdon brought her into the trauma bay. Jack followed but stopped outside the door.

“Jack! Jack, oh my god! I’m so sorry!” Liz, one of Callie’s coworkers came running up and throwing her arms around him.

“I tried to call you and warn you, my phone wouldn’t get reception in the rig. They wouldn’t radio to let you know, they were kind of pricks honestly.” She rambled.

“Liz what the fuck happened?” Jack asked, his voice strained.

“we were so damn busy today, someone called out and corporate has us on quotas and if the clinic doesn’t make them it’s a whole thing. Anyway, she thought this dog was fine to give subq fluids to alone, she does it all the time. She was off today, kept saying she was tired. He just spun around and got her in the face. God, her cheek was on the floor. Her fucking cheek!” Liz said through tears. Jack put his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“It’s okay, Liz. You got her here that’s what’s important. Dana? Can you put Liz in the family room? I’ll come by when I have information.” He promised as Dana walked her away.

She was so still as they worked on her. Her face, oozing blood onto the floor, it was thick as it had mixed with her saliva. He could see some of her teeth exposed through the wound. The tear at her neck was less extreme but too close to her carotid for his comfort. He wasn’t paying any attention to what they were saying or really what they were doing.

“You know they have her.” Dana put a hand on his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t let anyone but Robby touch her. Robby and Princess.” He sniffed.

“She’s a tough girl.”

“She’s going to need reconstructive surgery.”

“She’s going to be okay.” Dana squeezed his arm. He stood, still as stone, his expression the same.

Robby came walking out, throwing his gloves in the trash.

“She’s stable, she lost a lot of blood, we gave about two units. Surgery is taking her from here. But she’s going to be okay, Jack.”

“Who’s on surgery today?” Jack didn’t dare take his eyes off Callie.

“Walsh is on trauma. Craig is on for plastics. I made sure they were bringing him in.”

“She was tired today. Liz said she kept saying she was tired.” Jack’s monotone voice made Dana wince.

“This was a freak thing. She didn’t cause anything.” Robby said.

“She was slow because she was tired because I asked her to stay up late with me. There was a stupid eclipse last night. Didn’t get to totality until 2am. She’s here because of me.” There was a slight quiver to his voice.

“No, Jack, don’t do that.” Dana grabbed his shoulders, forcing him to face her. They both know that he’s let her.

“As if she couldn’t look at the stupid fucking moon any other night.”

“Hey! This was not your fault. If it’s anyone’s it’s those damn corporations working them to the bone for fucking quotas! Hell, this is barely the dog's fault!” Dana said, trying to keep Jack’s feet on the ground.

Jack nodded, wanting to stop the talking. He wasn’t going to be convinced this wasn’t his fault.

When Callie was brought out of surgery, her face was bandaged with gauze. It had already started to swell and turn five different shades of purple and blue. Jack felt a stab to the gut when he saw her. He could only imagine what the pain was like.

It was during the early hours of the next morning when she started to stir. Jack was sleeping in the most uncomfortable chair in the hospital, his hand firmly in hers. She groaned as she tried to open her eyes. Jack felt the slight movement of her hand and was immediately awake.

“Callie? Honey?” He smoothed the hair from her forehead.

“Jack?” She croaked.

“Hey, how are you feeling? How’s the pain?” He asked, searching her eyes for the truth, knowing she would say it wasn’t bad to spare anyone from going out of their way for her.

“It fucking hurts. My face is mincemeat.” She sighed. Jack nodded, hitting the call button and demanding she get more pain relief.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have made you stay up late. It wasn’t worth it.” He looked at the ground, ashamed.

“Hey, no. It wasn’t you. It wasn’t anyone. Just one of those things. I don’t regret it.” She tried her best to smile.

“I fucking do.”

“Naw. I got to see an eclipse, I got to see you being a big space nerd.” She squeezed his hand.

“I’m not a nerd.”

“Huge. Huge nerd. I like seeing you like that. Like…it’s what you were like before everything. A little glimpse at ‘Past Jack’. I love this Jack, but you keep that part locked up. I don’t need to question it, I understand. It’s nice when I get to see the whole picture. Besides, corporate is going to be giving me a big check when I blame this on them.” Callie huffed a laugh. Jack nodded looking at the ground, knowing her efforts to assuage his guilt were futile.

“They said it’ll be a few days until you can come home. They got you on some intense IV antibiotics.” He changed the subject away from himself.

“How bad is it?” Callie asked, her voice small. Jack hated it. She was never small. She was big and boisterous and loud and funny and all the things he wasn’t.

“They were able to graft the skin and close the wound.” Jack cleared his throat, he knew what she was really asking.

“Jack…what do I look like?” Her voice wavered.

“I honestly haven’t seen it fully since surgery. What I can see now, you’re swollen and bruised but still you.” He traced little anxious patterns on her hand.

“I want to see.” Callie straightened herself upright.

“I think you have a dressing change soon. But, usually we don’t recommend seeing this kind of thing until it’s more healed.”

“I want to see my face.” The tears were starting to sting her eyes as she fought them.

“Okay. Give me a second.” He grumbled as he got up and went to the nurse’s station.

“What can I do for you Dr.Abbot?” one of them asked, smile plastered on her face that didn’t quite meet her eyes.

“I know she doesn’t have a dressing change for a little bit, but she wants to see it.” He fiddled with a pen on the desk.

“Oh. Um, I can do the change in a bit, but we don’t let them see the damage for at least two days. It’s better once the swelling goes down.”

“I know that. I do. But, she’s set her mind.” “Dr. Abbot, it’s direct medical orders from Dr. Craig that she not see herself for two days, I can’t go against that.”

“Then get him on the phone!” Jack barked, startling the nurses.

“Jack?” Robby called from the end of the hallway, gift basket in hand, “hey man, let’s take a walk.” He pulled him down the hall.

“I’m not being stubborn. She wants to see, I told her why they don’t want to let her, she wants it. I’m going to get her what she wants!” Jack rubbed his hands down his face.

“I know you’re feeling guilty about this, but man, you know how these things go. You can’t be going above doctors heads.”

“Robby, she is going to have scars on her face for the rest of her life because of me. Everyone keeps saying it’s just a random turn of events. It’s bullshit you all are trying to get me to swallow, even her. If we had just gone to bed when we were supposed to none of this would have happened.” His voice was thick with emotion.

“if they had staffed them properly, if they didn’t have outrageous quotas to meet, if they had better equipment, better management none of this would have happened. It doesn’t always come back to you. Even if she had been wide awake and full of caffeine this still would have happened because of all the other shit.” Robby stopped at the end of the hallway.

“She said she’s going to make corporate pay.” Jack sighed.

“as she should.” Robby chuckled. “Look, you need to get your shit together right now. She is going to need you now more than ever. Her whole identity is going to be different. She isn’t going to feel like herself and she is probably going to feel like her appearance is going to drive you away. Show her that’s not true. I swear, if I hear you leave her, it won’t be just me coming for you.”

“I can’t live without her, Robby.” Jack bowed his head to hide the tears.

“I know, brother.” Robby wrapped an arm around him.

“Dr. Abbot?” The nurse cleared her throat. “yeah?”

“Dr. Craig said, and this is him I’m quoting, ‘if that stubborn ass thinks she can handle it he can do the dressing change.’ So, it’s up to you.” The nurse shrugged.

“Get me the dressing change supplies, please.”

“Jack,”

“Robby, she needs to see. We know that the healing process isn’t the same for everyone. I know her. She needs this.” Jack stomped back to the room. When he entered he could see the redness in her eyes, he kept it to himself.

“Robby’s here, is it ok for him to come in? He can help me with the dressing change.” Jack tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She nodded, not trusting her voice. Jack went and grabbed the supplies from the nurse and ushered Robby into the room.

“Hey kid, you scared the shit out of us.” He smiled.

“Gotta keep you on your toes. Must of have been a fun one for the med students.” Callie laughed.

“Oh Jack made sure they weren’t anywhere near you.” Robby laughed.

“I thought this was a teaching hospital? Surely this was good teaching case.” Callie shot Jack a look that could kill.

“Wasn’t going to risk it.” He stated.

“Anyway, everyone downstairs wanted you know they were thinking of you. All chipped in and got you this basket, not a healthy thing insight.” He said putting the basket on the nightstand next to her bed.

“That’s sweet. Thank you. I’m sorry he’s been extra grouchy. I’d keep the interns out of his way for a while.” Callie smiled.

“Way ahead of you.” Robby winked.

“We’re going to change the dressing now, it might sting a bit, you might feel it pull at the skin. Let me know if it’s too much.” Jack pulled his gloves on.

He gently unwrapped the gauze from Callie’s face. The cotton pads that stuck to her face gave some trouble, Callie winced as he pulled them off. The skin was sutured closed and was bruised and red. The sutures went from the bottom of her chin up to her cheekbone with a line going down her neck about three inches. Jack swallowed harder than he meant when he saw it. It looked so painful and dramatic. His chest tightened and he couldn’t speak without breaking.

Robby looked over at him, nudging him to say something, anything. When Jack didn’t move, he took the mirror and handed it to Callie. He held it down in her hands for a moment.

“Remember that the sutures need to be removed and the swelling and bruising will go down. It’s going to be very different.” Robby warned.

“I know.” Callie said. She lifted the mirror with shaky hands and took in her reflection. She couldn’t stop the tears, she didn’t want to. They flowed silently down her face, stinging the sensitive skin.

“Dr. Craig did a great job. The Sutures are some of the best I’ve ever seen.” Robby told her, trying to give her some solace.

Jack started cleaning the wound, his eyes red. He focused on the medicine. Keeping it clean and dry. Wrapping it up with precision. He had no idea Robby had left until Callie had put a hand to his face, pulling him back to earth.

“I have to ask this question because it won’t stop banging around my brain. I know the answer, I just need to hear it. Will you still think I’m pretty with all of this?” Her voice cracked as she fought through the sobs.

Jack looked at her with shock and disbelief. How could she think he had nothing but devotion for her?

“I love you. I will always love you. You will always be the most stunning woman on the planet. This changes nothing, not for me. You have me, heart and soul. What’s left of them at any rate.” He pulled her in for a soft kiss, tender but delicate, afraid to hurt her further.

“I think that’s what the kids call a simp.” Callie giggled.

“Seriously? Now?”

“Gotta keep you from breaking down completely.” She smiled up at him.

“I love you.”

“Ditto”

#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbot x oc #jack abbot x reader #dr. jack abbott #jack abbot fanfic #dr. jack abbot x reader #dr. robby #dana evans #the pitt fanfiction

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foggieststars · 3 days ago

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Landoscar is moving me these days, can you give me some fic recs pleasee ❤️

of course!! i'm terrible at remembering to bookmark things so i apologise if i forget anyone but in general some great authors to check out who write a lot of landoscar are 1425fivefive, glasscushion, bright-and-burning, higgsbosonblues, reminiscences, chelem . also this list has a LOT of rule 63 so... i hope u like rule 63 anon dflkjgfl

girly girl f1 oscar series by @reminiscenses - Perhaps my favourite girl oscar to date. her and this lando are so NASTYYYYY i am so fucking obsessed with them

opera house series by @reminiscenses - i still need to finish this series but it is sooooo unbelievably good - also girl osc, also love of my life

one step closer and i'm real by @1425fivefive - sex worker lando and f1 driver oscar... they've captured my whole heart

sunkissed by @1425fivefive - oscar and lando meet on a backpacking trip around europe and then . gasp. they fall in love !!!! these two are sooooo meltingly tender and sweet it makes me gooey

wearing nothing but glitter and lashes by @bright-and-burning - SOOOOO horny. SO horny. i love these two FREAKS

put a price on emotion by anon - this one is ft. charles too and it's one of my favourite landoscar dynamics everrrrr explored

how sweet it tastes series by @drivestraight - another series where these two are just so unbelievably NASTY hot for each other and i cannot get enough

he may be your dog but he's wearing my collar by @glasscushion - the sheer genius of this fic. oh my god. like imagine a dog panting with its tongue out. that's me reading this fic

pardon my emotions by @wisteriagoesvroom - girl lando in this is sooooooo <33333333 fawk she is so . yeah

the girls i mean by chelem - like what if we were both girls and we were both in inappropriate age gap relationships and we both cheated on our bfs together. what if

climb up to your lips by emptyhalf - i still need to finish reading this one but it's SOOOOO delicious i am OBSESSED

smokeshow by orphan acc - oscar fucks lando who is wearing a cheerleader uniform. unbelievably good and also horny

carried away by orphan acc - fake relationship shenanigans i LOVEEE

worth the trouble (it was an honour) by @maaxverstappen - i read this fic when i had covid and i full body sobbed for like an hour after finishing it.... very bittersweet and lovely

i say you'll live without it series by @freeuselandonorris - finally some delicious fucking food. landoscar + infidelity WAH

i think that's all for now.... i hope this gives u a mix of stuff to get going with... and please do check out all the authors too there's sooo many good fics by them all but this list would be years long if i recced every fic !!!

#ask #fic recs

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ochacoca · 15 hours ago

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BOYFRIEND TEXTS | k. kozume

IN WHICH you go through texts with your nerdy gamer boyfriend as his equally nerdy gamer partner

content: kenma being josh's (from until dawn) no.1 hater, y/n (me) being an absolute fein for rami malek (ily come home the kids miss you), self-projection final boss, they kinda look like they hate each other but they're so inlove i swear

a/n: i'm actually so happy kenma won my little poll i'm royally obsessed with video games so this is all projecting / some of my pictures are in here \(★ω★)/ also i just realized i used 'girlfriend' instead of partner in one of the texts so please ignore that </3

TAGLIST: @kodzubaby @alexiaray @awkwardkirbi @noisypersonapeachprofessor @jaxi18 @immortalmsmoon @gaaaabbbbbbbyyy @nightlysunn @bsdpoesracoon @ralphmacchiosforliferrr @ki-kuzao @xiezhu

#rea writes !#haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #hq x reader #kenma x reader #kozume kenma #haikyuu kenma #kenma #haikyuu kozume #kozume x reader #kenma kozume #kenma smut #kenma smau

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internetgiraffekid1673 · 3 days ago

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FIFTH GRADE! I need everyone who listens to me to understand how formative fifth grade was for me.

So. First thing you have to understand: we had just moved to Utah and the school system there is pretty awesome. I went from a K-8 school on a military base that had rotting portables instead of second grade classrooms to a school with a 1 to 1 student to tech ratio and a robust enough system that I did not feel the need or desire to transfer to the gifted school---and I WAS a gifted kid, to the point that I homeschooled the second half of seventh grade after leaving Utah because I was so bored, and then skipped eight grade.

Second thing you need to understand is that I made some of my best friends in the whole wide world in my fifth grade classroom. I was adopted by the sweetest extrovert on the first day and we quickly became a troupe of around 8 theatrical 11 year old bookworms. We staged skits at recess. We wrote bad original fiction. Half of the incredibly good but somewhat obscure middle grade fiction that I read that shaped my entire being was done in 5th grade. I started my first book club. We spent copious amounts of time volunteering in the library and the lunchroom. We were an inseperable bonded pack. I am still in contact with half of them.

Third thing: my fifth grade teacher ties with my fourth grade one for the actual best teacher ever. She was an adult who truly understood kids---she did not like other adults and actively avoided socializing with them, but she loved children and just knew how to talk to us. She STARTED my Miraculous Ladybug obsession---this was back when season one was still coming new (and I think actively airing) and she let us watch episodes for fun on Fridays (that and ATLA or LOK).

Her google classroom was ladybug and chat noir themed, her profile picture was Korra, and we were allowed to call her Korra instead of Ms. Whatever if we wanted. We all also developed nicknames for each other (mostly fandom but not necessarily), that we got to write on our assignments and everything.

But most importantly, this was a woman who firmly believed that learning from experience was the best way to learn---and she meant it! When we talked about the French and Indian war in the first week of Social Studies, she had us go up to the front of the classroom and act out a war, and used that as a basis to tax us like King George taxed the colonists.

We had class money that you could exchange for little prizes on Fridays like cute erasers or candy, and that we also used as currency with each other when bartering lunch items and whatnot. It could be earned through good behavior and your class job (which was things like Floor Monitors picking up all the garbage on the floor or stuff like that). When we got into the unit about the taxes? We had to pay class money with the elementary school equivalents of all of those.

The Sugar act required you to pay class money if you brought lunch home. The stamp act required you to pay for a stamp on all your assignments before she would grade them. All of the laws and taxes that the British imposed on the colonists were imposed on us, and so were several others (the air pollution tax for talking when you weren't supposed to be, etc.), incluring plans for acts/taxes that never got imposed on our class because of. . .well, you'll see. If you didn't have enough class money to pay? You went into debt and had to work it off by picking up trash at recess.

Now, obviously we were 11 and pissed as all hell about this, so we decided that if we wanted to be freed from the tyrannical reign of the taxes, we'd have to stage a little revolutionary war of our own. During our free-read time in the library, the whole class pitched in to make signs that said "no taxation without representation" and then spent a recess marching around the teachers in circles and chanting "DOWN WITH THE CROWN!"

Our wonderful teacher, who understood we had internalized the lesson, accepted our revolution and had us hold class elections for a president, a judge, a tax collector, a mayor, a BANKER for borrowing money, and other officials. She then had us hold a congress where we debated on which of the taxes to keep and which ones not to. We spent an entire week writing a class constitution. The little RP history sessions for real history continued, even as our laws diverged from the real world, but our little 5th grade Republic got just as much dedicated time. And the new laws of the Republic were serious!

Now that we were a proper independent government and not a colony, we had to start payiny rent on our desks. When the new semester started, we got a new seating chart (since 90% of the class had ATLA/LOK nicknames, we were seated by nation and everyone who had an unaffiliated nickname went to republic city). Then, our teacher---without telling us why---had us rate every desk in the class from "Most desirable" to "least desirable" (predictably, the ones in the back tended to be highly coveted). Then, she used those results to charge us all differing rent accordingly. You could buy your desk, but it was equivalently as expensive as buying a real house instead of renting. You could also buy OTHER people's desks and have them pay rent to you as a source of income.

One kid couldn't pay rent on his desk, so his desk got removed and put in the back of the classroom, and he instead had to work in the hobo home, which was a box on the floor (he preferred this).

Opening a store in class (not unusual, we had kids who would fold origami or make little drawings or pawn off pencils for class money) now required getting a permit and a license.

There was also a running gag in our class about certain people being their friends' child, pet, or slave (we were 11) that got incorporated into our legal system. Legal dependents did not pay their own rent or taxes and their parents instead had to do it for them. If you wanted that changed, the legal dependent had to apply for emancipation with the judge and get it signed by their guardian.

This was all while we were still keeping to the regular structure of Math, English, Science, Social Studies and "specials" (art, music, keyboarding, P.E., etc), with all the usual elementary school trappings of singing silly songs to remember facts and writing essays on books or articles we read and losing our mind on field day. I am 80% sure the specials teachers had no clue what was happening in our main class and were deeply confused every time a third of their 5th graders started talking about needing to get legally emancipated so they could pay their own rent and open a bubble gum store.

It was just a really really fun class with a fun structure and a fun teacher and fun classmates and I learned a lot. I think, if I ever become a teacher, I want to be like my 5th grade one. Her style of teaching fostered one of the best learning environments in my life, and some of the funniest stories I have ever been able to tell people.

#giraffe's ramblings #I did the first semester of 6th grade online in Ammon Jordan. Jordan was cool online school was not #7th grade was The Weird Year because of moving in the middle of it and then homeschooling the second half #I didn't do 8th grade

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geminixwritess · 1 day ago

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬.

pairing: rafe cameron x spoiledbrat!fem!reader summary: the four times you told rafe it was an emergency, and the one time it actually was warnings: smut ahead, 18+ mdni, note: this idea has been haunting me for weeks and i had to write it. i’m obsessed with rafe & spoiled brat reader, and i honestly could see this becoming a series because I’m loving this dynamic! let me know your thoughts!! word count: 3.7K

#1: a financial emergency

Despite being in a high-stakes business meeting with your father and his, Rafe knew better than to ignore your call. You two had only been seeing each other for a few months, but after he ignored your call once and you raised hell about it, he promised never to make that mistake again. Flashing his signature charismatic smile, he excused himself from the room and answered the phone.

"Guess what?!" you exclaimed excitedly before Rafe even had a chance to say hello.

"What is it, baby? I'm in a crucial meeting with your dad, so unless it's an emergency, I'll have to call you back," Rafe responded, trying to get back into his father’s office as quickly as possible.

Rolling your eyes playfully, you scoffed, "Oh, this is definitely an emergency, Rafe. Trust me, my dad can wait five minutes."

Feeling a slight pang of concern at your urgent tone, Rafe gripped the phone a little tighter and asked, "Are you okay, sweetheart?"

"You know that adorable boutique I love in Chapel Hill?" you began, your voice filled with excitement.

"You love quite a few boutiques, baby. You'll have to be a bit more specific," Rafe teased gently.

"Rafe, I literally said the one in Chapel Hill. How much more specific can I be?" you replied with a hint of exasperation.

Trying to suppress his amusement, Rafe sighed, "Alright, what's going on at the boutique in Chapel Hill?"

"They're having a massive sale! I tried calling my dad, but I forgot he's tied up in that meeting he has with you. Can you please tell him to transfer some money for me?" you pleaded eagerly.

"Y/N, you said this was an emergency," Rafe reminded you, his brow furrowing slightly.

"Rafe, trust me, it really is an emergency. I called him multiple times and he’s not answering," you explained urgently.

"How do you suggest I approach my father's biggest business rival and ask him for money for his daughter? I thought we agreed to keep our relationship under wraps," Rafe pointed out, concern creeping into his voice.

"Just tell him the truth - that we're together and that he needs to transfer some funds to my account. I couldn't care less if he finds out. The most adorable shoes in the entire world are here," you declared, your excitement palpable.

Unable to contain his grin at your dramatic flair, and knowing you didn’t mean what you said, Rafe chuckled, "Alright, I'll send over some money. Can't have my baby looking anything less than perfect."

"I'll treat you to a fashion show once I'm back and you're out of that meeting," you promised with a mischievous tone.

"I wouldn't expect anything less from you," Rafe replied warmly, already looking forward to the playful fashion show awaiting him.

#2: a friend emergency

“Rafe, it’s an emergency,” you insisted, your voice slicing through the heated atmosphere in the room.

“Like fuck it is, baby,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly, his eyes dark with desire. “Just call Sarah back later.”

“She said her and John B got in a fight, and she’s called twice,” you explained, your tone filled with urgency.

“Who gives a shit about that pogue? I’m literally inside you,” he stated, voice dripping with disbelief as he thrust deeper, making your breath hitch.

You rolled your eyes, refusing to be deterred, and readjusted yourself on his cock, eliciting a guttural moan from Rafe. He threw his head back against your pillow, his grip on your waist tightening as he struggled to maintain control.

“I’m calling her back,” you declared, reaching for your phone on the nightstand.

“I’m not stopping,” he warned, his movements never faltering.

“I didn’t ask you to,” you shot back, your voice a mix of defiance and desire. With a swift swipe, you answered Sarah's call, trying to steady your breath.

“Hey, what’s going on?” you asked, attempting to keep your voice calm and composed.

“Y/N, thank God you answered! John B and I had a huge fight, and I don’t know what to do,” Sarah's voice trembled with emotion on the other end.

Rafe's pace quickened, and you bit your lip to stifle a moan. “Take a deep breath, Sarah. It’s all gonna be okay. Just tell me what happened,” you managed, your voice wavering slightly as you tried to maintain your composure.

As Sarah poured out her heart, her brother’s hands roamed your body, his lips finding the sensitive spot on your neck. You struggled to focus on Sarah's words, your mind and body torn between the intense pleasure and the need to be a supportive friend.

“I... I think he’s going to end it with me,” Sarah sobbed.

“He won’t, Sarah. You two always work things out,” you reassured her, your voice shaky.

Rafe’s movements became more deliberate, his eyes locked onto yours with a fiery intensity. You could feel the tension building within you, making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the conversation.

“I just don’t know what to do,” Sarah continued, her voice breaking.

“Take tonight to clear your head, and then have a heart-to-heart with him tomorrow. You’ve got this, and I’m here for you,” you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper as Rafe's relentless pace drove you closer to the edge.

“I’ll call you later, okay?” you added hastily, ending the call before she could respond.

As the phone slipped from your hand, you let out a breathy moan, finally surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure. Rafe’s lips curved into a satisfied smirk, his grip on you tightening.

“Now, where were we?” he murmured, his voice husky with desire.

“Right here,” you breathed, your body moving in perfect sync with his, lost in the intoxicating mix of passion and urgency.

#3: a party emergency

Rafe barely took the extra second to put his black Range Rover in park before jumping out and sprinting into Topper’s house, which was packed with hundreds of Kildare teens reveling in the party atmosphere. The house was a chaotic swirl of loud music, flashing lights, and the unmistakable scent of spilled alcohol.

While most of the partygoers were dressed in casual, trendy outfits, Rafe had sped straight from work and was still in his tailored suit. Ignoring the drunken idiots slinging drinks everywhere—some splashing drops on the floor and others on his shoes—he quickly navigated through the throng of bodies. His heart pounded in his chest as he ascended the stairs two at a time, heading for the guest bedroom where you had called him from.

“Y/N!” he shouted, banging on the door. “Open the door!”

He heard your drunken giggle from the other side, easing his worry slightly, but he wouldn’t feel peace until he laid eyes on you. The click of the door unlocking made him reach for the doorknob and push it open before you even had the opportunity to let him in.

“Woah,” you smiled drunkenly as he shut the door behind him. He cupped your cheeks and checked you over, realizing that you were, in fact, completely fine and that it was not the emergency you had made it out to be when you called him crying.

“Jesus Christ, baby.” He sighed, a mix of relief and annoyance flooding through him as he pulled you into his chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“I missed you,” you stated, as if it were obvious that the emergency was simply your longing for him.

He shook his head, exasperated. “You can’t just call me and tell me it’s an emergency when it’s clearly not one.”

You attempted to pull away from him, but he held you tight, refusing to let go. You grumbled, “There was an emergency. I was all alone. Everyone coupled off and left me all by myself without you.”

Rafe’s frustration melted into a tender smile as he realized how much you needed him. “Alright, alright,” he murmured, his tone softening. “I’m here now. Let’s get you home, okay?”

A wide grin spread across your face as you lazily wrapped your arms around his shoulders. “No! Now that you're here, we can have some fun.”

You tried to pull him towards the party, and he reluctantly let you, knowing full well that he’d likely be carrying your unconscious body to his car within the next thirty minutes.

#4: a fashion emergency

While Rafe typically loathed Midsummers and only attended to pacify his father, this year was particularly excruciating—simply because you were there with your family. You'd think your presence would enhance the experience, but seeing you look that stunning while he couldn't be by your side was pure torment.

In previous years, you had managed to escape attending due to your father's insistence that it was an adults-only affair, a thinly veiled excuse for his own alcohol indulgence without his children present. But now, having just graduated high school, your father wanted to showcase your achievements, basking in reflected glory before you headed off to an Ivy League institution.

When you told Rafe of your plans to attend this year, he considered persuading you to reveal your relationship with him to your father—a move that would assert his place alongside you among Figure Eight's elite. Ultimately, he decided against it, knowing it would cause more problems for you and his family long term.

As Rafe sat next to his father, plastering on a fake smile and nodding through a conversation with a man he barely knew, his eyes wandered toward your family's table, only to find you absent. He scanned the surrounding area, searching for any sign of you, but came up empty-handed. Just as a knot of concern started to form in his stomach, he felt a buzz in his pocket. Pulling out his phone, he found a message from you waiting for him.

my baby: bathroom. now. future hubby💍: R u ok? my baby: it’s an emergency. get here now.

Without excusing himself, Rafe abruptly left his father’s table and made his way inside the Island Club. He ran a hand over his shaved head and flexed his fists, ready to fight whoever fucked with his girl.

Rafe pushed through the crowded hallways of the Island Club, ignoring the curious glances from other partygoers. His heart pounded in his chest as he reached the women’s bathroom door. Without hesitation, he knocked once before swiftly pushing it open and slipping inside once he noticed that it appeared no one was inside.

“Y/N?” he called out quietly, his voice echoing in the tiled room.

From one of the stalls, you responded, “I’m in here.”

He quickly crossed the room and opened the stall door to find you sitting on the closed toilet seat, looking distressed but unharmed. Relief washed over him, though he remained on edge.

“What happened? Are you okay?” he asked, crouching down to your level and taking your hands in his.

You sighed, looking up at him with a mix of frustration and amusement. “I had a wardrobe malfunction. My dress zipper is stuck, and I couldn’t get it fixed on my own.”

His head fell as he let out a low laugh, keeping your hands in his. “You scared the hell out of me. I thought something serious had happened.”

You pouted playfully. “This is serious! I can’t go back out there like this.”

“Baby, you can’t keep telling me it’s an emergency when it’s not,” Rafe admonished gently.

“Rafe, I have never looked hotter. A wardrobe malfunction is an emergency,” you said with utmost seriousness.

Shaking his head with a chuckle, Rafe gently turned you around. “Alright, let me see what I can do.”

With a few deft movements, he managed to unstick the zipper and secure your dress properly. “There, all set. You look perfect,” he said, his tone softening.

You turned back to face him, a grateful smile spreading across your face. “You’re my hero.”

He smirked, pulling you into a quick kiss. “Always, baby. Now, let’s get back out there before anyone notices we’re both missing.”

As he began to walk away, you reached for his hand, pulling him back. He looked at you, confused.

“I think no one would notice if we were gone a few more minutes,” you said, a mischievous glint in your eye.

Understanding what you were implying, Rafe locked the bathroom door, ensuring privacy. You smirked as he pulled you into his arms, one hand gripping your ass and the other cupping your cheek, drawing you into a feverish kiss.

“You gonna let me fuck you against the sink?” he murmured against your lips.

“No,” you replied, earning a puzzled head tilt from him. “I don’t want to wrinkle the dress.”

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Baby, I love you, but you’re the only person who’s gonna notice if that dress is wrinkled.”

You scoffed. “That’s so untrue. I guarantee you if something happens to it, I’ll hear shit about it for the next week.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” he asked, equally intrigued and confused.

“Stand there and look handsome while I suck you off,” you said, dropping to your knees with a wicked grin.

Rafe's eyes darkened with desire as he watched you sink to your knees, your hands moving to unbuckle his belt. The anticipation in the small bathroom was palpable, the sounds of the party muffled by the walls.

He leaned back against the sink, his breath hitching as you freed him from his pants. "You sure about this, baby?" he asked, his voice low and husky.

You looked up at him through your lashes, giving him a slow, teasing smile. "Positive."

Your lips wrapped around him, and Rafe let out a shaky breath, his hand tangling in your hair. The intensity of the moment made it hard for him to stay quiet, but he bit down on his lip, stifling any sounds that might alert the partygoers outside.

As you worked your magic, Rafe's head tilted back, his grip on the sink tightening. "Fuck, you’re amazing," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

The thrill of potentially getting caught only heightened the experience, making each moment more electrifying. He could feel himself getting closer, the sensation almost overwhelming.

"Baby, I'm close," he warned, his voice strained.

You responded by increasing your pace, taking him deeper until he couldn't hold back any longer. With a muffled groan, he came, his body tensing as waves of pleasure washed over him.

Breathing heavily, Rafe looked down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and awe as you swallowed his cum. "God, I love you," he whispered, helping you to your feet and pulling you into a tender kiss.

"Not as much as I love you," you teased, wiping the corner of your mouth with a satisfied smile.

Rafe chuckled, his thumb brushing your cheek. "Any other emergencies you need me to take care of?"

"None that can’t wait until later tonight," you replied with a wink.

He adjusted his clothes and smoothed his hair, while you made sure your dress was flawless. "We should get back out there before anyone gets suspicious," he said, taking a deep breath to compose himself.

You nodded, kissing him one last time before you both headed back to the party. As you rejoined the festivities, you both exchanged a knowing smile, the secret of your intimate moment adding a thrilling edge to the night as you both went back to your fathers, pretending to barely know one another.

#5: a real emergency

Today, your father and Ward were finalizing a deal they'd been hashing out for months, and Rafe was elated to be in the room for these critical negotiations. It felt like a validation, maybe even a nod from his father towards grooming him for a future role in the family business.

“I’m thinking somewhere in the 5-10 million range,” Ward suggested, his tone businesslike, though your father wasn't having it.

“It’s worth no less than 15, you cheap bastard,” your dad retorted sharply, the tension in the room thickening.

Rafe pondered defending his father when his phone rang loudly, drawing disapproving glares from both men. He hastily declined it, apologizing, but the persistent ringing forced his hand.

“You might as well answer it, son,” Ward scoffed, irritation evident. “Clearly, it’s more important than this.”

With a sigh, Rafe answered the call, realizing it was from you.

“I’ll talk to you later. I’m in a meeting,” he started, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I know it's the big one today, but it’s an emergency. Can you please come to The Wreck?” Your voice trembled, on the edge of tears.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” Rafe replied tersely, aware of the eyes on him.

“Rafe, please. I need you,” you pleaded urgently.

“Bullshit. You always say it’s an emergency, and it never is. I drop everything every time, and this is important and you know it.”

Rafe felt a knot in his stomach, glancing uncomfortably at the proud expressions on both his father's and your father's faces. He knew if your dad heard him talking like this and knew it was toward you, it could jeopardize the deal.

“I love you, baby, but you're dramatic and we both know it,” he murmured softly, hoping his words were just for you.

“Are you serious right now!?” Your voice crackled with outrage. “I’m not being dramatic. I need you to come to The Wreck. It’s an emergency—”

“I will see you tonight,” Rafe interrupted firmly. “I’m sure whatever is an 'emergency' now will be resolved by the time you come over.”

“Fuck you,” you snapped before he hung up.

Rafe sighed heavily, knowing he had to focus on salvaging the situation in the room. He exchanged a tense glance with your father and Ward, mentally preparing to re-engage in the negotiation, hoping his decision wouldn't come back to haunt him later.

"I'm sure there's a middle ground that we can find here," Rafe stated, his tone calm yet assertive, despite the tension in the room. Ward glanced at him with a pleased expression, seemingly impressed with Rafe's initiative and approach to finding a compromise.

Later that night, Rafe waited, anticipating the text that would signal your arrival at the back door, but it never came. He laid on his bed, staring up at the slow whir of the ceiling fan, growing increasingly impatient. After leaving the meeting, he had texted you an apology, but there had been no reply. He was certain you were upset with him for not dropping everything to attend to your latest request or solve whatever issue had arisen. While he found your dramatic tendencies entertaining at times, tonight they felt exhausting for him.

Eventually, he gave in and decided to call you. The phone rang several times before it went to voicemail. He fought to contain his frustration as he heard your cheerful voice inviting him to leave a message. As your boyfriend, he didn't expect to be sent to voicemail. You always answered his calls.

"Listen, I know you're upset, but you need to get over it. Call me back when you're ready to be reasonable," he said firmly, ending the call with a sigh. He waited anxiously after hanging up, half-expecting a fiery response from you. The silence that followed felt heavy and frustrating.

Hours passed, and just as he was about to give up and head out to find you, his phone finally rang. Without hesitation, he answered on the first ring.

"So you've decided to be a big girl and stop with the dramatics," he teased, a hint of annoyance still evident in his voice.

You yawned sleepily on the other end, indicating you had just woken up. "Rafe, I was asleep. And you don't get to be mad. I'm the one pissed at you."

"You've been ignoring me all afternoon. It's almost midnight. I have a right to be a little pissed," he retorted, frustration still lingering.

"I've been asleep all afternoon," you countered.

"Sure, you've been asleep for the past eight hours," he scoffed sarcastically.

"Not the past eight, but the past six. The painkillers knocked me out," you explained groggily, your voice still thick with sleep.

Rafe froze, his mind racing as he processed your words. "What painkillers?"

"The ones the hospital gave me. I don’t know what they are, but they work," you replied, your tone serious despite the sleepiness.

"What hospital?!" Rafe's voice shot up, panic creeping in.

"The one I went to after you were a total jerk to me on the phone," you retorted, annoyance piercing through your drowsiness.

Rafe's blood ran cold. "Shit, I didn't know. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I tried," you muttered, irritation bubbling up. "But you were too busy playing Mr. Important Businessman."

“You should’ve told me how serious it was. What happened?”

“I went to The Wreck with the girls for lunch and tripped on the steps. I smacked my head and twisted my ankle really badly. And I did tell you it was an emergency. You told me I was being dramatic.”

“Baby, I’m so sorry. Did an ambulance take you to the hospital?”

"No, JJ Maybank was there, and he took me to the hospital after you told me no."

Rafe's stomach churned. Not only had he failed to be there for you, but JJ Maybank had stepped in, the last person Rafe wanted involved in your life. His fists clenched in frustration, guilt gnawing at him.

"JJ Maybank?" he repeated, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I should've been there. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. He was nice," you sighed, weariness seeping into your voice. "I just wanted you to be there for me."

Rafe exhaled, the weight of his mistakes pressing down on him. "I'll be there in ten. I promise."

He hung up and grabbed his keys, a fierce determination settling over him. As he sped towards your place, his mind churned with thoughts of how to apologize and prove how much you meant to him. He wouldn’t let JJ—or anyone else—take his place again. Never again would he doubt you when you called with an emergency, even if your flair for drama sometimes made him roll his eyes. He knew now that he would be there for you, no questions asked.

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