Reading Is Life

Now, had you hatched a plan? Absolutely. Well done. Admirably petty. Deeply deserved.

Unfortunately, it was also a terrible, terrible plan. One specifically designed to irritate the most irritable man on this brolly-battered island.

And Thomas Shelby, was already one inconvenience away from committing a felony before he hit the fork in the road out of London.

But for now, Arrow House had been conveniently left in your hands. And as you descended into the mausoleum of one man’s insufferable moods, his absence was swiftly becoming your loyal housekeeper’s inconvenience.

“ Frances, how are we doing on the list I gave you?” you probed, stepping into the grand foyer as a skittish maid hurried past, looking positively terrified you’d hand her yet another amendment to your husband’s rigid routine.

“ Mrs Shelby, I have a few concerns regarding some of the…changes to the running of the household you wish to make” Frances tread carefully, acutely aware you had transformed into an avenging angel with an unstoppable agenda since Tommy’s departure, and rapidly approaching return.

Concerns, she'd said.

Very tactful. Very diplomatic. Wholly Indifferent.

And in plain English?...

Have you lost your bloody mind?

And to her credit, the observation wasn’t entirely inaccurate. Because the pettiness of your mundane modifications did, admittedly, have the faint air of a woman teetering on the edge of something unholy.

“ Alright…I'm listening” you replied steadily, walls of wrath for your bastard husband tightening around you like armour, as another set of ears listened in, shouldering the door to the kitchen.

Arney.

Your father.

“ Mr Shelby's morning paper, Ma'am?” Frances produced the first adjustment you’d made to a household carefully moulded and maintained to Tommy’s tastes and expectations.

“ Minor” you dismissed lightly, while at the edge of the room, your father lingered, watching, entirely too interested in what chaos you were about to unleash.

“ The changes to the weekly menu?”

“ Reasonable”

“ The ten-year-old fir tree?”

“ Necessary”

“ And the…whiskey, Mrs Shelby?”

Ah yes, that one. The one most likely to send Tommy into orbit, then hurtling straight back down like some doomsday delivering frisbee.

“ Justified”

There. You’d laid the evidence out neatly enough as to why each adjustment was not only necessary, but imperative to the wellbeing of Arrow House and your rapidly depleting sanity.

Because while you may have been clinging desperately to your poise and perfection, refusing to let one man, one measly, morally corrupt man, have a crack at your composure, It did not mean you couldn’t make his life deeply inconvenient in the meantime.

“ That'll be all, Frances. Thank you” you politely put an end to all things deemed Mrs Shelby's Petty Plan, as your father plucked a framed wedding photo from the foyer table of you and Tommy, immortalised in murderous adoration.

“ Yes Ma'am” Frances nodded dutifully, stepping back into service as her eyes drifted to your father's increasingly frequent presence at Arrow House.

“ Fancy digs, poppet” Arney remarked, turning the frame over in his hands, all lean charm and easy panache embellished by the silk neckerchief at his throat as his thumb brushed along the polished edge. “Real silver, this”

“ Trinkets” you murmured dismissively, watching him walk over, photo frame abandoned off center, to capture your cheeks in his hands.

“ Look at you” your father mused, sun-worn skin and sharp eyes softening. “ Lady of the house” Amusement curled at the edge of his slinking smile as his gaze drifted beyond you, taking in the sprawling grandeur of Arrow House and all its finery. “And it's a big bloody house”

“ A mausoleum” you commented on your less than comfy accommodation, one that felt more like a three story bachelor pad than any marital home of your dreams.

“ Does Uncle Richard know you're here?” Your attention shifted to the one man guaranteed to have strong opinions regarding a newlywed wife accepting visitors in her husband’s absence without his say so.

“ Away with that, girl. Forget Richie and his rigidness” your father dismissed easily, brushing aside your concerns as he released your cheeks to turn on his heel, eyes lifting to the crown moulding and gold-finished fixtures stretching high above him.

“ Come on then, poppet. Show your old man around” His head tipped toward the long hallway before he wandered off a step ahead, expecting you to follow, the little girl forever eager to accommodate her father.

As you disappeared through the doors of Arrow House, each room now at your disposal, each wall left for you to decorate, each corner yours to delegate, Frances remained standing in the foyer of the home she had managed for over a decade, anticipating something entirely different.

Because in a day’s time, the master of the manor would return to discover his wife had taken liberties with the status flow of his stately home.

And as she reached out to straighten the crooked silver-framed photograph left abandoned on the foyer table, she decided some things would, for now, remain just so.

One day later, one uneventful morning gone without so much as a blip to its blueprint, Arrow House was looking unremarkably quiet.

And as Cupid lounged away in his celestial bureau of emotional sabotage, arrow aimed squarely at a plump songbird, fully prepared to strike the feathered bastard from the heavens should it dare hit another screeching F note…

Tyres crunched across gravel.

Ah. Here he came. Romeo. Lover boy. Lothario…

Don Dickhead.

Now, social etiquette dictates one should never take pleasure in another's misery.

But surely there must be some exceptions to that stuffy old statute.

And a husband that couldn't keep his wandering cock in his bloody pants, no matter the hierarchy he hid behind, was undoubtedly an exception to that outdated outlook.

For it wasn't “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” it was“ Hell has no hiding place from a wife's wrath”

Everybody seated? Lovely. Showtime…

“ Mrs Shelby?” Tommy’s immediate demand to know your whereabouts the moment he crossed the foyer threshold was met dutifully by Frances, already braced for bedlam.

“ Drawing room, sir” she informed him smoothly, not a single crack in her professional composure to prepare your husband for the psychological warfare awaiting him. “ Reading”

“ Right. Good. That's…good” Each word settled slowly across Tommy’s tongue as his sharp blues swept across his stately home.

Everything looked…normal. Suspiciously normal.

And as he stalked through the halls of Arrow House, Tommy found himself taking inventory, head snapping toward each passing room as though expecting to discover another act of your knife-wielding artistry embedded somewhere in the wallpaper.

But then he found you. Sat elegantly in the bay window, book in hand, looking every inch the wife of a great house should look.

Poised. Perfected. Positively beautiful.

Fuck sake.

“ I'm back” he announced unnecessarily, stepping further into the room. And dear God, it took every ounce of restraint within you not to fire back with, "Welcome home, you philandering fuckboy".

Alas, you kept your tongue firmly behind your teeth. There was no sense in spoiling the surprise. Giving him a heads-up.

So, Instead, you merely turned the page of your book with graceful indifference and asked…

“ How was London?”

London. Ah. There It was.

But no, you bastard, there it wasn't.

Because if Tommy was expecting righteous fury and blazing indignation the moment the city left your lips, he was about to be sorely disappointed.

For you simply sat there, waiting patiently for your husband’s carefully worded response like the placated wife he so desperately wanted you to be.

“ Productive” he drawled, shouldering the wall beside you, eyes drifting down to the book in your hands, your calm composure seemingly enough to make the poor fool prematurely believe you’d finally made peace with his whoring escapades beyond the county lines of Warwickshire.

“ Security hired. Contracts signed. Money made” Tommy bundled his London trip into a tidy collection of carefully rationed words as he wandered toward what was, arguably, his most prized possession.

Whiskey.

“ And…one or two, discrete encounters” he added casually over his shoulder, hand hovering above the crystal decanter as he waited. Watched. Wanting a reaction.

The bastard.

But you gave him nothing.

Nada. Niets. One restrained breath away from saying " Auf wiedersehen, arsehole", as Tommy poured himself a generous measure.

And now? Now you were the one waiting. Watching. Wanting a reaction.

With the confidence of a king, Tommy tossed back the liquor, waiting for the familiar burn. For the spice. The oak. The woody warmth. Those expensive dried notes earned through age. Only for one particular fruit to overwhelm his tastebuds instead.

Apple.

…Yep.

Thomas Shelby had just necked one hearty measure of apple juice like an over-sugared thirsty toddler.

You wicked witch, you.

Stood silent, still as a statue, your husband cleared his throat as the crystal tumbler turned slowly between his fingers, finally catching up to why your composure had been so unnervingly calm.

Why his wife, his bloody wife, was currently boring holes into the back of his head with barely contained glee.

You little fucking madame.

“ Interesting blend” Tommy murmured at last, brows furrowing in contemplation like a man conducting a serious evaluation rather than discovering his taste buds had just been assaulted by fruit juice.

“ Subtle notes of…”

“ Apple?” you suggested sweetly from the bay window, basking in your petty triumph as Tommy lowered the glass onto the table with one slow, ominous clink.

“ Mm” he turned to face you with a look in his eyes that strongly suggested he was debating whether murder was an acceptable activity within the first month of marriage. “Very subtle, darling”

“ Frances!” Tommy suddenly barked, already striding toward the drawing room door. “I want every decanter in every room of this house changed to my wife's preferences”

“ Oh, Tommy!” You sprang gracefully to your feet, positively radiant as you intercepted him halfway across the room, playing your role as the perfect wife with alarming commitment.

“ I just knew you'd love it” you were all bright smiles and girlish delight. Everything you were not but would be to drive your husband clean to madness through sheer suffocating sweetness.

“ Didn't I say it, Frances? Didn't I say that…”

“I…” you giggled, a playful tap of your finger to the center of his chest as you punctuated each point playfully home.

“ Know…”

Another tap.

“ My…”

And another.

“ Husband”

“ You did, Ma'am” Frances confirmed as she stepped fully into the room, where she found Thomas Shelby standing perfectly still, slowly realising that his wife left entirely unsupervised was an exceptionally dangerous thing.

“ And I also took the liberty to change every decanter you own from here to your offices in Birmingham” you revealed, fixing the knot of his tie with wifely devotion.

“ How…thoughtful” Tommy murmured, capturing your hand before it could fall, pressing it against his chest as his thumb dragged across your knuckles.

“ Of course, my love. What kind of wife would that make me if I didn't tend to my husband?” you mused, eyes wide with adoration, hand locked under his no matter how many failed attempts you made to dislodge it.

“ A bad one” his voice dropped low, with an edge that suggested you were no angelic bride, but in fact a fallen one, sent down to torment him ‘till the end of time.

“A. Very. Bad. Wife”

“ Mmm” you hummed.

“ Mmm” he echoed.

And as the pair of you stood there locked in a smiling little war of power, pettiness, and phony politeness, Frances watched on with the dreadful understanding that your campaign to corrupt your husband's daily routine had only just begun.

One week had passed. Seven long, dreary days.

No, no, no. Let’s make it sound suitably dramatic for the brooding bastard currently sat in his study waiting for Arthur to smuggle him whiskey before he lost what remained of his sanity.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours had passed since Plan Petty began.

One hundred and sixty-eight hours of uncertainty. Of compromised security. Of misinformation, surveillance, dietary warfare, and repeated threats against his quality of life.

Arrow House had been breached.

Thomas Michael Shelby was under attack!

Dramatic enough for you, Don Dickhead?

Now. Moving on…

“ Knock, knock” Arthur announced himself with a heavy rasp of his knuckles against Tommy’s office door, contraband hidden between his Henley and waistband like a man smuggling medicine across enemy lines.

But the moment he pushed the door open, the gangly gangster stopped short.

There, hanging proudly from the brass handle by a bright red ribbon, sat a gold bell and the beginning of an amused smirk slithered on Arthur’s lips.

“Christmas threw up in here too then?” he grinned, swaggering inside as his eyes landed on Tommy looking worse for wear, slumped deep in his leather chair. “ Saw the tree out front. Hard not to”

“Whiskey” your husband rasped before Arthur had shut the door behind him. Before explanations, before dignity, before the deeply personal story behind that fucking bell currently hanging from his office handle even left his lips.

“Easy, Tom. It’s not apple juice” Arthur, entirely unable to help himself grinned as Tommy grabbed the bottle, gulping whiskey back like a man recovering from seven days of survival in the desert.

“ That bell…” Tommy muttered, bottle half gone and now pointed accusingly toward the innocent little decoration like it alone was responsible for the collapse of peace within Arrow House.

“I'll tell you all about that fucking bell, Arthur”...

Two days had passed since you sabotaged Tommy’s whiskey with Granny Smith’s finest. And as November bled into December, so too did Christmas bleed into Arrow House.

“Mr Shelby”

“Afternoon, Mr Shelby”

Came a chorus of careful greetings from a handful of workmen as the gangster's boots hit gravel, stepping out his Bentley, cranky, and completely unaware of the chaos you'd inflicted inside.

But as more hired men filed out through the front doors carrying saws, logs, and, was that a bloody axe?, Tommy’s steps slowed.

“Move” The order came clipped, cold enough to compete against a West Midlands winter as he shoved through the foyer doors, stopping dead at the sight of not a reasonably sized Christmas tree. No. But a forty-foot fucking fir.

His fir.

The one he’d planted strategically years ago to block prying neighbours from peering into Shelby business and the occasional unfortunate soul needing discreet burial somewhere in the surrounding woods.

“Husband!” You spun toward him brightly, abandoning the garland in your hands as Tommy stood there looking momentarily drained of all remaining life force.

“Wife” he quietly muttered, eyes fixed on the colossal festive monstrosity now occupying his foyer.

“Isn’t it wonderful?” you beamed as Tommy’s gaze slowly travelled from trunk to star, the top brushing a mere inch beneath the ceiling.

“Wonderful doesn’t quite do it justice, darling” he murmured, eyes dragging down toward the deeply satisfied smirk sitting smug upon your lips. Daring him to react.

But a Christmas tree would not break Thomas Shelby.

He’d survived Verdun. The Somme.

He could survive festive decor.

“You know what, sweetheart…” Tommy drawled slowly, capturing your chin between his fingers, thumb brushing your cheek as his steel blues turned molten with restrained vengeance.

“I love it”

“So much so…” he continued, releasing you as he stepped back toward the hallway.“ That I want every room in Arrow House decorated with a Christmas tree”

“Frances!” he barked. Again.

“Turn this place into a winter wonderland befitting my wife’s festive enthusiasm” he called out, only to stop mid-stride outside his study. Because right there, hanging from the brass door handle, tied carefully with a bright red ribbon, sat a bell.

Eyes closing, slowly, painfully, for the first time in his adult life, Thomas Shelby silently prayed to Saint Nicholas for strength as he pushed the door open, bracing himself for a…

Jingle.

“...Fuck”

For a long moment, only silence occupied Tommy’s study as he finished recounting the story with another swig of whiskey. Until Arthur, of course, and without mercy, broke into helpless laughter.

“ Christ, Tom” he snorted through one final chest-deep chuckle, glancing across at the increasingly aggravated gangster. “ It's just a bloody bell, brother”

“ It's not just a bell” Tommy shot back, slumping deeper into his chair as he slipped a cigarette between his lips, irritation working hard into his jaw.

“ It's a form of surveillance”

“ Surveillance” Arthur echoed, and for one brief, beautiful second, genuinely considered the possibility that Tommy Shelby had finally lost his mind to Christmas.

“It jingles every time I come and go” Tommy gestured toward the doorway like a man presenting evidence in court as Arthur reached for the morning's newspaper, letting his brother rage against bells strung up by red ribbons. “Every. Single. Time”

“She knows where I am every second of the day, Arthur. Can't even take a piss without her being able to time it” Tommy muttered around his cigarette, eyes lifting heavenward in exhausted disbelief.

“ What the fuck, Tom?” Arthur suddenly frowned down at the paper in his hands, flipping the pages back and forth with growing confusion.

“ Oh, you'll enjoy this one, brother..."

Four days had passed since the great whiskey withholding. Two days since the Christmas carnage. And as Tommy strolled down to the dining room, he was on high alert.

“ Wife” he greeted, carefully, ever so carefully, as his eyes scanned for sabotage, hell with your adjustments to Arrow House he was half expecting to spend the morning disarming a bomb hidden in the butter bell.

“ Husband” you replied smoothly, sat poised and perfect as you stirred sugar into your tea while Tommy pulled back his preferred chair.

Everything appeared to be in order. Breakfast edible. Tea uncompromised. Paper precisely where it was supposed to be.

And for one dangerously brief moment, and when I say brief, I mean approximately one syllable into relaxing, Tommy allowed himself to settle into routine. Into ritual. Into the familiar comfort of unfolding his newspaper directly to the financial pages.

Fool.

Skipping past world affairs in favour of stocks, bonds, and percentages known almost entirely by memory, Tommy suddenly went very still. And very fucking quiet.

Eyes drifting slowly to you over the printed pages, he stiffened the paper in his hands as he cleared his throat.

“ Dear Aunt Edna. I'm writing to you in the hopes you could guide me through the peril I currently find myself in, regarding my womanising husband of three years…” Tommy read not the financial times, not the business column, but It's cursed replacement.

Aunt Edna the Agony Aunt of Aberdeen.

And somehow, it got worse. Because several entries had been curiously circled.

In red.

“ Dear Aunt Edna. I recently discovered my husband has a mistress and pet poodle living in Lancashire. The lying bastard spent our entire marriage claiming he was allergic to dogs… Whatever am I supposed to do?”

“ Dreadful” you sighed sympathetically, buttering your toast as though hearing such hardship for the first time.

But Tommy wasn't done…

“ Dear Aunt Edna. My husband of one month is a…” Tommy stopped, eyes sliding slowly to your lips moving silently across the table, mouthing the words ahead of him. “ Philandering fuckboy. I'm half tempted to commit the crime of castration. Would you consider this a reasonable form of retribution? P.S Currently sharpening the butter knife”.

“ Well…” Tommy murmured, folding the newspaper carefully in half as his jaw tightened.“ That was very informative. Can’t imagine where my business section disappeared to”

“ Frances!” he barked. For a third time that week.

“Tell the paperboy that from this day forth, I wish to receive Aunt Edna’s agony column with my breakfast every morning”

“ How wonderful that you’re broadening your reading habits, dear” you cooed brightly, cutting your toast in two with saintly innocence, while almost certain you heard Tommy mutter beneath his breath…

“ Wonderful. Just like my knife-wielding wife”

“ Christ…she's escalating” Arthur breathed, caught somewhere between admiration and the sudden horrifying realisation that Tommy Shelby may have finally met the one person capable of overthrowing him through sheer spite alone.

“...Hear that?” Tommy suddenly straightened in his chair, eyes narrowing toward the ceiling at the faint sound of creaking floorboards overhead.

“ She's plotting”

But Tommy’s paranoia would have to wait, because at that exact moment a fresh act of domestic pettiness arrived balanced upon a silver tray in Frances’ hands.

“ What in God's name is that?” Arthur's eyes widened at the translucent horror containing several suspended cherry tomatoes sat center stage upon Tommy's plate.

“ Jellied consommé, sir” Frances replied professionally, placing the dish down with a sympathetic smile as both Shelbys watched it wobble.

“ My doting wife has recently taken a keen interest in my health, Arthur” Tommy explained flatly around the cigarette hanging idle from the corner of his mouth, eyes fixed on the gelatinous abomination before him, he was certain somewhere, a Frenchman had invented the particular dish solely to personally punish him.

“ Thank you, Frances” the dismissal came calm, controlled, patiently waiting for the jingle of that bloody bell, before cracking the window open, and launching the monstrosity into the Marigolds.

“ She's trying to weaken me, Arthur” Tommy muttered, slumping back into his chair as he reached for the bottle. “Via hazardous French health foods”

“Ah, give over, Tom. She's just having a laugh…” Arthur offered absolutely no comfort whatsoever, glancing toward Tommy’s discarded lunch currently sliding into the flowerbeds below his window. “ At your expense, mind”

“A laugh? In France we would have gone over the wire into enemy territory for less” Tommy huffed a dry humourless sound, as he glanced out the window to see another member of your bloodline taking liberties.

Arney.

Wandering the grounds of Arrow House alongside the workmen, hands deep in his pockets, talking far too comfortably, far too at ease with men he paid to keep his estate secure.

Fuck. He was losing control of his own castle.

“ She's not the enemy, Tommy. She's your wife.

“She is the enemy” your husband's eyes snapped to his brother, irritation and indignation set hard in those icy blues.

“ Could just stop with the other women” Arthur offered with surprising practicality, despite being, well, Arthur. “Save yourself the trouble and take your wife instead”

“Huh. Like she'd even let me” The words came out too fast, too rough, too unguarded, like he remembered exactly how you’d felt beneath him. Exactly how he’d felt buried inside…

“ This is a business arrangement, Arthur” Tommy cut through the memory of you, legs wrapped around him as he crushed his cigarette into the ashtray with unnecessary force. “ Not personal”

“ And yet brother…you're taking it very personally”

Fuck.

You didn’t know how you ended up here.

Didn’t know why your feet had carried you toward Tommy’s room sometime in the middle of the night. Why you now sat perched on the edge of his bed, watching his body struggle beneath sleep, fighting the sound of shovels against the walls.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

And with a gentle hand to your shoulder, that’s what I’m telling you too, dear. Keeping you steady before you come to your senses and bolt from his room.

Because despite the war waging between you both, you were not, nor would you ever be, the sort of woman who turned her head from suffering.

Not even his.

And Tommy Shelby, for all his brutality, all his arrogance, his cold control over every aspect of your life…

Was suffering.

You didn’t wake him. Didn’t demand to know what haunted him deeply enough to drag him back beneath the earth night after night. Didn’t belittle him into manning up, soldiering on, swallowing it down like so many expected men to do.

You simply reached for his wrist. Gentle fingers pressing lightly against the frantic pulse beating beneath his skin.

And with the patience of someone who had long ago learned what grief could do to a person, your thumb softly circled against him, steadying his heartbeat back down to a gentle thrum until he settled back into sleep.

He didn’t wake. You didn’t stay.

But the next morning, when Tommy surfaced from dreams spent buried underground, lungs full of dirt, ghosts clawing at his throat, mud swallowing every desperate breath, he felt the phantom touch of something else.

A womans touch.

His wife's touch.

And when the time came for him to leave like he'd done so many mornings before, body turning back to brush a lock of hair from your sleeping face, he left you a folded note.

Signed not T. Not T.S.

But simply…

Tommy.

*I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter in the comments below 🖤*

[Next Part] coming soon!

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“Well, what about that one?” 

Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single slut he’d ran through. 

Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.

You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self-conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.

“Who is she?”

“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.

“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.

“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”

“I heard she was home-schooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”

Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any. 

Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable. 

He licks his lips.

“How long?”

“Huh?”

He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?” He nods in your direction.

Topper raises an eyebrow.

“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”

Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”

They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—

“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and— 

“A week.” 

“Mm?”

“A week to fuck her. With proof.” 

Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it. 

“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”

“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.

“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”

Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.

You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.

He’d have fun ruining you.

***

“You sure do love reading, don’t you?” 

It’s the following day when Rafe finds you sitting by yourself in the corner of the library, with nothing but your book to keep you company.

You jump like a little mouse, pushing your glasses up your nose and gulping up at him, fear briefly flitting across your face before you force a small smile. And he likes his girls jumpy, he likes them slightly afraid of him. He knows he has that effect on people in general, but he wonders who’s told you about him.

“Sorry, were you — uh — were you talking to me?”

Rafe smirks, “Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh, of course,” you look embarrassed, and he watches you squirm under his gaze for a good few seconds. “I… um…” 

“You find books more interesting than people?”

“Huh?”

He chuckles, pulling up a chair next to you, noting how your eyes widen as he takes a seat, “Why are you always reading?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just like to read,” you shrug. 

“You sure do.” He wonders if he could get you to read your precious book out loud while he went down on you, licked your virgin cunt while you cried because it felt too good. And then he’d spank you if you stopped or messed up a word, and like a stupid dumb fucking baby, you’d sniffle and wail through each paragraph, hold back your moans while he went to town on your little pussy till you wet yourself, and he’d suck your—

“Are you making fun of me?”

You pose the question so innocently— hell, you practically whisper it, and it knocks Rafe straight out of his daydream to find you blinking up at him with Bambi eyes. 

“What?”

You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not so good at understanding if someone’s joking or not. I’m not… uh… I’m not used to being around so many people, and it makes me nervous and I can’t tell if someone’s being genuine or if they’re making fun of me.” 

“You were homeschooled, huh?” Rafe stares at you intently, noting how you play with your hair nervously, and your fingers tap against the hard cover of your book. How you can barely make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds. 

“Yes. My mom taught me and my older brothers.”

Rafe nods, taking his time to answer. He looks at you some more, enjoying how it makes you uncomfortable. You fidget nervously, and it amuses him every time you peek up to meet his gaze before a look of alarm crosses your face and you divert your eyes down to your book once more. 

“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He says finally, chuckling at the embarrassed look on your face.

“I… I guess. I do want to make friends but it’s pretty overwhelming.”

“I’ll be your friend.” 

He does a good job of hiding his predatory, wolfish smile. And he wonders if you can see the glint in his eye as he mentally undresses you. You look so small and weak, especially compared to him. Gullible too. Too innocent for your own good, the way you gape up at him as if he’s offered you gold on a platter. It makes him want to stroke your soft cheek, pat it and tell you what a good little girl you are. For being so naive. 

You shake your head as if trying to straighten out your thoughts. He can tell, he has that effect on women too. 

“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”

“Rafe Cameron?! In the library?!” An annoying, high-pitched voice shrieks, making you jump as it cuts you off mid-sentence.

It’s a kook girl. A cheerleader. Rafe can’t be fucked to remember her name but he’s sure he’s hooked up with her. She’s one of those ones, the ones that hang out at the country club and try to catch his eye. One of the desperate sluts who thinks if she spreads her legs enough times for him, that he’ll make her his girlfriend or some stupid shit like that. 

“Rafe, what are you doing here?” The cheerleader sidles up to him, her hand on his chest and batting her lashes in his direction in some pathetic form of seduction. She ignores you, and you shrink into yourself, hastily burying your face in your book.

“What do you want?” He asks, not quite as interested in her answer as he is in continuing to stare at you. How you try to act like you don’t care, but he knows you’re hurt from being ignored, from being treated like you’re invisible.

“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re up to.” But she flashes him her fuck me eyes, her nails scraping suggestively against his chest. Rafe yawns, considering it. He has time before his next class (not that he could be fucked to turn up to class half the time) and his dick’s hard from talking to you. And since you probably don’t even know what the word blowjob means… 

“Go in there,” he nods at one of the private study rooms in the far end of the library, and the fucking slut nearly trips as she scrambles to obey him. Rafe takes his time, stretching his legs before slowly getting up.

You peek up from your book, “Are you guys gonna go study in there?” 

He could’ve bust a nut then and there from how fucking innocent you sound. Batting your little eyelashes at him like you’re trying to seduce him without even realising it. He knows he’ll be thinking about you, weepy and on your knees, while the kook girl blows him. Fuck, and if he plays his cards right, he’d have you by the end of the week. And he always plays his cards right. 

“You could call it studying.”

You nod, “OK, well, goodbye then.” You look back down at your book, but risk a glance up at him again, which he finds very amusing. 

“What’s your name, homeschool?” 

You tell him.

He sounds it out, before shooting you one last smile, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Won’t I?”

You give him a puzzled look, but it’s replaced by your usual wide-eyed Bambi stare when he pats your hand, his thumb lingering, stroking your skin. He wonders if you’ve ever even touched someone of the opposite sex before. Judging by how your breath hitches softly, he doubts it. 

Fuck. He can’t wait to ruin you. Play the slow game and enjoy that sweet virgin snatch before any other man ever could. 

That’s what he’s thinking of when he’s got the cheerleader on her knees in front of him. That sweet little look on your face, the look of curiosity mixed with shyness and that little hint of indignation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you. And he would. With proof.

***

Day two. Rafe finds you walking down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest and eyes trained to the floor. Cutest little skirt making your perky ass pop, winking at him enticingly with every step as if you’re deliberately seducing him. Makes him want to slap your cute little ass, reprimand you for teasing him and half the men on campus without even realising it. He wonders what you’d say if he just did it. Spanked you in front of everyone. You’d probably start blubbering like a little baby. He has to forcibly stop picturing it before he gets uncomfortably hard.

You’re alone. As usual.

“Hey, homeschool,” he falls into step beside you, eyebrow raising in amusement when you don’t slow down nor look at him.

“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.” 

“What’re you up to today?” 

“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”

He grabs your wrist, watching as your breath hitches, and yet you still don’t look at him. Damn, what had gotten Bambi so scared?

“You’ve got time to talk to me, don’t you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. And you know it, judging by how you swallow harshly.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be late—” You attempt to tug your little hand out of his grasp but you’re so small and weak that it barely has any effect. 

“C’mon, homeschool. That’s no way to treat your one and only friend.”

He’s walks you into a corner, and he likes how you gape at the wall before turning and looking up at him. He’s so much taller than you, bigger than you in every single way. 

“Rafe, I…” you sigh, shifting from one foot to the other, “My friends said some things…”

“Friends?” You don’t have any.

“Some of the girls I know. They saw us talking yesterday at the library and they…” you sigh, “They said you were probably just playing a joke on me.”

Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. They said there’s no way you’d talk to me for any other reason apart from as a joke. And they…” you bite your lip, looking so cutely distraught and it goes straight to his dick. “They said some other things… about you.” 

Of course they fuckin’ did. Always talking behind his back, but never to his goddamned face. Nothing but a bunch of jealous, gold-digging whores.

He doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you as if he expects you to tell him. And he knows you will. You’re too innocent to keep secrets.

“They said that you… that you’re scary sometimes.”

Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue. 

“That you… that you pick on a lot of us Pogues. E-Especially the boys. That you and your friends bully them.”

He snorts. Bully. What a juvenile word. Sure, he pushed the dipshit Pogues around here and there. They deserved it for all the trouble they ran around town causing, disrupting the natural order of shit. And he could fuck their girls better than they ever could. Especially that fuckin’ idiot JJ Maybank…

“They also said that… never mind.” Again, you try to tug away from him but to no avail.

“Tell me.” He likes how you struggle under his scrutinising gaze.

“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”

“Say it. Now.” 

You lower your voice, “They said you like to use the girls. The pogue girls. Th-That you have a kink for them.” 

The scandalous words have hardly left your mouth before you duck your head down as if embarrassed. God, you were so fucking innocent. Rafe wonders how he should play this. 

“Huh. Is that so?”

“Y-Yeah. One of the girls I talk to… She said that you…” you swallow, biting your lip, “that you’ve been with her and all her friends too. That you tell them all the same thing but it’s always a lie and you just end up using them.”

Rafe nods, “Hmm.”

“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I don’t think we should—“

“That’s funny. I thought you were smart. You know, with all your books and the glasses and shit.”

You blink, “What?”

He shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d go ahead and pass judgement on someone without even getting to know them first.”

“It’s not that–”

“I mean, here I am, wanting to be friends with you. And I’ve been nothin’ but nice, haven’t I?”

He’s still got you backed into a corner, and he watches as you flinch when he emphasises his words. He knows people get intimidated by his intensity, but there’s nothing he hates more than people talking shit behind his back. Especially low-life Pogues. And he likes how scared you look right now, pouty lips all downturned and alarm in your eyes.

“I asked you a question, homeschool.”

“Yes, you’ve been nothing but nice! It’s just, I heard all these things, and–”

“And you chose to believe them.” He steps back abruptly, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

He walks away, about to count to three in his head but you beat the count before he can even begin.

“Rafe, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”

He stops, allows you to catch up.

“You’re right, I…I shouldn’t listen to other people.”

“You shouldn’t.” Rafe agrees, easily taking your heavy textbooks from where you’ve been balancing them in your arms. You gape, but he just continues smoothly: “Where’s your next class?”

You tell him, “But you don’t have to walk with me or anything–”

“I’m your friend, homeschool. That’s what friends do.”

*

Day 3. You’re eating your lunch on a bench outside all by yourself. Rafe’s heading to his car with his friends. They usually cut classes most days to hit the beach or the country club. Rafe doesn’t see the point of college anyways, not when he was poised to inherit all of his father’s businesses, money and property. And with the ideas he had, he’d expand tenfold on whatever Ward was doing now, make a shit ton more money than his old man ever did. That would show him…

 ”How’s the bet coming along, Rafe?” Topper asks.

“Wait till the end of the week.” Is all Rafe says. He doesn’t need to give progress reports to his dumb fuck ass follower friends.

“That means he’s nowhere near cracking that virgin pussy.” Kelce chuckles. “No worries, brother. She looks like she’s got a stick up her ass anyways. Not loose like the rest of the Pogue whores.”

He ignores them as they laugh. But they’re right. You’re not like the rest of the Pogue girls. They’d grown up wild, promiscuous, loose. Trained to catch the attention of a rich Kook like himself, filled with self-serving motivations to marry into money. But he can already tell you’re different. With your cute little outfits and respectful, quiet demeanour. You look like you’d fit in where he was from.

Too bad he was only going to fuck you before discarding you like he did the rest of them.

“I’ll catch you guys later.” He says, making a beeline for you.

“Hey,” he chucks you under the chin, smirking when you jump.

“Oh, hey Rafe.” You look beyond his shoulder, “Your friends are all leaving.”

“Yeah. The waves are good this time of day.”

You gape, “But don’t you have classes?”

He takes a seat next to you, making sure to stretch out while you shrink into yourself. Still so nervous around him. He snickers, “You gonna tell on us?”

You look aghast, “No! I would never–”

“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”

“Oh,” you look embarrassed, “Sorry. Sometimes I–”

“Can’t tell if someone’s joking or not,” Rafe completes, “I remember. I’ll be more straight up with you.”

You nod, and he can tell you’re trying to think of something else to say. But you’re too nervous, too awkward. And so you just bury your head in your book again, all while he watches you. You’ve got a bottle of apple juice and a half-eaten sandwich of some kind on the table next to you. Cut up into little triangles. He bets you’ve done it yourself. Fuckin’ cute.

“You dress cute.” He says, and again, widened Bambi eyes stare up at him. He chuckles, “You know, the little skirts and plaid and shit. It’s cute.”

“Thank you.”

“You do it on purpose?” He can’t help but ask, because he wonders if a part of you knows what you’re doing. Knows you’re dressing like a sexy little angel out of his wettest dreams. All little and cute and innocent, so much smaller than him. Weak. All pastel and pretty, like you’d look so fucking sexy on the back of his bike. On his arm. On his dick.

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say, sounding every bit as innocent as you look. Damn, homeschool must’ve done a number on you. But he likes how sheltered you sound. It gets him so fucking hard, and a part of him almost feels sorry for how primed you are to be taken advantage of. “I wear my mom’s old clothes, or stuff I find in the charity shops.”

He’d had maids and housekeepers who shopped in places like that. He remembers him and his siblings giving them their old clothes once they’d grown out of them.

He nods, “You look pretty.”

Your breath hitches, and you really don’t know how to respond to that, because you slam your book shut and stand up, “I, uh, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”

He watches you leave, distracted by your ass again but not enough to miss the little smile that quirks on your lips as you bid him farewell and walk away.

*

On day 4, Rafe walks up behind you in the busy hallway, pressing his huge hand on your lower back and pushing you into another secluded corner. He smirks when you squeak, but he likes how easily he can push you around because of how weak and small you are.

“Hey.” He told himself he’d take it slow (well, as slow as he could take it in the span of one week) and yet he can’t help but press into you a little bit. It’s innocuous enough, but your eyes widen as per usual, and the feel of your hot little body against his much larger one is enough to give him a boner. It’s how he could easily push you into an empty lecture hall and have his way with you if he so wanted to. Sure, you’d cry and resist at first, but they all gave in in the end. And if someone caught them, he’d pay them off.

Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.

“Hello, Rafe.” You breathe, and he loves how his name sounds when you say it. He imagines you moaning it when he has you on his lap, pressing you down on his dick while you cry and whimper because it’s too much, it’s too big. But your greedy little virgin pussy would take every inch of his fat dick, and he’d do all the work, of course. You’d be too busy crying, and he’d bounce you up and down on his dick while you grabbed at his arms, his hair, his face. He’d tell you to scrape your nails down his back, leave a fucking mark or two so daddy could remember you.

“Come for a drive with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”

Despite your shyness, a fire flashes in your eyes, “I can buy my own lunch!”

He raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, you lower your gaze.

“Sorry, I mean… thank you for your offer, Rafe. But I can buy my own lunch.”

Surprisingly though, you agree to the drive. And he still has his hand pressed against your back, guiding you out to where his car’s parked. You ogle at it, probably never having seen anything as expensive. He wonders if your family even owns a car, or if you even know how to drive. It would be hot if you didn’t, it made you look even more helpless. In need of someone like him to protect you, take care of you. Someone powerful and wealthy like himself.

“Wow, I’ve never been on this side of the island before!” You say, oohing and aahing as you stare out the window. Rafe’s never seen anyone so easily excited by the neighbourhood he’d grown so used to. But he supposes the mansions, sports cars, country clubs and private beaches would be impressive to anyone who hadn’t grown up with easy access to all of that.

“No?”

“No, but my brother’s friend works there, I think.” You point to the vast golf course at the back end of one of the clubs. “He says the tips are really good.”

Rafe frowns. You were talking to other men? No, not you. You were too sweet, too innocent. He was sure he was the only man you spoke to. Or even if you were speaking to others, he doubts a golf caddy pathetically running after balls would be much competition. And yet, he bristles, wanting to change the subject.

“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.

You shake your head, “No. I sometimes tutor some kids in the neighbourhood but nothing permanent. I’d love to have a part-time job with proper wages like the country club or library or something, but my family’s kind of protective of me.”

“Mm?” He’s deliberately being quiet, wanting to hear you talk, wanting to learn more about you.

“Yeah. That’s why I was homeschooled. My mom’s scared someone’s gonna take advantage of me.” You pause, before giggling, “It took a lot to convince her to let me apply for colleges, but I think she’s finally starting to see me as an adult who can make my own decisions and protect myself.”

The irony isn’t lost on Rafe, but he finds himself leaning closer. You have this way of talking, so soft and breathy, yet energetic and full of life at the same time. Like you’re a storybook character, like you’re someone out of this world. Like an angel dropped down from heaven and sent just for him. You’re his type to a tee. God, he wants to fuck you so bad.

“What would your mom say if she knew you were out with me?” His hand creeps up to rest on your knee. You’re wearing jeans, which he doesn’t approve of but he decides to give you a pass since it’s windy today.

You don’t notice his touch anyways; you’re too busy pondering over his question. But there’s a glint in your eye, “Sh-She wouldn’t approve. But that’s only ‘cause she doesn’t know you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, his thumb rubbing circles against the denim of your jeans. “And you do?”

You swallow, finally realising he’s got his hand on you. Surprisingly, you don’t move. It’s almost like you’re frozen, those big fuck me Bambi eyes making a comeback, “Uh…I…We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He smirks, “Yeah. Friends.” His hand creeps up higher, stroking your thigh softly, wishing you were wearing one of your little skirts so he could feel your bare skin. But it’s thrilling anyways, touching your quivering body while you’re defenceless inside his car. He could lock the doors and have his way with you right now. Hell, people outside would get quite the show but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked in public.

Poor little you. Losing your virginity in the front seat of his car. He’d drag you into his lap, bounce you up and down on his cock. But not before making you beg for it first. And you’d cry so fucking bad, because it would hurt. Because he’d promise he’d be gentle but he knows himself, he knows he’d lose control like he always did. Fuck you so goddamned hard, he’d have to lay you down in the backseat afterwards because you wouldn’t be able to stop shaking. Then drive you back to his house, carry you into his bed and have his way with you again. And again. And again.

“Rafe?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”

That grabs his attention, “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, “No reason. I just… Well, you have so many friends. I guess I don’t quite understand why you’re hanging out with me.”

“I like you.” He shifts even closer, his hand steadily stroking your leg while you remain stiff, “Do you like me?”

“H-Huh?”

“You heard me, homeschool.” And yet he knows you’re distracted by his fingers tracing shapes on your thigh. Not random shapes, though. It’s his initials. Over and over again. R.C., he wonders if you can tell.

“I, uh, y-ye–” You’re having trouble getting your words out, and it amuses him. He can see you visibly shaking, and he wonders if it’s out of fear or anticipation. Or both. He leans down, bringing his face close to yours.

“I didn’t quite get that.” He licks his lips at how weak and intimidated you look. “Say it again.”

It’s an order, and you clear your throat, shake your head as if to clear your thoughts.

“Yes,” you whisper, as if it’s something scandalous, “Y-Yes, I like you.”

He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.

“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

He buys you a panini from a little artisan bakery, with a strawberry iced tea and a packet of chocolate hearts with a cherry cream filling. You protest at first, unzipping your bag to pay for yourself, but he’d sooner roll over and die than let a woman pay for anything.

“Toss me one,” he says, and you throw a little cherry-filled truffle at him. He catches it between his teeth, and your eyes light up, clearly impressed.

“Wow, that was cool!”

“C’mere, you’ve got a little something…” He grabs your chin gently, pulling you forward before rubbing his thumb against the side of your lip, wiping away a bit of chocolate. “Messy girl.”

Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him like a good little girl. His thumb lingers, and he wants to press it into your mouth, make you suck the chocolate off it. Then tell you he had something else for you to suck on. Push you down and make you warm his cock with your mouth while he drove you back to campus. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing your head down, making you take his big cock despite you whimpering and panicking because you can’t breathe.

He rubs your lower lip with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. You clear your throat, snapping out of whatever reverie you’ve been in, straighten up against the seat and put your seatbelt on. You still look like you’re in a daze, however, and he wonders if you’re wet from him wiping your face clean.

“I-uh-we should head back please, if that’s okay?” you say, voice slightly shaky as you avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t want to miss my afternoon class.”

He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”

That makes you smile, and you shrug shyly. It almost enamours him.

He gets you back to campus on time, and you give him a little wave before you jump out of his car and walk inside. And god, it’s insane how hot you are. Even in your jeans, which have cute little embroidered flowers on the butt. Makes your ass look insane. Like it’s begging to be grabbed, smacked, fucked.

He breathes out heavily through his nose, slumping back against his seat. His dick is uncomfortably hard. God, you didn’t even realise how much you’d teased him tonight. Sitting tight and pretty in the passenger seat of his car, so quiet and pretty. So innocently impressed by Figure 8, and by him. How shy you’d been when you’d admitted that you liked him…

He gets his phone out, blindly texting one of the desperate girls on his phone. He needs a release. And he’d be thinking of you the whole time.

*

On day 5, Rafe tells you to give him your number. From his peripheral, he can see a bunch of Pogues whispering and watching while he takes your phone and puts his number in.

“Have your little friends been talking more shit about me?”

You flinch. He can’t help the intensity of his tone sometimes, and he’s noticed you never swear and, like a jumpy little mouse, probably feel intimidated when he does.

“No, I haven’t really spoken to them in a while.”

Rafe grins, “Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”

He saves his number on your phone before pressing it into your back pocket for you. You gape, eyes darting around to see if anyone saw. He wonders just how prim and proper you are, and how quickly he could get you to come undone once he got you comfortable and behind closed doors.

“You’re not too busy to text me, right?”

You smile, looking down and fidgeting with your binder. He notices you’ve got little stickers on it, like cupcakes and hearts and shit. What a fuckin’ baby.

“Text you? I don’t really– I have to a test tomorrow that I need to study for.”

But he knows you’ll text him. They always did. You weren’t any different.

“What are you smiling at?” Kelce asks, pulling up beside him as Rafe watches you head into your next class.

Immediately, he straightens his face, “Nothing man.”

“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”

He snorts, “You wish. I have standards.”

“You sure about that?”

He whips his head sharply to stare down at his friend, “You want me to repeat myself?”

Rafe doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in Kelce’s eyes. They’d never admit it, but he knows his friends are afraid of him. Of his mood swings, his unpredictability. He doesn’t care. In fact, he prefers it this way. They weren’t like him, they were weak-minded, beneath him. He kept them around because of semantics, because of who their parents were and who his dad was. And because they proved to be minorly useful sometimes when he needed help to get shit done.

All the girls he’d been with had been afraid of him too. When he fucked them, he often lost control. But it turned him on, how they’d swallow their fear in case they offended him, or set him off. Once, he’d fucked a girl who just wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, he’d showed her his gun right before he’d bent her over, but it was her problem if she was frightened by something as mundane as that.

You weren’t scared of him. Yet. Intimidated, sure. But he’d kept that side of him well under wraps when it came to you. You were too sweet, too pure. And you were a good girl, incapable of crossing him in any form. He didn’t have to scare you to get what he wanted from you. No, you’d give it to him, like the good little girl you were. Naïve, innocent little girl.

*

Rafe: Hey.

Y/N: Hi, Rafe. How are you?

He finds himself smiling at his screen. There’s a party going on downstairs, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It’s the same thing every other night. His friends showing up at his house and bringing along a whole entourage of people he doesn’t give a fuck about. Sarah used to do it a lot before she moved out, invite her fuck ass Pogue friend group into his house as if they were ever welcome there.

Rafe didn’t want any Pogues inside his house. Unless they were girls that he intended to sleep with. But he appreciated it when they showed themselves out once he was done using them.

Rafe: What are you up to?

A minute passes by, then another one. Fuck, he hates that you’re making him wait. What a fuckin’ tease. He wonders for the hundredth time if you’re doing it on purpose. No, not you. You’re too innocent.

Y/N: Nothing, I just finished cleaning my room. Wbu?

It’s insane how the visual of that gets his dick hard in less than a second. The thought of you doing something as domestic as cleaning. The good little college girl, who went home straight after school and spent her evenings dusting and vacuuming or whatever it was that cleaning entailed. Unlike the Kook sluts his friends were probably fucking downstairs. They were pathetic party girls who’d easily spread their legs for a line or two.

He calls you, losing patience with this texting bullshit. He runs a hand through his hair impatiently when you don’t immediately pick up, huffing and gulping down the remaining whiskey in his glass. Slamming it down on his desk when you still don’t pick up. Fucking tease. He grabs a baggie from one of the drawers, prepares a neat line; despite promising himself he wouldn’t do it tonight. Fuck that. Ten seconds have passed; you still haven’t picked up. He snorts it quickly, about to throw his phone out the fucking window, except you choose that moment to pick up.

“H-Hello?”

“Hi,” he sounds slightly breathless, but who the fuck cared. He refills his glass with more whiskey, taking a sip to calm himself down. “Took your time to pick up, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say hastily, “I got distracted.”

He feels a sudden surge of jealousy so violent, he doesn’t know how to act for a moment. Distracted by fucking what?

“The lights went out, so I had to go reset them,” you explain, and he barks out a laugh. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Y-You sound kinda breathless, Rafe,” you say, “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” He downs his drink and sets it aside before his hand slips down. God, you sound so hot. All breathy and innocent, even just over the phone. “Tell me what you were doing.”

A pause, and then you force out a chuckle, “I told you, I just finished cleaning.”

“What like vacuuming and shit?”

“Yes.”

Over the years, Rafe had slept with a number of maids Ward had hired on multiple occasions. He’d fucked Wheezie’s babysitter a few years ago, the housekeeper too. His father had a knack for hiring hot Pogue girls, and maybe that’s where Rafe’s kink for them started.

He could imagine you working for him – he’d make you wear the sexiest little barely-there maid outfit. You wouldn’t question it because you were too innocent. With your little feather duster, trying to clean except you’d be too small to reach certain areas. Fuck, he wouldn’t last five seconds in the same room as you. And he wouldn’t have to because you’d be his hired help, his property. He’d have you bent over his desk, fuck you so hard till you couldn’t stop shaking, till you were crying like a baby and apologising for not focusing on cleaning all while he carried you up to his bedroom. Locked you up in there so nobody else could see you. His girl. All his.

“Uh, Rafe?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.

A pause.

“Really?” You clear your throat, “Where are you? I can hear music.”

“Shit, yeah. Like, there’s a party or whatever going on downstairs. My friends came over unannounced.”

“Oh.” He can sense a level of dejection in your tone. He bets you’re thinking about it, thinking how it’s just a reminder that he has his own group of Kook friends. And you’d never be one of them. You’d never truly fit in. You were either one or the other. Hell, Sarah had proven that when she’d transitioned into the slums. But maybe there was a way to bring you into his world, a way that would stick.

He has to forcibly shake his head to remind himself you’re just part of a stupid bet.

“I’d rather speak to you than them.”

 “That’s not true, Rafe.”

“I like how you say my name.” He’s palming his dick now, knowing he’s treading over the line and could easily scare you off now if he’s not careful. But fuck being careful. He’s never really been careful before in his life. He hasn’t had to be. “An’ I’m serious. I told you, I like you.”

“Rafe, I… I just can’t shake the feeling that–”

“That what?” He spits into his palm before resuming touching himself. And shit, he doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s really just the sound of your voice that’s got him so goddamned horny. He wonders if you’ve ever touched yourself before. If you even knew how to.

“That you’re just playing a big joke on me. I mean, even the people from the Cut think I’m this weird, homeschooled freak.” You laugh, but he can tell you don’t find it funny, “It’s just hard to believe that you’d want to be my friend.”

“They think I’m a freak too,” he says, being honest for once. “Only difference is they don’t talk shit about me because they know I’d kill them.”

“You’re funny, Rafe.”

You’re too innocent to realise he’s not kidding. Not in the least.

“And if anyone says anything about you, I’ll kill them too. I’m serious.” Fuck, he feels like his dick’s gonna goddamn explode. The thought of protecting you like that, like he was responsible for you. Like you were all cute and helpless and he was the one taking care of shit, the one protecting you. That’s all he’s done his whole life, take care of shit and get shit done. And nobody’s ever fucking appreciated him for it.

“Well, thank you, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stick up for me like that.”

He likes how you keep saying his name now that he’s told you he likes it when you say it. Means you’d be real good at taking instructions. He can imagine telling you what to do when he finally has you in his bed. Order you to get on your hands and knees. Then he’d spread your cute little ass, eat you from the back while you moaned his name over and over, thanking him for taking care of you, weeping how much you appreciate him, how much he means to you. How much you need him.

“A-Are you still there?”

“Shit, yeah. Yeah, I am.” His dick’s red and painfully hard, and he’s still trying to pump it steadily but now he’s imagining your tight little virgin cunt wrapped around it. Soft like velvet, warm and wet. Pulsating around him. Never had even a finger up there but you’d take his big dick, because he owned you, because he was your protector, because you were too weak and helpless without him, and–

“Could you, uh, fuck, say my name again,” he orders you, not caring in the least if he scares you off.

“Rafe?”

He cums into his fist like a goddamned teenage boy, biting down to keep from making any noise. God fucking dammit, you’d listened again. What a good fucking girl. He wants to tell you that, tell you how good you were for him just now, how obedient and submissive you were without even realising it.

“If you’re busy, it’s okay and you can go,” you say softly.

“No, wait…” he clears this throat, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his desk. He can’t believe you hadn’t caught on to him jacking off. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to come over tomorrow? To hang out?”

“Like, uh, at your house?”

“Yeah.” He needs you in private, needs you on his turf where he can control just about everything. God, was it even about the bet anymore? Or just this newfound fucking irrevocable need to fuck you just for his own personal satisfaction? Maybe both.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a guy’s house before.”

That just makes him even more determined to be your first.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can go after your classes finish or whatever, and I’ll drive you home afterwards.”

“Rafe…”

He shuts his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of your voice. He wonders if he can get you to call him daddy. God fucking dammit, just the idea of that was getting him hard again.

“Look, we’ll order some food, watch TV. Whatever you want. It’ll be fun. And it’s what friends do.”

That last part gets to you. He can tell. He knows how badly you want to have friends. He knows you’ve never had any. Not good, permanent ones like you saw in movies and TV shows. Hell, Rafe’s not sure he himself has real friends. But he doesn’t care. The idea of friendship means nothing to him. He’s best when he’s on his own because nobody else could be trusted. But what is important is having a girl like you in his bed. A girl like you who looks up to him with shining eyes, like he’s your goddamned entire world. A girl he plucked up from poverty and saved, and you’d appreciate him more than anyone in his dumb fucking family ever did.

“Say yes,” he all but orders you, but he already knows the answer before you say it.

“O-Okay, yeah. Yes, that sounds like fun. I’d love to come.”

*

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Topper frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “You were supposed to bring the, you know…”

Rafe rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s friends with a fucking loser who can’t even say the word coke. That’s why nobody on the goddamned island wanted to sell to Topper. Hell, even Barry refused to.

“I have plans.” Rafe answers, checking his watch for the tenth time. Your final class of the day was due to end any minute now, and he couldn’t wait to get you into his house.

“What plans? You were gonna help me with Sarah tonight.” Topper was a whiny fucking bitch, but even Rafe had to admit he was a better fit for his sister than that lowlife John B.

“I’m not helping you with shit, man.” He mutters disinterestedly, although he had promised a few nights ago that he’d help him. He’d been high as a fucking kite, though. So it didn’t exactly count. “Look, she’ll get bored eventually when she realises his broke ass can’t provide shit for her. Then she’ll come crawling back.”

Topper shakes his head, “No, Sarah’s not materialistic like that.”

Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”

“Well, speaking of broke, how’s it going with that homeschool girl? You guys sure seem to be hanging out a lot.”

“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”

“What?”

Rafe corners his friend against a wall, relishing the immediate fear in his eyes, “I seem to remember you placing a bet a week ago.”

“Well, yeah, but –”

“So why the fuck,” he hits the locker lightly behind Topper’s head, “are you asking me about hanging out with her a lot?”

“Chill, dude. It’s just,” he looks hesitant, scared as he’s barely able to make eye contact, “It’s okay if you like her, you know?”

Rafe feels a wave of emotion, something he can’t quite pinpoint. And that makes him mad, because what the fuck was he feeling? He has to clench his fists by his side to stop from slapping the taste out of Topper’s mouth. Why did him bringing you up irritate him so much? Jesus, reign it the fuck in.

He takes a deep breath and steps back, forcing a chuckle, “You think I’m gonna slum it like that?”

Topper grins nervously, as if Rafe hadn’t had him pinned against a locker like a little bitch just a second ago. He straightens up, “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret what your type is.”

Rafe laughs, and Topper relaxes and joins in after a moment or two. That’s when Rafe slams him against the locker again.

“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Topper. I may fuck a Pogue but I’d never date one. Got that?”

“Yes, okay, Jesus Christ, man.” Topper pushes Rafe off him and backs off, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

That’s when Rafe starts laughing again. “I will, pussy.”               

Topper fucks off after that. Sometimes, Rafe wonders what his deal is. He acted up in front of the rest of the group, then tried to act all sensitive and understanding in private. Like Rafe had time for that shit. And how dare Topper insinuate that Rafe had feelings for you? Hell would freeze over before he ever caught feelings for a Pogue.

He realises a bunch of people are staring at him. Goddamit. Fuck all of them. When he was younger, Ward had sent him to see a therapist once a week. He’d quit going once he’d realised it was everyone else who was the problem, and not him. But one thing the shrink had taught him that had stuck was to breathe slowly and count to ten whenever he felt angry or overwhelmed.

That’s what he’s doing when you arrive.

“Hey, Rafe. I’m sorry I’m late. The professor held me back.”

“Why?” He barks out before he can contain himself. He’s already on edge, and now some dumbass professor is keeping you back in class because you undoubtedly get his old, shrivelled dick hard and you’re too innocent to even realise it.

You blink, “He really liked the essay I submitted last week. He even said he wants to use it as an example for his other classes!”

“That’s great,” Rafe plasters a smile on his face but he’s only half listening, “Let’s go.”

He calms down some as he guides you out of the hallway and toward the parking lot. He almost grabs your hand when it gets a bit too crowded, but remembers himself just in time. He couldn’t be caught holding hands with a Pogue. It was too intimate, and like he’d said to Topper, he’d never let it get to that point with a Pogue. Instead, he places his hand on your lower back and pushes you forward. You smile at him, and it goes straight to his… well, not his dick, surprisingly. But it goes somewhere within him, and he feels it again. Something he doesn’t really recognise or know how to deal with. So he forcibly pushes it back inside himself.

“You look cute,” he says once he’s got you outside and there’s more room to breathe. You look like an angel in the afternoon sunlight, dressed in the cutest little sundress he’s ever seen. It’s this pinkish-orange, like the colour of the sunset, and you’ve got matching ribbons in your hair. Like you’ve really made an effort to get all dressed up just to go to his house.

“Thanks,” you look down as if you’re embarrassed, like you don’t know how to take a compliment, “It’s my mom’s dress.”

“It’s really pretty,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and looking away.

He gets you to his car, lifting you up by your waist and helping you into it. And that turns him on so much, how small and sweet you look. Like a little fairy in his arms. None of the other girls were like you. Not at all. He wonders what you’re wearing underneath, and feels his cock thicken in his slacks with anticipation when he realises he was probably going to find out today.

You don’t say anything when he pulls up into the driveway of his house. Ward had fucked off on some business trip and taken Wheezie and Rose with him so he had the place to himself. That’s how he liked it best, it gave him space to think and breathe without the constant noise of his family. Well, Wheezie was an exception. He didn’t mind her too much.

“Wait here,” he says, getting out the car and walking around to open the door for you. You allow him to lift you out again, this time your hands landing on his shoulders. And it’s fucking insane how that tiny, voluntary touch does things to him that no other girl has ever done before.

Now, he doesn’t think twice before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the large, ornate wooden double doors. You’re distracted anyways, eyes wide as saucers as you ogle the mansion that Rafe’s never thought twice about. But he reckons it’s a step or two above whatever shacks the people from the Cut lived in, so he allows you to remain silent and let it sink in.

Finally, you exhale slowly, “This is… uh… wow. I can’t believe there’s people in this world who live like this.”

Rafe smirks, squeezing your hand, “Yeah. Do you want a drink?”

He leads you to the bar in the corner of the living room, again lifting you up and placing you on one of the stools. You giggle, “I can climb on myself, you know.”

“Yeah? You seem to like it when I pick you up, though.”

He winks, and notes how you duck your head and smile shyly, your hands wringing together on your lap like you’re nervous. God, you were so fucking cute.

“What’s your usual drink of choice?” He asks, going behind the island to inspect the liquor. His friends had gone through a lot of it at the party the night before, but the house help had restocked everything this morning.

You blink, “Um, water?”

He stifles a laugh, pouring himself his usual whiskey with ice, “You’re a good girl, huh?”

“I tried some of my mom’s wine once but it tasted horrible,” you shrug, “I don’t know why people like it so much.”

“Try this.” He pours you a Peach Schnapps with lemonade and ice, “It’s sweet like you.”

You hesitate, but end up taking it. And he watches as you take a tentative sip, and he knows you like it because you take another one. And then another. He can’t help but feel proud for introducing you to your first alcoholic drink.

“You’re not as bad as people say you are,” you say out of nowhere, and his expression immediately sours.

“People have been talking about me to you?”

“No, it’s just the stuff I’ve heard. Like what I told you before. But it can’t be true, because you’re so nice to me so it just doesn’t add up.”

He grips his glass tight, about to lose it because yet again people were talking shit about him behind his back and never to his fucking face. Because they were all a bunch of pussies who knew he’d beat the shit out of them or kill them if they said anything to his face. But then you speak again.

“Do you always drink after school?”

“Huh?”

“Like, alcohol. Do you drink a lot? Like every day?”

“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”

He takes you out to the patio, where the sun is shining and you look so fucking pretty in your little sundress. Like you fit right into his world, next to the pool with a drink in your hand, sat next to him and looking at him with sparkling eyes as if he was your god. He wonders if you’ve naturally grown more comfortable with him through the course of the week, or if it’s just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol, since no one was ever really comfortable around him.

Either way, he puts his hand on your leg just like he had a few days ago in his car. Your breath hitches, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you opt to take another sip of your drink, and he wonders if he can get you drunk tonight. Shit, did he even want to? It was no fun fucking a drunk girl.

“Tell me more about you,” he strokes the soft skin of your bare thigh, feeling your goosebumps underneath the pads of his fingers. “You ever had a boyfriend or anything?”

Your eyes widen, “No. I, uh, you don’t tend to meet any guys when you’re homeschooled.” Embarrassed, you giggle before looking away. He reaches out, grabbing your chin lightly and making you look at him again. Fuck, your lips were so sexy. So pouty and perfect, begging to be kissed. “What about…what about you? Have you had any girlfriends?”

He shrugs, “A few.”

You nod, “Of course you have. That was a stupid question. Sorry, I forget not everyone’s as far behind in life as I am.”

“You’re not far behind.” He says, although you are and he prefers it that way.

“I am. Every other girl my age has had all the experiences you’re supposed to have. Drinking, partying, boys, all of it.” You sigh, “Sometimes I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ll never catch up.”

Rafe inches his hand upwards, till he reaches the hem of your dress halfway up your thigh. He plays with the fabric, and he can tell you’re acutely aware of what he’s doing. You don’t make a move to stop him, but you do press your legs together.

“There’s still plenty of time to catch up,” he says softly, “I can help you.”

You smile up at him, holding up your drink, “You already have. I’d never drank with friends before now.”

“Congratulations,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, “To one of many firsts.”

He downs his drink and so do you, and he’s quick to get a refill for both of you. He’s guessing you’re a lightweight, and again the thought of getting you drunk crosses his mind. But that would be way too easy.

“I’m capping you after this one,” he says, handing you your second Peach Schnapps.

You giggle, “Are you gonna cap yourself too?”

“No.” He chucks you under the chin again, “But, see, I’m not a baby.”

“Hey!”

He kisses you. And shit, he hadn’t planned on catching you so off-guard. Hell, he’s caught himself off-guard. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help how kissable your lips looked, all pouty and bitten. And you taste like cherry lip gloss mixed with peaches and lemonade, and you’re so pliant underneath him, and he’s kissed a shit ton of girls but it’s never felt like this.

You pull away with a start, shocked as you stare up at him. Breathing hard and biting your goddamned lips before they turn into the shape of an o.

“I’m sorry,” Rafe says, although he’s not, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I first saw you.”

Your breathing is shallow, and with a shaky hand you put your glass down on the crystal table in front of you. “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”

You swallow, “I don’t want this to be like, a pity thing.”

Rafe exhales slowly, “You’re here in front of me in this tiny fuckin” dress, acting all cute and innocent and you think I want to kiss you out of pity?”

Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”

He kisses you again. And sure, maybe he should’ve asked permission since it’s, well, your first kiss. But frankly he’s never had to ask permission to do anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start now. The way he sees it, you wouldn’t have worn a slutty dress and agreed to come to his house if you didn’t want him to make a move on you.

Again, you pull away, “Rafe, I– don’t… I don’t know how to kiss, I’m sorry–”

He cups your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours again. Just to feel your soft, quivering lips against his confident ones. He kisses you once, twice, three times. Coaxing you to open your mouth, to let him in. Fuck, a part of him just wants to shove his tongue down your fucking throat, show you what it means to really be kissed. But he’s already pushing his luck right now.

“I’ll teach you,” he says, “But you need to do exactly what I say, okay?”

He can’t believe his goddamned luck when you nod. God, you were just so fucking hot, prancing around his house in your little dress, all impressed by his riches and shit, drinking your drink he made you like a good little girl, and now here you were, agreeing to whatever he said.

He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “Wh-What?”

Rafe smirks, “Didn’t you just agree to do exactly what I say?”

He’s surprised with the amount of patience he has with you. If you were another girl, he’d have thrown your ass out to the curb for asking too many annoying questions. Or bent you over, shoved your face into a pillow to shut you up and had his way with you. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count over the years. He was aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than you and every other girl, and that fact turned him on more than anything. The fact that he could, if he wanted to, completely take advantage of you however he wanted. And all you’d be able to do is cry and beg him to stop, which would just turn him on more.

“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”

Easily, he grabs your hips and lifts you up onto his lap, makes you straddle him with one leg on either side of him. Your dress is just about long enough to still cover your modesty, but now he’s acutely aware of your panty-covered pussy just inches away from reach. Fuck, he wonders what kind of panties you’re wearing, and if you’d let him look…

“There. Comfy?”

“Well, I guess, but…”

He pulls you into another kiss, this time catching you mid-sentence so he’s able to slip his tongue into your mouth. And you’re so fucking shy, just rigid while he explores your mouth. But he doesn’t mind. You taste so fucking sweet, and it’s getting him so hard, knowing he’s the first man you’ve let touch you like this, kiss you like this.

He can feel your breath hitch as he strokes your face, his thumbs running across your cheeks before his hand tangles into your hair. He yanks you closer, grazing his teeth against your plump bottom lip. You gasp, and he chuckles into your open mouth. His tongue plays with yours, coaxing you to kiss him back, but not really caring too much if you don’t.

And god, he wants to thrust up into you so bad. You’re sitting right on top of his fucking hard dick, and you don’t even seem to realise it. In fact, you shift around, that cute little peachy ass rubbing against his boner, and he wonders if you even know what a boner is.

When you pull away this time, your eyes are bright and excited. And he loves how he’s kissed the gloss off your lips, and how he can still taste you on his tongue.

“Wow, that was…” you giggle, breathless yet excited from finally having your first kiss, “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but that was good!”

Rafe has to crack a smile at your innocence, and his hand lands on your bare thigh, tracing his initials on it again, “Yeah? You like kissing me?”

“I…um… yeah I do,” you say shyly, before closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, “Could we uh, could we try again? Could I try?”

Well, shit. He’s never devoted this much time and energy into just kissing a girl, but his dick grows even harder at how you’ve plucked up the courage to ask him that. And so he simply nods and sits back, lets you figure out what it is you want to do.

Your cute little hands hold on to his broad shoulders shyly. And you lean up, fluttering your eyes closed like it’s some kind of fairytale for you and you’re the little princess kissing her prince charming. It’s part enamouring, part pathetic. But Rafe feels it again, that unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest. He shakes out of it, focusing on your plump lips that hesitantly press against yours.

He sits still; lets you explore his mouth. Your tongue pokes out, swipes against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick. And then he’s kissing you back, because he doesn’t have the goddamned willpower to just sit there and do nothing. There’s an animal inside of him and you’ve awoken it, more than any drug or alcohol ever could.

And he gets rougher, biting your lip till you gasp into his mouth. His hands slip up and down your bare arms before he takes your hand, squeezes it before pressing it down on his chest, wanting you to touch him, feel how much bigger he is than you.

“Good girl,” he mutters when you don’t move your hand, and then he fingers the hem of your dress. “Gonna let me touch you a little bit?”

“Rafe, maybe not too much–”

“C’mon, princess, you have to touch while you’re making out, right? That’s lesson number two.” He distracts you with another rough kiss, grabbing your jaw and squeezing while he brings you closer to his mouth. Kissing down your jaw and neck before returning to your lips, smirking when you squeak out a little involuntary moan. That’s when he slips his hand up your dress and cups your ass. Perfect little handful of your bubble butt, and he gives it a little squeeze to test the waters. You’re too distracted with kissing him, and so he squeezes harder. God, so fuckin’ soft and pliable, just like how he’d imagined.

“Nice ass,” he murmurs against your lips, and that’s what jolts you out of it. He curses inwardly when you pull away, pushing against his chest when he doesn’t immediately stop. And a part of him knows how easy it would be to just pin you down on this fucking sofa and have his way with you. Tell you how it’s your fault for wearing this fucking dress, your fault for seducing him in his own home, acting so sexy and innocent and getting him so riled up. Teasing him with your shy little kisses and squeaks till he had no choice but to hold you down and fuck you.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you slide off his lap, straightening your dress, “I just… I got overwhelmed.”

He blinks, and he’s this close to pulling you back on top of him, telling you he didn’t give you permission to stop, that you had to listen to him because this was his house and he’d been kind enough to invite you over. And he could make you feel so good, if you just stopped being a goddamned little prude.

Instead, he forces a smile, “You’re a pretty good kisser for someone who claims she’s never done it before.”

You beam, relaxing immediately, “Oh, you’re just saying that. I bet I was really bad.”

“My memory’s kinda foggy, I think you’re gonna have to remind me,” he pulls you back into him, and you giggle as he presses light kisses on your lips, his arm going around your shoulders while your hands tangle into his hair.

It doesn’t go any further than that, though. You stop him when he tries to touch you again, and a part of him wants to slam his fist down on the glass patio table in frustration. And yet, something stops him from just overpowering you and taking what he wants. No, that would be too easy. He’s about to crack you, he can tell from the way you look at him with those big eyes, now full of trust and comfort. He just needs more time.

Too bad he only had one day left to complete the goddamned bet.

“You should come over again,” he says when he’s done up your seatbelt for you in his car. He finds he likes doing all that shit – opening the door for you, lifting you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt into place, all of it. A stark difference from other girls, where often he’s tossed their clothes at them and motioned for them to leave after he’s done hooking up with them.

“That sounds nice,” you say, waiting for him to come round and get into the driver’s seat, “And I told you; you don’t have to drive me all the way home. I could’ve just got the bus.”

He blinks. He didn’t realise buses even functioned in Figure 8, but either way, he can’t have you on a public bus. Especially not in that dress, where every man would be leering at you and you’d be none the wiser about it. The control freak in him is itching to be let out, to tell you exactly what you were and weren’t allowed to wear in public, tell you how you weren’t allowed to speak to any men except him. And you weren’t allowed to argue or contest any of this, because he was in charge of you now, and–

“No buses,” he says firmly, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drives, “Anyways, come over again tomorrow. We can go in the pool or whatever.”

He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”

He glances at you, “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

You laugh nervously, “Uh, I’m not too great with water. I don’t really swim or anything.”

Rafe has to do a double-take, “You realise you live on an island?”

Even he knew that every child born in Kildare could swim before they could even walk. It’s just the way it was. They were surrounded by water. Rafe doesn’t even remember learning how to swim; it was almost like he knew how to do it by default.

“I know how to swim, I just don’t like water,” you say, and there’s something off about your tone. Something he can’t pinpoint, but you turn to the side and look out the window. Silent for the rest of the drive. Rafe doesn’t push it, although your odd behaviour has piqued his curiosity.

It’s only when he’s pulling up into the pitiful dirt road of a street where your house is situated that you clear your throat.

“Look, Rafe, you’re my friend now. And I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. I’m sorry I was so quiet just now.”

Cute. He likes how much you apologise to him. It shows how respectful you are, how much you respected him as an authority figure.

“That’s okay,” he says.

You take a deep breath, “I used to go out in the water a lot when I was younger. With my dad. He had a boat, and I would help him. But…”

Your voice trails off for a moment. Rafe thinks he knows where this is going, and a part of him is touched you’d share something like this with him. A tiny, obscure part of him, that is. He can’t help but squeeze your leg reassuringly, and you clear your throat again and blink several times. Like you’re trying not to cry. And Rafe’s never had the patience for emotional chicks, but it’s different with you.

You force out a little laugh, “I don’t want to go into details. But one time we were out pretty far, and the weather was bad. Like, really bad. The waves were rough and…” You swallow, looking down into your lap and wringing your hands together, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “And… Well, I was fine but… my dad…”

Shaking your head, you don’t say anymore. You don’t have to. Your eyes are wet and glistening, the muscles in your face working overtime to stop the tears from coming out. He parks the car in front of your house, turning to face you. He’s never been in a situation like this before, and he’s not sure how to act.

Fiercely, you wipe away the one or two rogue tears that have escaped down your cheeks, “It happened so long ago, I barely remember it. But I’ve been scared of the water ever since.”

He nods, “It’s just you and your mom now?”

“Yes. And my brothers. But they’re always working, so it’s just me and her. That’s why she’s so protective of me… I, uh, I don’t have a dad anymore.”

Rafe knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but he can’t fathom ever talking about it or voicing his feelings on it or some shit like that. His loser therapist had tried to get him to talk about his mother, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. It was just muscle memory at this point, to force any thoughts of her straight out of his mind. It was easier that way. And now, it was like he could barely remember her. And he hated it, but it made it easier too.

He’s never been good at comforting anyone else. And a part of him is glad you’re not sobbing your eyes out right now, because he’s not sure how he’d handle that. So he’s happy when you clear your throat again and smile up at him.

“I’m not sure why I told you that, I’ve never had a friend to tell that to before. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Rafe.”

What the hell had he done to make you so trusting of him in the span of less than a week? God, you were like an innocent little angel, sitting in his car all tiny and vulnerable. Making him feel like a goddamned fucking monster for the thoughts he had towards you, what he planned to do with you. Suddenly, the bet feels so stupid and insignificant. God, this was why Rafe didn’t speak to the women he fucked. They went all emotional on him, and now he wasn’t sure how to act.

“I feel comfortable around you too,” he says carefully. He’s never been great with his words, but he grabs your hands that continue to wring nervously together. His big, warm hand dwarfing your tiny ones, and he realises you’re shaking. And there’s a part of him that wants to protect you against everything. Take you back to his place, lock you up in his room so he could keep an eye on you and keep you away from anything and anyone who could ever hurt you and make you cry.

Even if the only person who could hurt you the most right now is Rafe himself.

You leave after that, thanking him again and again for giving you a lift home. He wants to walk you to your door, but you run off quickly, and his mind’s too distracted to follow you. He drives off once he sees you’ve safely closed your front door behind you, his mind moving a million miles per minute.

Jesus Christ, why’d you have to go and open up to him like that? This would be so much fucking easier if you hadn’t done that. He hates that he should know better, that he knows that he should leave you alone. You were too innocent, too vulnerable for his bullshit; to be caught in the middle of some dumbass bet he’d made with his friends. God dammit, he hates himself for agreeing to that stupid bet, seems so fucking juvenile looking back. Wished he’d picked a different girl at the very least, someone not as lovely a you.

Most of all, he hates himself because he knows that despite everything he’s just found out about you, he still has every intention of fucking you. Daddy issues and a phobia of water. It was almost like fate was handing you to him on a silver platter. He had to fuck you. He’d figure out the rest later.

*

Kelce: One day left, loverboy.

Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.

Rafe mutes the groupchat before throwing his phone aside. He’d goddamn throttle his friends if they were in front of him right now. Sometimes, he gets these violent tendencies. He doesn’t really know what to make of them except it feels good to have some kind of release. Usually that comes in the form of pushing around a sorry ass Pogue, but that option’s not really available right now.

Instead, he searches blindly for the coke he’s stashed in his bedside drawer. Again, he’d promised himself he’d cut down, but this was just to take the edge off. It didn’t count. Not really.

He wonders what you’d think if you knew how often he took drugs. Well, you wouldn’t because he’d keep you well away from that part of his life. Even when he made you his girlfriend, he’d keep you separate from all the partying. And he’d never allow you to even look at any type of Class A drug. And who knows, maybe he’d become better for you, maybe he’d go stone cold sober if you wanted him to.

That makes him laugh. Going sober for a Pogue. It was insane of him to even consider it.

Again, he has to remind himself to take his emotions out of it. All you were was a stupid Pogue, and a part of a bet he was going to goddamned fulfil. And he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything more of it. He may have had a momentary lapse of judgement yesterday, but today was a new day, the last day of the week he had to fuck you.

How? He wasn’t too sure. Reports of a storm meant you couldn’t come to his house again like how he’d planned. Even now, Rafe could hear the harrowing winds outside. Like a goddamned cyclone. And the rain pelting down unforgivingly, and the distant roar of the sea, waves crashing like they’d taken on a life of their own.

The weather on the island was usually all sunshine, but once in a blue moon a storm would hit like now. Residents were always told to wait it out and stay inside. For Rafe, that meant copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a girl or two to keep him company. But the idea of fucking anyone that isn’t you right now makes him sick.

He thinks about texting you, but what would be the goddamned point? If he couldn’t physically be with you today? He knows the weak, pussy part of his mind just wants to talk to you in whatever form he can. But he needs to bury that bullshit down deep inside him and never back, and–

His phone vibrates. It’s you. And he hates how he feels his heart jump to his fucking throat. You’ve called him all on your own, which means you were thinking about him like how he was thinking about you.

“Rafe?” You sound sexy like you always do, all breathy and weak and needy. A bit panicked too.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry I called you, I just… How are you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m fine. You wanna talk?”

“No. I mean, yes. Oh, I… Rafe, I’m sorry. You’re probably busy.”

“Hey, calm down.” Rafe barely recognises the gentle quality of his voice as he straightens up, “What’s wrong, princess?”

“I’m scared.”

You say it so softly, with an air of embarrassment and shame, that at first he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying. But then he does, and something kicks in inside him. This innate need to protect you. You sound so small and needy on the phone, and you called him. You need him.

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“No, no. Oh, Rafe, it’s the storm. It keeps getting worse.”

He chuckles in relief that you weren’t in any immediate danger, “Well, shit. Yeah. Looks pretty wild, huh?”

“I hate it,” you whimper softly, “and I’m sorry I called. But my mom’s stuck at work, and my brothers are crashing somewhere else. So it’s just me, and, and…”

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but it comes naturally with you. “As long as you stay inside, the storm should pass. Just watch TV or something.”

“The lights are gonna go off any second,” you sniffle, “They always do when the weather gets bad.”

They did? Rafe never noticed shit like that. Then again, he doubts you had the luxury of backup generators where you lived. He pauses.

“Gimme twenty minutes. I’ll come over.”

“No!” You say quickly, “Rafe, it’s too dangerous.”

He snorts. He’d been in far more dangerous situations than a little bad weather. But the less you knew about that, the better. “I think I’ll be okay, princess.”

“B-But we’re not allowed out. You’ll get a fine.”

Rafe can’t count on one hand how many times he’d been fined by the dumbass police on this goddamned island over some petty bullshit reason or another. A fine meant nothing to someone with money. He was above the law, and most people on this island knew it.

“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”

Rafe actually enjoys driving in the storm. The roads are deserted, and he can speed without worrying about anything else. And he does speed, and he runs more than one red light too. Gets to your house quicker than he thought he would. Past all the other tiny shacks all boarded up because they weren’t built well enough to withstand the storm.

“Rafe! You came!”

You sound like a fucking needy little baby, but something pulls at his heart when you hug him harder than you ever have before. And you’re so small, on your tippy toes so your arms reach around his neck. Automatically, his arms wind around your waist and he holds you close, and he can feel you trembling, your face buried in his chest as you hold on to him tightly.

“Yeah. Roads were empty. Didn’t take long.” He mutters, looking around the inside of your house. Pitiful. And pitch black, because you were right, the power had gone out. He hates that you live here. You’d fit in so much better at Tannyhill, in a pretty pink silk dressing gown and dripping with diamonds he’d buy for you. And you’d be so thankful for him, tell everyone that he saved you, how well he took care of you. How he gave you everything you could ever want, and how much you appreciated him.

At that moment, a clap of thunder makes you jump and squeal. Quickly, you pull him inside and shut the door. That’s when he notices that you’re crying.

“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulls you into another hug, and he’s never seen another human being look so scared, so vulnerable. It makes him feel so powerful, like the man he knew you needed. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”

It feels natural, his lips pressing a kiss into your hairline. Like you’re his little baby, like he’s been trusted with something so precious and now he has to protect you. And you’re too scared to be your usual jumpy self, and you just snuggle closer into him. A flash of lightning lights up the whole room, the storm relentless against the weak confines of this sorry excuse of a house.

“Maybe we should head back to mine.” He suggests, but you whimper again.

“No, no, we can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Rafe, please.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another human being so scared before. Not even when he was fucking that one girl after he’d showed her his gun. Even now, he consciously tucks his gun further down the waistband of his chinos. Of course he’d brought it with him, he wasn’t going to enter the Cut without a piece on him.

“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. When’s your mom coming home?”

“Not till tomorrow once the storm’s died down.”

He licks his lips. It was too good to be true.

You’re still holding on to him as you lead him into your bedroom. He wonders why you’d take him straight there, but he guesses it’s your safe place. And you’ve got candles lit up, and they brighten the room enough for him to notice how small it is. The size of a shoebox, with a single bed covered in pink sheets and a bunch of stuffed animals.

Despite everything, his dick hardens.

“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You say honestly, “Nobody else would’ve come over like this.”

He shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting the mattress next to him. It’s not even his house and yet he feels like he needs to take control. And you obey, taking a seat next to him. But you’re preoccupied with your own fear, doing that thing where you fidget with your hands in your lap.

“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip like you can’t quite believe what he’s said, “I-I’m not special, Rafe, I–”

You’re cut off by another clap of thunder, this one so loud it makes the whole house shake. You scream bloody murder, and honestly, if you were anyone else Rafe would’ve laughed. But it’s you, and so he just watches. It’s fascinating, the way you clutch onto him like he’s your saviour, and he wonders just how this opportunity had basically just fallen into his lap.

He pulls you into his lap, knowing you won’t protest. Not in the state you’re in. You’re wearing a pair of black leggings and a little white tank top. No bra, because he can feel your nipples, hard and poking out from the fabric of your top. He can feel them against his chest as he hugs you again, and he can also feel you shifting on top of him. Your peachy little ass rubbing against his dick like you’re a fucking tease except he knows you’re none the wiser, that you have no idea the effect you have on him.

He’s so turned on, it feels like he might explode.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise for the umpteenth time, “It’s just so scary. Wh-What if the storm gets worse, Rafe?”

“It probably will,” he says, feeling slightly wicked. He holds you tighter against him, wanting to feel the brush of your breasts against his chest again. Fuck, he wants to cop a feel so bad. “They were saying something about a severe weather warning on the news. Not like anything we’ve ever seen before.”

“Noooo,” you moan like a goddamned baby, cuddling into him even more.

“It’s okay,” he says, running his hand up and down your back, “You ever, uh, you ever think of distracting yourself from the storm?”

You hiccup and blink up at him with wet eyes, “Nothing works, Rafe.”

He smirks, “I could distract you.”

“H-How?”

He runs his thumb over your lips. They’re wet with your salty tears, and yet like muscle memory, you part them for him. You watch him in wonder, your breathing shallow as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, his other hand holding you in place by your hip.

“Suck.” He instructs gently, and your eyes are as big as saucers. But in your frightened, vulnerable state, you obey immediately. And it feels like he’ll bust a nut right there, watching as you suck his thumb on command like a little fucking baby. Like he’s your daddy.

“Good girl,” he says, stroking your hair out of your face so he can watch you better. “Now listen to me, I can help you. I can distract you so that you forget all about the storm. Do you want that?”

You nod slowly, almost like you’re entranced by him. Not that he needs the green light from you, but it’s hot to see you agree so easily to whatever he’s saying. Fuck, you really were just like an angel fallen straight from heaven and into his lap. Perfect for him in every single way. So soft, so impressionable. Completely untouched. Ready to be ruined.

“That’s good,” he mutters vaguely, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, noticing how you pout involuntarily, like you’d gotten used to the feeling of sucking on it. Fuck, he could give you something else to suck on. “Give me a kiss.”

“H-Huh–”

“Do it. Just like how I taught you yesterday. You remember our lesson, don’t you?”

You nod, “Yeah, but will that really work? I mean–”

It’s like God himself is on Rafe’s side because there’s a loud boom of thunder at that exact moment. And you jump in his lap, tears welling in your eyes. Your chest rises up and down, and you bite your lip again, your gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Slowly, you lean up, shyly pressing your lips on his. But there’s a desperation to it, and Rafe’s returning kiss completely envelopes you whole.

He makes out with you for a while, smirking through your little pants and moans mixed with a whimper every time the weather gets especially brutal outside. He’s never been with such a goddamned scaredy cat baby before in his entire life, and it turns him on beyond belief. In the state you’re in, he could get you to do anything.

Rafe’s hands slip up to grab your little top, tugging it upwards. And this time, he almost loses it in frustration when again, you stop him.

“Rafe, Rafe no stop.” You push his hands off, straightening your top back over your midriff. “Couldn’t we just… just kiss?”

He presses his lips together in a thin line, “You trust me?”

“Of course, I just don’t know if I want to–”

“Look, didn’t I say I would distract you? I mean, shit, I could just leave.”

Your jaw drops, a flash of fear glimmering in your eyes. Instinctively, you grab onto his bicep with your tiny hands, a pleading look on your face, “No, don’t!”

He smirks, “I won’t leave. But you need to trust me to do what I need to do to distract you. Because the storm’s just gonna get worse.” He grabs your chin when you avert your gaze, forcing you to look at him, “Hey, c’mon. Who has more experience with this shit, you or me?”

“Y-You.”

“Yeah. And who’s older?”

“You are.”

“That’s right. Which means you need to trust me to make these kinds of decisions, because I know what’s best for you. That’s why you called me over, right?”

You don’t say anything, but this time when he tries to take your top off, you don’t protest. And Jesus fucking Christ, he was right. You’re not even wearing a bra, almost like you were deliberately trying to seduce him. Acting like a whiny little damsel in distress, pulling him into your pitiful little pink room, all candlelit and shit, on your little bed with your stuffed fucking animals.

Your nipples are hard, and he can’t help but cup your breasts. They’re so tender, so soft just like you. He’d imagined this exact moment many times over the course of the week whilst he’d jacked off to you, but nothing could compare to now. The way you tremble beneath his touch, knowing no one’s ever touched you like this before. He squeezes gently, watching how your breath hitches.

He’s overcome with animalistic instinct in just a second, and leans down to take your breast into his mouth. Sucks your nipple sweetly, before biting down. You cry out, arching your back so prettily, feeding him more of your nipple as you push it into his mouth. He bets you probably don’t even understand why it feels so good, having never been touched like this ever before.

He pinches your other nipple and you gasp. He smirks and does it again, looking up at you to see you gazing imploringly down at him.

“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” He takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his hair. Like a good little girl, you get the message. Your hands fist into his hair as he continues to play with your tits, licking and sucking all over them, pushing them together, biting your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin around them, wanting to leave his mark everywhere.

“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”

“Stand up, baby.”

You squeak at the pet-name that falls so naturally from his lips, and he can tell you like being called that. It’s from the way your eyes widen, and how you scramble to obey. God, you were a little tease but you took instructions so fucking well.

You stand between his legs, and it gets him so fucking hard that you’re still barely eye level with him even when he’s sat down.

“Take your leggings off.”

You open your mouth to argue, but this time he just flashes you a look and you’re quick to shut the fuck up. That, and he distracts you with his hands running up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, then your hip. Finally landing on your ass with a light slap as if to tell you not to keep him waiting.

You push your leggings down and step out of them, till you’re standing between his legs in just your pink flowery panties and nothing else. And he feels a hunger he’s never ever felt before, looking down at you ravenously as if you’re a piece of meat and he’s a goddamned starved lion. A part of him just wants to grab you and stick his cock inside you while you scream and thrash and beg him to stop while you secretly enjoy it and cum again and again.

“Turn around,” Rafe says slowly, because despite his animalistic thoughts, he wants to savour this. And you do, letting him see your sexy butt adorned in just your panties. He hooks his thumb under the elastic, snapping it against your skin and laughing crudely when you yelp. “God, you’ve got such a perfect ass. I knew that since the moment I saw you.”

“Wh-What?”

“You heard me. You’re always wearing the cutest little outfits, like you were showing it off just for me.” He grabs your left ass cheek, squeezing it hard while you moan in pain or pleasure, right now he doesn’t really give much of a fuck. His other hand palms his cock through his pants at the sight.

“I wasn’t!” You say indignantly, as if he’s accused you of the absolute worst. “I wasn’t showing off, Rafe!”

“Sure you weren’t,” he snorts, “Now bend over, lemme see it better.”

He can’t believe it when you don’t hesitate this time, almost like you’re seeking his approval. Like you’re under some kind of submissive spell now, making everything even easier for him. You bend over, and your cute little ass is directly in his face. He pushes your panties to the side, gives the soft flesh a feather-light kiss before spanking you again. You yelp all cutely, but stay in position for him. What a good fucking girl.

“Stand up straight, look at me again.”

You turn back around, biting your lip as you look at him anxiously. Around you, the whole room seems to vibrate as another boom of thunder strikes. You make a noise in your throat, before grabbing onto his bicep again. You keep doing that, and it makes him feel strong, big, important. Like you’re a little baby seeking protection from her daddy.

“I’m gonna take your panties off now, okay?” He doesn’t know why he tells you before he does it, but he watches as you relax. There’s a war going on behind your eyes, he can tell. He knows part of you is liking how he’s making you feel, and part of you is desperate to distract yourself from the storm, and it’s battling the part of you that wants to keep your modesty, the part that knows this is a bad idea, that itching fear that he’s not a good guy, that he’s taking advantage of you.

Slowly, he slips your panties down your shaking legs, and you keep holding on to his arm like you’re scared to let go. Like the storm would come and get you the moment you stopped holding him like a little baby. He lets you, liking how weak you feel against him.

And then you’re completely naked in front of him, stepping shyly out of your panties that are left on the floor in a heap along with the rest of your clothes. And he’s still fully dressed, and that juxtaposition turns him on beyond belief. He can smell your pussy, and it’s driving him crazy. Makes him want to just pin you down and have his way with you. It incenses him in a way he’s never really experiences before.

His hands grab your hips, yanking you closer. He feels a wave of impatience, pushing you down till you’re sitting on the bed. He gets up, pushing your legs apart with one of his own. You gasp, and he sinks down to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below your belly button.

“It’s time for lesson number three, baby,” Rafe murmurs softly, “this is how I’m gonna distract you, okay? Shit, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget all about the storm. You gonna let me do that?”

You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”

God, you were absolutely clueless. Made him feel like a fucking monster for taking advantage of you like this. But he liked it, liked how good and sweet and innocent you were, even now when he had you naked on your pretty princess bed with your legs spread for him.

“I’m gonna kiss you down here for a while, alright baby?”

“Down there?” You suck in your breath prettily, as if the very idea of that sounds so insane to you. God fucking dammit, just how much had your mother sheltered you?

Instead of explaining further, Rafe spreads your folds with two of his fingers, smirking when he sees you glistening and wet. And God, what a pretty and perfect pussy you had, all slippery and wet, like it was begging to be fucked. And even now, as you sit there breathing heavily, your pussy seems to get wetter just by him spreading it. You’re leaking down onto your pretty pink sheets, and it’s all because he’s merely touched you there.

You’ve gone silent, the storm seemingly already forgotten as you just watch him. Your chest rises up and down, and it’s like every other part of you is frozen in place. In awe, until he notices a slight movement in your pelvis. Involuntarily, you hump the air, like your poor pussy is begging for some type of contact or friction. He smirks.

“You have an accident, princess?”

You look absolutely aghast, “No!”

Rafe leans forward, inhaling deeply. And you smell so goddamned sweet, and he can’t wait any longer. He lays his tongue flat against your virgin cunt, and he can feel you throbbing with anticipation. He licks upwards, and you grab onto his hair, tugging hard as you yelp.

“Oh my God–”

He looks up, “Not God, baby. Just me.” Absentmindedly, he flicks your clit with his thumb and your entire body jerks. He chuckles, “And there’s another thing I’m going to need you to do.”

“What?”

“You’re going to call me daddy while I eat your cunt, okay?”

For the fifth time this evening, your jaw drops, and you gaze down at him in indignance, “What? But Rafe, you’re not my–”

“Your daddy? I mean, you do want me to take care of you, don’t you?” He smiles when you don’t immediately respond, “That’s why you called me today. Because you felt unsafe, like how you’ve felt your whole life ever since you lost your real daddy, isn’t that right?”

He half expects you to shove him off you, scream, lose it, slap him, kick him out of your house for going there, for trying to take advantage of your obvious daddy issues. But it’s like you’re in a trance, and he keeps going, “You want someone to take control, to reassure you that everything’s gonna be okay. That’s why you’ve let me take care of you this whole week, right? Because you need me, you like how I make you feel.”

He softly strokes your bare thighs, noticing that you’re shaking under his touch. And you look like you’re about to cry, in your most vulnerable state in front of him. And yet he keeps going, his voice like a calm lull, almost hypnotic with how you look at him with your huge, unblinking eyes.

“I can be your new daddy, princess. You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

Rafe doesn’t wait for your response. Instead, he grips your thighs harder, spreading them as far as they’ll go. He spits on your mound, watching his saliva drip down to your pussy. You’re watching too, with stricken, hooded eyes. Like you’re frozen in time and space, and he’s the only constant.

Leaning forward, he envelopes your clit between his lips, giving it a harsh suck. Your entire body convulses, and you moan the loudest he’s ever heard you. Thunder claps at the same time, but you’re louder than it, and your hands grab on to his hair, and you press your cunt into his face, practically smothering him but he fucking loves it.

“Tell daddy to lick your cunt,” he orders, his voice deeper and lower than it’s ever been, and a slight threat in his tone, “say it, or else I’ll stop everything.”

“L-Lick it, please,” you beg so prettily, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. Rafe sits back, looking at you expectantly till you make the prettiest little noise of impatience. You shoot him a pleading look of desperation, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, gripping his hair harder before ducking your head in shame, “P-Please, okay? Please lick my cunt, daddy.”

Rafe could’ve orgasmed right there at the sound of your sweet, delicate voice pleading with him, finally addressing him as daddy. Instead, he sucks hard on your sensitive, engorged clit, and you scream bloody murder. He snickers against your soaking folds, grabbing your thrashing hips, stilling them slightly but allowing you to rock them against his face till it’s shining with your wetness.

“Messy little girl,” he mutters, “excited, aren’t you? Never had this virgin pussy eaten, huh?” he grows sloppy, messy with his licks. Tonguing your sensitive nub till you’re a writhing mess above him, incoherent little gasps and moans tumbling out of your mouth as you continue to hump against his face because you’re a goddamned virgin who doesn’t know how to act because you’re feeling so good.

Rafe’s practically making out with your pussy, and he’s never enjoyed going down on a girl as much as he is right now. It’s how responsive you are, it’s how this is all so new to you so you don’t even know nor care to hold anything back. You’re rubbing your pussy on his face like all you can think of is how good he’s making you feel. And he fucks you with his tongue, unable to quite believe how sweet you taste. Like an angel, his angel. All his.

“It’s…It’s too much, Rafe!” you cry out, and yet you’re rolling your hips with abandon, riding his tongue while he sucks and licks you out like he’s starved.

“You can take it,” his voice is muffled, and you try to wrap your thighs around his head except his grip on them is too strong. It’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingers all over your soft skin, but he likes that. He wants to bruise you, mark you, make you his in every way possible. So next time when you wore a slutty little sundress, every goddamned man on this island would know you’re taken. Fuck, he’d get his name tattooed on your goddamned pussy, and–

You cum, squeaking so prettily he wants to bottle up the sound and keep it safe in his memories forever. Your first orgasm, and all it took was a couple of minutes of him eating your cunt. And your muscles squeeze around his tongue, and you cry and moan like you don’t even know what’s happening. Your grab at his hair, pulling so hard because you’ve probably never felt like this before.

And Rafe doesn’t stop, his tongue swirling circles while you hump and grind against his mouth, riding out your orgasm, moaning his name over and over again. Outside, the weather gets worse, and at one point he notes the whole room shakes as if the goddamned roof’s about to blow off. You don’t give a fuck though, and he doesn’t either.

“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”

Now, you’re trying to push him off you, but selfishly he keeps tongue-fucking you. His thumb rubs your engorged, sensitive clit. He knows it’s too much for you, but he’s too fucking turned on to stop.

“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that. Lemme give you another one.”

“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”

He slaps your clit, and a squelching sound fills the room. You gasp, and he just snickers, having entirely too much fun with you. And again, you twitch your hips, inadvertently pushing your cunt into his face again. You’re out of breath and sensitive from your first orgasm, and yet your greedy little pussy wants to give him another one.

“You like it when your daddy slaps your cunt?”

You’re such a shy little thing, gaping at him as if he’s said the most insidious thing on earth. And yet, your cunt squeezes around his tongue, and he you up as you continue to leak into his mouth. He looks up at you, “Tell me you like it.”

“I, uh, I like it, uh… daddy, oh gosh!”

It takes just one more spank and you come undone, cumming all over his face and he licks you throughout. Long, languid stripes of his tongue flat against your wet folds, then he switches to fucking you with it, and your fuckhole’s so goddamned tight, his tongue barely even fits a little bit, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s got one hand slipped down his pants, jacking off because this is the hottest thing in the world he’s ever witnessed. Innocent little baby crying after orgasming from getting her pussy spanked by her daddy.

He feels like a lion closing in on the fucking lamb, forgetting himself for a second as he gets up. Aggressively pushing you down till you’re lying flat on the bed, surrounded by your stupid stuffed animals. In a second, he’s on top of you, breathing hard like a man possessed. God fuck, all he had to do was shove it inside you, hold you down and tell you to take it. Maybe press his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud. Not that it mattered. Nobody could save you from him tonight.

But you blink up at him so prettily, so unaware of his intentions, your eyelashes wet with tears. Your lips bitten and pouty, face shiny with sweat. Your hands grab his arms again, squeezing like you’ve grown used to doing.

“R-Rafe, that was… wow.” You say breathlessly, so blissfully innocent, not realising at all that he’s moments away from holding you down and fucking you, that he’s planning how he’ll do it in his head this very moment. “I never… I never thought it could feel that good.”

Rafe finds himself feeling that again, that weird feeling that kept bubbling up inside his chest from time to time whenever he was with you. He still doesn’t have a name for it; he can’t even properly describe it. But looking down at you now, watching you stare up at him with those shining eyes of yours. All he can do is push a piece of your hair out of your face, and smile slowly down at you.

“What do you even know about sex, baby?” He breathes, his face so close to yours.

“Oh, well, uh… Not that much. I mean obviously I know how it works. I just… I didn’t know you could call someone da– that.”

He smirks, tapping your cheek condescendingly, “You mean daddy?”

You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”

“I need you to keep calling me that, okay?” Rafe says gently, “It’s completely normal and I told you I’d take care of you from now on. You want that, don’t you?”

Again, he nudges at your lips with his thumb, making you suck it. Which you do, and the feeling goes straight to his dick. He wants to fuck you while you suck his thumb, gently rock his hips into you, your tight pussy squeezing his huge cock while you whimper around his thumb, sucking it while you cried and just took it, took whatever he gave you and then said thank you, daddy like the good little girl you were.

He starts kissing you again, unable to help it. And your response is so enthusiastic, he feels like he might explode. You’re getting more confident with all the kissing stuff, and Rafe likes that it’s all because of him.

“You ready for the next lesson, baby?” He asks between kisses, his hands everywhere all over your naked body. Squeezing your breasts, playing with your ass. Loving that you’re naked beneath him and so willingly too.

You swallow harshly, “I don’t think I’m ready–Oh!”

He takes your hand, pressing it inside his slacks. Right on his hard, throbbing dick. And fuck, it feels so small, so weak against his pulsating cock. He bites his lip hard to keep from thrusting into your hand.

“Take it out.”

“N-No!”

He exhales loudly through his nose, holding your hand tight against him when you try to snatch it away. “Baby, what did I tell you about doing what I say?”

“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, “but you need to do this, alright? Didn’t I make you feel good just now?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“So just trust me. I’ll make you feel good again, okay baby?” He kisses you lightly once, twice, three times till you smile, “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So brave for me....”

You hiccup, looking up at him with those goddamned saucer-like eyes again, “R-Really?”

He strokes your cheek, innately aware of your hand relaxing against his cock, “Yes. Such a brave, good girl. You forgot all about the storm outside, didn’t you?”

As if on cue, you whimper and cuddle into him more. He smiles like a goddamned wolf, feeling evil yet desperate at the same time, “Call me daddy again, princess.”

You don’t even fucking hesitate, “d-daddy, I–”

“Take daddy’s cock out, baby. It’ll distract you, I promise.”

You do exactly what he says, and he helps you. He can’t help but hiss when you free his dick from the confines of his slacks, and you gasp too, dropping it immediately when you see it.

“Shit, gimme your hand,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t wait this time. Snatching your hand in his, he spits down into your palm before pressing it on his dick. “Stroke it.”

You pull back, “I don’t know how, I don’t–”

“Do it or I’ll leave right the fuck now.”

 In your helpless daze, you whimper before placing your hand back on his dick. And it’s so red, about ready to explode the moment you touch him. He exhales slowly, and it feels so fucking good, and he covers your hand with his, guiding it, making you stroke him up and down.

“That’s so good, baby. You’re so good.”

“I am?”

“Shit, yeah, just keep doing that. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He notes how you grow more confident, rubbing his dick and jacking him off like a good little girl. His hand leaves yours, instead cupping your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. He can’t help kissing you, you taste so fucking sweet and it’s insane because he’s never particularly enjoyed kissing anyone this much before. But he loves kissing you, leading you through it, guiding you. Loves how responsive you are, loves how you listen to him even when you feel all scared and hesitant. As if you know that at the end of the day, he was the one with all the power, the one in charge. The only one who knew how to take care of you.

“You ever seen a cock before this, princess?” He asks crudely between kisses.

Your eyes widen, “N-No, Rafe– I mean, uh, daddy.”

“No? Good girl. That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He bites your pouty bottom lip, and you gasp, squeezing his dick in your hand and it makes him moan straight into your fucking mouth. What a naughty girl.

“It’s, uh, it’s so big,” you say quietly, so quietly that Rafe almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and he smiles, pulling back slightly.

“Yeah?”

Shyly, you duck your head, “Yeah, daddy.”

God, you were so fucking irresistible. He couldn’t take it anymore. He takes your hand, which was still steadily pumping his dick, and holds it tightly. Holds both your hands by your sides as he nudges your legs apart again, and watches as you take a deep breath, as if you know what’s coming.

Lowly, he whistles at how wet you are, your juices having leaked down to stain your pink sheets again. Rafe’s never had a virgin before but he knows how eager they are, how easily turned on they get. He can imagine how slippery wet and snug your snatch would be around his dick. Now, he swipes a finger down your slit, gathering your wetness while you squirm under him.

“Aww, look how excited your pussy is, princess.” He snickers, bringing his finger up to your lips, smearing them with your wetness, getting it all over your face too till it shines and you’re all messy. “Tell me, what’s got her so wet?”

‘I don’t know.”

SMACK.

Rafe finds he quite enjoys slapping your cunt, especially when it’s so wet and throbbing. You cry out, quivering and shaking underneath him. He flashes you a look, “Answer the question.”

“You,” you breathe, blinking up at him, “You, daddy.”

“Yeah? I get your pussy wet?” He’s working himself up, his dick nudging against your folds and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just shove it in there. “Tell me why.”

You moan pleadingly, “R-Rafe, please!”

“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it properly,” he says, enjoying himself a bit too much. It was payback for all the times you’d teased him without even realising it this past week. Flaunting your sexy little body, blinking up at him with those fuck me eyes, as if you were just begging for it in your own little innocent way.

You swallow harshly, and despite everything he can see you thinking carefully, as if you want to give him a real proper answer to impress him. Cute.

“I, uh, I like how big you are,” you stutter slowly, “you-you’re a lot bigger than me.”

He grins wolfishly, pushing his hair out of his face before pressing a greedy kiss to your lips, which you respond to fervently. But he pulls away all too quickly, looking down at you as if he expects you to continue.

“I like how strong you are,” you’re looking anywhere but at his face, he guesses because you’re too shy. He sponges kisses down your jaw, your neck, down to your chest. Kisses all over your tits, presses them together and licks them, bites at your nipples while you moan between your words. “You make me feel safe, daddy.”

Rafe pauses, and it’s there again. That stupid fucking feeling that he doesn’t understand, nor does he care to understand it right now. Nobody’s ever felt safe with him before. Everyone’s always been afraid of him or hated him or screwed him over because they didn’t trust him. No one’s ever looked at him how you’re looking at him and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.

But he shoves those feelings straight back down, clears his throat before pressing his finger down between your folds. You shiver and moan, hips bucking up before he pins them in place. He tries pushing his pointer finger inside you, but is met with resistance despite how soaking wet you are. Fuck.

“Tightest pussy I ever had,” he mutters, “but she’ll take daddy’s dick, won’t she?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and he ignores your soft cries as he forces his finger up your cunt. Till it’s finally knuckle-deep, and he bets you can feel the cool silver of his ring against your warmth. And your pussy’s so fucking snug, gripping his finger like a vice, and even he has to wonder how he’d possibly fit his big dick inside you.

“So full,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. But he shuts you up soon enough when he starts fingering you. One singular finger, because that’s all that fits. But he moves it in and out, curving upwards till you moan, thrusting your hips in rhythm like you can’t even help it.

“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”

‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”

“Shh, yes it will. Daddy’s gonna make it fit.”

Rafe makes it fit. He has to hold you down while you cry like a baby, but soon he’s got his index and middle finger shoved inside you, finger-fucking your tight, virgin cunt while his hard dick slaps against his stomach, and he’s so fucking turned on. More than he’s ever been in his whole life.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He murmurs into your ear, nibbling at it, licking inside it and making you jump. And fuck, you’re so jumpy, and he has to keep you pinned down while he fingers you, and a sick part of him wonders if he’s drawn blood already.

“H-Hurts,” you whimper like the goddamned little cry-baby you are. “R-Rafe please slow down.”

“Come on, don’t tell me to slow down,” he continues pumping his thick fingers up your slippery wetness, feeling like you’re swallowing them up whole every time, “Not when you’re drippin’ all over your sheets like a little–”

“But it hurts!”

“That’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt,” he explains slowly, like you’re dumb, “it’s because you’ve never done this before, so that’s why I gotta stretch you out like this first, okay?”

A lone tear meanders down your cheek, “I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Rafe.”

“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”

“Nooo, you’re, uh, I mean your…” You sniffle helplessly, a wild look in your eye that looks half scared, half confused as he bets your body’s starting to betray you.

Rafe feels a smile creep up on his face, “You already thinkin’ about my cock, sweetheart? How it’s gonna feel when it’s up your virgin cunt?”

You shake your head vehemently, but you’re a little angel slut because your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers. “Rafe, no. Your f-fingers, they’re already too much, I don’t think I can take…”

“Didn’t I just tell you I’d make it fit?”

You grip his arm tightly, pleadingly “Y-You’re too big, I-I don’t think I can handle anymore…Oh fuck!”

He knows he’s hit that spot inside you because your whole back arches, and you let out the hottest moan he’s ever fucking heard in his life. Complete abandon, head thrown back, digging your nails so hard into his arm that he’s sure you’ve broken through his skin.

“That’s right, baby girl. Just fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, increasing his pace, wondering if he can fit a third finger in. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking your daddy’s fingers like a champ. God, look at your little virgin cunt, swallowing ‘em up like a greedy little slut. Didn’t think you’d turn out to be so fuckin’ slutty, baby.”

You clench around him, moaning his name and he can’t believe how much his dirty talk is having an effect on you. His thumb rubs at your clit while he continues to finger fuck you, wanting to draw another orgasm out of you because you’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum, and he wants you to make a mess all over his fingers before he finally takes you with his cock.

“Too much, too much, oh, oh, oh,” you’re half delirious, humping against his fingers, letting him fuck you with them, and he knows you must feel so full. And it feels like heaven for him, being inside you (even if it is just with his fingers). You feel so soft, so wet, so warm. Your muscles tensing and relaxing around him as he builds you up.

“Take it,” Rafe repeats, “bet it’s never felt this good huh? You ever finger yourself, baby girl? Touch yourself late at night when you think everyone else’s asleep?”

You gasp at his words, but he feels you clench around his digits.

“Mmm, not such a good little girl after all, huh? Fingering yourself when you think your mommy’s asleep,” he grins wickedly at the horrified look on your face, increasing pace, “but it’s never enough, is it? Your fingers aren’t as big as mine, so you could never make yourself cum.” He laughs, “this whole time, all you needed was a man like me to take care of you. Say it, say you need me. Say it.”

“N-Need you!” You cry out, delicious tears streaking your face, “I need you, daddy. I-I…Oh fuck, please! Please, I don’t… I just… I–“

You squirt all over his hand. And it’s insane; Rafe’s never seen anything like it before. He gazes in wonder, caught off-guard for once. You completely come undone, crying and panting his name, rocking your hips against his hand as you ride out your third orgasm of the night. And who knew it would take just a little bit of dirty talk to get you to squirt? God, you were so fucking hot, so full of surprises. So perfect for him, it was unbelievable.

“Good girl,” he strokes your head like you’re his little pet, taking his wet fingers and pressing them into your mouth, and you’re so hot when you automatically suck on them. “Such a good girl, baby. That was so fuckin’ sexy.”

All you do is clutch at him and cry, so spent and overstimulated from your orgasm. Rafe licks his lips, feeling both protective yet predatory at the same time. You’re at your weakest, most vulnerable state. Outside, thunder and lightning strike over and over again as if they were paid to do so, and the room lights up and goes dark, it shakes and shudders, and the winds howl like a pack of possessed wolves. And yet you look so pretty in the dim glow of the candlelight.

It's the perfect night for you to get ruined. His perfect little baby. Pristine and innocent and at his mercy.

Rafe’s cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing as he grabs it by the base, pumps it as he hovers over you. On his knees while you lie beneath him, looking so deliciously scared. He presses his whole length against your stomach, and watches your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He knows he’s big, but compared to your tiny frame, he’s massive. And he gets off on that, gets off on how much bigger he is than you. He smears his precum against your stomach, smirking as he watches you swallow and try to be brave.

“Listen to me,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “You like my cock, baby? You like looking at it, huh?”

The way you lick your lips gives it away, and he laughs cruelly, tapping your cheek like you’re his little pet. “Say it, then. Say you like it. Beg me to put it inside you. C’mon, baby, look at your pussy, she’s crying for it. Beg me.”

He knows you’re at war with yourself, and you shake your head tearfully, opening your mouth to speak. But a clap of thunder sounds just then, so loud it makes the whole room shake. You cry out so pitifully, it makes his heart throb a little. You grab at him, and he falls down on top of you, kissing you, kissing your salty sweet lips and your tears. Kissing you all over while your desperate hands tangle into his hair.

That’s when he nudges the tip of his dick against your folds. And it already feels like fucking heaven, your wet warmth practically begging him to shove it inside you. He presses his tip on your puffy, sensitive clit and you jump, your eyes widening and then you push at his chest.

“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”

“Shh, c’mon, baby. Let daddy fuck you,” Rafe urges softly against your lips, “gonna make you feel so good again, mhm?”

“Nooo…”

He tries to ignore your soft cries, the way your palms press weakly against his chest.

“Shit, just relax,” he coaxes, knowing he could just hold you down and force it in, and yet…

He kisses you, tasting salt on your lips. You try to kiss him back, but he can feel you gulping for breath. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest. He can feel your limbs pushing at his body, but he’s just so much fucking bigger than you that it doesn’t even make a difference, and yet…

“Rafe, I… please…”

“Baby…”

His dick feels like it’s going to explode, and he runs it up and down your soaking slit, and you moan. And your face looks turned on beyond belief, and yet scared at the same time. Nervous, frightened, vulnerable. It’s a heady mix, and he doesn’t know what to do, and–

“Please, Rafe. I’m not ready, I-I can’t, Rafe. Please…”

“Fuck.”

Something comes over him, and Rafe feels it again. That bubbling, intense feeling inside his chest. Like a rush of an emotion he doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand. All he knows is he can’t, he fucking can’t. You’re so sweet, so kind, pure like a flower and he just can’t bring himself to pluck it. Tear it apart. Ruin it like how he ruined everything else he touched.

He rolls over, lying beside you while you quiver next to him. Both breathing hard. And outside, the wind howls and howls almost like it’s mocking him. Laughing at him for being a goddamned pussy. And there’s another clap of thunder, and he hears you crying softly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafe finds himself gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest, “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

“I-I thought I could but…” you hiccup between your tears, and your eyes look like there are a thousand stars shining wetly inside them, and he knows he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I thought–”

“It’s okay,” he repeats, cupping your face and making you look at him, his thumbs swiping away your tears, “Don’t cry, okay? Shit, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

“Y-You’re not mad?”

He strokes up and down your back, soothing you while he wonders whether he is. But the only thing he feels right now is this strange, innate need to protect you. To reassure you. Hold your quivering body close till you stopped shaking. It’s insane, because he doesn’t feel like himself, because he’s never felt this before. It’s alien. Completely, utterly fucking alien.

“No,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “No, I’m not mad.”

“You pr-promise?”

“I promise.”

He feels like a different person as he tucks his dick back into his slacks. Like someone else, like someone he doesn’t recognise. But it feels so natural, holding you so close that your heartbeat feels like his. And the storm outside feels like a million miles away. Like it’s just you and him on a different planet and nothing else exists, nothing else means anything except you.

You fall asleep in his arms, spent after everything. And Rafe doesn’t even feel frustrated in that moment, because all he can focus on is how peaceful you look. Your tears dried on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. You trusted him with everything. And it made him feel like someone important.

The wind laughs and laughs all night.

*

The morning is calm, tranquil. Almost like the storm never even was. And Rafe wakes up well rested, with you cuddled on his chest, his arm around you and his thumb in your mouth. The room dappled in sunlight, the candles all blown out or melted away.

Slowly, he detangles from you, making sure not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so innocent. So soft and pretty, in your little shack of a house on the Cut. He frowns as he looks around. In the morning light, your room looks even more pitiful. It’s clean, and you’ve made it pretty with notes and posters and fairy lights. But he can see the paint peeling off the walls, the fact it’s smaller than his closet back home.

Rafe can’t believe he’s woken up on this side of the island.

He has the sudden urge to leave. To run. Hastily, he types out a text to you.

Rafe: Hey. I thought I’d leave in case your mom came home and saw us. Didn’t want to wake you. Talk to you later.

He has to get home. Gather his thoughts. Recalibrate. Think about what the fuck came over him last night, when he’d had you right where he fucking wanted you. And then he’d pussied out of it. Rafe Cameron never pussied out of anything.

What the fuck did that mean?

His gaze shifts to you again, so pretty and sound asleep. Naked because you’d so willingly shed your clothes for him, spread your legs for him. And he could have had you. Hell, he could have you right now. Force himself into you while you were still asleep, and you’d wake up crying and sobbing, all confused and sleepy while he held you down and ordered you to just take it.

That’s what he should’ve done last night. So then what the fuck had stopped him?

Now, he lightly runs his fingers over your bare thigh, humming lightly at how smooth you feel. So soft, like an angel. A powerful, almost all-consuming feeling overtakes him. A wave of possessiveness coursing through him like a tidal wave of dark poison. You were his. All his. He could do what he pleased with you. Your body was his. You’d all but served it to him on a silver platter last night, in your pathetic little room with the candles.

Rafe feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He gets his phone out, ignoring any small, decent part of him that was sending warning signals to his brain. You were his. He had every right to do this.

Silently, he takes the pictures. And a sick part of him gets off on it, gets off on the fact you’re asleep and none the wiser to what’s happening. But this was the least you could do, you’d left him hanging last night. After he’d been so patient, so understanding. Fuck that. Why had he been like that? Like he was weak?

“You make me feel safe, daddy.”

Your words from last night ring in his ears, bouncing around in his brain till it gets too much, till they start to echo and get louder and louder. Till he feels the urge to punch the shit out of your bedroom wall. It was all too much. He had to get out of here.

He tucks his phone into his pocket, pushes the cotton covers up till your chin, and then leaves without looking back.

*

“There he is! The loverboy himself!”

His friends gather around him the next morning like he’s the second coming of Christ himself.

“How was she, Rafe?” one of them slaps him on the back, “That is, if you fucked her.”

“Yeah.” Kelce stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Rafe expectantly. They all are. “Did you fuck her?”

Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”

He’d waited all day yesterday for you to respond to his text. Like a pussy ass little bitch, he’d waited for you to say something. Growing angrier and more paranoid by the second when you didn’t. Staring at the pictures he’d taken of you like a man possessed, his thumb hovering over the delete button a handful of times before he’d thrown his phone angrily across the room. Hating how you were making him wait. Hating how his heart had leapt up to his fucking throat when you finally had replied: I’m so sorry for being such a scaredy cat yesterday. Thank you for coming over.

He'd discovered something then. He was obsessed with you. And he hated it.

“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Kelce grins, cutting straight to the chase. Next to him, Rafe sees Topper’s eyes light with interest, as well as the others too. Fucking desperate losers, trying to catch a glimpse of something that belonged to him. Because they’d never get to see you like that, ever. No one else would. He’d make sure of that.

“It did happen.” Rafe says calmly, “Like I said it would.”

“Okay well, that’s great brother but we’re gonna need proof.” One of the clowns pipes up.

“You don’t need shit,” He shoots back.

“You didn’t take pictures?” Topper asks.

Rafe runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did.”

“Then show us. That was the deal.”

He wants to beat the shit out of all of them for daring to ask to see intimate pictures of you. As if you were anything like the other whores he’d fucked in the past, the type of stupid girls him and his friends used every week. You were different, and you were his, and they had no fucking business looking at what was his.

“Look. I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me.” He mutters, completely over the dumb ass bet and over his friends too. They’d forget about it by tomorrow, ready to become his willing followers once more. They always did.

“C’mon man, you can’t bring our hopes up like that. Either you never fucked her or,” Kelce’s eyes glint when it registers, “Or you’ve gone soft for her. You’ve–”

Rafe grabs him roughly by the collar, a sudden anger coursing through him like he’s been electrocuted. “Listen, you fucking moron. Don’t ever insinuate I’ve gone soft for a goddamned Pogue.”

He spits that last word out like it’s venom, and yet he tried to ignore how hollow it feels. When he realises people are staring, he quietly lets go, smoothing Kelce’s shirt while his friends stare at him fearfully in that way he’s grown used to people looking at him.

“I fucked her,” Rafe says plainly, his tone switching from aggressive to calm in a split second, almost like he’s slipped on a mask, “I fucked her just like I’ve fucked every other Pogue bitch who’s thrown herself at me before her. And it wasn’t anything special. She acts all innocent, but it was easy to get her to spread her legs for me just like I told you it would be.”

He hears a thud, and then a little gasp behind him. So soft, it barely registers. Except it does, and he turns around.

And immediately locks eyes with you.

And then it feels like it’s just him and you. And nobody else is there. And there’s no sound, like both of you have stopped breathing. You stand there, frozen, stricken. Your books on the ground in front of you. Only a few steps behind him, well within earshot. And he sees something break in your expression, porcelain features twisting in hurt, shock, dismay, disbelief.

“Oh shit,” Topper mutters from somewhere behind him. A few of his friends snicker, but Rafe can’t hear them. No, he’s frozen, staring at you as if he can’t quite believe it. And he sees the tears welling in your eyes.

A little broken sob falls from your lips, and then you turn and run. And Rafe wants to chase after you but it’s like he’s frozen in time and space. Watching you run off while he just stands there.

Stands and watches as you run away from him, your hands reaching up blindly to wipe at your face. And that feeling returns tenfold. That feeling that Rafe can’t quite put his finger on, that feeling which he wants to push back down because it suffocates him, and he doesn’t understand it. The feeling consumes him from the inside out, till he feels like he can’t breathe.

And he just stands there and watches until you’re gone.

𝘼/𝙉: OOF. Okay, I finally posted it! Please let me know what your thoughts! Literally any reaction, predictions, favourite parts etc. All of it, ANY of it would be so appreciated! Also please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. Here's some questions in case you want to answer them (you don't have to!! you can comment/reblog whatever you want, i just always post questions at the end of my fics)

Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?

Should reader forgive Rafe?

Favourite scene/part?

i.

"What's all this?"  

Strewn across the Cameron's dining table was an array of objects that could only be described as a mixed blessing. Multiple binders containing silk swatches protruding from the edges, sticky notes with potential dietary requirements, and different flora species – planning a wedding was less of a journey and more of a ride. 

Averting your burning eyes from the laptop screen, you acknowledged Rafe with a cordial smile, gesturing languidly  to the conglomeration of wedding itinerary. 

"My future." 

The blonde simply hummed, eyes narrowing as he leisurely rounded the dark oak to stand beside you. He silently lingered there for a moment, ring-clad fingers dancing across the drafted invitations with an indecipherable expression. 

"Where's Sarah? Ain't she supposed to be helping you with all this shit?" 

You refrained from rolling your eyes. Rafe was after all a friend of the family, and by extension earned your respect… even If he could be a complete dick–

"I am helping, thank you very much!" 

Sarah's voice, now tinged with irritation, reverberated from the pantry before she emerged with a bag of microwave popcorn. "What do you have to offer other than giving us a headache?" A deep crease settled between her brows as she threw her flaxen locks into a low ponytail, setting the bag into the microwave. 

"Well you see, Sarah, I'm a man with a fine eye for detail." He prodded  haughtily at his puffed chest. Sarah scoffed, glancing towards you with disbelief. 

"Says the boy who'd be leaving the house with his shoelaces undone were it not for Wheezie." 

"Now you're just making shit up–"

"Both of you, please!" With an exasperated sigh, you cradled your throbbing temples in the seat of your palms. "If you're going to argue, do it somewhere else."

Ding!

A much-needed reprieve from the stifling tension in the room, the microwave beeped signalling that the popcorn was ready. However, the pause was short-lived. As soon as the timer stopped, the silence was once again disrupted, Rafe's tone mocking and derisive.

"Ordering me around in my own house?" His short, dirty blonde locks cascaded over his eyes as he shook his head, failing to conceal his lour. "Nah, that's not how it works sweetheart. Maybe I'd allow it if you were marrying me."

"Rafe." Sarah hissed. "Shut up and get out."

In the typical fashion of the first-born Cameron, Rafe disregarded his sister's comment, instead opting to leer down at you like some voracious beast reading to trap you in its gaping maw. 

"So where's the lucky man? He got to stake his claim, now he's leaving all the work for you?" 

You ignored his taunts, for that was what they were. He fed off reactions like a leech. You had come to realise this over the years as he evolved into the obnoxious man before you. Rather than giving him the attention he craved so dearly, you turned your focus to Sarah as she came to sit beside you. 

"If you must know, he's working to pay off his student loans," You fought the urge to bite back at his spiteful remarks, ultimately losing when you added; "Maybe one day when you take care of your responsibilities, you will understand."

Sarah suppressed her snot beneath a mouthful of popcorn. As you reached for a handful of your own, a hand slid in between, suddenly pushing the bowl out of reach. 

"Careful." Rafe drawled warningly, pointing to a trumpet silhouette dress advertised in a women's magazine you had circled with a red marker. "That dress is really pretty, it would be a shame if you outgrew it."

ii.

It was winter, 2006. 

You were five, perched on your mother's lap in the front seat of your father's Chrysler 300C as she consoled you through hiccuping sobs. This Christmas the esteemed Camerons were your family's special holiday destination; a far cry from the usual dinner and movie at your grandparents.

Numerous road signs were posted throughout Figure 8, warning drivers to approach the winding roads with caution due to the unusually high levels of sleet. Despite the treacherous conditions, your father traversed along as he usually would. You whimpered and pawed at your mother's blouse in a bid to be reassured, but she merely shushed you.

As you pulled up along a circular drive encompassed by large plains of neatly trimmed verdure, a house came into view… if you could call it that.

 A quadruple frontage acting as a supporting beam for the large balcony above donned with red, white and blue flags. Spacious, with grey linen seating arrangements. On the right side of the glass entry doors was a metal plaque spelling 'Tannyhill' 

You beamed up at the place in awe. "Is this a castle?" 

Your father chuckled, ruffling your loose hair. "Something like that."

A man emerged from the double doors, dressed in the typical 'low-key' Figure 8 attire: white slacks, a chequered shirt, and leather loafers. He was a splitting image of your father and all the other men on the island, carrying an aura of confidence in every sedate step.

You were urged out of the car with a gentle but firm push. The strange man’s beady eyes— like two pale corks screwed into his head— landed on you disconcertingly, as though you were a microorganism being inspected beneath a scope. 

"Hello, little one." His eyes crinkled as he smiled, bending down to your level. "What's your name?"

Your young mind could not fathom why he frightened you like the animated villain in your favourite TV show. When he extended his hand to you, you instinctively retreated into your mother's skirt.

"Don't mind her, Ward." Your father emerged from the driver’s side of the vehicle. "She'll warm up to you real fast if you offer her something sweet."

"A sweet tooth?" The man, Ward, mused. His voice mild-mannered and pleasant to the ear. "My son is the same, I'm sure you'll get along just fine."

Inside, the house was even more impressive. The walls of the hallway were draped in thick upholstery, varying in shades of crimson, indigo and gold. An ornate floral pattern embroidered in gold thread was meticulously sewn onto the walls. 

Adorning the hallway to the kitchen were multiple picture frames. One in particular caught your interest; a young boy sat on Ward's lap in a velvet-lined chair, smiling and well-groomed with golden locks and a pressed collar. 

Was this the son?

Ward's explanation of the Plantation's historical significance fell on deaf ears as you gaped up at the towering ceilings. A gentle tap to your head drew your attention up to your mother who smiled down at you.

"You came here once when you were just a little bean in my belly."

"I don't remember that."

She pulled you into her side by the shoulder as she laughed. "Of course you don't, darling." 

Ward came to a halt at the staircase, raising a finger to his lips.

"Sarah's nursery is upstairs. We just got her down before you arrived but I'll let you have a peek."

 "Oh, that’s alright, Ward. We wouldn't want to disturb her." Your father interjected, mirroring Ward’s hushed tone.

"That won't be an issue, my angel is a heavy sleeper," he whispered, motioning for you to follow him with a reassuring wave of his hand.

“Rafe's up there at the moment,” Confusion enveloped you as a frown settled in place of his previous jovial demeanour. When his stiffened gaze met yours, heat bloomed beneath your cheeks and you perked up. “Maybe you can keep him company, little one." 

The first door on the right was painted a dusty rose. Above the door frame were little wooden letters decorated by fairies and flowers spelling out ‘Sarah’. The dry hinges screeched as Ward opened the door.

“Rafe, come meet our guests.” 

The boy from the picture emerged, older now and taller than expected. Unlike the bright smile he wore in the photograph, there was not a trace of joy on his face. But despite his gloomy demeanour, there was a certain charm about him that you couldn't help but notice.

Beautiful, he’s beautiful. 

“Hello.” He said robotically, as though the syllables were being tugged out of his mouth by an invisible wire. 

Ward glared disapprovingly at his son. There was a silent exchange between the two before Rafe finally sighed as if submitting to some sort of inevitable conclusion.

“Merry Christmas, it’s nice to meet you all.” 

His eyes met yours. Crystal orbs of cerulean, framed by a dark outer ring… you were transfixed by his beauty. 

At the dinner table you sat mutely, only answering direct questions. Mrs Cameron was a lovely and welcoming woman who did her best to include you in the conversation despite your reluctance to participate. Rafe's occasional snarky remarks seemed to anger Ward. His face would darken each time and he would glare in his son's direction with a look of disapproval. The tension between the two was thick, oozing onto you from across the table. You made eye contact with Rafe a few times. He held it with no indication of discomfort whilst you were always the one to eventually flit your attention elsewhere, unable to withstand the strange intensity. 

As the maids began to clear the table, Ward piqued up, suggesting that you and Rafe, “Go and play while us adults have a talk.”

With the sun making its hasty departure below the treeline in the distance, It had cooled off exponentially outside. You trailed behind Rafe as he led you to a small shed next to the pool, struggling to tug your gloves over trembling fingers. 

You waited outside as Rafe disappeared beyond the frame, returning a few moments later with a black and white ball.

“Do you know how to play?”

The ball was familiar but you shook your head, unsure of the rules. 

“Don’t touch the ball with your hands or make contact with me.” 

“Make contact?” You tilted your head in confusion. 

“You can’t kick your enemy on purpose, got it?”

You gave a nod– still unsure as to why you’d want to kick anyone on purpose– and Rafe tossed the ball at you. The ground was partially frozen beneath your feet and you stumbled backwards with the sudden force of the ball, nearly toppling over. 

“Good, let's play.” 

At first, your feet slipped hopelessly on the icy ground. Rafe’s size, strength and experience did not deter him from going full pelt, and it quickly became apparent that the only way you could gain any leverage over him was if you were to be sneaky– which of course, was easier said than done. 

Every pivot of your foot he anticipated. His agile movements made it nearly impossible to bypass him and you found yourself huffing in frustration as he swiftly confiscated the ball from your weak stance. 

“This is not fair!” You cried exasperatedly, ego depleted after numerous failures.

“You’ve got to try harder if you want to beat me.” 

Rafe’s arrogant tone only stoked the flames of your wrath. Slowing down, you realised that your frantic footwork before an attack left your defences vulnerable. Watching Rafe’s strategy, you could see that he was coming head-on, anticipating that you would focus your resources on an attack. 

This time rather than barreling towards him head-on, you hunkered down into a low stance, turning slightly and awaiting his arrival. Once within range, you swiftly kicked your right foot out, connecting with the ball. It shot through his legs, the suddenness of your attack delaying his reaction ever so slightly, allowing you ample opportunity to rush past him and possess the ball. 

After the shock wore off and Rafe turned to face you, his face was adorned by a countenance of surprise. “Wow, not bad.” 

“Got you!” You giggled, spinning around in glee. 

“You’re more fun than Sarah.” Rafe earnestly remarked. “She never wants to play. All she does is sleep and cry.”  

“I like playing with you.” 

The corners of his lips tugged upwards, his dour demeanour melting away into something softer.

“Let’s try something different.” He suggested, your stomach clenching in apprehension at the mischievous glint in his eyes.

“...Ok.” 

“You stand over there,” He pointed to a small clearing between two trees, “That is the goal. You have to try and protect it.” 

“Ok.” You giggled, heart thumping in rhythm with your hasty steps. 

“Ready?”

You nodded and he backed up. Once he was pleased, he took an initial calculative step before thundering towards the ball, sending it soaring through the air. You were sure that it would not make contact with you as it was well above your head. However, after it had risen, it quickly descended back down with the speed and precision of a hunting eagle. It slammed into the edge of your brow, making contact with a surprising amount of force. Your legs gave way under the pressure as you clutched the spot where the ball hit, eyes tearing up from the impact.

“Ow.” Your voice wobbled as you cradled your head. 

Rafe rushed to kneel beside you, gingerly lifting your chin to inspect your face. “Uh...are you ok?” 

You didn’t respond, and when he noticed the tears welling up in your eyes, his entire body stiffened. 

“Hey, hey, hey. Don’t cry, you’re ok.” 

Blinking furiously, you managed to keep it together, but your voice came out as a dry croak. “Am I bleeding?”

“Nah, it’ll just be a little bruise. Nothing to worry about.” 

His assurance dampened your concern, and you nodded. “Even though that really hurt, I still won. The ball didn’t pass the trees!” 

Rafe began to chuckle but was cut off by the click of the back door. Your mother called your name into the still air. Sniffling, you brushed your hair back into place when his tight grip clasped onto your shoulders, stilling your frantic movements. 

“I was saving this for later,” His voice was hushed now as he removed a lollipop from his back pocket. “But it’s yours if you promise not to tell.” 

Wiping the corner of your eyes, you smiled… Rafe was so cool.

iii.

You froze in front of the mirror.

Floor length, delicately laid seams stretching taut across soft curves, colour perfectly harmonious with your undertones– The dress was a beautiful testament to how far you've come, like a chain binding the past and the present together.

There was just one issue…it wouldn’t zip up the whole way. 

You urged the seamstress to keep trying, tugging the resistant zip until it eventually gave way. It didn't, and on one particularly harsh tug, it got caught and pinched your flesh. You hissed and she apologised, releasing it down and backing off. 

“Your wedding is in a week?” She inquired, glancing over your frame insouciantly.

“Yes, Saturday week.”

“I should be able to add some alterations to the back in that time.” 

Her attempt at reassuring you was futile – your mind could only focus on the wheel of possibilities, endlessly spinning. “What if there’s nothing you can do? Or does the alteration destroys the style of the dress? Is there another alternative?” 

Her smile was solemn as she met your frantic gaze in the reflection. “Well, I suppose the only other suggestion I can make is to move more and eat less.”

You pressed your lips together before stepping out of the changing room into the harshly lit waiting space. Your mother’s eyes immediately widened as she shot off the couch, concern concocting within her irises.  

“Oh, Darling… the dress is beautiful, but you don’t look happy. What’s the matter?”

“There is a slight issue with the back.” The seamstress sighed, urging you to turn. 

Your mother attempted to stifle her gasp beneath a freshly manicured hand. She skittered forward, brushing her delicate fingers over the fabric. Prodding and pushing at the broad opening. 

“Mum,” You groaned. “Just be honest with me, how bad is it?” 

“Well, it’s about two inches so it’s not unnoticeable.” A crease formed in her brow as she inspected you, momentarily stuck in thought. “Have you considered styling your hair down?” 

“Yes, but that's not going to fix the issue.” 

She nodded, turning her attention to the seamstress, “Ma’am, I am willing to pay the price to have my daughter's dress prioritised.” 

Before she could even consider the request, the familiar chime of your phone rang out. As you peered at the screen, the name vibrantly lighting up the homescreen like a lighthouse beacon made you deeply exhale. 

“Sorry, let me answer this.”  

“Is it Thomas?” Your mother’s ears piqued up in interest as you shuffled back to the changing room, her thin lips stretching into a downward crescent.

“Don’t sound more excited than me, mum.”

You swiped the accept button on the call after clicking the lock shut. “Hey sweetheart, how’s it going at the shop?” 

A pit swelled within your stomach. “Things could be better.”

“Is there an issue? Last time you couldn’t have sounded happier.” Thomas’s voice was laced with concern, the image of his deep-set frown and fidgeting fingers flashing into your mind.

“I mean, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed. Just a minor issue with the beading.”

“Alright then, so it could be worse? Regardless, I’m certain you look beautiful.”

“You’re kind of required to say that, y’know, as my fiance.” 

“Required or not doesn’t make a difference if I mean it all the same.”

The impressive weight of the dress’s train dragged the bodice down with it as it cascaded into a pile of limbs on the floor. A chuffed smile melded onto your face. “Was there any real purpose to this call?” 

“Depends on what you count as purposeful. I wanted to hear my beautiful fiancé’s voice…and ask what other plans she has for the day?”

This time you snorted. “I’m supposed to be meeting Edie at the club for lunch. She’s afraid you’ll hog up all my attention after the wedding and plans to get me drunk so she can find out all your dirty secrets.” 

“Well she’s not wrong about the first part,” He heartily chuckled. “But try not to reveal too much, I think we’ve had enough rumours spread about us for a lifetime.”

“I’ll do my best. Anyway, I probably should get going, I’m already running late.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later then. I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Your mother resumed her position on the plush white couch while she waited for you, snapping up as you beckoned for her towards the entrance. She stalked closely behind your tail, approaching warily as you headed to your car. 

“We discussed options on how the dress could be altered. It seems like the quickest solution will be to make it backless.”

“Honestly at this point, I don’t really care,” A heavy and tired sigh escaped your lips as you unlocked your car. “As long as it fits, that's all that matters to me.” 

“Darling,” Her cold grasp caught your arm, forcing you to face her. “I know how you get. Your mind is all over the place, I can see it in your eyes.”

“It’s fine mum. I gave up on perfection a long time ago.” 

She sighed at that, smoothing over your shoulders as she sagely advised, “Either way, this is your big day and I want you to enjoy it. Don’t let this small mishap ruin it for you, alright?” 

“Ok, I won’t. Promise.” Though the smile was forced, you didn’t have it in you to counter her pleading eyes. She hugged you firmly, planting a kiss on your cheek as you parted ways. 

The country club was brimming with familiar faces, each passing by with a nod of the head. In all honesty you couldn’t remember half of their names, only being acquainted through your parents. Etiquette was an expected part of the club, though, so you returned their superficial pleasantries with an equally superficial smile. 

The dining hall was occupied by an elderly couple sharing hushed whispers beside the far right corner and a group of young men ravenously devouring their meals after an afternoon playing golf. 

However, there was no sign of Edie. 

Allowing your intuition to guide you through the hive-like hallways of the facility, you eventually found yourself at the outdoor bar overlooking the course green. That was where you found her; fiery tresses flowing loosely over narrow shoulders, hunched over the bartop as she swirled a glass of glistening rosè. 

“I see you started without me.” 

Without having to turn she squealed as the sound of your voice carried over to her, attracting the attention of curious onlookers. “You made it! I was starting to think you’d bailed on me…again.”

“Ed, that was months ago. I think it’s time we move on.”

She hummed and with a light giggle tapped the stool beside her. “Only if you let me buy you a drink and promise not to complain about the heat.”

“Deal.” 

Nothing ever changed with Edie. Some people would describe her as immature. Stuck in the same adolescent patterns of staying out late, drinking to the point of blacking out and entertaining unsuitable partners based on her attraction to them. But despite the opinion of others, her consistency came as a comfort to you. She knew how to have fun, and this energy never ceased to rub off on you.

“Now I know you’re probably sick of hearing it,” Already knowing where this was going, you rolled your eyes to emphasise how you felt about this turn in the conversation. Her voice was slightly slurred at this point, having gone through half a bottle of prosecco together. If you didn’t keep your wits about you, your tongue would soon become looser than you wished. 

 “But I have to ask–”

“Ed.” Your tone was firm. 

“Are you sure about this?” 

You sighed, leaning back in the stool like a beleaguered outpost, utterly surrendered and defenceless against her heavy onslaught. 

“The amount of times you’ve asked me this is making me think you just don’t like him.”

“Babe, you know it’s more complicated than that.” She gently clasped your hand. “If you’re happy, I’m happy, promise…even with his track record.” 

Your muscles stiffened, weighing you down like a heavy stone. “We put that behind us many years ago.”

“Well yeah,” She reticently continued. “I guess I’m still in the process of forgiving him, though.”

“If I can then I’m sure you have it in you.”

Her viridian eyes continued to pierce into you as she tilted her glass up to glossed lips. Sensing the finality in your tone, she nodded. 

“So, are you?”

“Am I what?” You chortled incredulously. 

“Happy!”

“Yes! Trust me if I wasn’t you’d be the first one to hear about it.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” She shimmied her shoulders with a giggle, the previously heavy aura dissipating much to your relief.

The debate over your love life has been a perpetual thorn in your side for many years. People liked to voice their opinions as though your life was paltry gossip they could pass on to their hairdresser. But not many took the time to consider your perspective, your feelings, your anguish. 

Edie geared the topic of discussion to her latest rendezvous. A welcome change. Her sporadic lifestyle always kept you on your toes, considering there had been no major updates in your life for some time now... well, aside from the engagement of course. With the warm buzz pulsating through your veins, nothing could disturb the serene ambience of the club.

Almost nothing. 

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the two finest women on this island.” Kelce, and that could only mean–

“And if it isn’t our favourite troublesome trio. What brings y'all here this evening?”

Rafe lingered behind his posse like a shadow, his feathery locks tucked beneath a dull grey cap. Though his eyes were shielded by black-out shades, you could sense the burning heat of his gaze from a mile away– your body well attuned to it. 

“Only the same as you two of course. Mind if we join you?”

“Sorry boys, but it’s kind of a girl’s night.” You quickly interjected, masking the unease in your tone with a fleeting smile. 

Edie groaned, “Come on, the more the merrier.”

“Yeah come on,” Rafe echoed petulantly. “It’s been a while since we last hung out.” And you got the feeling he wasn’t talking about the rest of them.

Kelce and Topper occupied the two stools adjacent to Edie, leaving the last available seat directly beside you. Rafe was entirely isolated from the group, nursing a bitterly scented beer, with you as his sole companion. 

His stool made an awful scraping sound as he encroached on your personal space. The thick, solid weight of his thigh nudging into yours caused you to flinch and you could have sworn he smirked at the. 

“So, how’ve you been?” He lazily drawled and you didn’t miss the way he blatantly zeroed in on your ring. 

“The same as always Rafe, but I can’t say that bothers me.”

“No? Y’know that surprises me, you were always so…adventurous. Didn’t think you’d settle for the housewife lifestyle so soon.” 

“You of all people should know that others can change.” You argued with a morose huff.

“Yeah, but not you.” His chuckle was merely a blank imitation of humour, shamelessly inauthentic.  

“This is kind of unfair. You seem to know my whole life story while I can barely piece yours together these days.” 

“You wanna know what I’ve been doing?” You nodded and he slouched back against the bar stool, taking a hefty swig of his beer and removing his shades with a flick of the wrist. 

“I was at the shops recently, saw your mum,”

“...Ok?” You scoffed, struggling to see the relevance. 

“She says you’ve been acting strange lately, distant, that true?” 

“She always thinks I’m acting strangely.” She also apparently likes to gossip about my personal life.

“Thing is,” He paused for a moment, grimacing as if struggling to formulate the proper words. You knew better. Nothing Rafe did was without reason. “She’s under the impression it’s got something to do with the big day.”

“The big day, are you kidding me?” 

Your heart synchronised with the beat of the music, drowning out all other immaterial noise as it pounded slow and steady in your ears. For the first time that evening, you dared a glimpse into Rafe’s eyes, immediately noticing his pupils dilated to the size of pennies.

“Jesus– Rafe,” You hissed, snatching his chin between your fingers. “I thought you gave up on that shit.”

“Always worryin’ about me.” A humourless laugh floated from his hollow chest. Cool silver dug into the supple flesh of your wrist as he gently pried your hand away. With a bated breath, you snatched the limb from his grasp. 

“Yeah, well someone has to.” You scoffed. Remanence of snow dusted his collar and without thinking you brushed it away, watching as it fluttered into small clouds before dispersing. 

“I did give up on it, by the way,” You frowned as your eyes flitted back up to him, brow raising in disbelief considering the blaring evidence that suggested otherwise. “But something’s been bothering me recently. You know what that is?” 

“No.”

His grin was so juvenile you struggled to fathom how this man-child before you was in actuality a twenty-two-year-old well on the way to developing his frontal lobe. 

He leant forward, resting the weight of his upper body on those muscly thighs, shallow breaths puffing hot and dewy onto your neck. There was no subtlety to his show of bravado. No attempt to hide his objective as the invisible string urged him forward, enabling his crude behaviour. 

He wanted to make you suffer. 

“The fact that I may have been the first man to have you, but in a week… I might not be the last.” 

iv.

Brighton Grammar wasn’t any ordinary school, and it certainly wasn’t for the weak.

On your first day, you witnessed a scrawny boy with streaks of green throughout his locks get tripped in the hallway and laughed at. The next day, he returned with a full head of brown hair. 

His conformity was duller, sure, but it removed a target off his back. The positive side to being different was that you stood out and the negative was that you stood out. 

It was a lose-lose situation. 

“I don’t see why you bother with all those clubs and shit.” Rafe dallied beside you with his hands stuffed in his pockets. He took it upon himself to chauffeur you between classes, and you didn’t miss the way the crowds parted for him like a proverbial red sea. 

A sense of discomfort washed over you as Rafe’s hallowed presence had both girls and boys alike turning their heads. Then there was just you. Plain old you. It was unfair, like pitting a stone against a diamond– ultimately you stood no chance.  

“I’m trying to find my passion and form connections. You should try it sometime, then maybe you won't be such a grouch.” He snarled and swerved to the side when you reached to pinch his arm. His reaction stirred a playful snicker from your lips. 

“Uh-huh. You talk like my fuckin’ grandma, y’know that?” 

“I guess that means, unlike some people I have manners.” He glared at you again, a growing grin nearly breaking his unbothered countenance. “Anyway, I am very capable of making my own decisions and I didn’t ask for your opinion.”

“You, capable? That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear.”

“Oh screw you! Starting today I am an independent woman.”

This time he barked out a laugh. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

You came to a halt outside the locked classroom, leaning against the bulletin board frame and waving at your classmates as they mingled amongst each other. Rafe snatched the scheduling paper from your hands, snorting when you cursed him for it. 

“General maths with Mr Dubra? Damn, all I can say is good luck.” 

His words registered someplace in your mind, but your attention had ventured elsewhere. Rafe followed your transfixed gaze to the bulletin board; a bright-coloured poster with cursive font drew you in like a moth to a flame. In the centre of the A4 page was a picture of a small collective of students. The boy at the front particularly captured your attention.

Auditions for Brighton Grammar’s Hamlet are to be held in the auditorium during lunchtime this Thursday! Do you have what it takes thou thespian?

“I think I’ll join the theatre club.” 

Rafe’s expression could only be described as utterly mortified. “Hey if you want to be labelled a fucking loser, be my guest,” He raised his hands in surrender. “I ain't gonna stop you since you’re an ‘independent woman’ now.”

Your attempt to swing at him failed miserably as he dodged your attack with ease. 

Ironically enough, you had been joking. The spotlight never called to you. The thought of that much attention made your skin crawl. What you were drawn to on the other hand was the underappreciated art of stage crew, the glue that binds a production together. 

But the ironic part of it all was that you did end up joining. For one, pathetic and degrading reason:

Thomas Hughes. The boy on the poster.

While you would describe Rafe as universally attractive, Thomas was the kind of handsome that not everyone could appreciate; a somewhat lanky build, eyes deep set into his skull as though he were eternally sleep deprived and unkempt hair tied into a loose bun. 

But most notable was his aura, one of complete self-assurance and radiating warmth. He was also in Rafe’s year level– the grade above you –and you were certain the blonde would not approve, which made it all the more thrilling. 

And for the sole reason of your silly little schoolgirl crush, you found yourself itching to get out of class after fourth period on Thursday. Unbeknownst to the pack of hounds you liked to call friends. 

“You coming to lunch?” Topper asked as you passed him in the hallway, heading in the opposite direction of the cafeteria. 

You shook your head with an affable grin. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

“Rafe won’t be happy.” 

“Remind me to give a fuck.” 

The auditorium was located on the west wing of the school, an old block that had been neglected by the school's previous funding. The heavy double doors creaked as you pushed through them, eyes momentarily adjusting to the dim lighting. 

At the front of the stage sat a panel. Some students, some older, presumably teachers. You took a seat a few rows behind them, intent on simply observing. 

There were six others in the crowd, bouncing their knees and fidgeting with their jewellery anxiously. All apart from one girl who sat up straight, clad in a stained white gown. She caught your intrigued gaze and softly beamed in return, offering you a wave. 

Thomas emerged from the right wing clasping a manila folder. “What a turnout, huh? Now as you probably all know, I will be starring as Hamlet–” The audience erupted in a fit of claps and he bent over into a small bow.

“Thank you, thank you, I am honoured. But more importantly, we are in desperate need of an Ophelia, Gertrude and a Polonius. The show can not go on without them! So I invite you all today to give it your best shot.” 

He gave a cue to someone in the light box and the overhead fresnels were adjusted to a neutral glow. “Well then, I don’t see any point in keeping you all waiting. Who would like to go first?”

The girl in the white gown sprung her hand up with little hesitation. “Alright, thank you, Cindy. The stage is all yours.” 

Cindy, as you now came to know her, strode up the steps, hips swaying confidently like a lioness on the prowl. She was offered a script but turned it down, “I’ve memorised this act.” Another girl in the crowd scoffed, shaking her head. 

As she began, you took note of the dip in her cadence as it transitioned from her naturally firm voice to something delicate and wispy. She had an interesting way of manoeuvring across the stage, light-footed movements carrying her graciously on the wooden surface akin to a small cloud conquering the great big sky. As her performance came to an end, the panel of judges clapped and hooted, and she hid her face in the palms of her hands as it turned notably red.  

Thomas offered his hand to help her off the stage, “Great job Cindy! Although I would add for you to maybe tone down on the crazy. It is only the beginning of the play, Ophelia is still fairly sane.” 

The gleam in her eyes faltered slightly. “Oh–uh…ok. I’ll remember that for next time.”

“If there is a next time, don’t get too cocky,” Thomas spoke without looking up from his notes, missing the way her jaw fell open in surprise. 

“Who’s next?”

The room was swept into silence, everyone glancing around with hesitation. 

“You in the back!” Your head snapped upwards, heart dropping instantly, and you awkwardly gestured to confirm that he was indeed referring to you despite the burning of eyes trained on you like being under a spotlight. “Yes, you. Since no one else was brave enough to volunteer, I nominate you.”

“Oh, well I wasn’t actually going to audition. I was just interested in seeing how this all…works.” You chuckled nervously. 

“Nonsense! We don’t bite, do we?” A chorus of ‘no we don'ts’’ echoed in the large space. “Besides, it’s worth a shot. Some people are naturals and you will never know if you don’t give it a go.” 

It wasn’t like you couldn’t refuse. These were theatre kids not abductors with a gun held to your head. But there was an indescribable intensity radiating off of them as if they could sense the refusal on the tip of your tongue, and for the first time, you felt the agonising weight of what your mother would call peer pressure.

 “Alright…why not.”

“That’s the spirit!” You were ushered up to the stage before you had the chance to reconsider, face burning and legs trembling. Thomas’s fingers scraped against yours as he handed over the script. Your breath momentarily hitched and you flinched as though a spark of electricity had been transferred between you. 

“Just read what’s been highlighted, the other shit isn’t necessary.” 

You nodded, mumbling in recognition as you noticed that at least two-quarters of the page had been highlighted in yellow. 

Inhaling deeply, you centred your focus on the script. attempting to block out the sets of eyes trained on you. You opened your mouth…and laughed. A painstakingly timorous noise that could only be controlled by slapping a hand over your traitorous lips. 

 “I’m sorry, this feels so unnatural to me.” 

“No need to apologise, we’ve all been there,” Thomas’s tone was earnest, void of any judgement and this quelled the pin-pricking sensation circulating through your extremities slightly. “How ‘bout we read through the scene first so you have a better understanding of it. Shakespearean language can be a real bastard if you’re not used to it.”

You giggled at his jocose attitude, relief washing over you like a damp cloth. “I think that would help, thank you.”

From what you gathered the scene went as follows: Ophelia's father Polonius and her brother Laertes say their good-byes, consecutively warning her not to trust Hamlet’s promises of love as well as ordering her not to see Hamlet again. 

Although you still admired her performance, Thomas’s criticism of Cindy’s portrayal made much more sense now. Though Ophelia is famously driven to madness later on in the play– accumulating in her untimely and equally ambiguous end– at this stage of the story, she is merely a heartstruck girl observing the world through rose-tinted lenses. 

“Good to go?”  

“I think so.”

“Alright, everyone! Give it up for…sorry, what’s your name?”

Your voice echoed with a newfound confidence and the crowd repeated it in a cheer. Perhaps you had been wrong, maybe you did like the spotlight, only you’d never given it the proper chance. 

Mimicking Cindy, you adopted a higher pitch. Not shrill like the birds that resided outside your window each morning, but a pleasant touch of feminine; soft and delicate. You ambled across the stage, not in the same floaty manner she had employed but instead surefooted, conveying Ophelia’s clear-mindedness at this stage of the play. Unlike Cindy, however, you did not have the lines down, forcing you to take a slower approach. But this seemed to work in your favour, your slowed speech giving you plenty of opportunity to focus on your facial expressions, ensuring that they matched what was being described in the cues. 

As your performance wrapped up and the adrenaline steadily receded, you couldn’t resist fixating on Thomas in the crowd who gazed up at you as though you hung the moon and stars in the sky. 

And for the first time at your godforsaken school, you felt seen.

v.

The hum of silence echoed in the Cameron’s dining room, encompassing the yellow walls in a damp sheen that refused to dry. Silver cutlery clinked against delicate porcelain, and as you picked away at your food, Rose smiled at you from across the table. 

“So…Rafe tells us that you’re going to be in the school’s performance, what was the name–” 

“Hamlet.” The blonde blankly interrupted, and you were surprised that he even knew that. “She’s playing the girl who kills herself.” 

Ward hummed in interest, passing you the salad bowl. “That's excellent news. Theatre was a thriving pastime in my generation but it seems to have become somewhat of a dying art. Good on you for keeping it alive.” 

“Well I didn’t exactly plan on joining, it just kind of happened–”

“She’s got a thing for the main guy, Tobias or some shit, that’s why she auditioned.”

“Rafe!” He grunted as you nudged his shin, lips peeling into a provoking smirk at your scolding. 

“You gonna tell me I’m wrong?” He teased with a venomous undertone only you seemed to register, and your eyes narrowed at him.

“I want to see, I want to see, who’s this guy?” Sarah wheedled with her big brown eyes. 

“Shut up, Sarah–” 

“Rafe! Do not speak to your sister that way.” Ward’s voice boomed like a deafening clap of thunder, and once his pulsating anger settled, a small cry erupted from Wheezie who tried to conceal her tears beneath a dotted napkin. Rose was quick to placate the young girl with promises of dessert, whisking her off into the kitchen but not before refilling her glass of chardonnay. 

Once they were out of sight, Ward beckoned Sarah to clamber onto his lap, folding her small face into his broad neck before regarding his son with a scalding glare. “Look at what you’ve done.”

The interaction was unsettling, to say the least, but not uncommon. Rafe’s lips pinched shut. In the face of his father’s wrath, he would always detract from his usual tough persona, retreating into the shell of a wounded puppy. You didn’t blame him. Ward could be cruel with no regard for the effect his words had on his son, and you loathed him for his blatant favouritism. 

You reached for his hand underneath the table, intertwining the cold extremity with your own. He flinched at first, aggressively flicking his head toward you. But as you gave it a gentle squeeze he seemed to catch on to your intention and his body fell back into a relaxed state. 

You tried to be there for Rafe as much as you could, but despite your efforts, the void left by an absent father was irreplaceable. You could only try your best, but sometimes you had to put yourself first, even if that meant neglecting the needs of those closest to you. 

The production was a much bigger commitment than you initially thought. Rehearsals pulled you from classes multiple times a week and you began to worry that it could potentially detract from your other subjects. But as a young woman, the possibility of it reeling you from your scholarly responsibilities was not quite as concerning as it was that you felt you were failing at your duties as a friend. 

It had been raining consistently for the past five days. Endless bouts of downpours during spring thickened the soil and left the air with an unpleasantly muggy tinge. You and Rafe slouched against the linoleum floors of the school gymnasium, slightly obscured from view by the red curtains of the wall-length window. He shut your concerns of being caught down by offering you a swig of whatever concoction he’d brought onto school premises.

“How about instead of getting your tits in a twist about it, you have some.”

Classic Rafe. 

But you did end up having some because as soon as he began ranting you knew it was necessary for your own mental wellbeing. 

“You better fucking be there ‘cause there’s no way I can deal with all those old farts on my own.”  

“Am I even invited?” You grimaced as the bitter taste invaded your tastebuds, eagerly handing the flask back, to which he condescendingly snorted. 

A gathering with Ward and his highly esteemed guests could only entail boredom to a deadly degree. Even thinking about it made you yawn, but on the other hand, you would feel bad if Rafe had to endure it on his own.  

“Dad says you're more than welcome, he likes having you around,” He let out a small chuckle, ruffling his short bangs. “He says you keep me sane like we’re an old married couple or some shit.”

At that, you couldn’t help but barked out in laughter. “Yeah right. Say we ever did hypothetically get married, one of us would probably end up killing the other.”

“Yeahhh, probably.”

 He drank again, eyeing you scrupulously, and in that moment you wished you could climb into his brain to know what he was thinking. There was a brief awkward pause before you cleared your throat and asked, “Wait, when did you say this was again?” 

“Friday, afterschool. Why?”

“Shit, Rafe–”

“Nah. You gotta be fucking kiddin’ me, again. They can’t keep you after school on a Friday! That’s criminal.”

“I know, trust me I agree.”

“Don’t go then.” He countered with a raised brow, testing you. 

“I would If I could, you know that. But there’s two weeks till the show, there’s just too much to do.” 

“Sure, whatever you say.” He lifted the silver cylinder back up to his lips, taking a long swig. 

“Rafe,” You sighed, trying to reason with him. “Please don’t be mad at me, I’m sorry–”

You were cut off as the doors to the gym groaned, opening to reveal the last person you expected to see.

Thomas. 

“Oh, hey. What’s up?” He seemed surprised to see you, but even more surprised to see you with Rafe, eyes flickering between you with confusion. 

“Hi Thomas, we were just,” His attention flitted down to the flask, incriminating evidence that you quickly swept beneath Rafe’s folded leg, “Uh, what are you doing here? Never took you as the sporting kind of lad.”

Shit, that was bad. As if Rafe was thinking the same thing, he snorted into his fist. You wanted to crumble right then and there.

Thomas seemed to find your comment amusing, however, bowing his head as he chortled. “Damn, it’s that obvious, huh? But nah, I’m just tryna help Cindy find her phone. I would ask what you guys are up to, but…well, I don’t really wanna know.” 

“Ah, well I hope she finds it. We didn’t see anything, did we, Rafe?”

“Nope.” He popped his ‘p’ when answering, and you frowned, unimpressed by his cavalier attitude. “Hey man, why don’t you join us?” 

Rafe tilted his head at Thomas in what would appear to the average eye as a friendly gesture but you knew better; he was up to no good. 

“I would. But as I said, I gotta–”

“Oh c'mon, I’m sure she could do with the detox.”

“Uh…”

“Is that a yes?” He gestured toward you, “She won’t mind. In fact, I think she’d much prefer to hang out with you than me–”

Classic Rafe. You desperately waved your hands at Thomas, attempting to damage control before he had the opportunity to make the situation even more awkward. “Don’t listen to him, he’s way too used to getting his way. Go if you need to.”

A brief glint of relief flashed across Thomas’s features, and like a rabbit caught in a tiff, he seized the opportunity you provided to flee. “You’re right, I really should go. Thanks for the offer though, man. See you both around.” 

As soon as the doors clicked shut again, you wasted no time. Rafe didn’t even attempt to defend himself against your slew of attacks, simply taking your weak hits for what they were.

“What the fuck was that?” You finally hissed out once you’d calmed down. 

“What was what?”

“Don’t be a moron, are you trying to embarrass me?” 

“Oh, sorry for being a good wingman.” His shrug was insouciant, further frustrating you. 

“What you’re being is a pain in my ass.” 

He didn’t react to that in the way you expected. Generally, he found the humour in your insults, but this time a coldness you weren’t accustomed to receiving glazed over his eyes.

“You really like this guy, huh?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Cut the shit. You’ve only ever acted like this with that kid who proposed to you in the sandpit.” As you stood he sighed, realising you were refusing to engage in this conversation. “So will I see you on Friday or not?”

“Probably not.”

“See! I knew you’d rather hang out with him than me!” He shouted after you as you stormed off to your next class.

In the weeks leading up to the performance, things only became more hectic. If you were to get your cortisol levels tested the results would likely conclude abnormally high. To make matters worse, Rafe was mad at you. Topper and Kelce tried to assure you that he wasn’t, but you knew better. He didn’t respond to your texts, barely acknowledged your presence at school and hadn’t invited you over in a week. All very abnormal behaviours as, while yes, he was an inherit dickhead, you were usually exempt from this. 

So naturally, you did what any normal person in such circumstances would do; gave him the same treatment in return. Only acknowledging the damage his behaviour was inflicting upon you in furious scribbles in your lavender spiral diary. 

You were having your costume fitted in the small dressing room adjacent to the auditorium. Cindy was booked for her appointment afterwards and in the meantime she lazed on the tattered purple couch in the corner of the room, scrolling through her phone. 

A girl from the costume department examined the logistical functioning of your costume as there were a few instances in the performance where a quick change was necessary. Her vivacious red curls bounced as she turned the room upside down in search of her pins. 

“Ok then, you’re pretty much done. I’ll just have to hem the base so we adhere to theatre-safe practices and all that stupid shit they assess…” She paused and eyed you over, tugging at the loose sleeve of your dress with a hum. “You look so pretty, like a fairy.”

“Thank you.” You bashfully smiled. She returned it before turning to the other girl in the room.

“Cindy.” 

“Hm?”

“Cindy.” 

“What?” She snapped, tearing her gaze from her phone. 

“What do you think?”

“I mean it’s alright” She shrugged, face peeling into a saccharine grin. “Not really your colour but you definitely suit rags.”

 You would’ve burst out into laughter had you not been so shocked.

“Now I remember why I don’t ask for your opinion,” The redhead rolled her eyes, shoving Cindy’s garment bag into her lap. “Be useful and get changed into this. I’ll get started on you in a moment.”

Once Cindy had left the room, she bowed her head apologising. 

“I’m guessing you’re not her biggest fan?” 

“Not a fan, period.” She sullenly snorted. “She’s a sanctimonious bitch who can’t keep her nose out of other peoples’ business.”

“She’s pretty at least.” You tried to see the best in people, despite how difficult they made it for you. 

“Well, that’s about all she has to offer. I’m Edie, by the way.”

And the rest was history. 

Similarly to the majority of the cast and crew, Edie was in Rafe’s grade. And when she discovered (during your break on Friday rehearsals) that you knew the infamous blonde personally, you did not hear the end of it.

“You’re friends with Rafe Cameron?” Her jaw fell open so quickly that you worried it would pop out of alignment. 

“Yeah, I mean we practically grew up together. I’ve spent half my life at his house.”

“You go to his house?! Holy fuck, you’ve been living my dream life like it’s nothing to you.”

“Trust me it’s not as good as you might think. He can be a real ass–”

“Hope you’re not talkin’ about me?” An arm suddenly snaked over your shoulder. The limb was heavy but warm– comforting –and emanated a pleasant aroma. Thomas let his hair hang loose today, long ebony strands pirouetting over the surface of your skin when you glanced up at him.

“Ah-ha not specifically, but I don’t know, maybe it applies to you too.”

In true theatrical style, he sputtered out a choking noise, clasping onto his chest to imitate immense pain. “Ouch. I think you just broke my heart.”

“Oh really? I didn’t realise Martians could feel pain.”

He gasped, and Edie chuckled at the interaction from beside you, shaking her head at your antics. “O-kay as cute as that was, can we please get back to the topic of Rafe.”

Thomas’s expression pinched in discomfort at the mention of the blonde and you recalled your last interaction with them both, inwardly cringing. “Does he have a problem with me or something? I feel like he does.”

“Wouldn’t be surprising. He’s always looking to have a problem with someone.”

“Seems to tolerate you though.”

“Barely,” He opened his mouth to respond but was beaten to it by a loud screech sounding out the syllables of his name. Cindy stood atop the stage, tapping her foot rhythmically against the solid wood with her arms crossed over her chest, not bothering to contain her lour. 

“Thomas!” her voice pierced across the auditorium again like one of those pesky drillers going off on a Sunday morning. “I want to go over the cues for this scene, c’mon.”

“Hey,” Edie halted him as he begrudgingly moved to acquiesce to her demand, “Just remember you have free will.”

“Well look how far that’s gotten me.” 

You weren’t sure what he meant by that, as though it were some cryptic message you’d been tasked to decode. He smiled, bidding you both goodbye with a simple wave and you paused for a moment, observing as he trudged away. 

Edie cleared her throat and you were snapped out of your daze, returning to the present only to realise– with much dismay –that your face had been donned with a damning grin. Her brow quirked and you knew what was coming. 

“What’s that look for?” 

“Something you wanna tell me?”

“No, I don’t think so?” Your voice came out in a pathetic squeak and you cleared it, although the damage had already been done. 

“Oh come on,” She scoffed with an omniscient smirk, “You’re about as transparent as my gran’s panties…You like him.”

“Not you too.” You groaned, pivoting on your heels to take a seat in one of the rows of chairs furthest away from anyone else. If she wanted to have this conversation it was going to be out of earshot. Lest someone else managed to uncover your secret it would soon spread like wildfire. Her girlish giggle followed, and she saddled up beside you. 

“There’s no shame in it, babe. Tom’s a good guy, and you seem to get along…but–”

“But what?” 

Her expression soured, as though the words on the tip of her tongue were full of bile. “One thing you should know about Tom is that for many years, he had a thing for Cindy,” Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, “She rejected and rejected him, and eventually he moved on…but she didn’t like that. Not one bit. But now it seems the tables have turned. Did you know she fucking hates theatre?”

“Doesn’t seem that way to me.” You were prompted to glance up onto the stage where the two were currently rehearsing; she made it seem so effortless. How could she hate the things she was good at?

“Exactly. That’s why she’s so dangerous, she can keep up a good act.”

“I see…” This information shouldn’t have unsettled you. The past was set in stone for a reason and it was only possible for it to be resurfaced if you allowed it to. But it did unsettle you. Cindy possessed a classic kind of beauty you weren’t sure you could compete with. “So do you think if she were to ever bring it up, he would go for her again?”

“Hard to tell, with both of them. I’m pretty sure it’s just a game to her, she likes the attention. But as for Thomas, I think he’s beginning to see things clearer now.”

You tilted your head, unsure of what she meant by that.

“He’s not thinking with his dick.” She clarified bluntly, the crass wording making you gasp and then chuckle.

“Right. Good to know.”

Your phone vibrated from within your jeans pocket and you were surprised to see that it was Rafe calling you, considering you’d essentially gone with no contact for days. Assuming the worst, you excused yourself.

As you placed the phone to your ear you could only manage to make out a whooshing sound as though he were standing atop a viciously windy mountain. Then it stopped in tandem with what sounded to be like a string of expletives before he finally spoke.

“Yooo, what’s up? You coming?” Your brows furrowed at his elated tone. Last you’d checked, he was ignoring you. 

“Rafe, I already told you I can't–”

“Chill, it's fine. Got dumb and dumber to come over, keep me entertained”

“The fuck you just call us?” Topper and Kelce both shouted in unison somewhere in the background. Aside from their outburst, you couldn’t make out any other noise so you imagined they’d locked themselves away from all the action with Ward and his friends. Rafe detested hanging out with the oldies.

“OK, good. Saves me from feeling bad. But are you alright, you sound a bit…” Happy. The word you were grasping for was happy because you couldn’t remember the last time he’d sounded so carefree. 

“Better than ever!” 

“And are we ok?” 

“Yeahhh, you’re too cute to stay mad at for long.”

His response stifled you for a moment. “That’s real funny, Rafe.”

But in the coming days, something told you this may not be the case. 

Instead of avoiding you, Rafe wasn’t even showing up to school anymore. You were worried he was still clinging onto the remnants of his unjust anger until you received another phone call at 2:30 am, the night before your performance.

“Rafe…” You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, voice groggy and disoriented as you checked the glaring red lines on your digital clock. “What’s wrong? Do you even know what time it is?”

“Yeah, uh I’m sorry…” He sniffed. “I’m outside, can I come– ah actually y’know what just come out front, will you?” 

You paused. On any ordinary occasion, you’d have told him to piss off, too tired and frustrated to entertain his larks. But a stab of concern reared its ugly head at his shakey tone– this was very out of character.   

“Yeah, yeah of course. I’ll be out in a minute.”

It was a blisteringly cold night so you shrugged on a coat before trekking downstairs quietly, praying your parents weren’t lying awake to witness you sneaking out of the house in the wee hours. 

The front door scraped against the doormat as it opened. Rafe remained slumped against one of the white veranda pillars, motionless, as though he hadn’t heard you. His breaths were heavy, and upon assessing him you frowned at the fact that he was merely clad in a thin polo shirt and khaki shorts. 

“...Rafe?” You brushed your fingers gingerly across the wide expanse of his shoulders. He violently flinched, whipping around as though your touch was a burning affliction upon his supple skin. But his harsh reaction quickly softened when he saw it was just you.

 “Shit, don’t do that.”

“Sorry.” You whispered, dragging your eyes from his head down to his toes, assessing for any injuries. His unmarred skin left you stumped and it was only when you honed in on his frantic gaze did the issue finally dawned on you.

“Are you high?” 

Your question seemed to strike a nerve. He scrunched his face within his hands, as though he were in pain.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I-it’s like I’m seeing shit and hearing shit and my head hurts so fucking bad.” He was reacting badly. “And all I could think about was seeing you.”

“Did you fight with Ward?” This time he didn’t flinch as you grabbed onto his bicep, hoping to ground him. 

“Yeah, uh, yeah he’s just–”

“It’s alright, you don’t have to explain that right now. I’m here.” His burly arms engulfed you as he accepted your hug. You entangled yourself within his embrace, understanding that right now, all he desired was some comfort. 

“Thanks.” 

His voice was muffled by the position with his head stuffed into your shoulder. You gently tighten your hold in response, focusing on the rapid stuttering of his heartbeat which gradually slowed and levelled out into a calmer rhythm.    

What came next was like a chain of events: both of you pulled back at the same time and a frisson of confusion swept over you as he remained there, content with your noses practically intertwining. Although you weren’t confused. No. You were evading the truth. The truth that had become crystallised at this moment, glistening so bright you could hardly ignore it. 

One moment you were pinned to the spot by his sodden gaze, sporadically alternating between each region of your face. Mapping out each detail but notably lingering on your lips. Emotions raged within those viridian orbs like a violent coastal storm, threatening to destroy whatever stability you had left. 

Then, as though it were natural to him, he met you in the middle. 

You’d never experienced anything like it, and any story you’d been told was not comparable. His lips were firm and demanding in a way that surprised you and there was not a single trace of hesitation in his movement, as though he’d been waiting for this moment for a long time. 

Reality came crashing into you like a truck; you were kissing your best friend. The boy you bathed with as a child, who allowed you to snot into his sleeve as you wept and who vowed to protect you from the plight of men; It felt nice, but this sentiment was so heavily outweighed by the fact that it felt wrong. 

This revelation ignited your dormant reflexes. As he began to paw at your lower back, you realised this had gone too far. 

The rate at which you pushed him away stunned even you, and a wave of guilt ebbed through your system as his back collided with the pillar; you didn’t mean to be so harsh, after all, he was already in a vulnerable state. He remained crumpled in that position, fingers ghosting over his lips as if he were attempting to savour the taste of your own. 

“Shit, I-I’m always fucking up, I’m sorry,” He cupped your chin, the action causing you to jerk. “Sorry.” 

It unnerved how contrived his apology sounded, and you wondered if he could hear it too. 

“Uh-no no it’s ok,” Your body was frozen in a state of shock. “You're all over the place,” Surely he’d brush this off as a mistake by morning. “let's get you inside, yeah?”

His eyes glazed over your face once again, scrupulously this time, as though he were searching for something. He nodded when he didn’t find it, seemingly wanting to say more as he brushed the back of his neck but he chose to remain silent as you led him inside. 

It wasn’t unusual for you to share a bed; you’d done so numerous times in the past. But it felt different now, like an invitation you were reluctant to hand out. You wanted to be there for Rafe, but you couldn’t let him get confused.

So you lay there, keeping an appropriate amount of distance from the snoring blonde. If you acted normal, things would remain as they always had, right? Would it be swiped under the rug? Deep down you realised the implications of what had just occurred, and the potential for your…brief mistake to alter both of your futures. It was a classic tale, one you’d heard so many times (both in reality and fiction) it had burned deep into your psyche. A slow evolution between boy and girl, from friendship to beyond. But that didn’t mean you'd end like that, you repeated it over and over again like a mantra. 

You just couldn’t.

So you lay there, deciding to enjoy this peaceful moment. Naturally, your mind drifts over it all: the play, Thomas, and Rafe beside you. All share a common denominator– pumping your life full of both excitement and stress. 

But as the saying goes; all good things must come to an end. 

vi.

Rafe experienced what you liked to call a reverse metamorphosis during your senior year. 

Why reverse? Well, instead of transforming from a raggedy moth, expanding his wings to flourish as a butterfly, he took a drastic turn for the worse; as though he’d retreated into a slimy cocoon. 

Not that he’d ever been exceptionally well-behaved throughout his schooling years– busted for truancy more times than you could count, dabbling in all sorts of allusive substances among other nefarious things that you try not to dwell on –but as a recent graduate privileged with all the resources needed to pave a bright future, you had at least expected he’d try.

Unfortunately, things didn’t always pan out as you imagined they would. 

If he wasn’t drunk, or at least on the brink of it, then he was under the influence of some other powdery or herbal substance. Wasting his days away under the soft confinements of his bedding, recovering from late nights and remaining slumped against the toilet for the better half of his waking hours. Then he’d repeat the cycle, with absolutely no lessons learnt. 

Sometimes you’d receive a call. Incoherent slurs that reminded you of that fateful night months ago, where lines were blurred and boundaries crossed. His drunken words held no meaning, right? That’s what you would tell yourself, like a mantra, over and over until your mind believed what it heard the most. 

Nonetheless, you couldn’t spend your whole life worrying about Rafe. Not when you had other, more imperative issues at hand. 

Or… between your legs. 

The nonsensical droning emitted from the food network on your TV fell on deaf ears as you sat perched on Thomas's lap. The weight of your knees was supported by cherry sheets and pink frilly pillows as your lips moved against his at a languid pace. It was soft, sensual…tame, but at the same time exhilarating, and you trusted Thomas to guide you through it.

He let out a low groan as your fingers absentmindedly tugged on his shiny locks. Much to your dismay, he recently cut his hair shorter than it's ever been; his new look attracted attention from those who previously dismissed him, and this stoked the flames of unease within you.

You lowered your position, leaning impossibly closer until your chest brushed against the flimsy cotton of his t-shirt. A jolt of electricity transmitted up your spine as his hands found purchase on your lower back, traversing dangerously low, and a soft whimper floated from your chest.

But as you were still discovering, the art of intimacy was much more complex than you initially believed, and you hadn’t quite learnt how to toe the line.

Without thinking, your thumbs dipped into the waistline of his pants. Just barely tickling the surface, but enough to make Thomas jerk his head back, the hasty action subsequently halting your heated movements. 

 “What’re you doing?” His voice was outlandishly thick as his breaths came out in heavy puffs, scented in confusion. 

“I-i just thought…” You sat back, feeling suddenly unmoored. “Sorry, am I doing something wrong?”

“Of course not, just not right now, ok?” His deft fingers kneaded into your side, but their intended comforting effect did nothing to quell the pang of his rejection. 

“Sure.” You halfheartedly smiled, slipping off of his warm body to settle by his side. 

Had you been as stiff as a board this entire time? And why was your bedroom becoming increasingly suffocating? As though the walls unanimously decided to close in and focus every second of awkwardness into one concentrated area. 

“Wanna watch a movie?” Thomas eventually broke the heavy silence, refusing to broach the elephant in the room– which you were thankful for.

Clearing your throat, you rolled out of your bed, pulling on a pair of fuzzy socks. “Yeah, I’ll-uh get us something to eat. You choose the movie.”

Your relationship with Thomas had been smooth sailing…until it wasn't. 

As you busied yourself slicing up a platter of fruit in the kitchen, you couldn’t resist analysing each possibility as to why. Thomas was acting strangely. This wasn’t an assumption, and it couldn’t have been a coincidence that his change in demeanour always seemed to occur in your presence. So then what were you doing wrong? And why did he insist on keeping you in the dark?

Your train of thought came to an abrupt halt as you noticed an onslaught of notifications popping up on your phone. With an exasperated groan, you leaned over the bench to see who dared to disrupt your moment's peace.

Rafe. Could you get a break?

To: Princess Rafe 🙄👑  Piss off I’m busy.

You left it there, praying to any deity willing to lend you an ear that that would suffice. But clearly, you’d also managed to vex the higher beings, as his response was immediate:

From: Princess Rafe 🙄👑 I’m going 74 mph yet I take the time to talk to you 🖕

Yep. No break for you.  To: Princess Rafe 🙄👑  ???? Dude get off your fucking phone. 

From: Princess Rafe 🙄👑 Since you asked so nicely.

And if his cavalier regard for the law wasn’t bad enough, his next message sent your jaw straight to the floor.

“Nope. Not dealing with this.” You shoved your phone into your pocket, ignoring the buzz of a new notification, both for your sanity and Rafe’s safety. 

When you returned to your room, Thomas had migrated to the carpet, perched atop a pile of decorative pillows you’d previously discarded onto the floor as he flicked through the pages of a familiar lavender spiral notebook. 

You gasped, the realisation of what he was rifling through and slapping you right across the face. 

“Oh, hey.” He smirked– that sick, condescending bastard!

“STOP!” You screeched, and his laughter verged on hysterical. “Put. That. Down.”

He swiftly dogged the stuffed animals you pelted in his direction, pouting derisively as you proceeded to storm towards him. “Aw, why would I do that? I was just getting to the part where you’ve described my scent. Lemon myrtle? That’s pretty specific, it’s actually musk–”

“Thomas.” Your tone acquired a sharp edge, but clearly, he hadn’t tortured you enough as he teasingly flicked to the newer entries.  

“Oh, and what’s this…” His posture went lax, abruptly pausing. His wide eyes darted in between the lines as though the words were a mirage he was reluctant to put his trust in. Then his lips pulled down into a small frown, and your stomach clenched. 

“What? Where the hell are you up to?” Your attempt to snatch at the book was fruitless as he kept it raised well above your reach. “Wha–”   

 “Alright, I’ve had enough of this game for one night. Let’s watch the movie.” You stumbled to catch the book as he carelessly discarded it, pivoting around you as he flopped back onto the bed.

“Okay…but don’t make a habit of breaching my privacy.” Your laugh was intended to lighten the mood, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. 

“Why, got something to hide?” He sullenly spoke, staring at the ceiling. Again, the inexplicable tension had wormed its back into your room. It was like a stubborn parasite that adapted to its surroundings, never completely disappearing. 

“Nothing too damning I’d imagine.”

The movie Thomas chose was a 20th-century romantic tragedy featuring many themes typical of that era such as misogyny and class which made your eyes roll. Your attention to the plot was continually hijacked as Rafe continued to flood your phone with messages, making it difficult to follow along with the plot. You’d been in the middle of responding to one of his many texts (complaining about how some guy at a party was getting on his nerves) when the movie suddenly paused.

“Mm, why'd you pause it?” You peeled your eyes from the screen to be met by Thomas’s blank ones.

“Can I ask you something? And I want you to just be honest with me, don’t tell me what I want to hear.”

“Uh, sure.” His quick transition into seriousness caught you by surprise, and your body tensed like a coiled spring. 

“Alright look, I hate to be this guy,” His face scrunched into a grimace as he glanced anywhere but your eyes. “But you’d tell me if there was someone else, wouldn’t you?”

“Someone else? What do you mean?”

He sighed, clearly frustrated. “Let me be more clear then. If you liked someone else, would you string me along…or would you break things off?”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing, now twisting your body to face him with a scoff. “Who do you think I am, Thomas? I was the one who asked you out, remember? That wasn’t on a whim, I did that because I liked you.”

“Liked?”

You groaned. Why was he making this so complicated?

 “Liked, like. What difference does it make? To me, this seems like you are trying to come to the conclusion you want to hear?”

“I’m not jumping to conclusions, just tryna test my hypothesis.”

“Okay, and what’s that?” Probing information out of him was like bribing a kid with vegetables; fucking tedious. 

“That you care about Rafe more than you’re letting on, maybe more than you even realise.”

“What?” You almost laughed in disbelief. Where was this even coming from? “He’s one of my best friends, wouldn’t it be more concerning if I didn’t care for him?”

“I never said you couldn’t care about him to a normal degree, but he may as well be in the room with us! It’s never just me and you, he’s always occupying your mind. Do you not stop to think about how that makes me feel?” 

He did have a point. Rafe was like a dog, constantly demanding your attention, and it had been that way since the day you met him. Still, you sat there in shock, realising he must’ve been bottling this up for some time now. 

“I didn’t mean- well alright if we’re suddenly being honest, half the time I’m with you it feels like you don’t even want me there.”

“What does that mean?” Now it was his turn to sound confused, offended even.

“You confuse me! One moment you’re all over me and the next you’re pushing me away as though I make your skin crawl.” 

He paused, contemplatively digesting your words before his pretty features twisted into an indignant scowl. “So does that excuse what you did? Because I don’t show you enough attention?”

“What did I do?” You were at your wit’s end.

“Oh stop pretending like you don’t know what I’m talking about. I saw it, written in your pretty fucking handwritten; you kissed him.”

Oh. Shit. Of all entries, it was that one he had to have read; which did not paint the clearest picture of that night. You got halfway through documenting what had happened before stopping right at the point when you realised it was wrong, no longer feeling in the mood to relive the moment…no wonder he was furious. 

“It’s not what you think.” You internally cursed yourself for how cliche that sounded. 

“No? Enlighten me then.” He sat up straight like a judge awaiting your testimony from a convicted criminal. 

“Rafe has issues…okay. Stuff at home, and he’s never known how to cope on his own–”

“Oh right, so that’s where you come into play. Are your lips like some magical cure for interpersonal issues?” He queried cynically. 

“Would you shut up and listen!” This time, he reared back at your outburst, “That night he was really out of it. I’m talking delirious, like some rabid dog. He kissed me, not the other way round, and I stopped it because it didn't feel right… and because I liked you.”

You could see the cogs churning in Thomas's mind as he absorbed your words, taking the time to process each one. With a gentle gaze, he met your eyes, his expression softening into an apologetic smile.

 “I see. This all happened before we got together?” 

“Yes, of course it was before. I would never do something like that to you,” His drop in hostility spurred you to lean forward, dragging his warm limbs into your embrace, “I promise.” 

Surely this would be the end of it. It had to be. Everything was out in the open, and miscommunications cleared. But when you pulled back, his guilty grimace told you otherwise. 

“There’s something else I have to tell you.”

vii.

Ring. 

Ring. 

Ring. 

Ring. 

Another fervid sob was ripped from your maw. You burned from within, rife with malice clawing up your raw oesophagus till it was raw and prying through your lips in ugly bated breaths. You allowed a moment to pass before trying again. 

Ring. 

Ring. 

Ring. 

…

“You ignore my fuckin’ texts and now you wanna talk.”

“Rafe,” Your cracked voice butchered the syllables of his name, sounding almost unrecognisable. Pathetic. “Can I see you?”

Not even 10 seconds later a notification appeared on your phone. He’d shared his location, some vaguely familiar residence on the outskirts of your neighbourhood. 

“What–”

“I’ll see you soon.”

Being vulnerable wasn’t your forte, nor was it Rafe’s, and there was no doubt he was currently perplexed by your sudden change of heart. But tonight, you needed someone. And that’s how you found yourself stepping into a stranger's house at 12:45 am, scouring the misty rooms in search of a familiar burly figure. 

A low whistle piqued your attention. Topper emerged from the kitchen as you were passing by, two red solo cups in his possession. “Didn’t expect to see you here, not that I’m complaining.”

His eyes quickly swept over your frame, the respectful gentleman he was. You couldn’t contain your scoff. Even in black track pants and a muted pink top… guys really could be attracted to anything as long as it walked on two hind legs. 

“Bit cliche, don’t you think, Top.” You retorted with a halfhearted snort, gesturing to the cups. What was this, a freshman's first house party?

He rolled his eyes, extending one to you. The nefarious liquid sloshed over the rim and you shook your head. “Uh, no I’m good, thanks.”

He fixed you with a pointed look. “It looks like you could use it.”

With a huff, you snatched the cup from him, to which he chuckled. “I hate how you’re always right.”

He began to ferry you toward Kelce and their gaggle of friends who huddled around a small coffee table in the living room, passing a clumsily rolled joint between them. When Kelce’s wide-set brown eyes landed on you, he abruptly stood, knocking the table's contents in doing so as he manhandled you into his side. 

“How’s my favourite girl doing?”

He balanced the joint between two fingers, residual smoke clung to his body in a damp sheen. Your eyes watered as you suppressed a cough, “Fine, until I caught a whiff of you.”

“C’mon, nothing takes the edge off like a good toke.” He waved it in front of your face, an offer, snorting as your face contorted into a grimace. 

“As great as that sounds,” You pushed his arm off its perch on your shoulder with a bitter smile. “Is Rafe here?”

“Yeah, pretty sure he went upstairs.” His hand absentmindedly flicked toward the staircase and you quickly excused yourself before they could become too attached to your presence.

The ambience upstairs was much more quaint than below, mainly consisting of couples who split off from their respective groups. A few were making out, some others collapsed asleep on the furnished floorboards; typical party antics reminding you as to why you generally avoided these places. 

The walk from your house had cooled your system, remedying your flighty instincts ever so slightly. This you were thankful for, as upon opening the final door along the lengthy hallway, you were met with Rafe’s determined gaze, and you knew he would demand answers.

“Been messaging you.” The mattress creaked as he lifted his weight off its surface. His gait was straight and steady, and this was perhaps the closest to sober you’d seen him in a long time.

“I know, I just wanted to see you in person.” Despite your best efforts, the burning of your eyes became so overbearing and you fought to hold back the overwhelming emotions coursing through your veins. It was like the moment someone asks if you're okay when it's obvious you're not, the floodgates open and emotions come crashing down around you in an unrelenting wave.

“Hey hey hey, what the fuck happened to you?” He rushed over, forcing you to face him with a firm grip on your shoulders. 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“The fuck it does,” His hands rubbed over his face exasperatedly as though he were controlling the urge to be rougher with you and extract an answer forcefully. “You can’t call me all hysterically crying and shit then give me nothing. Did someone hurt you? Did Thomas do something?”

The mere mention of his name sent you spiralling even further. “Alright, come on, sit down.” Rafe didn’t give you much of an option, dragging you to the bed in an iron grip and then forcing you onto the black sheets as he sat beside you. 

“What happened?” 

“It’s Thomas.” You affirmed solemnly. 

 “I’ll kill him.” He seethed through his teeth and your head violently shook. 

“No, no I won’t tell you if that’s how you’re gonna respond.” He went to ark up but you interrupted him before he had the chance. “Rafe, I'm serious.”

“I’ll decide for myself once you tell me.”

With a heavy sigh, you finally conceded. “Do you remember that one girl from my theatre club? The diva one?”

“Who?” 

“Cindy! Blonde hair, beautiful. She was in your year level.”

Rafe’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I seriously don’t know who the fuck that is.”

“Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Anyway, before me and Thomas started…dating, I found out he had a thing for her for quite some time.”

“So?”

“Jesus- just let me finish!” He reluctantly relented, nodding for you to continue. “Since you’re so impatient, I’ll tell you the short version: Thomas stopped liking her then me and him started dating. He thought we had something going on secretly and confided in Cindy…then he used that to justify sleeping with her.”

The silence that followed was like dust settling back onto the road; static but still very much disturbed. 

“What.” 

“There’s nothing else to say.” You croaked, dabbing your sodden eyes on your sleeve.

Not a moment later he shot up, pacing back and forth a few times before submitting to the battle raging in his head and storming toward the door. “Rafe, no you promised me–”

“I didn’t promise you shit!” He whipped back around to face you, face wild with fury. “That motherfucker is gonna get what’s coming for him!”

“RAFE.” His cheeks were ablaze as you cupped them in your hands, eyes darting around sporadically as though he were high on adrenaline. “Please, I need you right now. What happens next is for another time. Let it rest.”

His nostrils flared as he finally met your eyes. You pulled him closer, sensing your words were having an effect, softly whispering another plea– and it was like deja vu when his lips met yours for the second time. Only it wasn’t. As he pressed himself firmly against you, unyielding in his advance, you realised this was truly happening again… and to your horror, it felt nice. 

In fact, you didn’t want it to stop. 

In the time you’d been together with…Thomas…the intimate experiences you shared allowed you to act with heightened confidence, no longer feeling the need to skittishly paw at his chest like a bunny caught by the big bad wolf. Now you moved with your own validity, placing your hands upon his taut chest and following the pace he set. 

His palm suddenly clamped down on your ass and you gasped into his mouth, surprised. Thomas was a respectful lover, never so daring, but Rafe’s impulsivity stirred a concoction of excitement and nervousness within your belly. 

He took this window of opportunity to dip the tip of his tongue into your mouth. Testing the waters at first, and when you showed no signs of disapproval, delving full throttle. “Shit,” He groaned, using his grip on your lower half as leverage to guide you backwards. 

Your libidinous scrambled brain only registered his intention when the backs of your knees came into contact with the bed, instigating your loss of balance. A pathetic squeak floated from your throat as you fell onto the soft confinements of whoever's sheets these were. 

Rafe didn’t hesitate to slot himself between your parted knees, crawling over your limp body like a predator readying itself to ravage a meal. His head dipped into the crevice of your neck, planting strategically placed kisses and sucking on the tender flesh, subsequently sowing the seeds of your growing excitement. 

But as he remained in that position– feverish palms exploring your clothed body, hot enough to burn through the fabric –your heart began to race. Why did you feel a shudder of anticipation run down your spine? What if he were to stop and really look at you? Why were you scared?

It wasn't until he gained the confidence to explore the curve of your body beneath the fabric that you jolted back into reality, your heart racing and breath catching in your throat.

“Wait!” He peeled himself off of you with an expectant look, blown pupils peeved by your interruption. “I’ve, uh-... never done this before.”

You whispered it, timorously, ashamed even. 

You were expecting rejection, after all, that was the only response you ever received from Thomas. What you weren’t expecting, however, was his lips to twitch up in a haughty smirk, his desire for you not faltering whatsoever. You would even go as far as to say that the gleam that appeared in his eyes indicated that he found this revelation rather pleasing. 

“You trust me?” 

Your nod was automatic like a reflex, saving you from mulling over the question too deeply. In response he sat back on his thighs, swatting away your hands which had fallen to your stomach (perhaps subconsciously attempting to create a separation between the two of you) allowing him to slide your loose shirt above your navel and then over your chest, the material bunching around your neck. He marvelled at the exposed skin, tentatively brushing over your stomach causing you to squirm at the new sensation. 

“Then lay back and relax, sweetheart.” 

From then on, the sequence of events was a blur; a tangle of limbs and a symphony of noises all coming together to form an incoherent memory. 

Your shirt was the first to come off, followed shortly by his. Rafe’s bare chest was nothing you hadn’t seen before, but in this context, your vision was obscured by a rose tint. His sculpted biceps flexed as he worked on tugging your pants down and you couldn’t help but notice the way he tucked his lower lip between his teeth in concentration or the dewy sheen covering his skin. 

It was akin to looking into a kaleidoscope for the first time and not knowing where to cast your gaze.

“If he thinks he can hurt you like this,” His firm lips danced across your throat.“Then he’s got another thing coming.” 

He spoke in a harsh growl, hooking his fingers beneath the straps of your bra and dragging them down in one sweeping motion. 

You squeaked in shock, heat blossoming beneath your cheeks at the abrupt exposure of your tits. Your tingling nipples quickly began to harden, and you weren’t sure if this was due to the draft slipping through the slightly ajar window or the firm attention Rafe was paying to your flesh. 

Nonetheless, your arms instinctively twitched upwards, preparing to cover yourself from his prying eyes. He anticipated this, however, promptly collecting your wrists and pinning them beside your head. 

“Don’t, don’t do that.” His voice exploded into a vehement tone. “I don’t even remember who that bitch is, let alone what she looks like…think that’s saying something.” 

Before your short-circuiting brain could formulate a response, his lips descended upon your chest, laving at one of the sensitive buds before sucking on it harshly. Your body reacted viscerally, flailing at the newfound stimulation. You mewled, squirming, as he pulled away with a breathless chuckle.

“See what a girl like you does to a man.” He forced one of your hands down to his boxers. Your eyes widened as you felt how hard he was, and you let out a soft gasp as he throbbed around your palm.

“Feel that? Yeah, that’s all you baby.”

“Rafe, ple–” Your breath hitched as his knee drove forward, the delicious pressure nudging into your clothed core. 

“Go on, I want to hear you say it.” 

“Please…”

“Already speechless? That’s cute.” His words had you shrinking in on yourself, trying to flee from the heat radiating off his body. “It’s alright, I know what you need.”

While your racing thoughts kept you occupied (as well as demanding lips), you were oblivious to the fact that Rafe had removed his knee from between your legs, opting to slink his deft fingers inside the flimsy cotton of your underwear. That was, of course, until you felt something foreign swiping against your most sensitive area, teasingly prodding at the tight entrance. You flinched, shuddering beneath the unfamiliarity of his touch.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, is that okay?”

Your head bobbed up and down ardently, voice tiny and breathless and he grinned. “Ok.”

“Okay then.” 

Your body fell in and out of consciousness, wrecked from a night filled with both pleasure and anguish. When you finally woke up, it was well into the night. The heavy breaths falling onto you from behind drowned out the eerie silence of the house. A gust of wind howled through the night sky, and your naked form shivered as the cold managed to slither beneath the sheets.

Rafe’s arm laid heavy across your waist. Anchoring you down as though— even in sleep —he was paranoid you’d slip away. You carefully lifted his arm, halting as his breathing accelerated before replacing your warmth with a pillow.

The first step went surprisingly smoothly… but that must’ve been a fluke as what came next was nearly debilitating. 

An aching pang shot up between your legs, sharp and sudden. You gasped, clutching onto the bed frame for support. The sensation wasn’t extremely painful, rather unpleasant and even worse it acted as a punishing reminder of the choices you’d made tonight. 

What you just did.  

Fumbling around the floor on all fours was equally deplorable and you now understood what others meant when they described the after-fact as a ‘walk of shame.’ 

You eventually located your pants, desperately patting them down to find your phone. The screen flashed on when you pulled it out of the pocket and you hissed as the harsh light penetrated your retinas, a dull throb settling between your eyes.

There was a flurry of texts from Thomas. Apologies, explanations, and pleas for a response. He’d left your house without much resistance earlier in the evening as you cried for him to do so, but it seemed he wasn’t giving up on you so easily. 

Your heart clenched painfully, and it was as though all of the synapses in your brain fired at once; What have you done?

A pool of saliva formed within your mouth, stomach suddenly churned. You stumbled across the floor, making a beeline for the ensuite as your throat heaved. In a matter of seconds after collapsing on the floor before the toilet, you were vomiting into the bowl. Violent hurls that only subsided once you were completely empty. 

Could you be any more putrid? 

The facet rasped as you turned it, a steady flow of water filling the bathtub as you rinsed out the vile taste in your mouth. It was bitingly cold as you slowly lowered each aching limb into the water, sighing in relief as your body acclimatised and began to relax. 

When you were on the cusp of sleep once again, you started cleaning yourself. Scrubbing your skin raw with soapy suds until the water turned a sickening pink and you felt sick for the second time that night. 

You dipped below the water and watched as bubbles rose to the surface.

viii.

Everything was becoming surreal. 

In half an hour your given moniker would be permanently altered. It was the ‘essence of your identity’ your mother would say, but you’d never been particularly sentimental about it. This likely stemmed from your childhood, as in the mind of a little girl, it was only a means to an end. You used to long for a prince mounted upon a dark stallion to come and sweep you off your feet with promises of a perfect future; all that was required in exchange was a simple change of your name. 

Of course, reality hit like a truck when you learnt that there weren’t enough princes around for each little girl in the world. But still, perhaps your expectations had been too high. 

Mrs. Hughes.

Mrs. Hughes.

Mrs. Hughes. 

There was a certain ring to it that you couldn’t quite pinpoint, similar to when you found a puzzle piece that looks right, but it isn’t the exact fit.   

After kicking everyone out of the room, you’d spent the last fifteen minutes distracting yourself by mulling over your appearance. The seamstress did everything she could to preserve the original cut of the dress but was ultimately forced to make it backless due to the inflexible time constraint.

Despite the reassuring gushes you’d received from the bridesmaids, you couldn’t help but feel exposed. The material that once clung taut against your curves now flowed freely in all its feathered glory, displaying the tender expanse of your back to all those who cared to witness. 

A firm knock reverberated off the oak door and your lips pinched down in a small frown; you’d been explicit in your desire to be alone.

You cracked the door ajar, bewildered to be met with the familiar blue orbs of the eldest Cameron upon peeking out into the hallway. His pale blue suit was neatly pressed and tailored to his body, a black bow tie complimenting the look, making him appear youthful.

“...What are you doing?” You whispered incredulously, glancing to each side of the empty corridor.

He flashed you a grin, holding up a long-neck bottle with a pretty red ribbon wrapped around it like a noose. “Wanted to say my congratulations. I’m guessing you’ll be a bit tied up later on.”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” His head tilted to the left in confusion and you sighed, “It’s bad luck.”

He hummed, smirk grew patronising as he deadpanned; “I thought that rule only applied to the groom?” 

“Is this for me?” You chose to ignore his previous remark, gesturing to the bottle he still held in his possession. 

“Yeah. Rose wanted to give it to you herself but she was more than happy to let me do so when I offered.” You knew what he was hinting at; she missed having you around to keep her stepson in line. You didn’t know why you were surprised, it was in the Cameron's DNA to stoop to sly tactics.

"Mind if I come in?" Your reluctance must’ve been evident by your unwavering grip on the door. He rolled his eyes, voice now tinged with a touch of condescension. "C’mon. One last hurrah, that’s all I ask for."

What can five minutes hurt? Then hopefully he’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night. “Alright, fine, but make it quick.” 

You clicked the door shut, aimlessly lingering by the window as he lined up two of the clean champagne glasses left over from the earlier celebrations. The side seams of his suit tapered around his shoulders, extenuating the strain of his muscles and they rippled beneath the fabric. You averted your gaze, choosing to fix it on a lone swan floating out on the lake instead. 

“Thought I should say,” He turned to face you as he removed the cork with surprising ease, the stopper not even popping as it was released. “You look beautiful.” 

You snorted, brushing over a crease in the thick curtain. “That’s just custom speaking.”

He seemed genuinely miffed by your comment, mouth hanging open with a small huff. “That right there is proof that no one takes me seriously, I mean it.”

“Well thanks, I appreciate it. I did end up fitting into the dress so, guess I proved you wrong.”

His brows furrowed as the cardinal liquid poured into the glass. “Don’t tell me you took that to heart? I was just fuckin’ with you.”

“Yeahhhh, I know.”

He brought the two glasses over by the stem, passing the one which was filled exceptionally fuller to you. 

“Going easy?” 

“Designated driver.” He affirmed, leaning against the opposite side of the window frame. 

Your mouth opened, a soft ‘ah’ flicking off your tongue. “I must say I’m surprised and impressed.”

With a humoured scoff, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. “Alright, it’s your special day, what are we toasting to?”

You stilled for a moment, scouring your mind for something appropriate to say. When it came to you, you grinned: “May you be in heaven a full half-hour before the devil knows you’re dead.”

He hummed in approval before extending his arm to meet your glass somewhere in the middle.

“Cheers to that.” You said in unison, falling silent as you downed the entirety of your drink– it was your day after all, so fuck it, you were going to need some liquid courage to make it through the coming hours. 

The drink was shockingly sweet, oozing down your throat like a hot teaspoon of honey and you grimaced. “What is this?” 

Rafe shrugged, placing his untouched glass down. “Some guy who distils it himself. Disgusting, right?”

“That’s an understatement.”           

Words died in the air between you, lost and forgotten as a thick silence surrounded you both. The energy within the room grew dense, tensions steadily simmering and only increasing in intensity. You squirmed in your position, noticing as Rafe grew fidgety; something was dancing on the tip of his tongue, ready to be released. 

“Remember when I told you that your mum was worried ‘bout you?”

“...Yeah.” How could you forget, his drunken induced admission which soon followed still haunted your psyche. 

“Was-uh…was any of that true about you acting strangely?”

“Your timing is truly impeccable.” Any of the previous lightness was sponged from your tone, replaced by defensive shrill which was painful to your own ears. 

“I’m just sayin’, it’s good to get this shit out in the open before everything is finalised, don’t you think?” He began to gesticulate with his hands, flapping motions which were distracting. 

“There’s nothing to ‘get out.’ I’ve had my doubts, but that’s normal. My mind is clear now.” You stated firmly, struggling to believe that he would have the audacity to question your decision just as it was about to come to fruition. 

“Is it?” His words carried a soft almost sympathetic note, as though you were a child and he was trying not to upset you. 

“Is it what?” 

“Is it normal to have doubts? I mean that reaction before didn’t seem very convincing to me.”He let his breath out in a soft sigh as your gaze remained defensive, backed into a corner like pitiful prey. “You see what this is telling me? That you don’t know how to make a decision that’s good for you.”

Your head was reeling, throbbing as the lights intensified, the artificial brightness causing you to squint. You were struggling to think, let alone formulate a sentence. All you could conjure up was a childish response: “Shut up, shut up.”

The room tilted as you abruptly stood, staggering forward like a limp doll. You were on a rollercoaster, extremities weighed down by the impressive force of gravity. Rafe caught you before you could collapse, supporting your nape against his chest. Confusion ebbed through your veins as you clung to him, a delicate whimper falling from your lips.

“Steady now.”

“Wha…” Your heart thumped realising how slurred your speech had become. 

His hand drummed along the exposed skin, shushing your protests. “It's okay,” a soft and hungry whisper. He drew the zipper down. An expanse of naked, supple skin awaited. A fresh carcass, ready for the taking. 

Your head throbbed dully when you cracked your eyes open, the sunlight pouring in through the thin gap in the curtains and hitting you square in the face like it had something to prove. You groaned quietly, hand lifting on instinct to shield your eyes as if that would undo the damage already done. You didn’t need to reach for your phone to know what day it was—you could feel it in your bones, in the way your chest tightened before you were even fully awake.

The muffled conversation drifting through the thin chateau walls only confirmed it, every laugh and half-whisper carrying far too clearly into the spare room. You dreaded this day. That was probably why you couldn’t remember last night at all. You’d thought drinking might blur the edges of the calendar, smear the date into something forgettable. Instead, it just left you with a splitting headache and a hollow gap where your memory should’ve been, and right now, that felt like a mercy. Whatever happened last night didn’t follow you into this morning, and you decided you didn’t care enough to go looking for it.

“Hey, call me back when ya get this…” The voice crackled through your phone’s speaker, slurred just enough to make your stomach drop, like the universe had impeccable timing and a cruel sense of humor. You sighed, patting around the tangle of sheets and pillows for your phone, your chest tightening with each second it took you to find it. “…Or really, when you’ve got a minute. We really need to talk. You never seem to have any time for me anymore.” The words were painfully familiar, the tone almost rehearsed, and by the time you finally found your phone buried under a pillow, the voicemail was already unraveling exactly the way you remembered from last year. “Wait—y’know what? Maybe just forget it. ’Cause by the time you get this, your number may be blocked.” Your mother’s voice lingered even after the message ended, wet and shaky and lodged somewhere behind your eyes. You didn’t even check the screen. You just tossed the phone across the room like it had burned you, listening to it clatter uselessly onto the cluttered floor before you slumped back against the mattress. A shaky breath left your lips as you scrubbed a hand down your face, the ache in your head dull compared to the weight pressing into your chest.

You lay there longer than you meant to, staring at the ceiling while the low murmur of the pogues’ conversation filtered in from the living room. You knew you couldn’t avoid them forever. Eventually, you forced yourself upright, your right leg protesting sharply from the knee down as you stood. You stretched anyway, jaw tight, as if rolling your shoulders might shake loose the heaviness sitting in your lungs. It didn’t. When you finally pulled the spare room door open and padded down the hall, the conversation in the living room cut off so abruptly it almost made you laugh. Almost. Ten pairs of eyes snapped to you the second you appeared in the archway, and you paused there, swaying slightly, offering a half-hearted, “Mornin’,” like that might convince them to act normal.

Kiara nodded first, a small, careful gesture, and JJ grunted beside her, both of them looking unmistakably guilty. Pope and John B followed with smiles that didn’t quite land, lips pressed too tight, eyes too serious, and you nearly groaned at that alone. They did this every year. Every single time, like ritual. Sarah, though—Sarah stared at you like she was balancing on the edge of a decision she’d already made. You saw Kiara’s hand settle on her shoulder, a quiet warning, but Sarah shook her head, muttering something under her breath before she sprang up from the couch. She crossed the room quickly, her smile cautious but bright, hands landing warmly on your biceps before you could stop her.

“Look, I know, okay?” she started immediately, words tumbling out fast, like she was afraid you’d shut her down if she paused too long. “I know what you’re gonna say. You don’t even have to say it—I already know the drill. We’ve known the drill for, like, two years now, and we never pressed.” She glanced over her shoulder, rolling her eyes as if remembering something. “Well—except last year, with the custom cupcake that just said ‘bday.’ Which I still think was a crime,” she added, shooting JJ an accusing look. “But this year’s different. You’re literally the first legal adult out of all of us, and I just—” She cut herself off, face scrunching as she shook you gently, undeterred by the scowl pulling at your mouth. “The best friend manual does not allow me to let this day pass with just a couple beers and a birthday blunt.”

“Sarah—” you tried, your voice rough and unused, but she leaned in closer, shaking her head again.

“Something small,” she insisted softly. “I swear. Just us and a couple people by my pool. And don’t even start with the money thing because I already kind of… bought everything.” She winced, sucking air through her teeth like that sealed your fate.

“It’s barely eleven a.m., Sare,” you muttered when she finally paused, rubbing your temples. “Can I just get a glass of water and a Tylenol before making… decisions?”

Her expression softened immediately, that familiar flicker of pity flashing across her face before she could stop it. “I know it’s your dad and all,” she said quietly, hands dropping to her sides. “But you don’t have to make this day all about him. I mean, we’ve got your twenty-first coming up too, and yeah, maybe your frontal lobe will be developed by then,” she added with a weak smile, “but still…”

She trailed off when Kiara stepped up behind her, murmuring something low about not knowing the full story. “I know the full story, Kie,” Sarah whispered back, firm but gentle. You squeezed your eyes shut, the sound of your own breathing suddenly too loud, and turned toward the kitchen before you could say something you’d regret. The cool tile beneath your feet grounded you as you reached the sink, bracing yourself against the counter while the faucet ran. The water was cold and steady, and for a moment, with the chatter muted behind you, you let yourself pretend that was enough to wash the day away.

Your jaw stayed clenched as you leaned over the sink, the porcelain cold beneath your palms, the sound of running water filling the space where your thoughts kept threatening to spill over. The glass rattled faintly when you set it down, fingers trembling just enough to piss you off, and you stared at your reflection in the dark window above the counter instead of the people behind you, because you already knew what you’d see if you turned around—careful eyes, pity dressed up as concern, that familiar, suffocating brand of love that always showed up on this day whether you asked for it or not.

You swallowed the water too fast, the ache behind your eyes flaring in protest, and muttered, “I’m not making it about him,” even though no one had said his name out loud, voice low and defensive like you were arguing with the walls. “I’m just… tired. And hungover. And I don’t wanna be paraded around like this is some kind of victory lap.”

“You’re not being paraded,” Sarah insisted immediately, too quick, which only proved your point, her voice following you as you reached for the medicine cabinet and fumbled for the bottle with shaking fingers. “It’s literally just us. And okay, maybe Topper for like five minutes because he already knows and he’ll be offended if I don’t invite him, but I swear he won’t stay.” A pause, then softer, more careful. “You don’t have to smile. You don’t have to make a speech. You don’t even have to stay long. Just—don’t disappear today, okay?” That did it. That cracked something open in your chest that had already been sore when you woke up, and you let your forehead rest briefly against the cabinet door, eyes squeezing shut as Kiara cleared her throat behind Sarah like she was trying to anchor the moment before it tipped too far.

“We can keep it low-key,” Kie added gently, stepping closer, her presence less invasive somehow, like she knew when to give you air. “No surprises. No singing if you don’t want it. We’ll just hang out, swim a little, get food. Normal stuff.” JJ shifted on the couch, you could hear the leather creak, and when he spoke his voice was rough, stripped of its usual bravado. “I already promised not to do anything stupid,” he said, then winced. “Okay, anything extra stupid. Cross my heart.” Pope snorted despite himself, and even John B let out a quiet breath of a laugh, but the sound faded quickly, like everyone was afraid of pushing their luck.

You finally turned around, bottle of Tylenol clenched in your hand, and leaned back against the counter, scanning their faces one by one like you were committing them to memory against your will. “I don’t want a cake,” you said flatly. “And if anyone says ‘happy birthday’ like that—” you gestured vaguely, fingers curling in mock enthusiasm, “—I’m leaving.” Sarah nodded rapidly, hands up in surrender. “Deal. No cake. No chanting. No weird speeches about how proud we are of you for surviving another year.” Her mouth twitched despite herself. “Maybe just… burgers. And beer. And the pool.” She watched you carefully, waiting for the final verdict, and when you sighed again—long, resigned, tired—it felt like the room exhaled with you.

“Let me shower,” you said finally, pushing off the counter. “And don’t—” your voice wavered just slightly before you steadied it, “—don’t make a big thing out of it.” Sarah smiled, softer this time, relief shining through as she stepped back to give you space. “Scout’s honor,” she promised, even though she had never been a scout in her life. As you padded back down the hallway, the ache in your leg flaring with every step, you could still hear them murmuring behind you, the conversation picking up again in hushed tones, and for the first time that morning it didn’t feel quite as cruel. Just inevitable.

Just like most things in your life, really. It was like the moment you were born, you were fated to run away from things and stall the process of addressing or taking accountability for them. And the anger that you carried in the process? Soul crushing. And that part of you, that one that seemed to claim to be the one holding the common sense, usually wearing your mother's voice, told you that it wasn't that deep. That you making a big deal out of not celebrating your birthday was just too much.

Your father didn’t die. He didn’t drown chasing some salt-stung fantasy, didn’t vanish into the ocean with a poetic excuse people could lower their voices for. That was the part that clawed at you every single day. He didn’t dramatize his leaving, didn’t slam doors or make speeches or cry into your hair like it hurt him too. He just… disappeared. A note left on the fridge, held up by a magnet that barely clung, curling at the corners like it had already given up.

No happy birthday. No shaking you awake that morning, no awkward hug, no promise to “do something later.” Just gone. As if he’d never missed his October football games to take you trick-or-treating anyway, never spent weeks crouched beside you on the dock teaching you how to tie a line properly, hands patient around yours as he said, “Slow down, kiddo. It’s not goin’ anywhere.”

You remembered your sweet sixteen with a clarity that still made your chest tighten. That was the day you found out he’d remarried—found out there had even been a divorce to begin with. You, sweet and stupid and blissfully unaware, left without so much as breadcrumbs to piece it together. You’d drifted away from the bonfire that night, the laughter and music fading into background noise as you lay back in the sand, staring up at a sky that didn’t care, phone glowing too bright in your hands.

A family photo had popped up on your feed like a cruel joke. His face—older, lined, but softer than you remembered it being under the harsh trailer lights—smiling beside a woman you didn’t know, an arm slung around a boy who looked nothing like you. “Day out on the boat with my favorite son,” the caption read, obnoxious emojis tacked on like salt in an open wound. You remembered whispering, broken and small, “I didn’t even know you had another one,” as if the screen could hear you.

The Pogues said you blacked out that night, that you didn’t remember much past the second bottle, but that wasn’t true. You remembered that hour on the beach too clearly. The way the vodka burned going down, the way it mixed with the salt of your tears until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. You remembered JJ asking, “You okay?” from somewhere far away, his voice warped and worried, and you remembered lying through your teeth, nodding and saying, “Yeah. Just tired.” In a way, your father was dead. Because the man who used to stand at the small kitchen table, staring helplessly at your mother while she cried for the hundredth time that she “didn’t mean to come home late,” that man wasn’t your dad anymore. Your dad existed somewhere else now—far away, flattened into pixels and captions, trapped inside a Facebook post where he smiled like he hadn’t left anything unfinished behind.

And sixteen-year-old you? She stayed. She stayed on that beach, on that island, letting the cut fester long before she even finished high school, learning too early that girls like her didn’t really get clean exits. They didn’t get closure or explanations or fresh starts. They just learned how to carry the absence quietly, year after year, every birthday a reminder that being left didn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it looked like a fridge note curling at the edges, a phone screen lighting up at the wrong moment, and a voice in your head that kept asking, What did I do that made it so easy to go?

By the time the weight of it all loosened its grip on your chest, you were standing under the shower, water beating down on your shoulders hard enough that it almost felt intentional, like you deserved the sting. Steam fogged up the small bathroom, blurring the cracked mirror until your reflection was nothing but a vague outline, and you stayed there longer than necessary, letting the heat sink into your muscles, letting the ache settle somewhere quieter. You scrubbed at your skin until it went pink, washed your hair twice like it might rinse the memory out too, and when you finally shut the water off, the silence rushed back in just as loud. You wrapped yourself in a towel, forehead resting briefly against the cool tile as you exhaled, then pulled it together the way you always did—mechanically, efficiently, like feelings were something you could leave behind in the drain if you tried hard enough.

By the time you got to Tanny Hill, dressed in something light and sun-appropriate, hair still damp and curling at the ends, something had shifted. There was movement now, purpose. Laughter floated down the hallway, doors opened and closed, and when you stepped outside into the bright OBX afternoon, Tannyhill was already alive with it. The pool shimmered under the sun, painfully blue, and the Pogues were scattered around the yard like they’d been doing this their whole lives—which, in a way, they had.

JJ was standing on a chair he absolutely shouldn’t have been standing on, stringing up cheap party lights between two poles while Pope stood below him, arms crossed, muttering something about electrocution and liability. “Relax,” JJ shot back, squinting up at the wire, “If I die, it’ll be iconic. Very on-brand.” “That’s not comforting,” Pope replied flatly, but he didn’t move to stop him.

Kiara was by the table near the pool, laying out mismatched decorations with focused care, chewing on her bottom lip as she tried to make it all look intentional rather than thrown together last-minute. “I swear,” she said when she noticed you, straightening up with a small smile, “Sarah went full Pinterest mode and then panicked halfway through.” As if summoned by her name, Sarah popped up from behind the bar area with a roll of streamers looped over her arm, eyes lighting up the second she saw you. “You showered,” she said like it was an accomplishment, like she’d been holding her breath until you did. “Good. Great. That means you’re officially committed now.” You snorted despite yourself, grabbing the end of the streamer she handed you. “I never said that,” you murmured, but you took it anyway, fingers already helping her tie it off along the railing.

The air felt different out here—lighter, sun-warmed, humming with the low buzz of cicadas and the distant crash of waves. Someone had put music on, something easy and familiar, and for the first time that day, your shoulders eased just a fraction. You moved around the pool with them, holding ladders steady, tying knots, passing drinks back and forth, letting yourself exist in the in-between moments where no one was asking you to feel anything deeper than here. At one point, John B nudged your shoulder gently, nodding toward the half-inflated float drifting lazily in the pool. “You want me to blow that up or… emotional support?” he asked, half-smiling. “Dealer’s choice,” you replied, and he laughed, the sound grounding in a way you didn’t comment on.

For a while, it almost worked. The sun on your skin, the sound of your friends arguing over balloon placement, Sarah declaring, “It’s a vibe, trust me,” like it was law. You let yourself believe that maybe this year could be different—that maybe this birthday could just be a pool, and cheap lights, and people who stayed. And standing there at Tannyhill, damp hair clinging to your neck, fingers sticky from tape and sunscreen, you let yourself breathe into it, even if just for the afternoon.

The afternoon bled into early evening so seamlessly you barely noticed it happening, the sun dipping lower until everything at Tannyhill was washed in that warm, honeyed glow that made even chaos look intentional. Despite all your earlier protests—despite the way you’d dug your heels in about not wanting anything big—you found yourself genuinely startled by how many people had shown up. What was supposed to be small and almost private had ballooned into a full-blown Sarah Cameron–style pool party, the kind that felt like it had a gravitational pull of its own.

Cars lined the drive and spilled onto the grass, music thumped from speakers that definitely cost more than your monthly groceries, and the pool was crowded with bodies, laughter ricocheting off the water and stone like it always did here. You hovered near the edge for a moment, red cup sweating in your hand, watching it all with a faint crease between your brows, equal parts overwhelmed and quietly touched.

“I told you,” Sarah said triumphantly, appearing at your side like she’d been waiting for this exact expression. She leaned into you, bumping her shoulder against yours, eyes bright as she scanned the crowd. “You can’t half-ass a birthday at Tannyhill. It’s against the law. Ward Cameron Law, section… everything.” You huffed a weak laugh, shaking your head. “This was supposed to be, like, ten people,” you pointed out, gesturing vaguely toward the pool where JJ was already attempting some kind of reckless jump off the side, Pope shouting at him to stop like it had ever worked before. “I said small, Sarah.” She waved you off, unapologetic. “This is small. I didn’t even invite half the people I know,” she said, then paused, squinting at you. “Okay, maybe I invited them indirectly. But still.”

You moved through the crowd slowly, people you barely knew clinking cups with you, shouting happy birthdays over the music, some of them calling you by nicknames you didn’t remember earning. Every “happy birthday” landed differently—some light, some heavier—but none of them felt cruel, and that alone surprised you.

Kiara looped an arm through yours at some point, pressing a cold drink into your hand. “You okay?” she asked quietly, eyes searching your face in that way of hers. You nodded, then hesitated, then nodded again more firmly. “Yeah,” you said, meaning it more than you expected. “I think I am.” She smiled softly at that, squeezing your arm before letting you go, already being pulled away by someone asking for help with the grill.

As the sky darkened, the string lights flickered on, reflected in the pool like scattered stars, and the music softened just enough to let conversations overlap instead of collide. You found yourself laughing—actually laughing—at something dumb JJ said, felt Pope press a cupcake into your hand with a sheepish grin. “It says ‘bday’ this time too,” he admitted. “But I spelled it myself, so.” “Progress,” you teased, and he rolled his eyes, smiling anyway. Standing there, surrounded by noise and warmth and people who chose to show up, you felt the ache in your chest loosen just a little more. It wasn’t perfect, and it didn’t erase anything—but for the first time that day, maybe even that year, it felt survivable.

The night kept unfolding whether you were ready for it or not, layers stacking gently instead of crashing down the way you’d braced yourself for all day. Someone turned the music up again once the sky fully darkened, bass thrumming through the ground beneath your bare feet, and the pool lights clicked on, turning the water that impossible electric blue that made everything feel a little unreal.

You sat on the edge for a while, feet dangling in the cool water, letting the contrast seep into your skin while voices drifted around you—half-heard jokes, laughter breaking out and fading again, the clink of bottles, the splash of someone getting pushed in fully clothed. JJ surfaced nearby at one point, hair plastered to his forehead, pointing an accusatory finger at John B. “You’re dead,” he announced dramatically, and John B just raised his hands, grinning. “Worth it.”

Sarah circled back to you eventually, this time calmer, her earlier buzz mellowing into something softer as she sat beside you, knees drawn up to her chest. “See?” she said quietly, nudging your knee with hers. “Not so terrible.” You watched the ripples spread across the pool before answering, eyes following the reflection of the lights as they wobbled and steadied again.

“Yeah,” you admitted, voice low. “I hate that you’re right.” She laughed under her breath, leaning her head briefly against your shoulder. “You can hate it tomorrow,” she said. “Tonight you just have to exist.” The simplicity of that landed harder than anything else she’d said all day, and you swallowed, nodding once.

Later, when the crowd thinned just a little—when people started drifting toward the fire pit or disappearing inside for drinks—you found yourself standing near the fence, arms folded loosely around yourself, the noise dulling enough for your thoughts to creep back in. Kiara joined you without a word, handing you a hoodie that smelled faintly like laundry detergent and smoke.

“You’re gonna get cold,” she said simply. You slipped it on, exhaling as the warmth settled over your shoulders. “Thanks.” She leaned beside you, gaze trained on the pool. “You don’t have to be okay about everything tonight,” she added after a beat. “Just… thought I’d say that.” You glanced at her, something tight easing in your chest. “I know,” you replied. “I think that’s what’s making it okay.”

As the hours slipped by, the party softened around the edges, laughter quieter but no less genuine, conversations stretching longer and deeper. You caught snippets of stories you’d heard a hundred times and a few you hadn’t, found yourself smiling at memories instead of bracing against them. At some point, someone shouted your name again—another toast, another cheer—and you lifted your cup, rolling your eyes but smiling anyway.

For the first time in a long while, the date didn’t feel like a wound being poked. It still ached, still existed, but it wasn’t the only thing in the room.

And how foolish were you to think the day was going to pass without anything happening. Your unsteady feet carried you through the thinning crowd near the pool, offering soft smiles as you passed a cluster of kooks doing shots and pointing at you with loud, sloppy enthusiasm, before you slipped away toward the kitchen like you needed air more than another birthday cheer. It was quieter in here, the music dulled into a distant thrum by the walls, the laughter outside softened until it felt like background noise instead of something pressing in on you.

You leaned back against the counter, eyes dragging over the clutter—colorful solo cups stacked crookedly, half-empty beer bottles sweating onto the granite, a stray lime wedge abandoned near the sink—and you already knew you’d be helping Sarah clean tomorrow, both of you groaning through hangovers and pretending this mess wasn’t yours.

You pulled a red cup from the clean stack, poured vodka without measuring, topped it off with whatever orange juice was left in the carton, ice clinking loudly despite your attempt at quiet, and lingered there longer than necessary just to let the silence settle. Even though the party was technically yours, at Tanny Hill of all places, you hadn’t seen Rafe once. Not upstairs, not by the pool, not even a half-assed text lighting up your phone.

A small, traitorous part of you kept circling that fact, poking at it, wondering why he hadn’t bothered to say happy birthday—why he hadn’t at least made an appearance. The other part of you, sharper and meaner and still clinging to every reason you’d ever had to resent kooks like him, insisted it was better this way. Cleaner. Safer. You were just starting to convince yourself of that when the kitchen door creaked open.

Your heart did something stupid, hopeful, before you even turned around, like muscle memory hadn’t learned its lesson yet. You looked anyway—and it wasn’t Rafe. It was JJ, swaying slightly as he slipped inside like he was afraid of waking someone, grin already pulling at his mouth, eyes glassy and bright in that way that meant he’d had just enough to be honest and not enough to be careful.

“There you are,” he said quietly, like he’d been looking for you on purpose, closing the door behind him with exaggerated care. “I was startin’ to think you fell into the pool and no one noticed.” You huffed a weak laugh, lifting your cup a little. “That’s reassuring,” you muttered. “Glad to know I’d go out dramatically.”

He leaned against the opposite counter, arms folding loosely, gaze flicking over your face like he was taking inventory, like he was checking in without saying it out loud. “You okay?” he asked after a beat, voice softer than it had been all night. You shrugged, noncommittal, staring into your drink.

“Define okay.” That earned you a quiet chuckle as he nodded. “Fair,” he said. “I just—” He stopped himself, tongue pressing briefly to his bottom lip, eyes dropping to the cup in your hands before lifting back to your face. “I know you hate all this birthday shit. I didn’t wanna make it worse.” Something about that tightened your chest, and you swallowed, shoulders loosening just a little. “You didn’t,” you said. “You never do.”

Silence settled between you again, but it wasn’t awkward—just heavy, loaded with things neither of you were saying. JJ shifted closer without really acknowledging it, close enough now that you could smell the familiar mix of chlorine and cheap beer on him, could feel the heat of his body bleeding into your space. “I meant what I said earlier, y’know,” he added quietly. “About being glad you were born. Even if the day sucks.” You finally looked at him then, really looked, and your voice came out softer than you meant it to.

“Thanks,” you said. “That actually… means more than the pool party.” His grin flickered into something else at that, something less cocky and more uncertain, like he wasn’t sure what to do with the moment now that it was here.

Your eyes lingered on JJ’s relaxed features, and it felt like standing on the edge of something sharp and inevitable, the air between you charged in that quiet, unmistakable way that always betrayed you around him. The look in his eyes was too intense to be casual, too soft to be harmless, and your heart did what it always did—leaned toward him without asking your permission first. Neither of you moved for a second too long.

Your cup lowered to the counter, plastic clicking softly against stone, and his hand lifted, hesitated, then brushed your wrist like he was testing the ground before stepping onto it. “C’mere,” he murmured, not quite a question, not quite a demand. You didn’t answer—you just closed the small distance between you, even as a voice in the back of your head screamed that this was a bad idea, that you knew better. The kitchen suddenly felt too small, too quiet, like it was holding its breath with you.

“Happy birthday, sugar…” he whispered before leaning in, the words warm and familiar in a way that made your chest ache. The kiss was tentative at first, careful, like you were both bracing for impact, but it deepened quickly, slipping into something that felt natural in a way that almost scared you. His hand came up to cradle your jaw like he’d done it a hundred times before, thumb brushing your cheek with unconscious tenderness, and for a moment the party outside ceased to exist entirely. The bass thudding from the speakers, the laughter, the splashing water—it all disappeared, swallowed whole by the soft clink of ice in your forgotten cup and the steady, grounding beat of your heart finally doing something other than hurting.

And then it hit you. Your eyes snapped open, and you pulled back—not abruptly, not dramatically, but too calmly for the panic sparking sharp and sudden in your chest. When you’d fallen in love with JJ, this was the moment you’d imagined in stolen daydreams and late-night what-ifs: him kissing you, crossing that invisible line of your friendship with something soft and meaningful, a birthday wish finally coming true. But standing here now, lips still tingling, all you felt was wrong. Not butterflies. Not relief. Just a strange, hollow twist in your stomach, like you’d stepped slightly out of sync with the world. Like this kiss broke a rule you couldn’t name, even if it was one you’d been wishing to break for years.

JJ noticed immediately. He always did. His hand fell from your face, brow furrowing as he searched your expression, the drunken haze in his eyes clearing just enough to make room for concern. “Hey,” he said quietly, voice dropping. “What’s wrong?” You swallowed, shaking your head once as if that might organize the mess in your thoughts. “I—I can’t,” you started, then stopped, exhaling slowly. “This… we shouldn’t have done that.” His jaw tightened, and he glanced away for half a second, like he already knew what you were going to say but needed to hear it anyway. “Because of Kie,” he murmured, not accusing, just stating it. You nodded, guilt crawling up your spine. “Because of Kiara,” you echoed. “Because she’s my friend. Because she’s your girlfriend. Because this isn’t who I wanna be.”

He scrubbed a hand over his face, blowing out a breath, leaning back against the counter like the weight of it had finally caught up to him. “I didn’t plan it,” he said, quieter now. “I swear. I just—saw you in here, and you looked… I dunno. I wanted to be there.” You laughed softly, humorless. “You’re always there,” you said. “That’s the problem.” He looked at you then, really looked, eyes shining with something conflicted and raw. “You think this is easy for me?” he asked, not angry, just tired. “You think I haven’t thought about this before?” The words hit harder than the kiss had, and you closed your eyes briefly. “That’s exactly why it has to stop,” you replied. “Before it turns into something worse.”

Silence settled between you again, heavier this time, filled with everything you weren’t saying. Somewhere outside, someone laughed too loudly, the sound jarring and out of place. JJ straightened, nodding once like he was forcing himself back into reality. “Yeah,” he said after a beat. “You’re right.” He offered you a small, crooked smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess I owed you a better birthday moment than… moral panic in the kitchen.” That earned a weak smile from you. “I’ll survive,” you said. “I always do.”

He hesitated, then leaned in just enough to rest his forehead briefly against yours, a quiet apology wrapped in the gesture. “Happy birthday,” he said again, softer this time. When he pulled away and slipped back toward the door, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your untouched drink, you couldn’t tell which hurt more—the kiss, or the fact that it felt like a goodbye you’d been postponing for years.

When he left the kitchen, the silence rushed back in to take his place, thicker now that you were alone with your thoughts. They weren’t as jumbled as you expected—still sharp, still uncomfortable, but clearer. Your body knew what just happened wasn’t good, even if the part of you that had loved JJ for most of your life was screaming that this was exactly what you’d been wishing on candles and shooting stars for years. A simple kiss. Not reckless, not secretive in some dark room—just him murmuring happy birthday, sugar like it had lived in his head as long as it had lived in yours. Gentle. Earnest. The kind of thing you used to think would change everything.

And maybe you would’ve let it deepen. Maybe you would’ve followed him somewhere quieter, let the night stretch and soften and pretend, just for a few hours, that the world would allow it. If it weren’t for Kiara. And—much harder to swallow—if it weren’t for Rafe. Because no matter how much you told yourself you hated him, his face kept intruding, uninvited and vivid, slipping into your thoughts like it belonged there.

Your mind betrayed you by comparing: JJ’s careful hesitation against the way Rafe never hesitated at all, the way Rafe’s hand fit against your jaw like it was muscle memory, the way his kisses shifted between desperate and lazy depending on the night, the mood, the fight beforehand. You hated that comparison. Hated that it even existed. Hated that the kiss you’d waited years for felt… quieter.

That realization sat heavier than the guilt. You were guilty—you’d kissed your best friend’s boyfriend, even if only for a heartbeat—but it felt worse knowing your heart didn’t do what it was supposed to do. Worse knowing that some part of you had measured JJ against someone you weren’t supposed to be thinking about at all. You swallowed it all down with a mouthful of vodka-orange juice, grabbed your cup, and stepped back outside, letting the noise and lights swallow you before you could think too hard about it.

The string lights felt blinding after the dim kitchen, laughter crashing back into you in uneven waves. People were still lingering, still celebrating like the night hadn’t cracked open for you at all. Your eyes betrayed you immediately, finding JJ without effort. He was beside Kiara, head bent to whisper something into her ear, smirk easy and familiar, like nothing had happened. Like the kitchen had never existed. You looked away before the ache in your chest could sharpen, forcing yourself to breathe, to move.

Sarah found you quickly, clearly past the point of subtlety, arms wrapping around you as she grinned. “There she is,” she announced, loud and proud. “The birthday girl survived.” John B and Pope followed close behind, mid-argument about a beer pong game they apparently won “in your honor,” and for a while—almost half an hour—the night steadied itself again. Cards were passed around, someone shoved a plastic tiara onto your head after a winning round, and you even laughed, real laughter, the kind that didn’t feel forced.

When you stood to grab another beer, adjusting the crooked tiara as you did, you barely took two steps before someone moved into your path. The shift in the air was immediate, like the music dipped just enough for you to notice the change.

“Wow,” came the familiar voice from directly in front of you, low and edged with something sharp. “How heartwarming.” Rafe stepped into your path, the music and chatter dimming around him like the world knew to give you space. “The party too,” he added, eyes dragging from your face to your mouth and back again, accusatory in a way that made your stomach drop.

Your realization came a beat too late, heavy and unwelcome. He’d seen it. Or enough of it. Your jaw tightened as you straightened, instinctively aware of who might be watching. “Not here,” you muttered, stepping closer so your words wouldn’t carry. “What do you want, Rafe?”

He let out a humorless laugh, leaning in just enough to look intimate without actually touching you. “You always say that,” he replied quietly. “Funny how that rule only applies to me.” You bristled, eyes flicking past him to the crowd. “You don’t get to do this,” you hissed. “Not tonight.”

“Didn’t stop you,” he shot back, voice dropping even lower. “Didn’t seem to mind breaking a few rules yourself.” Your chest tightened. “You don’t know what you saw.” He tilted his head, eyes hard now. “I know enough.” There was a pause, stretched thin. “Guess I just wanted to know,” he continued, softer but no less cutting, “if that was part of the celebration too.”

You swallowed, anger flaring hot. “You don’t get to question me,” you said, a strange sense of guilt twisting in your chest.

Something flickered across his face—frustration, something wounded—and he straightened, jaw working. “Right,” he muttered. “Semantics.” Then, quieter, just for you: “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me, angelface.”

“This isn’t about you,” you snapped. “So don’t make it that.” He laughed under his breath, humorless. “Everything with you ends up being about me eventually,” he replied quietly. “Or maybe I just notice when you look like you’re trying to convince yourself of something.” That made you falter, just for a second, and he saw it. His gaze softened a fraction—not kinder, but more dangerous. “Enjoy your party,” he added quietly. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

Then he stepped back, melting into the noise and lights like he’d never stopped the night at all, leaving you standing there with your drink, your tiara, and the uncomfortable certainty that the day wasn’t done with you yet.

Rafe didn’t walk away far—just far enough to look like he had, to anyone paying half attention. He stopped near the edge of the pool, back half-turned to the crowd, shoulders tense in a way you recognized too well. The music swelled again, laughter filling the space he left behind, but it all felt artificial now, like someone had turned the saturation up too high. You stood there for a second longer than necessary, pulse thudding, before forcing yourself to move past him toward the cooler, hands shaking just enough that you cursed under your breath.

You cracked open a beer you didn’t really want and took a long sip anyway, mostly to give yourself something to do with your mouth. When you straightened again, Rafe was watching you over the rim of his own cup, eyes unreadable, expression locked into that lazy composure he wore like armor. You hated how easily he slipped into it. Hated how easily it got under your skin. “Relax,” he said when you caught his gaze, voice pitched casual, like you weren’t standing on a fault line. “I’m not gonna cause a scene. It’s your birthday.” The way he said it made it sound like a concession rather than kindness.

You scoffed quietly, stepping closer so your words wouldn’t carry. “You already did,” you replied. “You didn’t have to say anything.” His mouth twitched. “Didn’t say much,” he countered. “Just pointing out the obvious.” You shook your head, anger and something more fragile tangling in your chest. His jaw tightened at your guilty silence and the slight slur in your words, eyes flicking briefly toward where JJ and Kiara were laughing with Sarah. “You think this is easy for me?” he asked quietly. “Watching you pretend like I don’t exist?”

“That’s not what I’m doing,” you shot back. “I’m trying to survive tonight without blowing up my life.”

He laughed under his breath again, shaking his head “Yeah,” he said. “Funny how that never includes me.” The words lingered between you, heavy, before he exhaled and looked away, scrubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Look,” he added, lower now. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I know that. I just—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

It mattered, though. You could feel it in the way the night no longer fit the way it had half an hour ago, in the way your chest ached with things left unsaid. “You don’t get to disappear and then reappear just to remind me you’re watching,” you said, voice quieter but no less firm. He met your eyes again, something raw slipping through the cracks this time. “Then stop giving me things to watch,” he replied.

Before you could answer, Sarah’s voice rang out from across the pool, calling your name again, bright and insistent. You flinched, the spell breaking. Rafe stepped back instinctively, distance snapping into place like it always did. “Go,” he said, already retreating into that familiar detachment. “Be the birthday girl.” You hesitated, then turned away, heart heavy, knowing you’d both return to your roles for the rest of the night.

And there it was—that familiar, low-slung ache of guilt you knew far better than you ever knew how to stay angry. It settled in your chest with practiced ease, tightening every time your eyes found Rafe again, lingering at the edges of the scene like he couldn’t quite force himself to leave it. The way he hovered made you feel exposed, like you’d been caught doing something you weren’t supposed to, something quietly unforgivable. And maybe kissing JJ was wrong—with Kiara existing in the equation like a hard, undeniable truth—but so was being in love with him in the first place, and no one had ever handed you a rulebook for that. Rafe of all people wasn’t one to surround himself with morally righteous choices, and you knew that better than anyone who smiled at him from across a pool.

No—this wasn’t about judgment. It never was with him. You could see it too clearly in the way his eyes flickered when they met yours, that sharp, almost juvenile spark of hurt, like a kid realizing too late that the person he wanted picked someone else for the swing set. Like you’d betrayed him specifically in those few seconds you’d let yourself kiss JJ back, rewrote something without asking permission. You’d both gone off-script, somewhere along the way. The careful routine you’d built—keeping your nights with Rafe sealed off from your daylight with the pogues—had dissolved quietly, insidiously, somewhere between prolonged eye contact that lingered too long after sleeping together and him washing your hair after shower sex. Things that felt dangerously domestic. Things that didn’t belong in something that was supposed to be temporary.

You hadn’t even noticed when you started getting reckless with it. Texting him when things went quiet on the HMS, when JJ was distracted and Kiara was asleep against the rail. Catching yourself staring at Sarah a second too long because her smile curved the same way his did. Letting Rafe exist in spaces he was never meant to occupy. And now—now your stomach churned unpleasantly as you made your way back toward the pogues, smile fixed in place, pulse skittering, no idea how you were supposed to slip back into the easy rhythm of the night like nothing had shifted off its axis.

JJ glanced up first when you rejoined them, brow creasing just slightly. “You good?” he asked, voice casual but eyes searching your face, before flicking to Rafe just long enough to keep you on edge. You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just—too much vodka,” you said, lifting your cup like proof. Kiara smiled at you, warm and unsuspecting, and the guilt flared sharper for it. Sarah slung an arm around your shoulders, laughing about something Pope had said, and you let yourself be pulled into it, the noise, the movement, the illusion of normalcy.

But you could still feel Rafe’s gaze like a weight between your shoulder blades.

Later—too late to pretend it was accidental—you felt him again, closer this time, clearly not able to allow himself not to press further. “You gonna keep pretending I’m not here?” he murmured, passing behind you under the cover of laughter and music, not looking at you as he spoke. Your breath caught. “I’m not pretending,” you whispered back, keeping your smile trained on Sarah. “I’m surviving.”

He huffed quietly, “Looks like you’re doing just fine.”

You finally turned then, just enough to catch his eye. “Don’t,” you said, barely audible. “Not tonight.” His jaw tightened, but he nodded once, sharp and controlled. “Right,” he replied. “Your night.” The words sounded like a reminder he was giving himself more than you.

As he slipped away again, swallowed by the edge of the party, you were left standing there with the awful, sinking realization that no matter how hard you tried to fold yourself back into place, something fundamental had already cracked—and it was only a matter of time before it showed.

The night softened the way it always did when people started to peel off in twos and threes, laughter fading into yawns, the music lowering from something meant to be heard to something meant to be background. Cups were abandoned along the pool’s edge, string lights swaying gently as the breeze cooled the leftover heat of the day, and you felt the slow, inevitable exhaustion settle into your bones.

Sarah was already halfway gone, her energy flickering like a dying sparkler, clinging to you and Kie both as she declared, for the fifth time, that this had been “the best birthday ever, no contest,” before John B finally convinced her it was time to get upstairs. You helped gather a few things—empty bottles, discarded towels—mostly just to give your hands something to do, your mind still too loud even as the party quieted. Every now and then your eyes flicked instinctively toward the house, toward the darkened corners of the yard, half-expecting Rafe to reappear like a bad habit you hadn’t quite kicked. He didn’t. That somehow made it worse.

By the time the last of the pogues said their goodbyes, Pope promising to text you tomorrow and JJ flashing you a grin that lingered just a second too long before Kiara tugged him away, the night felt hollowed out. The silence after them was heavy, pressing in around the pool like it was trying to make you sit with everything you’d been avoiding. Sarah looped her arm through yours as you headed inside, her steps uneven.

“You’re not driving anywhere,” she slurred lightly, pointing a finger at your chest. “You’re staying. Birthday rule.” You let out a tired laugh. “Wasn’t planning on it,” you admitted, voice softer than you meant it to be. Upstairs, her room was already dim, fairy lights casting a warm glow over the mess of clothes and makeup scattered across her vanity. She kicked off her shoes and flopped onto the bed with a groan. “I swear, I’m never drinking again,” she muttered, then immediately added, “Okay, maybe until next weekend.”

You changed quietly, borrowing one of her oversized shirts without asking—something soft and familiar that smelled faintly like her perfume and sunscreen. Sitting on the edge of the bed, you checked your phone out of habit, heart stuttering when you saw no new notifications. No message from Rafe. No follow-up. Just silence, deliberate and loud in its own way. Sarah noticed your stillness even through her haze. “Hey,” she said gently, rolling onto her side to look at you. “You okay?” You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. Just… tired.” She studied you for a second longer, like she wanted to say more, then sighed and patted the pillow beside her. “C’mere. Tomorrow you can tell me whatever that look is about.”

You lay down beside her, staring up at the ceiling as the house finally settled, every sound amplified in the quiet—the distant hum of the fridge, the soft creak of wood as it cooled. Sarah was asleep within minutes, breathing slow and even, one arm thrown over your waist like an anchor.

You let your eyes close, exhaustion eventually outweighing the noise in your head, but even as sleep tugged at you, your thoughts drifted back to the night—to JJ’s hesitant smile, to Rafe’s wounded stare, to the way everything felt just slightly off-kilter now. Tanny Hill had always felt like borrowed space, like somewhere you passed through but never stayed.

Despite the way your head was spinning, your body heavy with the kind of exhaustion that should’ve knocked you out instantly, sleep refused to come. You lay there staring at the faint glow of fairy lights on Sarah’s ceiling, every thought circling back to the same place until it made your chest feel tight. The knowledge that Rafe was under the same roof, breathing the same recycled air, and that none of it had been said out loud gnawed at you relentlessly.

The hurt in his eyes replayed itself on a loop—too sharp, too personal to be brushed off as just another messy moment between you. This silence was different from the ones you’d grown used to, the comfortable, unspoken agreements that followed nights tangled together, when neither of you reached out because that was the rule. This one felt unfinished, like a sentence cut off mid-word.

Eventually, you gave up. You carefully untangled yourself from the mess of blankets and Sarah’s arm draped over your waist, moving with clumsy gentleness, bare feet whispering against the wooden floor. She shifted and mumbled something incoherent as you slid free, but didn’t wake. You stood there for a second, steadying yourself, then slipped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind you, heart already beating too fast for no real reason.

You didn’t actually know where you were headed—maybe the kitchen for water, maybe straight to Rafe’s room, maybe nowhere at all—but when you lifted your gaze down the dim corridor, the universe finally seemed to blink in your favor. Rafe was stepping out of his room at the same time, shoulders tight, movements jerky as he fumbled with his lock like he’d already lost patience with it. He looked wired and closed-off, the way he did when he’d had too much to drink or too many lines alone with his thoughts.

He didn’t see you at first. And then he did—but only for a fraction of a second, eyes skimming past you as if looking any longer might crack something open. He walked by without stopping, jaw set, like he was actively choosing not to acknowledge you. Panic flared before you could stop it. “Where are you going?” The question slipped out shakier than you meant it to, your feet carrying you forward on instinct as he reached the top of the stairs. He paused, just barely, shoulders stiffening.

“Out,” he muttered, not turning around, the word clipped and final like it was all he was willing to give. The dismissal stung more than you expected. “Rafe,” you pressed, following him down the stairs anyway, one hand grazing the banister to keep your balance. “It’s— it’s late.” He let out a quiet, humorless scoff, finally glancing back at you as you reached the bottom step, eyes unreadable in the low light. “Didn’t stop you earlier,” he said flatly, and the words landed with enough weight to make you stop short.

Outside, the night air was cool and damp, sobering in the worst way. He headed toward the driveway without waiting to see if you were keeping up, lighting a cigarette with hands that shook just enough to be noticeable. You trailed after him, barefoot on the concrete, feeling a little stupid and a little desperate all at once.

“You’re just gonna leave?” you asked quietly. He exhaled smoke through his nose, eyes fixed ahead. “Didn’t say that,” he replied, nonchalant to the point of cruelty. “Just need air.” You swallowed, hugging your arms around yourself as you stopped a few feet away from him. “You didn’t even look at me,” you said, the need to be seen bleeding through your voice despite your efforts to keep it casual.

“Don’t need to,” he murmured, the words thrown over his shoulder like an afterthought. “I already know how gorgeous and bitchy you look.” The comment should’ve sounded lazy, teasing, but his voice was too clipped, too tight around the edges for the nonchalance to be anything but a lie. He kept walking as if he hadn’t said anything at all, long strides crunching against the gravel, lifting the cigarette to his mouth and inhaling like the smoke was the only thing keeping him stitched together. You followed without thinking, barefoot and slightly unsteady, the cool stones biting into the soles of your feet as if to remind you that this wasn’t a dream, that you were really trailing after him like this.

When he reached his truck and veered toward the driver’s side, you stopped just in front of it, forcing him to either acknowledge you or walk straight into you. He chose the former, halting short with a sharp exhale, eyes flicking down to you before dragging back up like he was taking stock of the damage.

“What are you doing?” he asked quietly, not unkind, but guarded, like he already knew the answer and didn’t want to hear it anyway. You shrugged, the motion small and defensive. “Talking to you,” you said, too honestly. “You kinda made that hard upstairs.”

He scoffed under his breath, tapping ash onto the gravel and leaning back against the side of the truck, metal creaking softly under his weight. “Yeah, well. I figured you had enough conversations for one night,” he replied, gaze drifting pointedly back toward the house, toward the dark windows and the people inside who didn’t know a thing about the way your chest tightened at the implication.

“That’s not fair,” you said, stepping closer despite yourself, arms wrapping around your middle. “You didn’t even let me explain.” He laughed then, another short and clipped sound, shaking his head as he looked down at the cigarette between his fingers. “Explain what?” he shot back, finally meeting your eyes again. “That it didn’t mean anything? Or that it did, but just not enough?” The words weren’t loud, but they cut deeper than shouting ever could. You opened your mouth, then closed it again, frustration bubbling up as your throat tightened. “It wasn’t like that,” you insisted, voice wavering just slightly. “And you know it.”

He studied you for a long second, eyes searching your face like he was trying to decide whether to believe you or not, jaw flexing as he worked his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “I don’t know anything,” he said finally, pushing off the truck and dropping the cigarette under his boot. “That’s kinda the problem.” He stepped closer too now, close enough that you could smell the smoke and the familiar clean edge of his cologne, his presence filling the space between you in a way that made your pulse spike. “You disappear on me all day, I walk in and see that, and I’m just supposed to… what? Pretend it doesn’t get under my skin?” His voice dropped at the end, frustration bleeding through despite his best efforts to keep it contained.

You shook your head slowly. “I didn’t disappear on you,” you said, softer now. “You didn’t come looking.” That made him flinch, just barely, like the words landed somewhere tender. He let out a breath through his nose, eyes dropping to the gravel between your feet. “Maybe I didn’t think I was allowed to,” he muttered.

The admission hung between you, fragile and unsteady. You took another step closer, close enough now that your toes brushed his boot. “Rafe,” you said quietly, his name a plea whether you meant it to be or not. He looked back up at you, something raw flickering across his face before he masked it again, shoulders squaring as if bracing for impact. “Don’t,” he warned softly. “Not like that. Not if you’re gonna make this harder than it already is.”

You didn’t know if it was the alcohol still buzzing through your veins or the way his shoulders went rigid, but something in his tone felt final, like a door being shut carefully but with intent. Not slammed—worse than that. Like he’d already decided to step back before you even realized you were losing ground.

He turned toward the driver’s side, keys already in his hand, and the sight sent a sharp spike of panic straight through your chest. “I didn’t kiss him!” you blurted, the words tumbling out too fast, your voice shaking as your hands came down against the front of his truck—not hard, just enough to stop him, to anchor him there for one more second.

He froze. The night seemed to hold its breath with him, the distant music from the house fading into something dull and far away. Slowly, he turned back to look at you, brow furrowing like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you right. “What?” he asked, flat, guarded. You swallowed, throat tight, fingers curling against the cool metal beneath your palms. “I didn’t,” you repeated, softer but firmer now. “I pulled away. Before it—before anything happened.” You watched his face closely as you spoke, the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes searched yours like he was trying to find the lie hidden between the lines.

He scoffed under his breath, running a hand through his hair, pacing a step away before stopping again. “I saw you,” he said quietly. “Don’t do that. Don’t tell me I didn’t see what I saw.” You shook your head immediately, stepping toward him again despite the way he instinctively leaned back. “You saw a moment,” you shot back, frustration creeping into your voice. “Not the whole thing. Not how wrong it felt. Not how fast I stopped it.” Your chest rose and fell unevenly, emotion bleeding through every word. “You think I’d stand there and lie to your face about that?”

His silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. He looked away again, staring out into the dark like it might offer him clarity. “He’s with Kiara,” he muttered, almost to himself. “And you’re—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply. “This is exactly why I didn’t wanna do this.” That hit harder than you expected, your stomach dropping. “Do what?” you asked, quieter now. “Care?”

He turned back to you at that, eyes flashing. “Don’t put words in my mouth,” he said, though the bite in his tone was dulled by something dangerously close to hurt.

You stepped closer again, close enough that there was barely any space left between you. “Then tell me what you meant,” you said, voice trembling despite your effort to steady it. “Because right now it feels like you’re already leaving.” He looked down at you, really looked this time, and for a second the mask cracked—just enough for you to see the conflict underneath. “I don’t know how to do this halfway,” he admitted finally, voice low. “And I don’t know how to stand there and watch you almost choose someone else and pretend it doesn’t tear something up inside me.” His words hung between you, raw and unpolished, and your chest ached at the honesty of them.

“I didn’t choose him,” you said immediately. “I came after you, didn’t I?” He huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah,” he replied. “You did.” His gaze softened just a fraction, thumb worrying at the edge of his keys. “That’s the problem.”

You opened your mouth to protest again, the words already lining up on your tongue, but he didn’t give you the chance. His gaze softened for half a heartbeat before twisting again, something wounded flashing across his face like he hated himself for letting it show. “You came after me because you know you can’t have him,” he said, voice low but sharp enough to cut. The way he emphasized me sounded like it physically hurt him, like he was pressing on a bruise he refused to admit existed.

“The whole premise of… us,” he continued, gesturing vaguely between the two of you, “was that you were in love with him and couldn’t have him ‘cause of Kiara. That’s how this started. And now you’re trying to play damage control. Trying to salvage what you know you can have.” His jaw clenched, eyes never leaving yours. “Which is me.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, knocking the breath out of your lungs in a way the alcohol hadn’t managed to. “That’s not—” you started, but your voice faltered, frustration and panic tangling together. You shook your head, stepping closer despite the way he stiffened instinctively. “You think I came after you because you were… convenient?” you asked incredulously, hurt seeping through your tone. “You think I don’t know how fucked up that sounds?” Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms like you needed the grounding. “If this was about having something easy, Rafe, I wouldn’t be standing here barefoot at four in the morning begging you to talk to me.”

He scoffed, turning his head away again, staring out over the dark stretch of lawn like it might offer him an answer. “You don’t get it,” he muttered. “You never do.” That stung, sharp and unfair, and you felt it flare in your chest.

“Then explain it to me,” you snapped, voice cracking despite your best effort to keep it steady. “Because from where I’m standing, it feels like you’ve already decided what I am to you, and you’re punishing me for it.” He looked back at you then, really looked, eyes dark and unreadable. “I’m not punishing you,” he said quietly. “I’m protecting myself.”

You laughed softly, bitter and tired, the sound wobbling on its way out. “By walking away?” you asked. “By pretending this doesn’t mean anything?” He flinched at that, just barely, and it told you everything. You took another step closer, lowering your voice. “I didn’t stop that kiss because of Kiara,” you admitted, the truth burning on your tongue. “I stopped it because it didn’t feel right. Because all I could think about was you.” His breath hitched, subtle but unmistakable, and his grip tightened around his keys. “You don’t get to decide my intentions for me,” you continued, eyes shining. “And you don’t get to reduce whatever this is to something I’m settling for.”

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The night pressed in around you, heavy with things neither of you seemed ready to say out loud. Finally, he exhaled slowly, shoulders slumping just a little, like the fight had gone out of him. “You make it really hard to leave,” he admitted, voice rough. You swallowed hard, heart thudding painfully in your chest. “Then don’t,” you said softly. “Not like this.”

He stayed where he was, keys still clenched in his fist, shoulders tense like he was bracing for impact even though you weren’t touching him. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the faint sound of cicadas drifting from the marsh.

Rafe dragged a hand down his face, frustration etched into every sharp line of him. “You don’t understand what you’re asking,” he said finally, voice low and strained. “If I don’t leave right now, I’m not gonna be able to pretend this doesn’t get under my skin.” He glanced at you again, jaw flexing. “And that’s a problem.”

You shook your head, a humorless smile tugging at your lips. “Since when do you pretend?” you asked quietly. “You’ve never been good at that.” You took a cautious step closer, close enough that you could smell the smoke clinging to him, the familiar cologne underneath it that made your chest ache. “I’m not asking you to forgive me for something I didn’t do,” you added. “I’m asking you to stop deciding I’m the villain in a story you helped write.”

He huffed out a short laugh, but there was no amusement in it. “Helped write?” he repeated, incredulous. “You walked into my life already in love with someone else. You made that real clear.” His eyes searched your face like he was looking for cracks, for proof. “I knew what I was signing up for. Doesn’t mean I like how it feels now.” He looked away again, shaking his head. “Seeing you with him—” He stopped himself, lips pressing together. “Doesn’t matter if you kissed him or not. The fact that I even had to ask myself that makes me feel fucking stupid.”

Your throat tightened, guilt curling low in your stomach. “I never wanted to make you feel that way,” you said, voice softer now. “And I’m not asking you to be okay with it overnight. I just—” You hesitated, then forced the words out. “I don’t want you to disappear on me because you’re scared of wanting more.”

His gaze snapped back to you at that, sharp and defensive. “Don’t psychoanalyze me,” he snapped. “You don’t get to pull that card.”

“Then stop acting like this doesn’t matter,” you shot back, matching his tone despite the tremor in your hands. “Because it does. You do.” The words hung between you, fragile and exposed. He stared at you for a long moment, chest rising and falling faster now, like he was fighting himself. Finally, he muttered, “You make everything complicated,” but there was something tired in it, something close to honesty. You swallowed, nodding once. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I know. So do you.”

You could feel it in the way his body stayed angled toward the truck, keys still clenched in his fist like an anchor, like if he loosened his grip even a little he’d cave and do something he’d regret. A part of you hated how small you felt in that moment, how desperate it made you to be the one asking him to stay, to smooth this over, to keep him tethered to you when you’d spent so long pretending you didn’t care if he walked away.

Scared, more than anything, of finally admitting to yourself that Rafe mattered, that he wasn’t just some kook you slept with in secret and tried not to think about in daylight. “Don’t leave…” you said quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them, your voice trailing off as you fought the urge to add a please you weren’t sure he’d survive hearing.

The night pressed in around you, humid and heavy, cicadas buzzing somewhere in the dark, your head spinning in an unpleasant way. Maybe it was the alcohol still swimming in your veins, or the weight of your birthday sitting ugly in your chest, but the feeling was achingly familiar—too close to that night on the beach when you were sixteen, when the loss of your dad had lodged itself between your ribs and refused to move. That same hollow panic, that same fear of being left behind without warning. Maybe that was what had your fingers curling into the hem of your shirt now, what made the thought of Rafe driving away feel unbearable in a way you didn’t want to examine too closely.

Rafe exhaled slowly, shoulders dropping just a fraction like your words had knocked the wind out of him. He didn’t turn right away, just stood there staring at the side of his truck, jaw tight, thumb worrying at the edge of the key fob. “You can’t say it like that,” he muttered finally, voice rough. “Like I’m the bad guy for needing some space.” He glanced back at you then, eyes sharp but tired, conflicted in a way you didn’t see often. “You don’t get to pull me back every time I try to walk away.”

“I’m not trying to trap you,” you said quickly, stepping closer without realizing it, bare feet scuffing against the gravel. “I just—this feels like you’re punishing me for something I didn’t even do.” Your voice cracked despite your efforts to keep it steady. “And yeah, maybe I am selfish for not wanting you to leave, but I don’t think I can pretend this doesn’t hurt just to make it easier for you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through the gesture. “You think this is easy for me?” he snapped, then caught himself, tone dropping again. “I’m trying not to blow up in front of your friends. I’m trying not to say something I can’t take back.” His eyes flicked to the house and then back to you. “You don’t see it, but you have this way of making me feel like I’m always one step behind, like I’m the fallback option when everything else gets messy.”

“That’s not fair,” you said softly. “You’re not a fallback. You’re—” You stopped yourself, swallowing hard, the rest of the sentence too dangerous to finish. “You matter to me,” you settled on instead, quieter but honest. “More than I let on. And I know I’ve been shitty about that.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. The keys jingled faintly as his grip finally loosened, his shoulders slumping as if the fight drained out of him all at once. “You don’t make this easy,” he said again, but this time it sounded less like an accusation and more like a confession. He turned to face you fully now, eyes searching your face. “I don’t know how to do this halfway,” he muttered again, as if he was ashamed of the admission. “And I don’t know how to protect myself from wanting more than you’re ready to give.”

You shook your head, teeth worrying at the inside of your cheek like the intimacy of the moment could be undone if you focused hard enough on the dull sting. “I just…” you trailed off, the words collapsing under their own weight, and you took a step back before your body betrayed you and reached for him out of habit. “Explaining myself right now is more than I could give you in these four months,” you admitted quietly, a tired honesty bleeding through the alcohol-softened edges of your voice.

“I didn’t want you to leave thinking I was gonna discard you now that JJ decided to act on his feelings,” you rushed on, the explanation tumbling out fast and uneven, like if you didn’t get it all out now you’d lose the nerve. “I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me and I—” you inhaled sharply, chest rising like you’d just run uphill. “It felt wrong,” you whisper-shouted, frustration cracking through. “And you think I’m just settling for the convenient option when you’re not that anymore. Haven’t been for a long time.”

The silence that followed stretched thin and painful, the night pressing closer as if it was listening. You could feel tears threatening at the corners of your eyes, hot and humiliating, a reminder that you were unraveling in front of someone who still looked like he was halfway out the door. You lifted a hand toward his truck, the gesture loose and defeated. “You can go,” you said softly. “I just didn’t want you leaving still thinking I was the villain here, trapping you in second place when there’s no first place anymore.” Your shoulders lifted in a weak shrug as you stared past him, fighting not to blink. “It’s just you.”

Rafe didn’t move right away. His jaw worked like he was grinding his teeth, eyes fixed on you with something raw and unguarded flickering behind them. “You don’t get to say that like it doesn’t mean something,” he muttered finally, voice low. “You drop that on me and then tell me I can go?” He shook his head, a humorless huff escaping him. “You’re really bad at letting people leave, you know that?”

He took a step closer, then stopped himself, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t trust them. “You think I don’t know I’m not convenient anymore?” he asked, quieter now. “That’s the problem. I stopped being convenient and started being… this.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “Something that gets under my skin. Something I can’t just turn off.”

Your gaze finally lifted to meet his, tears glassing your eyes despite your best efforts. “I didn’t ask you to feel that way,” you said, voice small but steady. “But I’m done pretending I don’t either.”

That did it. He exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging as the tension seemed to drain out of him all at once. “Fuck,” he murmured, running a hand down his face. “You really know how to mess with my head.” His eyes softened when they landed back on you, lingering on the way your hands trembled slightly at your sides. “I don’t think you’re evil,” he said at last. “I think you’re scared. And selfish sometimes. And confusing as hell.” A beat. “But not that.”

“Of course I’m scared,” you muttered, your gaze flicking away on instinct as if eye contact alone might make this too real, too heavy to hold. Your arms wrapped around your middle defensively, thumbs digging into your ribs. “This—” you gestured between the two of you, the space charged and fragile, “—I mean, you spent your whole life acting like you’re better than me and my friends. I’m just scared you’ll turn around one day and… I don’t know. Drop the act. Stop allowing me all this.” Your voice wavered despite your attempt to keep it steady. “All the bitching, all the comfort you let me take without ever asking for anything back.”

He laughed then, but not sharply, not cruelly—more like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. It startled you, the sound warm and almost fond, and he looked away as he did it, tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek like he was biting back entire paragraphs. “I am better than your friends,” he said plainly, the words delivered with that familiar Rafe bluntness, the same tone he used when he was needling the Pogues about class and territory and lines drawn in the sand since childhood. “Not just because they’re from the Cut or because they work shitty jobs. I just am.”

Your brows furrowed, a reflexive response, but you didn’t snap back. Something in the way he said it—too calm, too detached—kept you quiet. His gaze drifted back to you then, and whatever smugness you were bracing for never came. Instead, his eyes were soft, almost careful, like he was handling something that could shatter if he pushed too hard.

“So that’s why you…” you started slowly, suspicion creeping in despite yourself. “Because you think you’re better than me? Like some fucked up power play?” Your head tilted as you studied him, searching for the angle, the trick. His hands came up before you could step back, cradling your face gently but firmly, thumbs pressing into your cheeks just enough to force your attention back to him, to keep you from slipping away into your head.

“No, angel,” he said quietly, simply, and he held your gaze for a long moment before continuing. “You really think I’d allow you all that if I thought I was better than you?” His thumbs shifted slightly, grounding, steady. “All the pestering. You tearing through my life, not sparing a single good thing I had before stomping all over it and still somehow putting me in second place while you’re at it?” A breath left him, rough but controlled. “You think I’d let you do that if I looked down on you?”

His hands didn’t leave your face when he shook his head, slow and deliberate. “Not you,” he said, voice lower now, stripped of bravado. “Never you. Never once have I thought I was better than you.”

The words settled heavy in the space between you, and suddenly the years made sense in a way that made your chest ache. The way he’d always been there on the edges—too sharp, too loud, too much—but watching. The way his cruelty never quite landed on you the same way it did on everyone else. The way he’d orbit without ever stepping fully in, like he was afraid of being seen wanting something he wasn’t supposed to have.

He dropped his hands then, but he stayed close. “You don’t see it,” he added quietly, almost to himself. “You never did. You were always too busy surviving, too busy being… you.” His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “I just learned early on that if I stood too close, I’d get burned. So I stayed loud. Stayed arrogant. Stayed everywhere else.”

His eyes lifted back to yours, unguarded now in a way that felt more dangerous than any anger. “Letting you take from me isn’t charity,” he said. “It’s the only way I’ve ever known how to keep you close without asking for something you didn’t know how to give.”

The night felt quieter after that, like even the crickets had paused. And for the first time, the fear twisting in your chest wasn’t just about being left—it was about realizing how long he’d been standing there, waiting, without ever demanding you turn around and look at him.

He swallowed, jaw tightening like he’d said more than he planned to, and for a moment you thought he might retreat again—lock it back up, crack a joke, open the truck door and leave. Instead, his gaze drifted past you, over your shoulder, toward the dark stretch of Tanny Hill and the house looming behind you, like the past was laid out there whether he wanted it or not.

“Do you remember the dock behind the old bait shop?” he asked suddenly, voice quieter now, almost careful. “Before they tore it down. You were—what—ten? Maybe eleven.” His lips twitched faintly, the memory tugging at something softer. “You had that ugly yellow life vest on. Too big for you. Thing damn near swallowed you.”

You frowned, the image surfacing slowly. “I fell in,” you said, uncertain. “Everyone laughed.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. You did.” A breath left him through his nose, something like a huff. “But before that—before you slipped—you were standing there arguing with that old fisherman about how knots worked. Like you knew better than a guy who’d been doing it for fifty years.” His eyes flicked back to you, fond despite himself. “You were so serious about it. So pissed he wouldn’t listen.”

Your chest tightened.

“I remember thinking,” he continued, voice low, “that you were the bravest person I’d ever seen. Not loud. Not trying to be anything. Just… stubborn. Refusing to back down even when you were clearly out of your depth.” He paused, fingers flexing at his side. “Then you fell in, and everyone laughed, and I remember being so mad about it. Not at you. At them.”

You stared at him, heart thudding.

“I jumped in after you,” he added, like it was an afterthought. “Didn’t even think about it. Got yelled at by my dad for ruining my shoes.” He scoffed quietly. “Worth it.”

You remembered then—the cold water, the panic, the way someone’s arms had wrapped around you and hauled you back up onto the dock, spluttering and embarrassed and furious at the tears burning your eyes. You’d never really looked at who it was. Just a blur of blond hair and sharp words and hands steadying you until you stopped shaking.

“You told me not to cry,” you murmured.

His mouth curved faintly. “Yeah. Told you crying pissed me off.” He shook his head. “Real smooth, Cameron.”

Silence stretched between you again, but this time it wasn’t sharp. It was full. Heavy with years you’d lived side by side without ever lining up the memories the same way.

“That was the first time,” he said quietly. “Not the first time I noticed you. Just the first time I knew I was screwed.” He glanced down, then back up, eyes steady. “You’ve always had this way of walking straight into things that scare you. And I—” He exhaled. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to control everything. People. Outcomes. Myself.”

His gaze softened, almost rueful. “You were never something I could control. So I stayed close enough to watch. Close enough to catch you if you fell again.”

The keys were still in his hand, but they hung loose now, forgotten. And standing there in the cool night air, with the house behind you and the past stretched out between you like a tide line, it finally clicked—not as a confession, not as a demand, but as something quieter and more devastating.

He hadn’t been circling you for four months.

He’d been doing it for years.

It gutted you even more, sharpened the dull sting of guilt that had been sitting in your chest all night, the kind that didn’t burn hot but ached steadily, relentlessly. The realization that he’d let you believe he was thriving off the crumbs you left behind—late-night texts, bodies tangled in the dark, moments you convinced yourself were disposable—felt cruel in hindsight. Especially knowing that to him, those crumbs had weight. Meaning. That getting to have you, even briefly, even under stupid, messy, childish circumstances, wasn’t casual in the slightest. It was something he’d been careful with in a way you hadn’t noticed because you didn’t know to look.

Your silence seemed to please him. Not in a smug way—more like he liked watching the gears turn behind your eyes, liked knowing you were finally trying to line up the version of him you thought you knew with the one standing in front of you now. He knew you’d never fully understand it, never feel the exact gravity of his side of things, but the attempt mattered. After a beat, he spoke again, brows pinching together as if he wasn’t quite sure where to place his feet in the past without tripping over it.

“I had this slingshot,” he started, voice low, almost distant. “Something I begged my dad to let me win at the fair. Supposedly for Sarah.” A humorless breath left him. “Of course, she scrunched up her face and said she’d rather play with her brand new dollhouse.”

You huffed softly despite yourself, and he glanced at you, the corner of his mouth twitching before he looked away again. “I liked it,” he continued. “It was something I earned without money. No credit card, no last name attached. Just… me.” His fingers curled slightly, as if remembering the weight of it. “So I carried it everywhere. Learned tricks. Showed it off. Thought it made me special.”

His gaze dropped to the gravel, voice darkening. “One afternoon I got bored. Started launching rocks at random shit inside the house. Lamps, picture frames. Stupid kid stuff.” He paused. “Ended up chipping the handle of this vase my dad’s grandma owned. Old. Ugly. Apparently priceless.”

Your stomach sank.

“I panicked,” he admitted quietly. “Didn’t want the slingshot taken away. Didn’t want the lecture. So I turned it just right, figured no one would notice.” A bitter smile tugged at his lips. “The maid found it while dusting. Told my dad. At first he thought she broke it.”

His jaw tightened, teeth grinding. “She was scared. Thought she’d lose her job. So she told him she’d seen me messing around with it.” He inhaled slowly, steadying himself. “He called me into his office that night. Started talking about responsibility. About class. About how men like us don’t blame the help.”

You could already see it, the room, the desk too big for a child.

“He slapped me,” Rafe said flatly. “Not a warning. Not a tap. A real slap. Like you’d hit another grown man.” His hand lifted unconsciously to his jaw, fingers brushing skin like it still remembered. “I didn’t cry. Didn’t make a sound.”

Your chest ached.

“My mom found me at the top of the stairs later,” he went on, voice softer now. “She kept saying it wasn’t my fault. Ran her fingers through my hair like she was trying to memorize me.” His eyes flicked away. “That was the day before she left.”

The words settled heavy between you, and for a second all you could hear was the distant hum of the island at night.

“A few days later,” he continued quietly, “I saw you. You were sitting on the steps outside my house. Your dad had left after another fight with your mom. Temporary, everyone said.” He scoffed faintly. “You were younger than me. Still had those old sneakers with the busted soles. Dirt on your knees.”

You swallowed.

“And I remember thinking…” He shook his head slowly. “It felt less lonely. Seeing you there. Like maybe it wasn’t just me. Didn’t matter that your mom scrubbed my floors. Didn’t matter that we came from opposite sides of the same damn island.” His eyes lifted to yours then, unguarded. “We were both waiting for someone who didn’t come back the way they were supposed to.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was reverent. You stepped closer without realizing, toes brushing his shoe.

“So when I tell you I never thought I was better than you,” he said quietly, “I mean it. You were the first person who ever made me feel like I wasn’t alone in this place. Like I wasn’t the only one pretending everything was fine.”

His voice dropped, almost careful. “And I guess I never really stopped holding onto that.”

He didn’t say anything after that, just reached for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, fingers warm and familiar as if they’d been doing this for years and had simply forgotten. He led you quietly up the side path, gravel crunching softly beneath your bare feet, every step deliberate, careful. The house loomed ahead, all white columns and dark windows, asleep and unaware. He paused at the door, glancing back at you with something unreadable in his eyes—half warning, half invitation—before easing it open, slow enough that the hinge didn’t dare betray him.

Inside, the air was cooler, heavier, carrying the faint scent of salt and expensive cleaner. You moved through the house like ghosts, shoulders brushing as you passed down the hallway, his hand hovering at the small of your back without quite touching, guiding you away from creaky floorboards and spots he knew too well. The intimacy of it made your chest tighten more than any confession had—this quiet, practiced care, the way he kept checking behind him to make sure you were still there. When he finally pushed open his bedroom door, the click was soft, final, sealing you into a space that felt untouched by time.

His room was dim, moonlight spilling in through the window and cutting silver lines across rumpled sheets and posters that had survived every version of him. He leaned back against the door once it was closed, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath the entire walk in. “You’re okay?” he asked quietly, not looking at you yet, like he was afraid the answer might crack something open.

You nodded, setting your feet on the familiar rug, the room suddenly feeling too small and too big all at once. “Yeah,” you murmured. “Just… processing.”

A soft, almost disbelieving huff left him. “Yeah. Me too.” He finally looked at you then, eyes dark in the low light, stripped of the sharpness he wore so easily in daylight. “I didn’t plan on telling you any of that tonight.”

“I’m glad you did,” you said, and it came out steadier than you felt.

Something shifted in his expression at that—relief, maybe, or something closer to surrender. He crossed the room in a few slow steps, stopping just short of you, like he was giving you space even now. “You don’t owe me anything,” he said quietly. “Not because of tonight. Not because of… history.”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze. “I know.”

The silence that followed was different here. Softer. Charged. He reached out then, fingers brushing your wrist, tentative, asking without words. When you didn’t pull away, his hand curled more securely, grounding. He guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, perching beside you after a moment, shoulders nearly touching.

“I used to lie awake in this room,” he admitted, voice low, “thinking if I stayed quiet enough, nothing bad could find me. Guess I never really grew out of that.” He glanced at you, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “Feels different with you here. Every time.”

You let your shoulder lean into his, just slightly. “You don’t have to be quiet with me.”

For a second, it looked like that might undo him. He nodded once, jaw tight, and stayed there with you—no rush, no demands—just two people sitting in the dim, listening to the steady rhythm of each other’s breathing, like the night itself was finally giving him permission to rest.

You watched Rafe quietly, really watched him, like you were trying to commit his face to memory in a way you’d never allowed yourself to before. These were the same features you’d seen twisted into sneers and sharp smiles, the same mouth that had spat cruel words at you and your friends without hesitation—now calm, almost soft, painfully familiar after four months of stolen nights and half-lit rooms. You didn’t want to admit how well you knew him like this, how your familiarity hadn’t come from conversations or daylight honesty, but from watching him up close when everything else fell away.

You’d memorized him in pieces. The faint freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose, the ones you teased him about whenever you were feeling brave enough, because they made him look younger, less intimidating than he liked to pretend he was. His hair, usually left untouched when he was with you, no gel, no careful styling—just messy strands that fell into his eyes until he shoved them back impatiently. And that small scar above his left eyebrow, the one you’d traced with your thumb more than once without ever asking where it came from, because some part of you already knew the answer would circle back to Ward, to raised voices and hands that struck too hard.

You exhaled slowly, the breath trembling despite yourself. It was strange—how fearless you’d always been when it came to touching him, to pulling him closer or asking for more with nothing but your body, yet how fragile this felt now. Your voice came out softer than you meant it to, still faintly slurred from the alcohol warming your veins. “Can I kiss you?” you asked, eyes flicking to his mouth and then back up again, almost shy.

His head tilted toward you, a lazy, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “That’s new,” he murmured. “Since when do you ask?”

You swallowed, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. “Since now.”

He studied you for a second too long, gaze sharp but unreadable, then clicked his tongue softly. “What, JJ didn’t do it right?” he teased, voice low and smug. “Gotta come check if Cameron kisses better?”

Your cheeks burned instantly. “Rafe—”

“I’m kidding,” he cut in, though his smile sharpened, jealousy flickering behind his eyes. “Mostly.” He leaned a fraction closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, the quiet tension humming just under his skin. “You looked a little too comfortable with him back there.”

Your heart thudded. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

He scoffed quietly. “Doesn’t mean I liked it.” His gaze dropped to your mouth again, lingered. “Still wanna kiss me?”

You nodded, barely perceptible, and that was all it took.

He moved first, slow at the start like he was giving you one last chance to pull away, his shoulder brushing yours as he leaned in. His hand came up to your jaw, thumb pressing lightly under your chin, tilting your face toward his. When his mouth finally met yours, it wasn’t careful for long. The kiss deepened almost immediately, needy and unguarded, like he’d been holding himself back all night and finally snapped. His lips were warm, firm, moving against yours with a hunger that made your knees feel weak, breath hitching as he kissed you like he meant it.

He shifted closer without breaking it, your sides touching now at the edge of the bed, his free hand bracing against the mattress beside you as if grounding himself. You could feel the tension in him, the way he kissed you like he was afraid you might disappear if he didn’t. When he finally pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing was uneven.

“See?” he murmured, lips brushing yours again, softer this time. “Still mine.”

His words hung in the air between you, a claim you couldn't deny even as part of you rebelled against it. Still mine. The possessiveness in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, equal parts thrilling and terrifying. You'd started this arrangement as some twisted revenge, a way to soothe your wounded pride after JJ chose Kiara, but somewhere along the way, the lines had blurred beyond recognition.

You leaned back slightly to look at him properly, your fingers still tangled in his shirt. "And what if I don't want to be yours?" you challenged, though your voice lacked conviction.

Rafe's expression hardened almost imperceptibly, a flicker of that familiar Kook superiority crossing his features before softening again. "Too late for that," he murmured, his thumb stroking along your jawline. "You've been mine since that first night at the bonfire when you looked at me like you actually saw something beyond the 'prince of Kooks' bullshit."

Your breath caught. He wasn't wrong, though you'd never admit it. That night—three months into your secret arrangement—had been different. He'd found you crying after seeing JJ and Kiara kissing on the beach, and instead of his usual cruel remarks, he'd sat beside you in silence for ten full minutes before offering you a handkerchief that smelled faintly of expensive cologne and something uniquely Rafe.

"You were an ass that night," you said weakly.

"Always am," he agreed without apology, then surprised you by pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But not to you. Not anymore."

The admission hung between you, fragile and dangerous. Four months of stolen moments, of hooking up in empty guest rooms and his truck when you were supposed to be elsewhere—none of it prepared you for this honesty, this vulnerability in a man who built walls higher than the Cameron estate.

"Why me, Rafe?" you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. "Out of everyone, why bother with some Pogue you supposedly can't stand?"

His hand moved from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he studied you with an intensity that made your heart race. "Because you never looked at me like everyone else does," he said finally. "Not like I was a prize or a monster, just… Rafe. Even when you hated me, you saw me."

Before you could respond, he was kissing you again, deeper this time, pouring years of unspoken feelings into it. His other hand slid around your waist, pulling you flush against him as he deepened the kiss. You responded instinctively, months of secret encounters making your bodies perfectly attuned to each other despite the emotional distance you'd maintained.

When you broke apart, both breathing heavily, Rafe's eyes were dark with emotion. "Stay tonight," he said, not as a command but as a request. "No sneaking out before dawn, no pretending this doesn't mean anything."

The offer terrified you. Staying meant crossing a line you'd carefully avoided, acknowledging that this had become more than just a physical arrangement. It meant facing the complicated feelings you'd developed for a man your friends would never accept, a man whose family represented everything your group stood against.

"Rafe, I can't—" you started, but he cut you off with another soft kiss.

"Just tonight," he murmured against your lips. "Let me have you for a whole night. No sunrise escape."

You hesitated, torn between the safety of your established boundaries and the undeniable pull toward something more with him. As you looked into his eyes—those same blue eyes that had watched you with growing intensity over the past months—you realized you were already in too deep to pretend this was just physical anymore.

With a nod that felt both like surrender and liberation, you agreed. "Just tonight."

His answering smile was genuine, reaching his eyes in a way you rarely saw. "Good," he said softly, already maneuvering you both onto the bed. "Because I'm not done proving you're still mine."

When you both settled onto the bed on your sides facing each other, Rafe didn't go in for another kiss. His hand rested on the curve of your waist, gently watching you silently like he was waiting for you to make the first move. But you didn't, at least not yet. You just watched him, a calm and almost sad look on your features now that the silence had settled.

You hesitated again, even with the vodka coursing through your veins, your mouth awfully dry as you swallowed hard in the silence of the room. "I miss my dad, Rafe.." you mumbled, words mashed by the hand resting under your cheek. His expression turned solemn, brows furrowing slightly before his hand lifted to brush your cheek. "I know, angel.." he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically gentle as his thumb stroked your skin. Three years. Three years since he'd walked out on your fifteenth birthday, leaving behind nothing but a half-eaten cake and a little girl with bruised knees from skateboarding all day. Today, you were eighteen, and the absence had become a physical ache, a hollow space in your chest that nothing seemed to fill—not even the distraction of Rafe's body against yours in the dark.

Rafe shifted closer, the mattress dipping slightly as he propped himself up on one elbow to look down at you more fully. The moonlight filtering through his bedroom window caught the silver in his eyes, making them seem almost translucent in the dim light. "Happy birthday," he said softly, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw with a tenderness that still surprised you sometimes, even after all these months. You flinched slightly at his words, the reminder of what day it was hitting you like a physical blow.

"Don't," you whispered, turning your face away from his touch. "Please don't say that."

"Sorry," he murmured, gently turning your face back toward him. "I just thought… I mean, it's still your birthday, right? Even if…" he trailed off, not needing to finish. Rafe knew the story—how your dad had left on this exact day three years ago, how you hadn't heard from him since except for a few sporadic emails in the first year that eventually stopped altogether.

"It's just a day," you said, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. "It doesn't mean anything."

"It means something to you," Rafe countered quietly, his thumb stroking your cheek. "I can see it in your eyes. You've been off all night, even before you started drinking."

You didn't deny it. How could you? When you'd woken up this morning, the first thought that crossed your mind was that you were now legally an adult, yet you still felt like that fifteen-year-old girl watching her father pack a bag with tears in her eyes. The Pogues had tried to make it special—John B had "borrowed" a cake from the Wreck, Pope had decorated the Chateau with streamers, even JJ had attempted to make you a gift out of driftwood that had fallen apart before he could give it to you. But all you could think about was how your dad had promised to be there for every birthday, how he'd broken that promise on the one that mattered most.

"He promised," you said softly, tears welling in your eyes despite your best efforts to hold them back. "He promised he'd never miss a birthday, and then he left on mine. Didn't even have the decency to wait until the next day."

Rafe's expression hardened, a flash of anger in his eyes that you recognized was directed at your absent father, not at you. "Fuck him," he said bluntly. "Anyone who walks out on their kid—especially on their birthday—doesn't deserve to be missed."

"Easy for you to say," you mumbled, though you knew Rafe understood abandonment better than most. "Your dad might be an asshole, but at least he's still here."

"Is he though?" Rafe asked bitterly, his hand moving from your cheek to tangle in your hair. "Because it feels like I'm talking to a ghost most days. At least your dad had the decency to leave instead of sticking around to remind me every day that I'm not good enough."

The raw pain in his voice made your heart ache. You'd never talked about your fathers like this before, never crossed into this territory where you acknowledged the parallel wounds that somehow bound you together despite your different worlds. Without thinking, you reached up to cup his face, your thumb tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

"We're quite the pair, aren't we?" you murmured, managing a weak smile. "The Pogue princess and the Kook prince, both daddy issues extraordinaire."

Rafe's lips curved into a genuine smile at that, the first one you'd seen from him all night. "The Pogue princess," he repeated, his voice dropping to that low register that made your stomach flutter. "I like that. It suits you."

"Shut up," you said, though there was no heat behind it. "You know I hate when you call me that."

"No you don't," he teased, leaning closer until his lips were just inches from yours. "You love it. You love that I see you as royalty even when you're running around with those delinquents."

"They're not delinquents," you protested weakly, already melting under his proximity.

"Could've fooled me," he murmured, then captured your lips in a kiss that was surprisingly gentle, almost reverent. This was different from your usual encounters—no urgency, no desperation, just a slow, deliberate exploration that felt more like comfort than passion. When he pulled back, his eyes were soft.

"Make a wish," he said quietly.

"What?"

"It's your birthday," he explained, his fingers stroking through your hair. "Make a wish."

You hesitated, then closed your eyes. The first wish that came to mind was the one you'd made every year since he left—that your dad would come home, that he'd walk through the door with an apology and a promise to never leave again. But as you lay there in Rafe's arms, you realized that wasn't what you wanted anymore. Or at least, not all that you wanted.

When you opened your eyes, Rafe was watching you with an intensity that made your breath catch. "What did you wish for?" he asked.

Instead of answering, you leaned in and kissed him again, deeper this time, pouring all your complicated feelings into it. Rafe responded immediately, his hand sliding from your hair to your back, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened. This was what you knew, what you'd come to rely on—the way your bodies fit together, the desperate need that transcended the complicated world outside this room.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Rafe's eyes were dark with emotion. "Tell me," he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. "What did you wish for?"

You hesitated, then decided to be brave. "I wished," you said softly, "that for once, I could have something that's just mine. Something that doesn't remind me of what I've lost."

Rafe's breath hitched slightly, his eyes closing for a moment as if processing your statement. When he opened them again, there was something new there—something fragile and hopeful that made your chest ache with affection.

"You already have that," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "You have me."

The simplicity of his statement, the raw honesty in it, was more overwhelming than any grand declaration could have been. And as you lay there in his arms, the moonlight casting shadows across the room, you realized with terrifying clarity that your wish had already come true. Somewhere along the way, in the stolen moments and secret encounters, Rafe Cameron had become yours—completely, irrevocably, and terrifyingly yours.

And wasn't that ironic? That the thing you avoided the most ended up happening anyway? Or maybe Rafe had been yours all along and he was just waiting on the sidelines for you to catch up. Either way, you couldn't sit there and lie to yourself that Rafe hadn't become a constant in your life. A fucked up, volatile and unstable constant but one nonetheless. He spent nights drying the tears that either JJ or your mother welled in your eyes, without even asking for anything in return, his expensive shirts stained with your mascarand cheap body glitter as he held you until your sobs subsided into hiccups.

He never once asked you to stop snorting lines, smoking blunts or stop at one bottle, instead watching with those intense blue eyes as you self-destructed, his presence a silent acknowledgment that he saw you—really saw you—in all your damaged glory. He always hovered just far enough at parties, enough to inevitably be there when you'd stumble away from the party commotion to drive you away safely, his truck appearing like magic when your vision started to blur and the world began to tilt on its axis.

It wasn't romantic or romance-worthy, not the kind of affection you spent most of your middle school years dreaming and reading about in dog-eared paperbacks hidden under your mattress. But he stayed loyal. Even when you threw empty bottles at him, screaming names when you both knew you'd just end up fucking him anyway. Even when you'd ignore and sneer at him in public, letting your friends talk bullshit about him when his marks were littered all over your body like a roadmap to your own betrayal.

"Remember that time you tried to fight Topper?" Rafe murmured against your hair, his fingers tracing patterns on your hip bone as if reading your thoughts. "At the beach bonfire last month?"

You winced at the memory, the shame still fresh despite the weeks that had passed. "He was talking shit about John B."

"He always talks shit about John B," Rafe countered with a low chuckle. "But you don't usually try to drown him for it."

"He said John B's dad was a coward who ran off and left him," you defended weakly, though you knew Rafe was right. The memory was hazy at best, a blur of cheap beer and misplaced loyalty that had ended with you being physically dragged away by Pope while Topper sputtered and coughed up saltwater.

"And you took that personally because?" Rafe prodded gently, though he already knew the answer.

"Because he was right," you admitted quietly, the confession tasting like betrayal even as you said it. "John B's dad left him. Just like mine left me. It's different, but it's the same."

Rafe's hand stilled on your hip, his expression softening in the dim light. "Yeah," he agreed after a moment. "It is the same. But Topper didn't say it because he gives a shit about abandonment issues. He said it to get a rise out of you, and it worked."

"I still should've—" you started, but he cut you off with a soft kiss.

"No," he murmured against your lips. "You should've let me handle it."

The implication hung between you—that Rafe had defended John B, had stepped between you and Topper before things could escalate further. It was a strange dynamic you'd fallen into, where Rafe protected your friends from his friends while you protected your pride from the complicated feelings he stirred in you.

"Why do you do that?" you asked softly, pulling back slightly to look at him properly. "Why do you help them when you hate them?"

"I don't hate them," he countered, though the skepticism in your expression must have been obvious. "Okay, maybe I hate Maybank a little—"

"A lot," you corrected with a small smile.

"A lot," he amended, returning your smile. "But the rest of them… they're just kids trying to survive, same as us. And if hurting them hurts you, then what's the point?"

The simplicity of his logic caught you off guard. In your world, everything was complicated—loyalties divided, secrets kept, lines drawn in the sand that you both crossed and retreated from depending on the day. But Rafe, for all his volatility, had a surprisingly straightforward way of looking at things when it came to you.

"You're not as much of an asshole as you want people to think," you observed quietly, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

"Don't tell anyone," he murmured, catching your hand in his to press a soft kiss against your palm. "I have a reputation to maintain."

The joke fell flat in the charged silence that followed, both of you acutely aware of the truth beneath his words. Rafe worked hard to maintain his reputation as the Kook prince, as the ruthless heir to the Cameron empire who cared for nothing and no one. But you'd seen behind the mask—had been one of the few people allowed to see behind it—and what you'd found was both more terrifying and more comforting than you wanted to admit.

"What are we doing, Rafe?" you asked softly, the question slipping out before you could stop it. "This thing between us… what is it?"

Rafe's expression tightened almost imperceptibly, the familiar walls going up in his eyes before he forced them down again. "It's whatever you want it to be."

"That's not an answer," you countered quietly, though you knew why he was hedging. Defining what you had meant acknowledging its existence, meant giving it power over you both.

"Yes, it is," he insisted, his voice firm as he shifted to prop himself up on one elbow, looking down at you more fully. "It means that however fucked up this is, however much it doesn't make sense to anyone else, it's ours. And that's enough for me."

The raw vulnerability in his eyes made your chest ache. This was the side of Rafe that no one else saw—the desperate boy beneath the Kook prince facade, the abandoned child seeking connection in the only ways he knew how. This was the Rafe who held you through nightmares, who cleaned you up when you drank too much, who never judged you for the darkness that lived inside you.

"But is it enough for me?" you whispered, the question as much for yourself as for him.

"It could be," he answered softly, his thumb stroking your cheek. "If you let it."

The offer hung between you, heavy with unspoken meaning. Four months of this—of secret encounters and stolen moments—had somehow led to this strange intimacy where you could show each other the broken parts you kept hidden from everyone else. Where Rafe could be gentle and you could be sad, and neither of you had to pretend.

Before you could respond, he was kissing you again—deeper this time, pouring all his complicated feelings into it. Rafe responded with equal intensity, his hand sliding from your hip to your back, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened. This was what you knew, what you'd come to rely on—the way your bodies fit together, the desperate need that transcended the complicated world outside this room.

When you finally broke apart, breathless, Rafe's eyes were dark with emotion. "Stay," he said again, though this time it sounded less like a request and more like a plea. "Not just tonight. I mean… stay. Here. With me."

The offer was everything you'd secretly wanted and everything you knew you couldn't accept. Your life was with the Pogues, with JJ and John B and the rest of them. Rafe existed in the shadows of your world, a secret you kept even from yourself most days.

"Rafe, we can't—" you started, but he cut you off with a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of vodka and unspoken promises.

"Just think about it," he murmured against your lips. "That's all I'm asking."

You didn't answer, couldn't answer, so you just kissed him again, pouring all your conflicted feelings into it. Rafe responded with equal intensity, his hand sliding from your waist to your back, pulling you flush against him as the kiss deepened. This was what you knew, what you'd come to rely on—the way your bodies fit together, the desperate need that transcended the complicated world outside this room.

His kisses became a little messier as the conversation faded out, neither of you capable of any sort of serious discourse for the night. They shifted between your lips, chin, your flushed cheeks. Everywhere Rafe's lips could reach, in a manner so familiar when you knew he was done pretending to be mad at you. "I thought you were gonna leave tonight.." he murmured at one point and your fingers stilled their movements through the hair at the nape of your neck in confusion.

"What'dya mean..?" you murmured when his kisses shifted away from your lips again, allowing you to speak, even if it was muffled and breathless from his body half draped above yours. "You were the one on the verge of leaving less than an hour ago.." you chuckled softly.

He hummed, like your words were unimportant compared to the kisses he was busy planting all over your face. "Yeah, but i thought you were gonna.." he trailed off like he was losing his train of thought, "I dunno.. Ditch this thing between us for Maybank, now that he kissed you and all.." He didn't stop kissing you, didn't allow you to respond clearly as his hands roamed over your thighs and occasionally slipping just under the hem of the baggy t-shirt Sarah had borrowed you, inching closer to the sleeping shorts just to tease you. "Are we gonna have a conversation or…?"

"Do you wanna keep having vulnerable conversations?"

"I would if you'd let me speak.." you scoffed, half amused, half already affected by his touch. "You can talk if you want.." he mumbled under his breath dismissively, fingers still roaming under the hem of your sleeping shorts.

You tried to push against his chest, to create the space needed for a serious conversation, but your arms felt heavy, your resolve melting with every lazy circle his thumb drew on your inner thigh. The rough callus on his skin was a delicious friction against your sensitive flesh, a familiar sensation that already had your breath hitching. "Rafe, we actually need to talk about this," you managed, though your voice came out breathier than you intended, betraying your body's eagerness. "About JJ, about what happens when people find out—"

"God, you're so boring when you're being responsible," he groaned dramatically, pulling back just enough to look at you with mock exasperation. "It's my favorite girl's eighteenth birthday and you wanna have a board meeting about Pogue drama? Lame." He punctuated his complaint by nipping at your bottom lip, his hand sliding further up your thigh, his thumb hooking under the leg of your shorts. The fabric was thin, worn soft from countless washes, and you could feel the heat of his palm through it.

"I'm not being boring, I'm being realistic," you shot back, though your voice wavered as his knuckles brushed against the edge of your panties. The lace was already damp, a fact you were sure he was well aware of. "He's my friend, Rafe. You can't just—"

"I can," he interrupted smoothly, his lips trailing down your neck. His other hand pushed the hem of Sarah's t-shirt up, exposing the skin of your stomach. His fingers splayed across your belly, possessive and warm. "And I will. Watch me." He didn't wait for a response, his mouth finding that spot just below your ear that made your whole body tense up. His teeth grazed the skin, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to send a jolt straight down your spine.

"You're such a child," you breathed, but your hands were no longer pushing him away. Instead, they were gripping his biceps, feeling the firm muscle beneath his shirt.

"Yeah, but you like it," he smirked against your skin. His fingers finally, finally, pushed the flimsy barrier of your panties aside. The first touch of his fingertips against your bare, slick folds made you gasp, your hips jerking involuntarily. "See? You don't wanna talk. You wanna play."

"Rafe…" It was a warning, but it sounded more like a plea. He took it as encouragement. His middle finger traced a slow, maddening line from your entrance up to your clit, circling the swollen nub once, twice, before retreating. It was a tease, a deliberate withholding of what you were starting to crave desperately. Your thighs fell open a little wider, an invitation you couldn't stop yourself from giving.

"Tell me you want me to stop," he whispered, his voice low and husky right next to your ear. "Tell me you'd rather discuss JJ Maybank's feelings right now, and I'll stop. I'll get you a glass of water and we can talk all night."

You hated him. You hated how well he knew you, how he could dismantle your resolve with a few simple touches. "I hate you," you whimpered, turning your head to capture his lips in a messy, desperate kiss.

He chuckled into your mouth, the vibration of it humming against your lips. "Liar." And then he pushed one long finger inside you. The intrusion was slow, deliberate. He didn't stop until he was buried to the knuckle, his palm pressed flat against you. He held it there for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the fullness of it. You could feel the slight ridge of his callus, the heat of him, the sheer possession of the act.

"Still wanna talk?" he asked, his voice a smug rumble. He curled his finger slightly, stroking that sensitive spot on your front wall, and your eyes rolled back in your head. A soft, broken moan escaped your lips.

"Asshole," you gasped, as he began to move. It was a slow, torturous rhythm. Out, almost all the way, leaving you feeling empty and wanting, before sliding back in, deep and steady. His thumb found your clit, pressing down as his finger curled inside you. The dual stimulation was almost too much, a current of pleasure running through you so strong it made your toes curl.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" he teased, his own tongue tracing the shell of your ear. He added a second finger, stretching you, filling you more completely. The stretch burned slightly, a delicious ache that only added to the building pleasure. "Or is it just my fingers?"

"Shut up," you managed to get out, your voice breathy and thin. You rocked your hips against his hand, trying to increase the pace, to take control of the rhythm, but he just chuckled and slowed down even more, his movements becoming lazy and deliberate.

"Nuh-uh," he tsked. "I'm driving tonight. You just lie there and look pretty." He shifted his weight, propping himself up on his elbow so he could watch you. His blue eyes were dark, fixed on your face, on your parted lips and flushed cheeks. He loved watching you fall apart, you knew that. It was his favorite power trip. He scissored his fingers inside you, spreading them wide before curling them again, hitting that spot with unerring accuracy. "You're so fucking wet for me. Were you thinking about this when Maybank was kissing you?"

The question was meant to provoke, to knock you off balance, but you were too far gone to care. "No," you lied, the word barely a whisper.

"Liar," he repeated, his thumb beginning to move in tight, fast circles over your clit. The sudden change in pace made you cry out, your back arching off the bed. "You were. You were wishing it was me. Admit it."

And in a sense you hated that he was right. Hated that the main reason why the kiss felt wrong, was because you were thinking about Rafe.

"Rafe, please…" You didn't even know what you were begging for anymore. For him to stop talking? For him to stop teasing? For him to finally let you fall?

"Please what?" he demanded, his voice rough with his own desire. "Please make you come? Is that what you want?" He curled his fingers just right, pressing hard against that spot inside you while his thumb worked your clit mercilessly. The combination was devastating. The coil of pleasure in your belly tightened to an almost painful degree, your muscles locking up as the tension built.

"God, yes," you sobbed, your hands fisting in his sheets. "Please, Rafe, please…"

"That's my girl," he growled, and with a final, perfectly timed curl of his fingers and a hard press of his thumb, he sent you flying over the edge. Your orgasm crashed through you, a blinding, all-consuming wave of pleasure. You cried out his name, your body convulsing around his fingers, your vision whiting out. He didn't stop, working you through it, prolonging the pleasure until you were a trembling, oversensitive mess beneath him, begging him to stop.

When you finally came back to yourself, panting and boneless, he slowly withdrew his fingers. He brought them to his lips, his eyes locked on yours as he tasted you, a smug, possessive look on his face. "See?" he murmured, leaning down to kiss you softly, a stark contrast to the intensity of moments before. "Much better than talking."

He didn't give you a chance to recover, to come down from the high he'd so expertly sent you on. Before the last tremor had even subsided, he was moving, shifting his body down the bed with a predatory grace that made your breath catch. His lips left yours, trailing a path of fire down your chin, over the frantic pulse in your neck, and across your collarbones. He paused to nip at the delicate skin just above the fabric of Sarah's t-shirt, leaving a small, possessive mark that would be a bitch to hide tomorrow.

"Rafe," you breathed, your hands coming down to tangle in his hair again. The strands were soft between your fingers, a stark contrast to the rough, demanding way he was touching you. "What are you doing?"

He looked up at you from under his lashes, his blue eyes dark and mischievous. "Celebrating your birthday," he said, his voice a low rumble against your stomach. "It's tradition, right? Birthday girl gets whatever she wants."

"And what if I want you to stop talking?" you challenged, a lazy smile playing on your lips.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through your entire body. "Funny, that's exactly what I was thinking." With that, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your sleeping shorts and panties, pulling them down your legs in one smooth, deliberate motion. He tossed them carelessly over the side of the bed, leaving you completely exposed to his gaze. The cool air of the room felt like a shock against your overheated, still-sensitive skin.

He didn't give you a moment to feel self-conscious. He settled between your thighs, his hands pushing them open wider, his grip firm and unyielding. He took a moment to just look, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that was both unnerving and incredibly arousing. It was a look of ownership, of appraisal, like a connoisseur admiring a prized possession.

"You're staring," you accused softly, your cheeks flushing.

"Can you blame me?" he shot back, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, dangerously close to where you wanted him most. "You're a fucking masterpiece. Especially all flushed and wet like this. All for me."

"Rafe, please," you whimpered, your hips shifting restlessly. The teasing was becoming unbearable. You were still sensitive from your first orgasm, but a new wave of desire was already building, a desperate, aching need for more.

"Please what?" he asked, though he knew damn well what you wanted. He loved hearing you beg, loved knowing he had you at his mercy. "Use your words, birthday girl."

"Please… just…" You couldn't finish the sentence, too embarrassed to say the words out loud.

He smirked, a slow, confident curve of his lips. "As you wish." And then he lowered his head, and the world narrowed to the feeling of his mouth on you.

The first touch of his tongue was a shock. He was slow and deliberate, starting with a broad, flat stroke that had you crying out, your back arching off the bed. His hands held your hips down, preventing you from moving, forcing you to take everything he was giving you. He explored you with his mouth, learning every fold, every sensitive spot, his tongue a masterful instrument. He alternated between long, slow licks and quick, fluttering flicks against your clit, never letting you settle into a rhythm, keeping you on the edge, a trembling, desperate mess.

"Fuck, Rafe," you gasped, your fingers tightening in his hair, holding him to you. The feeling was overwhelming, a pleasure so intense it was almost painful. He hummed against you, the vibration sending another jolt through you. He knew exactly what he was doing, the bastard. He knew how to take you apart piece by piece, how to reduce you to nothing but sensation.

"You taste so good," he murmured, his voice muffled against you. "Better than I remembered. And I think about this a lot." He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked, hard, and you saw stars. Your entire body tensed, your thighs shaking as the pleasure built to an impossible peak. He slipped two fingers back inside you, curling them to find that spot again, and began to pump them in time with the movements of his tongue.

The combination was devastating. It was too much, too intense, too perfect. You could feel another orgasm building, stronger this time, a tidal wave gathering in the distance. "Rafe, I'm… I'm gonna…" you managed to get out, the words broken by gasps and moans.

"Let go," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Come for me. I want to feel it."

That was all it took. With a final, hard suck and a perfectly timed curl of his fingers, he sent you flying over the edge again. This orgasm was different from the first. It wasn't a sharp, blinding crash, but a slow, rolling wave of pleasure that washed over you, leaving you trembling and breathless in its wake. You cried out his name, your body convulsing around his fingers as he worked you through it, prolonging the pleasure until you were completely spent.

He didn't stop immediately, but slowed his movements, his tongue gentling, his fingers stilling inside you. He placed soft, open-mouthed kisses against your thighs, your stomach, any bit of skin he could reach, as if worshipping your body. When you finally came back to yourself, panting and boneless, he slowly withdrew his fingers and crawled back up your body, a look of smug, male satisfaction on his face.

He hovered above you, his forearms braced on either side of your head. "Happy birthday," he murmured, before leaning down to kiss you. You could taste yourself on his lips, a heady, intimate flavor that made your stomach clench all over again. It was a dirty, possessive kiss, a claim, and you kissed him back with equal fervor, your arms wrapping around his neck to pull him closer.

"Best birthday ever," you whispered against his lips, when you finally broke apart, both of you breathless.

He smirked, his eyes dark with promise. "I'm not done yet."

But he didn't move to take things further. Instead, he shifted his weight, settling beside you on the bed, his hand resting possessively on your stomach. He propped his head up on his hand, his eyes roaming over your face, your body, with a look of lazy satisfaction.

"What?" you asked, a self-conscious blush creeping up your neck. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?" he countered, though he knew exactly what you meant.

"Like you just won the lottery or something."

"Maybe I did," he said, his thumb stroking circles on your skin. "I mean, look at you. All fucked out and flushed because of me. It's a good look on you."

"You're ridiculous," you scoffed, but you couldn't help but smile. You turned onto your side to face him, the t-shirt you were wearing twisting around your waist. "And full of yourself."

"I'm full of a lot of things right now," he smirked, his eyes dropping to your lips. "But you're not complaining."

You weren't. You couldn't. He had a way of unraveling you, of taking all the sharp edges and complicated feelings and turning them into nothing but pure, unadulterated pleasure. It was a dangerous, addictive kind of magic.

"So, what's next, Mr. Cameron?" you asked, your voice teasing. "What's the next part of my birthday celebration?"

"Well," he said, pretending to think about it. "I could fuck you until you can't walk straight. Or we could raid the kitchen and find that expensive champagne my dad thinks is hidden. Or..." he trailed off, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "We could do that again. I'm not sick of the taste yet."

Your breath hitched at his words, a fresh wave of desire washing over you. You were exhausted, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your last two orgasms, but the thought of him doing that again, of his mouth on you once more, was almost too tempting to resist.

"Rafe," you breathed, not sure what you were trying to say. Stop? Please? Again?

He just smirked, knowing exactly what you were thinking. "Don't worry," he murmured, leaning in to kiss you softly. "We'll save round three for later. I think you need a break."

He wasn't wrong. You felt like you could sleep for a week, boneless and sated in a way you hadn't been in a long time. But as you lay there in his arms, the moonlight casting shadows across the room, you knew you wouldn't be sleeping anytime soon. Not with Rafe Cameron next to you, his hands already beginning to roam again, his lips finding yours in a kiss that promised the night was far from over.

He didn't give you that break. His lips, which had just been soft and teasing, turned demanding against yours, his tongue delving into your mouth with a possessive sweep that left no room for argument. His hand, which had been resting innocently on your stomach, slid down, his fingers tangling in the patch of hair between your legs before one slid inside you again, testing your readiness. You were still swollen and sensitive from your last orgasm, and the intrusion made you gasp into his mouth.

"Thought you said I needed a break," you panted, when he finally let you come up for air. Your hips were already rocking against his hand, a traitorous betrayal of your words.

"Changed my mind," he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through your chest. He curled his finger, stroking that spot inside you that made your whole body clench. "And besides, you didn't really want a break, did you? You're already soaking my hand again."

"Asshole," you moaned, but there was no heat in it, only a desperate, aching need. You were insatiable for him, a fact he took great pride in.

Instead of letting him dictate the next move, you saw your chance. With a surge of energy, you pushed against his chest, using his surprise to your advantage. He fell back against the pillows with a soft "oof," a look of shock and then amusement crossing his face. Before he could recover, you swung a leg over his waist, straddling him. The hard, hot length of him pressed against your dripping core, and you both groaned at the contact.

"Well, look at you," he smirked, his hands coming to rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking the skin there. "Taking charge. I like it."

"Don't get used to it," you shot back, rising up on your knees. You reached between you, wrapping your hand around his thick cock. He was rock hard, the tip already leaking with pre-cum. You gave him a slow, deliberate pump, enjoying the way his jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with lust. "This is my birthday, remember? I get what I want."

"And what do you want, birthday girl?" he asked, his voice strained as you rubbed the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing him, torturing him.

"I want this," you whispered, and then you sank down on him, taking him all in in one slow, smooth movement. The feeling of him filling you up this way, deep and unrelenting, stole your breath. You stayed there for a moment, your head thrown back, your hands braced on his chest as you adjusted to the incredible stretch. You could feel every inch of him, every pulse and throb inside you.

"Fuck," he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. "You feel so fucking good like this. So goddamn tight."

You started to move, a slow, torturous roll of your hips that had you both gasping. You set the pace, rising up until just the tip of him was inside you before sinking back down, taking him as deep as you could. The t-shirt you were still wearing was thin and damp with sweat, clinging to your skin. Rafe's hands were everywhere, roaming up your sides to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your hard nipples through the fabric, then sliding around to grab your ass, guiding your movements, urging you to go faster.

"That's it, ride me," he commanded, his voice rough. "Take what you need. Show me how much you missed this cock."

You leaned forward, changing the angle, and cried out as he hit that spot deep inside you. Your movements became more frantic, more desperate, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. You were chasing your release, your body moving on pure instinct. But just as you felt the familiar coil of pleasure begin to tighten in your belly, he stopped you.

His hands clamped down on your hips, stilling your movements. "Not yet," he growled. Before you could protest, he sat up, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest. The new position was devastating, driving him even deeper inside you. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your arms around his neck, your bodies pressed together from chest to groin.

"My turn," he murmured against your lips, and then he started to move. He used his strength to lift you, almost pulling you off his cock before slamming you back down.

The movement was brutal, efficient, designed to shatter you. He used the strength in his arms and core to lift and drop you, his hips snapping up to meet yours on every downward stroke. The angle was punishing, driving him so deep you could feel him in your stomach, a breathtaking, overwhelming fullness that stole the air from your lungs. Your bodies were slick with sweat, the thin t-shirt you still wore a useless barrier between your chests. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart against yours, a frantic, primal rhythm that matched the pounding he was giving you.

"Look at me," he commanded, his voice a harsh growl against your ear. When you didn't respond, too lost in the haze of pleasure, he grabbed a fistful of your hair at the nape of your neck and pulled, forcing your head back. "I said, look at me."

Your eyes fluttered open, and you were met with the intense, burning blue of his. His face was a mask of raw concentration and lust, his jaw clenched, his lips parted. "Who's fucking you like this?" he demanded, his thrusts becoming harder, more erratic. "Was it Maybank? Did he make you feel this way? Did he make you soak his sheets like a dirty little slut?"

"No," you sobbed, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Only you, Rafe. It's only ever been you."

"Damn right," he grunted, satisfied. He released your hair, his hand moving between your bodies to find your clit. He rubbed it in tight, harsh circles, the stimulation almost too much on top of the relentless pounding. "This is my pussy. My favorite fucking birthday present. And I'm gonna unwrap it over and over again tonight."

The coil in your belly tightened to an almost painful degree. Your muscles locked up, your thighs trembling where they were wrapped around his waist. You were so close, teetering on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall into the abyss.

"Rafe, I… I can't…" you whimpered, your voice breaking.

"Yes, you can," he growled. And then, in a move that made you cry out, he flipped you. He somehow managed to roll you both over without pulling out, ending up with you on your back and him looming over you, his arms braced on either side of your head. The new position allowed him to go even deeper, and he took full advantage, slamming into you with a renewed, ferocious energy.

He hooked his arms under your knees, pushing your legs back towards your chest, folding you in half. The position was utterly exposed, completely vulnerable, and it sent a fresh jolt of arousal through you. You were completely at his mercy, spread open for him, and the look on his face told you he knew it.

"Fuck, look at that," he breathed, his eyes glued to where his body was disappearing into yours. "Taking me so deep. You were fucking made for this, weren't you? Made to be on your back for me."

He started talking then, a stream of filthy, possessive words that pushed you closer and closer to the edge. He told you how good you felt, how tight you were, how he was going to fill you up until you were dripping with him. He told you he was going to fuck the memory of any other man out of your head, until all you could think about was his cock, his mouth, his hands.

"Come on, birthday girl," he panted, his rhythm starting to falter, his own release clearly approaching. "Come for me. Let me feel that tight little pussy come all over my cock. Give it to me."

His words were your undoing. With a silent scream, your body arched off the bed, and you came harder than you ever had in your life. It was a violent, all-consuming orgasm that ripped through you, leaving you shaking and sobbing, your vision whiting out. Your walls clenched around him, a rhythmic pulsing that seemed to go on forever.

"Fuck, yes," he roared, his own control shattering. He thrust into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt as he came, his hot release flooding you. He collapsed on top of you, his full weight pinning you to the bed, his face buried in the crook of your neck. You could feel his heart hammering against your chest, his ragged breaths ghosting across your skin.

For a long moment, you just lay there, a tangled, sweaty mess of limbs, the only sound in the room your combined panting. He was still inside you, a heavy, comforting presence. You wrapped your arms around his back, holding him close, your fingers tracing random patterns on his damp skin.

Eventually he lifted his head, blue eyes softened and heavy in that way they only ever were after, when the sharp edges dulled and whatever he’d been bracing himself against finally let go. He leaned in again, slower this time, kissing you deep and unhurried, like he was saying things he didn’t have the words—or the nerve—for. “Happy birthday,” he murmured against your mouth, breath warm, forehead resting briefly against yours.

You smiled, lazy and loose and content in a way you hadn’t expected tonight to give you. “It definitely is now,” you answered quietly, fingers still curled into the sheets like you were anchoring yourself there.

When the silence returned, it wasn’t awkward, just familiar. Routine creeping back in, that strange post-intimacy rhythm you both pretended didn’t mean anything. Rafe shifted first, pulling away and sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to you, shoulders rolling like he was shaking something off. You watched him peel the dark polo over his head, toss it aside, rake a hand through his hair until it stood up in uneven tufts, all muscle memory and ease. He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the nightstand without even looking, like it was part of the ritual—one he only ever allowed himself when you stayed. He never smoked otherwise; said it was pointless, smelled bad, easier to just borrow someone’s vape or disappear into a bathroom stall at a party. But with you, afterward, he always did this. Balcony door cracked open, cigarette lit, you stealing a few drags while pulling your clothes back on before slipping out of his room like nothing lingered.

This time, though, you didn’t move. You stayed sprawled across his bed, eyes tracing the broad line of his back, the familiar dips and planes you knew too well now. That’s when you noticed it—the faint bruise blooming under his ribs, yellowed at the edges like it wasn’t fresh, but not old enough to be forgotten either. Marks on Rafe weren’t unusual; you’d seen split lips he never bothered to ice, knuckles scraped raw, shadows under his eyes that had nothing to do with sleep deprivation. Still, something in your chest tightened. “What was it this time?” you asked softly, carefully skirting around Ward’s name like it might detonate if spoken aloud.

Rafe froze for half a second, cigarette paused between his fingers. He exhaled slowly through his nose, then leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “You counting now?” he muttered, tone light but guarded, like he was testing whether you’d push.

“Not like that,” you said, sitting up a little, pulling the sheet higher around you without thinking. “Just… asking.”

He scoffed quietly, finally lighting the cigarette and taking a drag before answering. “Wasn’t a big thing,” he said, eyes fixed on the floor like it held the safest version of the truth. “Just him getting pissed. Same old.”

You didn’t respond right away, and he felt it—the weight of your silence settling between his shoulder blades. He glanced back at you, blue eyes flicking up briefly. “Don’t,” he added, softer. “Don’t make that face.”

“What face?” you asked.

“The one where you start looking at me like I’m gonna shatter if you breathe wrong.” He huffed out a humorless laugh. “I’m fine.”

You shifted closer, careful not to crowd him, your voice still gentle. “You don’t have to sell it to me.”

That earned another pause. He took a longer drag this time, smoke curling around him as he leaned back slightly, resting one hand on the mattress near your thigh without looking. “He just… doesn’t like being questioned,” Rafe said eventually, the words slow, measured. “And I questioned him.” A beat. “About money. About Sarah. About things that aren’t supposed to be my business.”

You swallowed. “They are your business.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, “try telling him that.”

The room went quiet again, not heavy, but stretched thin, like the truth was lying between you both and neither of you wanted to be the one to poke it. He stubbed the cigarette out halfway, like he’d lost interest, then rubbed a hand over his face. “It’s not like it used to be,” he added, almost like an afterthought. “He doesn’t hit me like when I was younger. Just… grabs. Shoves. Makes sure I remember where I stand.”

Your chest ached at that, a dull, familiar pain. “And where’s that?” you asked.

Rafe glanced at you again, expression unreadable, then looked away. “Where I always am,” he said. “Useful. Replaceable. Loud enough to blame when something goes wrong.”

You didn’t answer with words this time. You just reached out, fingers brushing his wrist where it rested on the bed, grounding without demanding. He let you. Didn’t pull away. Didn’t lean in either. Just sat there, letting the contact exist, the conversation stretch and breathe instead of snapping shut like it usually did.

After a moment, he exhaled, shoulders sagging just a fraction. “You’re gonna hate me for saying this,” he said quietly, “but tonight was… good. Like, actually good.”

You looked up at him. “Why would I hate you for that?”

“Because it makes everything else louder,” he replied, voice low. “Makes it harder to pretend I don’t notice the difference.”

The words settled between you, unspoken things humming beneath them, neither of you rushing to break the moment—even if you both knew morning would come eventually, dragging reality back with it.

The ache in your chest flared sharp and sudden, the last echoes of pleasure dissolving and leaving something far more exposed in their wake. Whatever haze the orgasms had wrapped you in fizzled out, and all that was left was the rawness of the night pressing in from every direction—the kiss with JJ replaying unwanted, the hollow space your father left behind, the weight of Rafe’s father lingering in the room even when he wasn’t there, and Rafe himself sitting just out of reach. Your eyes burned before you could stop it, tears swelling without a clear origin, only a heavy convergence of everything that hurt. But they centered on his words, on the way he said them so casually, like this was just the natural progression of things. Like his father becoming less physical over the years was supposed to count as mercy.

You knew it was a lie. You’d seen the evidence too many times to buy it—the bruises caught in passing when he leaned over you, the way he flinched when his split lip brushed against yours mid-kiss, pretending it was nothing. Your mind, cruel and unhelpful and still swimming in alcohol, dragged up the image of little Rafe instead—the boy with the slingshot, the chipped vase, the slap he hadn’t braced for but took anyway. The kid who learned early that flinching only made it worse.

“Don’t do that.” Rafe’s voice cut in, low and hollowed out by an exhausted sigh, like this wasn’t how he expected the night to unravel.

You shifted on the bed, sitting up straighter, dragging your hands over your face like you could wipe the emotion away before it spilled. Your gaze flicked anywhere but him. “Do what?” you asked, voice unsteady, already giving yourself away.

“Don’t pity me,” he snapped quietly, the word coming out sharp and bitter, like it tasted wrong in his mouth.

Your head shook immediately, brows knitting together as you looked back at him. “I’m not pitying you,” you said, trailing off when his posture stiffened even more, shoulders squaring like he was bracing for impact. “I’m just—”

“Just what?” he cut in, finally turning to face you fully, blue eyes hard now, defensive walls slamming back into place. “Getting all sad-eyed because you heard a fucked-up story? Because you think you know how it feels?”

“That’s not fair,” you shot back, heat creeping into your voice despite the tremor underneath it. “I didn’t say I knew. I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to,” he scoffed, standing abruptly and pacing a step away from the bed, fingers threading through his hair in agitation. “I can see it all over your face. That look. Like I’m something broken you stumbled onto by accident.”

“I’m reacting because I care,” you said, softer now, but no less firm. “That’s not pity.”

He laughed then, short and humorless, shaking his head. “Yeah? Well it feels the same from where I’m standing.” He gestured vaguely at his chest, then at you. “I didn’t bring this up so you could sit there and feel sorry for me. I’m not asking for that.”

“I’m not offering it,” you insisted, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “I just… don’t like hearing you talk about it like it’s normal. Like it doesn’t hurt you.”

His jaw clenched, teeth grinding for a moment before he answered. “It doesn’t help me to pretend it hurts,” he said sharply. “That’s the part you don’t get. Sitting in it, letting it ache—that doesn’t change anything. It just makes it heavier.”

Silence stretched between you again, tense and fragile all at once. He finally looked back at you, expression conflicted, anger still flickering but dulled now by something closer to fear. “I don’t need you to fix it,” he added, quieter. “And I don’t need you looking at me like I’m some kind of tragedy.”

You nodded slowly, even as your eyes burned. “Okay,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “But you don’t get to tell me not to feel something when you drop all of that on me.”

That stopped him. He exhaled, long and frustrated, shoulders sagging just a fraction. “This is why I don’t talk,” he muttered. “Everything turns into a thing.”

“Maybe it was always a thing,” you replied gently. “You just got really good at pretending it wasn’t.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just stood there, caught between snapping back and sitting with it, the defensiveness still there—but thinner now, cracked enough to let the truth breathe.

The silence pressed in again, thick and uncomfortable, until you shifted on the bed and finally broke it, your voice careful but edged with something raw. “You didn’t have a problem talking when it was about my mom’s boyfriend,” you said quietly, eyes lifting to him. “You got… emotional. Angry. Protective. You kept asking questions you already knew the answers to.” Your fingers curled into the sheets. “You knew something was off. You felt it.”

That did it. His head snapped up, whatever fragile calm he’d managed to pull together cracking clean through. “That’s not the same thing,” he shot back, harsher than you expected, words coming fast like he’d been waiting to unload them. “Don’t twist it.”

“I’m not twisting anything,” you insisted, sitting up straighter despite the way his tone stung. “I’m saying you don’t get to shut this down just because it’s about you.”

He let out a sharp laugh, pacing again, agitation rolling off him in waves. “No,” he snapped, turning on you abruptly. “You wanna know what this is? This is you projecting. You don’t actually give a shit about my dad right now—you’re thinking about yours. Or the lack of him. Or whatever anniversary of trauma this day is turning into for you.” His jaw tightened. “It’s your birthday. That’s why you’re digging. That’s why you’re suddenly all emotional.”

Your chest tightened painfully. “That’s not fair,” you said, voice cracking despite yourself. “Just because it’s my birthday doesn’t mean none of this matters.”

“It does to you,” he countered, eyes sharp. “Because everything lines up tonight. Your dad leaving, JJ kissing you, me being an asshole with a fucked-up family—it’s all bleeding together and you don’t know where to put it, so you put it on me.”

You stared at him, stunned. “I didn’t ask for any of that,” you whispered.

“I know,” he said immediately, the edge still there but something softer slipping through. “But don’t pretend this isn’t tangled up in your own shit too.” He ran a hand down his face, frustration etched into every line. “You wanna talk about my dad because it’s safer than talking about yours. Because mine’s still here to be angry at.”

The words landed heavy, and for a moment neither of you spoke. Your throat burned. “That doesn’t mean I’m wrong for caring,” you said eventually. “Or that it doesn’t hurt to hear you talk like being hit less is some kind of win.”

His shoulders slumped just a fraction, anger draining into exhaustion. “I didn’t say it was a win,” he muttered. “I said it’s what it is.”

“And that’s the part that scares me,” you replied softly. “How used to it you sound.”

He looked at you then—really looked—and whatever he saw made him look away again. “You don’t get it,” he said, quieter now, but no less guarded. “If I let myself feel all of that every time someone brings it up, I wouldn’t function. I wouldn’t be… me.”

You swallowed hard. “Maybe that’s okay sometimes.”

He scoffed, but there was no humor in it. “Not for me.”

The room fell quiet again, heavy with unsaid things, the kind of quiet that didn’t mean the conversation was over—just that both of you were too close to something dangerous to keep pushing without consequences.

You let the quiet sit for a beat longer, then exhaled shakily and pushed yourself up a little, the sheet sliding down your shoulder as you faced him more fully. “You know what’s ironic?” you asked, voice steadier than you felt. “You were the one who asked me to stay. Not just tonight—stay stay. You said you didn’t want this to just be… sneaking around and pretending it didn’t matter.” Your fingers twisted together in your lap. “You asked for something real, Rafe. And now every time it gets even remotely close to that, you shut down.”

He stiffened, but didn’t interrupt.

“You can handle fucking me, you can handle keeping me, you can handle watching me walk out of your room every other night,” you went on, the words tumbling faster now. “But the second I try to talk to you—actually talk—you act like I’m pulling teeth.” Your mouth curved into a humorless smile. “Or you deflect. Like you always do.”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t deflect.”

“You do,” you said gently. “You redirect. You change the subject. You give me things.” Your eyes flicked to the nightstand, then back to him. “Like that.”

He followed your gaze, and for a second something unreadable crossed his face. He didn’t argue. Instead, he turned, reached for the small gift bag you hadn’t even noticed before, and held it out toward you without looking. “Just—take it.”

You hesitated, then reached in, fingers brushing against cool metal. When you pulled it free, your breath caught despite yourself. A switchblade—sleek, familiar in weight—but new. The handle gleamed softly in the low light, angel wings etched into the metal, delicate and sharp all at once.

“…Rafe,” you murmured.

“You lost yours,” he said, too quickly. “In my truck.”

Your eyes snapped up to him. “I know where I lost it.”

He didn’t look away. “I kept it.”

The admission landed heavier than the gift itself. You turned the blade over in your hands, thumb tracing the wings, the symbolism not lost on you—how he’d always called you angel like it was a dare, like it scared him as much as it soothed him. “So this is what,” you asked softly, “an apology?”

“No,” he said immediately. “It’s… insurance.” He huffed a short breath, rubbing at the back of his neck. “It’s me saying I don’t forget shit. Even when I don’t know how to talk about it.”

You swallowed, throat tight. “You know you don’t have to buy your way out of opening up to me.”

“I’m not,” he snapped, then sighed, the fight draining out of him. “I just—this is easier. This I know how to do.”

You looked down at the blade again, then back at him. “But it’s not what you asked for,” you said quietly. “You didn’t ask me to stay so you could keep giving me pretty weapons and avoiding the hard parts. You asked because you wanted this to mean something.”

His eyes flickered, guilt flashing there before he masked it. “You think I don’t know that?”

“I think you’re scared of it,” you replied. “Scared that if you let me see all of it, I’ll leave anyway.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, almost reluctantly, he sat back down on the edge of the bed, close enough that your knees brushed. “You don’t get how backwards my head is,” he muttered. “Every time I start to feel like this is real, like you’re not just gonna disappear on me, something in me wants to ruin it first.”

You reached out without thinking, resting the switchblade on the mattress and placing your hand over his. “Then stop trying to protect yourself from something you already asked for.”

He looked at your joined hands like they might burn him. “I don’t know how to do this without fucking it up.”

Your lips curved sadly. “Neither do I. But you don’t get to keep me and keep me at arm’s length.”

author's note: hello pillowtalk nation, since i started uni i suck at posting. this was supposed to be symbolic as fuck, given it's the 8th chapter and it's y/n's birthday, i was gonna post this on MY bday since it was the 8th january but i got wrapped up with exams and clubbing and i forgot. yo girl turned 20 so the bday blues here are organic. jj is being reckless like usual and rafe still wants a relationship while simultaneously being scared of talking about shit with y/n. i would be too the girl's a mess. we got daddy issues, a cute gift, good smut? i hope, some jj action and some childhood angst. i hope you enjoyed this chapter and i promise i'm getting back on my posting grind, i love you all and i hope you're still here reading 💕🥹

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────୨ৎ────── .✦

She had known Rafe Cameron since before either of them could speak.

Their parents used to joke that they didn’t even remember a time when one of them wasn’t in the other’s arms. There were baby pictures of them in the same crib. First birthdays celebrated together, first days of school walked side by side, small hands gripping tighter than necessary

They grew up like twins without sharing blood

He was the boy who punched another kid for making her cry in second grade

She was the girl who sat beside him in the principal’s office and insisted it wasn’t his fault

They built forts. Shared secrets. Promised, at ten years old, that they’d never let anyone come between themAnd for a long time, no one did

Until adolescence began to pull them in different directions

Rafe changed slowly — and then all at once

He got taller, broader. His voice deepened, the softness in him thinned out.

He started staying out late. Started drinking. Started arguing with his father in ways that shook the walls.

Then his mother died.

And whatever light had been dimming inside him finally cracked

The fights at home became vicious, personally, uglier.

His father’s disappointment sharpened into something cruel

Rafe responded by becoming exactly what he was accused of.

Reckless

Angry

Unreachable

She stayed steady.She grew into herself gently — kind, patient, careful with people’s feelings. The type of girl teachers trusted. The type of daughter parents bragged about.

And somewhere in the middle of all that growing up, Rafe started seeing her differently.It didn’t happen in one dramatic moment.

It happened in fragments.

The first time another boy held her hand in the hallway.

The first time she wore a dress to a school dance.

The first time someone else made her laugh the way he used to.

It made something sharp bloom in his chest.He didn’t understand it at first.

He just knew he hated it.

When she started dating Jake it felt like betrayal. Jake was a good person

Good grades, good family, good future. Everything Rafe wasn’t.

“You like him?” Rafe asked one afternoon, leaning against his truck while she stood in front of him.

She smiled shyly. “Yeah”

He studied her face carefully

“Why?” The question sounded casual.

It wasn’t

“He’s nice… and kind”

Rafe scoffed under his breath. “Sounds boring.”

“Not everyone wants chaos Rafe” The words slipped out before she could stop them. They landed harder than she meant. His expression changed instantly, cold

“You think I’m chaos?”

“I didn’t mean it”

And he knew it.

After that something shifted.

Rafe didn’t pull away. He sharpened.

His comments about Jake became subtle but constant.

“He didn’t wait for you after class?”

“He looks like he lost interest in you.”

“He follows a lot of girls on Instagram”

“You sure you know where he’s tonight?”

Never accusations.Just observations.He delivered them like facts, like he was helping her see clearly. At first, she defended Jake easily.

But Rafe was patient.

He had years of practice knowing exactly how she thought. He knew she trusted him more than anyone. Because she always had. The manipulation began quietly.

One night, Rafe was at a party he hadn’t told her about. He spotted Jake there.Jake wasn’t doing anything wrong — just talking to a girl from their chemistry class.

But Rafe watched carefully.

The girl laughed and was touching Jake’s arm briefly. And that was enough.

Later, Rafe approached her

“You weren’t at the party?” he asked

“No,I had dinner with my parents.”

He nodded slowly

“mhm”

Something about the way he said it made her pause

“Is something on your mind?”

“I just thought I saw Jake there”

Her stomach dipped “He said he was studying”

“Maybe he was” Rafe shrugged “People study in different ways.”

That night, doubt crept in. It was small, but it was there.

A week later, Rafe escalated. He asked a girl he knew — someone who liked him enough not to question things — to take a picture with Jake at another party.

He waited until Jake stepped outside for a call.

Then Rafe casually told the girl “Go ask him for a lighter or something ”

And she did.

Jake handed her one.

Rafe snapped a photo from a distance. The angle was perfect, close enough to look intimate, and blurry enough to suggest secrecy.

He immediately sent it to her

Rafe: “I didn’t want to send this, but I had to”

Her reply came almost instantly “What is that?”

Rafe: “I’m sorry”

That was all he wrote.

He didn’t need more

She confronted Jake the next day.He looked confused, hurt. Swore it wasn’t what it looked like

“It’s just a picture” he insisted. “she asked me for a lighter and I gave her”

“then why didn’t you tell me you were there?”

“I didn’t thought I mattered”

But it mattered now. Because Rafe had made it matter.

Rafe didn’t celebrat, he didn’t push. He waited

When she came to him crying, he held herWhen she questioned herself, he reassured her

“shhh it's not your fault” he murmured “I’d never lie to you.”

And that was the cruelest part, because he believed it in his mind.

Jake would hurt her eventually anyway.

He was just speeding up the inevitable. Protecting her like he always was doing for their entire life, claiming what had always been his.

When she finally broke up with Jake, Rafe felt it like a victory he’d earned

He brushed her tears away gently and whispered

How is that possible? After two weeks, how can that be? Everything gone at the whim of a man in a suit.

Two weeks since he terminated. Two weeks of smiling, almost begging, at every office, every counter you could find. Not hiring, miss. These are hard times. Not enough for anyone, is there?

You tuck your hands into your pockets and nestle your chin down into your tattered scarf. Your soles clunk down on the stairs in defeat. As you come up to the floor, the smell of tobacco makes your head swim.

How much of a fool can you be? That’s all it was. A fool’s prayer.

You thought Birmingham would be better. Mr. Roberts promised you it would be. That letter that brought your salvation was nothing but a false hope. You’re not even back where you started, you’re worse off. You’ve a lease to pay and empty cupboards.

The hunger clenches in your stomach and swirls in your skull. As you drag your heels down the hallway, the door across from yours opens. Evelyn giggles as a man stumbles out. She clings to his tie as his cap threatens to tip off his head. He tucks a folded bill into the top of her stocking.

“Thank you, darling,” she purrs and kisses his cheek. “Better get home to the missus now, eh?”

He hushes her and laughs. You keep your head down as you pretend not to notice his shameless grope of her backside. You turn and shakily shove your key into the slot and twist.

You quickly swing inside and shut the door. Like everything else about the city, your apartment is worn down and wilting. Like you.

You put your purse down and rub your hands together. You blow into your palms as you try to warm them. You keep your coat on and let your scarf hang loose against the wool. You put the kettle on and huddle over the single burner as you sop up the warmth.

You don’t dare turn the radiator on. You can’t afford the bills you do have. In a few days, you’ll be out on the street.

You shut off the gas and pour the steaming water over a cluster of tea leaves. The scent draws a grinding growl from your stomach. The tea sates you for a moment or too, warms you a touch, then you’re left hungry and cold. Alone.

You drink the tea in the dark. The moon beams through the slit between the curtains as you shiver beneath a quilt. You set the cup aside and lean against the back of the chair. If you make yourself small, you’re not so cold.

You close your eyes and let the hollowness drown you. When you’re asleep, you can’t be hungry or sad.

You wake, stiff and cold. You open your eyes and slowly tilt your head back. You look around, twisting your legs over the edge of the chair. The quilt falls to your waist. You hug yourself and crouch over your lap.

You smell coffee. You lift your nose as you suck the scent into your lungs. And sausage. Your stomach churns.

You need to get out. That smell is going to make you sick but you have nothing to wretch up but bile. Besides, it’s another day. You have to try.

You fold the quilt over the seat of the chair. You go to wash your face and tidy your hair. You scrape out lip stain from the tin and line your eyelids with the stub of kohl. Soon enough, you’ll have only the skin on your bones, and that might not last you much longer either.

You switch out your blouse but keep on the same skirt. You pull up your stockings and lace up your boots. You swoop your scarf over your shoulder and grab your handbag. You step into the hall as your keys jingle loudly.

The door behind you swings open with a clatter.

“Morn, doll,” Evelyn greets you with her smoky rasp. “Lovely day, innit?”

You lock up and shove your keys into your purse. You turn to face her.

“Tis,” you agree.

“Y’off ta work again?” She asks as she leans on the door. Her silk robe hangs loose above the belt, her bosom swelling beneath her camisole.

“Hm, well… not so much.” You haven’t said it out loud yet. No one’s asked. No one cares. “I’m… looking.”

“Eh? I thought you was workin’ down at that accountant’s shop. Richards… no, Roberts.” She giggles. “Oh, he does like a bit o’ fun.”

You bat your lashes at her. You shrug.

“Not anymore,” you say as you drop your chin down. “But I’ll find something.”

“Mm, Mariska, she’s the same as you. Lost her typing job. And Clara, well, she was a phone operator but they traded her out for a man,” she scoffs. “Sees, the work starts dryin’ up and the ladies is the first to go. Well, there’s some things ya can’t get from a man.” She cackles and slides out the cigarette from behind her ear. “Even in times like these.”

You look down the hall and clutch your purse strap. You rock on your feet. A loud roar erupts out of you and you put your palm against your stomach.

“I should go–”

“Got more’n enough for two.” She lights the cigarette with the strike of a match. “Sausage, bacon, rye.” She waves out the flame. “If’n you're hungry.” She sucks on the smoke and puffs out. “Sounds like y’are.”

You shake your head and stare at the floor. There’s a new run in your stocking and a button missing on your coat. You peek up at the hem of her robe. The embroidery is untattered and unfaded.

“Come on,” she coaxes. “Ya can’t be out there on an empty stomach. Not if you’re gonna find a job.”

“Evelyn, that’s awfully kind–”

“I got a sister like you. Three of ‘em.” She interrupts. “Quite like.” She flicks the ash off the cigarette. “Miss ‘em but they got husbands and they kinda possessive like.”

Your stomach squeezes until you’re dizzy. You wince and cross your arms. “You sure?”

“Wouldn’t mind some company that ain’t crawlin’ up my skirt,” she scoffs. “Come in, dolly. I got some marmalade and all.”

You stare at her. What’s the point? Doesn’t matter if you go out now or in another hour. It’ll just be the same as yesterday.

You nod and cross the hall. She leans against the door as she lets you through. You slowly drift inside and she closes the door.

Her apartment is cozy. The space isn’t so barren and the sofa is littered with tasseled and velvet pillows. A fur coat hangs from the rack beside the door. You hang your wool one next to it.

“Come, sit.” She leads you into the kitchen.

She points you to the table. You sit and place your handbag under your chair. She puts a cup of coffee in front of you. You thank her.

She hums as she fills a plate and brings it to you. You sit and watch her as she adds a jar of marmalade and a tray of butter. Your mouth fills with saliva. You're so hungry.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it…” You pick up your fork and spear a sausage.

You gaze at it longingly. It drips with grease. You bite into it and moan. Your eyes go wide and you lower the fork, covering your mouth as you peek at Evelyn in shame.

She smirks and sits across from you. She picks up a sausage with her fingers and bites into it. She licks her lips.

“S’not easy, y’know. Lots going hungry.” She tuts. “Not much work to be done at a typewriter or switchboard.”

She eyes up the sausage then slides the rest into her mouth. She chews and licks her fingers. You watch her as you twirl your fork nervously.

“You’re really pretty,” she drawls. “Young.”

You look at your plate and pop the soft yolk of the egg.

“Um, thank you–”

“No, really. Very pretty,” she purrs as she leans on her elbow. “You got a lotta men chasin’ ya, I’m sure.”

You look at her and shake your head. “No.”

“Ah, but… you could.” She suggests. “And they’d pay ya for it. Real nice. You wouldn't have to sit in the dark no more–”

“I–” You drop the fork. You choke on the protest. You touch your cheek in embarrassment.

“I’m not tryna make you feel bad. We all been there. But ya know, I see things the way they are. I see you comin’ home real late. Never got no one comin’ round. Never a smile on your face.”

You frown and sink down. She reaches across and taps her painted nails on the table.

“I could… help ya. You know. It ain’t so bad. The men are nice. Generous.” She touches the edge of your plate. “They bring me food, not just money. And jewels.”

“I…” you cringe. You know what she does. You're not naive, or not as much as you were. “I don’t think I could…”

“It’s alright, dolly. You know… I’m not gonna make ya, I just… you need a good meal. Eat.” She drags her hand away. “Then you can go off. Do your rounds.” She leans back and grabs her toast and a knife. She smears it in marmalade. “But if ya think about it, make a choice, let me know. I got a dress I think’d look real fine on ya.”

🚬

It’s not really your choice but you tell yourself it is. It doesn’t make it easier. Nothing can.

You need money. If you don’t, you’ll just be out on the street anyway. So it’s really not like it would be different. That you wouldn’t be traipsing around like this, forcing yourself to face down the men in their suits.

You shiver as the tasseled skirt tickles your calves. The borrowed dress is nicer, shinier than anything you own. The coat is nice too; a fur collar and lined wool.

Evelyn’s laugh draws your attention across the street. She pets a man's shoulder as he strokes her hip. She sways and leans in to whisper in his ear. He slips his hand in her pocket.

She pulls back and grabs his hand. She drags him across the street, ignoring the blare of a horn as headlights flash over her. She winks as you as she passes and pulls the man inside.

Your stomach flips. This is worse than hunger. This is much more painful.

You back up against the wall as your chest wracks. You can’t do this. You’re not like her. Besides, no one’s even stopped. The men just ignore you and keep walking.

You lower your head and exhale. Just go inside and hide. You’ll take off the dress and the coat and the shoes and give them all back.

The scuff of a sole gives you a start. A figure leans on the wall next to you. You wince and glance over at the man in his suit and cap. He snaps flicks open a cigarette case as he bends his leg, resting a heel against the brick.

He offers you a stick of tobacco from the case. You stare at the silver and shake your head.

“No thank you, sir,” you say.

He slides one free and snaps the case shut. He puts the smoke between his lips and tucks the rest away under his jacket. He lights the cigarette and you hear him take a deep drag. He lets it out slow.

“Late to be wanderin’ ‘round alone,” his voice is gristly and deep.

“Tis,” you agree.

He puffs again and holds out the cigarette, turning it to watch the ember. He shifts and leans his shoulder on the wall as he faces you. You shiver and clasp your hands by your chest.

“Cold,” he muses and holds out the smoke. “It’ll warm you up.”

You look at the cigarette. You twitch. Oh. Oh! He’s… interested.

You take it between your thumb and index, awkward. You bring it closer to your mouth and inhale. It burns your insides and makes your eyes water.

You cough as you pull it away from your mouth. He catches the cigarette before you can drop it. You slap your chest as you hack.

“Not so fast,” he girds as he pushes away from the wall.

He angles to stand in front of you, blocking out the streetlight. His shadow looms over you. He puts the cigarette between his lips, his fingers a vee around it, and he inhales slowly. He lets it out through his nose.

He pulls the smoke away and puts it to your mouth. You watch him and inhale, as slow as he did. You let it out at the same pace. You don’t cough this time.

“Good girl,” he purrs as he takes it away again.

He drags on it again and touches the fur collar of your coat. He rubs it between his thumb and index. He exhales a plume around you and flicks the cigarette to the cobbles.

“Got a place, sweetheart?”

You hope he can’t see how scared you are. You gulp, your throat dry from the tobacco, and you push away from the wall. You glance up and down the street.

“Yes, sir…” you look up. “In here.”

He lifts his chin and examines the brick behind you. He hums. “Here?”

“Sir,” you say.

He doesn't move. You think of Evelyn. You reach to touch his hand, gently, the clasp onto it. You pull it away from the borrowed coat.

“This way.”

He lets you guide his hand away. You turn as you cling to him and take him through the door. He squeezes your hand as he follows.

You climb the stairs and he hums, his other hand brushing up the back of your skirt. You trip forward but don’t hit the steps. He hooks his arm around your waist and chuckles.

“Careful, love,” he drawls into your hair.

“Sorry, I–” You plant your feet and latch onto his wrist. “It’s up here.”

You pull his arm from around you and lead him onward. There’s music coming from Evelyn’s place as the victrola spins. You drag him past her door to yours.

You push the door open and stop short. There’s no going back. Your skin is on fire and your stomach is about to revolt.

You need money. You just have to do this. Otherwise, you won’t even have this freezing apartment to call your own.

You twist the light switch and the single bulb illuminates the space. Evelyn helped move the bed and decorated it in soft sheets and blankets, along with a couple of her velvet pillows.

He shuts her door behind him. The click makes you flinch. His weight groans in the floorboard.

He comes up behind you and runs his hands up your sleeves. He pets the fur and hooks his fingers in the front of the coat. He pulls it off of you.

You go stiff as Evelyn’s instruction echoes in your head. The man approaches again and hooks his arms around you, pulling you against him, swaying you.

“Um…” you shudder and grab onto his hands. “The… money…”

He growls and nuzzles your hair.

“In my pocket, love. Go on.”

Your lip trembles. You reach back to his jacket and feel blindly along it. You slip your fingers into his pocket and chafe against folded paper. You pull the banknotes out and bring them around to see them.

“S’enough?” He asks.

It is. That’s your rent and then some. You clutch it tight and nod.

“Yes, sir,” you answer.

He leans into you and walks you further into the room. He stops you by the bed as his hands rove up and down your torso. He tickles your stomach and fondles your tits, his fingers tangling in the long tassels.

“Sweet thing like you…” he growls.

You reach to put the bank notes on the small round table. He tugs you back to him and rolls his pelvis against you. He rumbles as his hands crawl down the dress.

He fists the fabric and pulls it up. You let him and raise your arms as he gets it past your stomach. He strips it over your head and hurls it away.

You shiver in the silk bra and loose bloomers. He cups your tits and his thumbs trace your nipples through the fabric. You whimper and bite your lip.

“Sweet thing…” he drawls again.

He trails his hand up to your shoulder and turns you around. He slips his fingers under the straps of your brassiere and pulls it down. You shake and turn your head away.

“Shy…” he utters under his breath.

He frames your chest and urges you back. Your legs touch the edge of the bed and you sit. He pushes you onto your back as he climbs over you.

Your legs hang off the side as rests his weight on you. He lowers his head as he circles your nipple with his thumb. He takes the hard bud into his mouth and you gasp. You jerk against the mattress and he drones as he sucks.

“Ah, please…” You eke out. The sensation coils down your spine and tangles in your core.

He plucks at you with his tongue, his thumb pressing down on your tender flesh. He smears his wet lips across your skin as he tends to the other nipple. He groans and nips at the swell of your chest.

His hot breath fans across your skin and he lifts himself off you. He curls his fingers along the top of your bloomers and guides them down your thighs. He takes them to your ankles and sweeps them away.

He stands at the side of the bed and pulls off his jacket. He lays it at the foot of the bed, then puts his cap on top of it, and paces back around. Before you can close your knees, he puts his between them. He leans on the bed and bends over you.

He plants and elbow next to your head as he hovers above you. He feels along your stomach and traces the line of your pelvis. You stare at the ceiling as your eyes prick. He’s being gentle but it all feels too much. This is it. You can’t stop him now.

His fingers glide between your lips and you gasp. You push on his shoulders and twitch. He brushes his nose down your forehead then leans his against you.

“Look at me, love.”

You whimper but obey. His blue eyes are intense. You plummet right into their depths. His fingers flick up and down your cunt, circling your entrance. Your thighs quiver as he keeps them wide.

“You…” he begins then swallows. He grunts and pushes his finger inside you. You squeal.

He delves in as deep as he can. Your walls clench him and he pulls out slowly. He does it again, a few times, before adding another.

He stretches you with two fingers. It’s easier the more he does it. You feel yourself getting wet as he presses his thumb down on that tender spot between your folds.

You moan and he purrs.

“That’s it, love.” He cooes.

He teases you with his hand as you quiver around him. He drags his fingers out of you and wipes your arousal up your pelvis. He shifts his weight and picks at the front of his trousers.

You close your eyes. He pushes himself up and frames your jaw with his hands. He holds you down as he raises himself up.

“Open your eyes.” He commands.

You open them. You stare at him as he shimmies his pants down his hips. He leans against the mattress as he strokes himself. Your eyes flit down and you catch a glimpse of his swollen cock.

He pushes his legs up onto the bed, pressing against yours so they drape across his thighs. He angles down and against you. He squeezes your jaw as he rubs his tip against your folds.

“Look at me, love.” He growls.

You look at him as tears bead along the corners of your eyes. You grab onto his wrist as he presses against your entrance. He slowly dips into you as you squeeze him tighter and tighter.

“Breathe,” he coaxes.

You let your breath out and he sinks in deeper. You whine and slap his chest with your other hand. You clasp onto his tie.

“Little more, love, little more.” His eyes drift down your body and he watches himself impale you.

You squirm and squall as he keeps going. You hiss through your teeth and dig your nails into his cuff. It hurts too much.

He finally stops. Your tears flow over and you snivel. He groans and rolls his hips. You spasm and hit the mattress with your fist. You arch as the heavy pain spreads up your back.

He pulls his hand away from your jaw and brings both around your waist. His gaze fixates on the joining of your bodies as he reads his hips back. He slides back into you, as slowly as before.

You moan and clasp onto the blankets. You bite down and bat your lashes, tears streaming down your cheeks and into your hair. He measures his breaths with his thrusts, easing in and out of you.

“So damn tight,” he grits as he snaps his hips.

You screech and arch your spine deeper. He snarls and bucks again, just as hard as before. His voice rumbles in his chest as he pumps into you, each time faster than the last.

Your eyes roll back as his hand brushes down your stomach. He presses his thumb to your bud and flicks. You whine and bring your hand to his. You latch onto him as heat spatter down your thighs.

He rolls his thumb in time with his hips. His voice tumbles out between his ragged breath as your own drones. The bed shakes with his building furor.

You pull at your own hair as the tension twists inside of you. Your insides thrum and suddenly, something inside you snaps. You choke out a squeak as your muscles quake.

He falls over you, crushing you beneath him as his hips keep going. He batters you as he buries his face in your throat. He lifts his pelvis and drops it back down, each time pushing you deeper into the mattress.

He growls and grunts, thrusting wildly until his knees slip and he falls flat across you. He lays on you, limp and panting. He groans and brushes his black hair back.

You don't move. He drags himself out and off of you. He turns to sit on the edge of the bed. He reaches for his jacket and pulls out his cigarette case. He lights a smoke and finishes it quietly as you lay exposed and used beside him.

He taps your leg before he stands and puts on his jacket. He tugs his pocket square free and wipes himself with it before he fixes his trousers. He takes his cap and covers his dark hair.

He sniffs and nears the table. You push yourself up on your elbows as he takes the folded banknotes. He counts them and lays a few back on the wood.

“That’ll cover the rent,” he drawls as he slides the money into his pocket.

You sit up and whimper as you touch your pelvis. Ow.

“Wha–”

Sometimes working made you feel like you were living alone and just keeping yourself afloat. At times you liked to pretend you were a young adult working while she went to a college in New York, away from all the bullshit on the island. But you weren't. More than half of your paychecks went to your mom directly for "bills and food." Judging by how sometimes you didn't even have electricity, internet or hot water, you could only guess the money that your mom took from you went to something completely different than food and bills. She didn't even try to hide it, the fridge being mostly empty on the days her boyfriend wasn't over. She managed to eat god knows where and you were left doing the same.

Still, you were trying to save up for when you managed to graduate high school, which seemed almost undoable some days. The thought of finally leaving the island and living alone, living on a minimum wage paycheck didn't seem as bad to you, as it seemed to some people. As long as you managed to take a way out, you didn't mind where and what you ended up doing. Of course, sometimes it felt like island had its own way of keeping you anchored on its land. Your mom was a perfect example of that. No matter how much she tried, she ended up with a kid, living from day to day in a trailer park. Still on this stupid island she so desperately wanted to leave. Which scared the living shit out of you when you thought about on particular nights, the vodka or beer hitting you differently.

You polished the pint in your hand almost mindlessly, eyes fixed on the glass for any stains even though your mind was obviously elsewhere. At times like these you hated putting on the stupid club uniform and going to work to interact with the wealthy kooks who were looking to get day-drunk and talk shit about each other while dressed in expensive sundresses and colorful polos. Especially since you'd see most of them at parties snorting pounds of blow like it was a talent, coming to the country club and pretending like everything was fine. Pretending like they weren't rotten underneath the pastel colors of their designer threads and sparkling jewelry.

Which Rafe didn't really liked to partake in. Sure he dressed in high end clothes and wore rings that cost more than your monthly paycheck but he wasn't embarrassed to let the people around him know how rotten and unstable he actually was. His father's wealth managed to soften the blow and the looks he'd get, most people masking their distaste for him behind perfectly manicured respect. But some people his age still liked to whisper among themselves and once he turned away, the façade of respect fell. And he always felt the weight of it shattering behind his back.

Reason why he liked you in the first place. You didn't care about his wealth, or the coke he sold. You didn't even bother to put your customer service voice when you served him. You disliked him because he was simply Rafe, and that was more attractive than he liked to admit. With your recent interactions, his fascination with you continued to grow, despite the fact that you were in fact right.. He didn't really know you. Not that he didn't try. But he was okay with sleeping with you without knowing you fully, or without you being in love with him. He just didn't like that you were in love with the blonde, annoying and loud pogue. JJ Maybank.

It was a pretty slow day in the country club, which he should've been glad of, except that made it hard for him to keep himself entertained. And he was bored out of his mind, which was never a good sign, a sign that he could get into trouble, which he loved to do when he was bored. It was something to do, something to take his mind off the never-ending mess his life was. He sat on one of the high tables, a half empty glass of some bourbon clutched in his hand, listening to his friends ramble about the most recent party they went to.

His eyes were lazily wandering around the room, taking in the decor and the few people roaming around, his gaze stopping on the bar, catching your form working behind the counter. His fingers drummed on the glass in his hand as his gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than it should have, thoughts wandering in a very familiar direction.

His eyes trailed down your body, taking in how the blue buttoned down shirt of the uniform hugged you, the top few buttons undone, giving him an enticing view if he stood a little closer before raising his gaze back up. His thoughts were interrupted as one of his friends noticed the look on his face, "You staring at one of the waitresses again?" the boy nudged him, an amused smirk on his face.

"You know, you shouldn't get too involved with the help.. Might catch something.." interjected one of the boys sitting at table before Rafe could respond to Topper's comment.

Rafe rolled his eyes, shaking his head, his gaze still locked on you but now with a tight jaw. He was getting annoyed already. "Please, I highly doubt any of the waitresses here are stupid, or desperate enough to risk getting mixed up with someone like me." It was mostly the truth. Sure some girls were desperate for money but you weren't stupid. He could see it in your eyes in every brief look you threw him from the bar.

Topper chimed in again, letting out an annoying little laugh that made Rafe want to punch him right there at the table. "Why not? You're rich. You could offer one of those girls a couple hundred dollars and they would be yours, man."

He ignored him this time, his gaze still on you behind the bar where you were getting something from the other side of the bar. His heart pounded in his chest just looking at you, but at the same time, he was pissed. Not at you of course, but at the fact that his friends were getting on his damn nerves, but more so at the thought of you being with any of them instead of him. Especially when Topper's idiotic, suggestive tone and words left an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, taking a gulp of bourbon, the liquid burning in his throat as he swallowed. He almost wanted to get up and go somewhere else to sit and drink, but Topper's voice stopped him before he could. "Don't tell me you like one of the waitresses. That ain't smart, man. They're mostly trailer trash. They ain't your type." He said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, almost amused by the idea.

"Hold on.. ain't that the chick he took home from your party last week?" asked Kelce with a curious gaze. He shifted between looking at you behind the bar a few good feet away and at Rafe sitting in front of him, his face growing more amused.

Rafe almost cursed at him, taking another gulp of his bourbon, his ears going red as Topper turned to look at Kelce in surprise. He hated that they noticed you and even more so, that they noticed he took you home. He felt a protective, territorial feeling building in the pit if his stomach at the thought of them possibly looking at you, so he shut his mouth instead of protesting.

What caught Rafe's attention though was one of the guy's lingering gaze on you. Jack, some dude from the mainland who was hanging out with him at the time due to his family ties with Topper, pissed him off mildly. Rafe didn't know what it was about the guy, his face looked like he asked to get punched. He didn't act on it, of course. He didn't really do anything to personally offend Rafe in the few days he hung around them. The brunette was eyeing you with a subtle sense of recognition, as if he'd seen you before, even though you had never interacted before. Or so he thought, anyway.

Topper was still giving Rafe a look, his smirk growing even more amused as he picked up the tumbler of his bourbon to throw it back. "Is that one? The girl you took home?" he asked, not even bothering to hide the disbelief from his tone. They all knew how Rafe usually was. He didn't do hook-ups with just anyone, and you were no exception, at least in his eyes.

He clenched his jaw a little bit, keeping his cool as best as he could, as all his friends eyes settled on him questioningly. "So what if I did?" he asked back, feigning nonchalance, as if it was nothing. Like he wasn't burning up with anger as they talked about you in front them, like you weren't right there, just a few feet away from them. The sound of alcohol in their glasses as they took another sip was the only sound in the room for a few moments, before Topper spoke.

Topper scoffed, rolling his eyes at Rafe's reaction. "Not like you to take a girl like her home.. thought you'd be banging some Kook trust fund chick. Not one of the help."

Rafe knew that was the truth. He had a certain reputation for only going after the rich girls here, but he found himself wanting something different for once. You were different, in almost every way, and he liked it. But there was no way he would admit this to his friends, so he just shrugged nonchalantly, taking another gulp of his drink.

The other guys at the table all shared a look as Rafe shrugged, a few of them letting out laughs at his nonchalant demeanor. Topper though, was not falling for it. "You really took one of the workers home? Aren't you worried you'll catch something? You might wanna get your junk checked out, dude." He said jokingly, his eyes still fixed on Rafe's face.

Rafe's hands closed tightly around the glass in his hand at the comment, his entire body tense. He was getting angry again, the thought of you being the topic of conversation making his blood boil and the thought of this idiot assuming you're some kind of disease-ridden slut was making him see red. Before he could even respond, Kelce, sensing the shift in atmosphere and the growing tension among them, spoke up, trying to diffuse the situation.

He could feel Kelce eyeing him warily while Jack still kept his gaze glued to you, his face a picture of subtle interest. Rafe was seething inside, trying to control his temper as Kelce's words cut through the awkward silence, "Hey, let's not talk about the help.. just a bunch of trailer trash anyway."

"Trash.. but good for a quickie, am I right?" Topper said with a smirk, the guy's all laughing at his comment as he looked up to catch you glancing their way for a split second. The guys, besides Kelce, were all amused by the sight of you working behind the bar and you being the topic of their conversation.

Rafe's fingers were gripping the glass so hard it seemed like it would crack at any second, his entire expression neutral as he watched all the guys laugh at that. It took all he had to not pounce across that table and slam his fist right into Topper's face. Instead, he sat there with gritted teeth, his jaw clenched so tight it might snap. Because he had no reason to want to defend you. Hell, by now he should be joining in on the teasing. Especially since you were kind of a bitch to him when sober.

"She ain't bad looking though. Kind of hot." Jack said, his eyes still trained on you, which was really getting on Rafe's nerves as he spoke. "Yeah, maybe if you're into trailer trash." Topper added, and before Rafe could shut him up, Kelce intervened again.

Rafe's jaw was so clenched now, you could hear his teeth grind from across the room. "Don't be an ass, just leave it." Kelce said to Topper, giving him a look. Kelce seemed to have some decency at least, even though he probably agreed with Topper.

Topper shrugged, dismissing Kelce and the look he gave him. "Just sayin' the obvious." he retorted, leaning back in his chair. "You can't deny it. You'd let her ride you like a rodeo." he added, grinning at the others in the table, who let out snorts of agreement. "Nah, I don't mess with that type." Kelce spoke up, sipping his drink, his eyes roaming around the club as he spoke.

Topper's comment made Rafe amused for some reason. Not because Topper was a comical genius, but because unknown to them he actually let you do just that 2 out of the 3 times you slept together, memories flooding into his brain briefly. He remembered you cutting up his favorite belt with your switchblade the first night and he most definitely remembered the time a few days ago when he took you home after getting spiked and you ended up sleeping with him again. Which you didn't seem to really mind, given you weren't chewing him out for it. Maybe you actually liked it.

Rafe found himself getting lost in his own thoughts again, drowning out the conversation the guys were having as his mind wandered. He was getting irritated once more as he caught Jacks lingering gaze on you, and to his dismay, you were returning the eye contact. It was probably just you looking around, but he didn't know that. The sight of you meeting eyes with anyone other than him made his possessive thoughts run rampant.

Topper noticed Rafe's gaze, the way his eyes were glued on you as you worked silently behind the bar. He followed his gaze, chuckling upon noticing the expression on your face as you peered through the crowd, locking eyes with no one other than Jack. He could tell Rafe was fuming, despite the blank expression on his face, and decided to speak up again, clearly amused, "She's looking your way. Maybe she likes you better."

Rafe's eyes snapped back to Topper just in time to see his smug look, and he bit his tongue to hold back the snarky response on his tongue. He knew Jack was pretty damn attractive. Of course he saw how girls were throwing themselves at him, even though he looked like the type to try and roofie you. But he didn't care if you noticed him, his eyes darting across the room and catching the way you were still looking in their direction. Which bothered him for a reason he couldn't comprehend.

Jack seemed to catch your line of sight, a smirk forming on his face before his eyes lingered on you some more. Rafe could feel his blood boiling at that stupid look on the guy's face, his fingers clenching into a fist. Topper noticed Rafe's reaction, grinning at the sight of him trying to hold back from jumping out of his seat. "She's still looking at you man.. you gonna go talk to her or what?" he said to Jack, still determined to piss Rafe off.

Just as Rafe was about to finally snap at them, Jack was already pushing his chair away from the table and standing up. He looked a bit cocky at the opportunity, clearly up for the challenge of getting a girl. "Yeah, I think I might." He said before heading over, his gaze still on you.

At this point, Rafe had completely tuned out the others, who were amused at the sight before them. His gaze was fixed on you and the guy making his way over towards you, making his way to the very bar you were standing behind. He couldn't look away even if he wanted to. Jack stopped right in front of the bar, a charming and cocky smile on his face that made Rafe even more furious.

You, who was still working behind the bar, could see Rafe's table from far away, and you noticed the guy making his way over to the bar. That, and of course you noticed Rafe sitting in one of the high chairs. That was a new habit he had formed. Coming to the club every other day and just sitting at one of the tables, watching you work. And you'd be a liar if you had said it didn't make you feel uneasy and a little hot at the same time.

You weren't exactly thrilled at the sight of the mildly familiar yet strange guy approaching your bar with a determined look plastered on his face. You continued to polish the glasses you just washed, shifting your gaze down in hopes he was just coming over to order a drink or get a refill.

Jack stopped in front of the bar, taking a quick perusal of your figure in the tight fitting country club uniform. His gaze lingered, taking in every detail, from your name tag to the buttons of your shirt. It left him impressed with how pretty you were, and his lips curled upwards as he noticed you looking down at the glasses instead of at him.

He waited a few seconds for you to acknowledge him and look up, but you just continued your busy work, obviously pretending your weren't noticing his presence. He cleared his throat and leaned forward on the bar, "Excuse me."

You hummed, finally raising your gaze up from the last glass you were polishing, plastering a fake polite smile on your face to indicate you acknowledged him.

He leaned a little more forward, looking at you through hooded eyes, his gaze roaming over your face like he was studying you. He was shamelessly scanning your body, letting his gaze roam over the curves of your chest and the buttons that ran down the middle of your shirt, before letting his eyes meet yours again. "Can I order something strong?" he asked, his voice quiet.

You suppressed the urge to grimace at him, reaching up to adjust your glasses nodding. "If you're looking to get day-drunk, maybe.. What's it gonna be?" you asked, still trying to mask the hint of unease at getting checked out so blatantly.

He thought for a second, a subtle smirk forming on his face as he watched you. He knew he made you uneasy, and that only spurred him on. He kept his gaze locked on you as he spoke, "Whiskey neat. Thanks." His eyes flicked between yours, studying your expression and the slight frown on your face.

You nodded, turning around to grab a rocks glass and pour a shot of Bourbon in the short tumbler. Your movements were quick and swift, going thru the motions of serving the simple drink before sliding the glass on the counter to him. Your eyes flitted towards Jack's table, catching Rafe's eyes for a split second before looking at the man you were serving. "You got a tab open?" you asked unenthused, smiling politely once again.

Jack took the glass from you, noticing the brief moment where you looked over at Rafe's table. His gaze flicked back to you and he took in the fake, polite smile you gave him. He was amused, taking a small sip from the glass before answering your question, "No. Just pay now."

"That will be 30 bucks.." you stated, looking down at his glass.

Jack raised his eyebrows in surprise. $30 was a lot for a single shot, but he was used to prices like that. He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, pulling out a crisp fifty dollar bill. He slid it over to you, "Keep the change." he said nonchalantly, taking another sip of his drink as his gaze flickered over your figure again.

You raised one brow subtly as he handed you a fifty dollar bill, urging you to keep the 20 as a tip. These rich, snobby kids could really just go around and pay 30$ for a drink and leave a 20 dollar bill as a tip. Incredible. "How nice.." you mused under your breath, stashing the 50 in the register and taking the 20 bill to hand it back to him with the receipt. Basically flat out refusing his tip.

You raised one brow subtly as he handed you a fifty dollar bill, urging you to keep the 20 as a tip. These rich, snobby kids could really just go around and pay 30$ for a drink and leave a 20 dollar bill as a tip. Incredible. "How nice.." you mused under your breath, stashing the 50 in the register and taking the 20 bill to hand it back to him with the receipt. Basically flat out refusing his tip.

Jack couldn't help but scoff at your reaction. He was well used to people bowing to him and jumping at the opportunity of tips, but you weren't giving him that. He was used to people being overly nice and polite to him, not giving him bitchy attitude. He smirked back at you, his gaze narrowing as he leaned back on the bar, his gaze roaming your form again. "I told you to keep the change." he repeated slowly.

"I was making sure i heard you correctly.." you chuckled dryly, pocketing the tipped bill in the pocket of your apron. You moved back to washing and polishing the remainder of the glasses, fully expecting him to just get up and leave from the bar nor that the interaction was done.

Instead of doing what you had expected, he stayed where he was, leaning forward on the bar and watching you with a smirk as you continued polishing the glasses. He sipped on the Bourbon he had ordered, observing your movements with a curious gaze. You were pretty, of course he noticed. But he just couldn't understand why you wouldn't be bowing down to him like the rest of the girls here.

You looked back up at him and then at the table he came from once again. Topper was watching his cousin and you intently with a shit eating grin, not trying to hide that he was staring along with Kelce. Rafe was just.. sitting there, trying to resist the urge to look over his shoulder at the scene of Jack trying to chat you up. "Do you.. need something else?" you asked awkwardly, raising one brow.

Jack's gaze flickered back to yours, and he leaned even closer across the bar, his smirk widening as he noticed your hesitancy and your obvious efforts of trying to get rid of him. He chuckled as you asked if he needed anything else, clearly amused.

He watched how you briefly stole a glance over at Rafe's table, noticing Topper's smirk and Kelce looking in your direction as well. Jacks gaze hardened just a bit as he spoke up, "No.. don't think so."

"Thought the country club boys didn't really like to chat it up with... the help." you spoke evenly, customer service voice still standing strong against your disinterest in the guy sitting in front of you.

Jack's smirk grew even bigger. He was amused by your boldness, but he also found your attitude kind of intriguing, if not a little bit aggravating. He took another sip of his drink, his gaze still roaming over you, taking in every feature on your face. "Depends on the help." he replied bluntly, eyeing you with a sly smile.

You raised your brows, shaking your head gently to yourself. The guy was trying. You were wondering if Rafe sent him over to entertain his little group of clowns. Certainly their friend trying to hit on you might amuse him. "Smooth.." you smirked cynically, looking back down at the champagne glass you were lazily polishing.

Jack let out a small laugh, amused at how you were reacting to him. He was used to women melting at the sight of him, and here you were, acting like he wasn't the finest man you've ever seen. It was intriguing and frustrating at the same time. He leaned in slightly, his gaze not faltering from your face, "You're fun. A little disrespectful, but fun." he mused under his breath, chuckling softly.

Disrespectful? Wow, that was a new one. "Do you.. wanna file a formal complaint?" you muttered teasingly, not raising your gaze to glance at him, chuckling quietly.

He was amused, his smirk widening as you teased him. He took a moment to reply, taking another sip of his drink, "I'll pass. This is more fun." He chuckled softly, his gaze drifting over your face, "You usually act like this to all your lovely customers?"

"Not usually, no.." you spoke flatly and shook your head. "I usually save this attitude for the Cameron boy at your table.. Seems like he didn't wanna verbally abuse each other today and sent you to torture me.." you added, nodding vaguely towards Rafe sitting at his table with Topper and Kelce.

Jack hummed, following your gaze to the table of boys sitting in the corner. His eyebrows rose at your comment, the smirk still plastered on his face, "You know him? The guy who's sitting over there?" He asked bluntly.

You smirked genuinely for the first time Jack ordered his drink, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you studied the glass in your gloved hands with an amused look. Oh, how did you know Rafe.. "You could say that, yeah.." you responded, grinning once you locked eyes with Jack.

Jack's eyes narrowed slightly, something about the look on your face, the way you looked the way you smiled whenever you looked over at their table... He felt something. But he was more intrigued by the fact that you knew Rafe. He shifted forward a bit on the barstool, leaning in slightly, "You guys good friends or something?"

You grimaced slightly at the word 'friends'. You and Rafe, friends... What a joke. Maybe with benefits if it came to giving a label to whatever it was that you were doing with one another. Although you weren't friends. Maybe enemies with benefits seeing as you didn't really like Rafe outside the fact that he was good in bed. "No.. Not exactly." you shrugged, your answers continuing to be small and cryptic.

Jack's eyebrows raised, a curious gleam in his eyes as he heard your answer. The fact that you knew Rafe obviously peaked his interest and he was quick to pick up on the fact that you were intentionally leaving something out. "Then what are you?" he asked bluntly, a smirk playing on his lips as he waited for your answer.

"Trailer park trash..? In his words.." you chuckled heartily, sparing Rafe another glance. "We don't really get along that much.." you added quietly, leaning in slightly.

Jack huffed, a smirk still lingering on his face as he took another gulp form his glass. He was amused, that's why he was prolonging this conversation. You were easy on the eyes, feisty and bold, it intrigued him. "He seems like a dick." he stated flatly, his eyes flickering towards Rafe for a second before landing on you again.

Your brows furrowed in confused amusement at his statement, "Aren't you his friend?" you asked, studying his face intently.

Jack scoffed at your question, taking another sip of his drink and setting the glass down on the counter. "Never said I was his friend." he answered bluntly.

You looked over to Rafe once again, your amused expression falling as you turned back to Jack, "You're not from the island, right?" you asked almost cautiously, chewing the inside of your cheek.

Jack's smirk grew a bit at your question, raising his eyebrows at your cautiousness. He shook his head, "No. What gave it away?" he chuckled softly, his gaze not breaking away from your face.

The way he acted, first of all. Especially in relation to Rafe. Any guy in their right mind, who hung out around THE Rafe Cameron, would scramble to claim that they were friends. Every kook on the island wanted to be associated with the Camerons. But not this guy, he acted like a tourist, but with extra steps. Maybe a cousin of either Topper or Kelce. Definitely not Kelce.. "Just the way you act.." you shrugged, your words casual as you looked down at your gloved hands.

Jack hummed under his breath, amused at the way you observed him so closely, trying to figure him out. He watched you with interest, leaning back against the barstool, "And how do I act?" he asked bluntly, a sly smirk on his lips.

"Like a touron with extra steps.." you whispered mockingly, eyes narrowed in condescension.

Jack chuckled at your dig, amused by your attempt to provoke him. He leaned in closer, his smirk growing wider, "Touron.. Haven't heard that one before." he said with a scoff, raising his eyebrows jokingly in a mockery of shock. His eyes were fixed intensely one yours before they flickered down to your chest area, his gaze lingering on the buttons of your shirt.

"It's an Outer Banks thing.. Just like 'Kook' and 'Pogue'.." you rolled your eyes with a smile, pleased that you had the upper hand in the conversation and he didn't since he wasn't from around here.

Jack rolled his eyes in return, chuckling under his breath before leaning in even closer, his gaze flickering down to your chest again as he spoke in a hushed tone, "From your smile i have a feeling you're hiding small insults behind your words, ones I'm not capable of hearing..."

You rolled your eyes once again, this time in subtle annoyance rather than amusement "Calm down outsider, I'm not insulting you.." you muttered, scoffing.

Jack smirked in response, amused by the annoyed look on your face, "You sure seem like you want to-" he retorted, his gaze sliding over your body once more, "..but I'll give you a pass, just cause you're pretty."

You pretended to be flattered by his words, gasping in mock gratefulness. "Whatever would i have done if i wasn't saved by my pretty privilege.." you spoke mockingly, placing a hand over your heart sardonically.

Jack scoffed at your comment, his smirk growing even wider. He leaned in closer, his gaze flickering down to your chest once again before returning to your face, "Oh, I'm sure you know exactly how to take advantage of it."

Your eyes narrowed as you noticed his gaze drift down to your chest once again, for the millionth time since the conversation started. Men. "My tits are not gonna change shape or color if you continue to glance at them.." you sighed in annoyance, not even bothering to stop the sarcasm and irritation from rolling out of your words.

Jack's smirk turned coy, his gaze returning to your eyes after he was caught in the act. He chuckled under his breath, amused by your direct call-out, "I'm curious now, what are they like-" he muttered teasingly, his eyes flickering from your face down to your chest and back again, raising his eyebrows in mock sincerity.

"Maybe you can ask your buddy Rafe, then.. I'm sure he knows what they're like.." you trailed off cryptically, sparing another glance towards the table of Kooks.

Jack's cocky expression faltered for a second, replaced with something resembling annoyance and curiosity. He shifted on the barstool, crossing his arms over his chest, "And why would he know that?" he asked bluntly, his gaze flicking towards the table where Rafe was sitting before returning to you.

"Why do you think?" you asked, raising your brows knowingly, reaching up to adjust your glasses.

Jack huffed, his lips pressed in a tight line. He hated that he couldn't get a proper answer out of you, it was irritating. "That's not an answer.." he grumbled underneath his breath, eyeing you with narrowed eyebrows.

You scoffed as you distracted yourself by putting away some of the glasses you polished. This guy was starting to really annoy you. "My job application didn't entail me giving you answers about who gets to see my tits or not.." you muttered.

Jack chuckled in response, amused by your snarkiness. He leaned back slightly, taking a long sip from his drink as he studied your face, "No, but your job application definitely involves being polite and courteous to guests.." he retorted, grinning slyly.

"Yeah, when they're keeping their eyes on appropriate parts of my body.. Like my face for example.." you narrowed your eyes, slipping off the rubber gloves to button up the top 3 buttons on your light blue uniform shirt.

Jacks eyes widened in surprise at your action, his gaze dropping down to follow your fingers as they buttoned up your shirt, his expression a mix of annoyance and intrigue. He bit down on his lip for a second, before leaning in slightly, his voice dropping to a hushed whisper, "You're no fun.."

You sighed, adjusting your glasses unenthusiastically "I've been called worse.." you stated, fixing him with your gaze.

He couldn't help but chuckle in response, his smirk growing wider as he took in your expression. He leaned a bit closer, his gaze wandering over you before meeting your eyes again, "I can't tell if you love or hate me right now.." he said bluntly.

You raised on brow, scoffing in mock disbelief "Those are the only options i get?" you asked, pretending to be disappointed. "Maybe i feel a third, secret thing towards you.."

Jack's smirk widened into a grin despite his best efforts to contain it, intrigued by your response. He leaned in closer, his gaze locked on yours, "Oh yeah.. What's the third thing?" he asked curiously, fully invested in your answer now.

You tapped your chin, pretending to think over your answer "Definitely not something as strong as 'love' or 'hate'... Maybe disgust or even annoyance. Or perhaps boredom.." you stated in a sickly sweet tone, despite the sarcasm in your words.

Jack chuckled at your response, his gaze never faltering from your face. His smirk faltered for a moment, his expression hardening slightly but his amusement prevailed, "Ouch, that stung." He said in a mock pained tone before continuing, "I can live with 'annoyance', though."

You pinched the bridge of your nose, growing more and more annoyed as the conversation stretched. You were definitely starting to appreciate the fact that despite being annoying, Rafe was definitely more charming with the banter and the attempts to irritate you. Maybe sleeping with him before contributed to that. "Is this what you country-club freaks do for fun?" you asked, letting out another sigh "Just.. bother the workers? Or is this your attempt at hitting on me and not succeeding?"

Jack huffed, his expression darkening slightly. Despite his cocky facade, he was evidently getting irritated at your comments, "This isn't an attempt for anything.. I'm just trying to chat.. And you're not making it easy." he responded, his gaze fixed on yours.

"I get like.. 30 of you "trying" to chat me up during my shift. While also ordering the same fucking thing as you did.." you pointed to his almost finished glass of Bourbon. "In the middle of the day too.. Whiskey neat to get day-drunk, isn't as unique as you like to think.."

Jack rolled his eyes in response, raising an eyebrow. He let out an amused scoff, taking a final gulp from his glass and setting it back on the counter. He leaned in closer, his gaze meeting yours, "Maybe if you weren't so damn annoying to chat with, you would get asked out more..."

You plastered another fake and polite smile on your face, obviously not deterred by his not so subtle jab at you being hard to talk to. "Guys ask me out.. I just don't go.." you muttered, your smile widening.

Jack's expression darkened slightly, his gaze narrowing as he studied you, "Now that is surprising.. You have the kind of face that guys should be dropping on their knees for.." He leaned back on his stool, his smirk growing slightly, "But that mouth.."

He trailed off, his eyes flickering down to your mouth. He let out a scoff, his gaze flickering up to meet yours, "I can see why they stop after one try.."

You grimaced in pure annoyance now, going back to putting away the remainder of the polished glasses. "Maybe you should follow along, then.."

Jack chuckled, amused by your annoyance. He leaned forward, his arms resting on the bar, "I'm not the kind of guy who takes no for an answer so easily, darling."

You scoffed as if he had confirmed something by saying that, shaking your head to yourself "Trust me, you act the part.." you muttered breathlessly.

Jack's expression grew curious, a slight smirk tugging at his lips, "What part am I acting?" He asked, his gaze locking on yours. He couldn't tell if your words were a compliment or a jab at him.

"The part where you clearly can't tell when someone is not interested.." you responded bluntly.

Jack rolled his eyes in response, leaning back on the barstool once again. He let out a scoff, his gaze narrowing as he studied you, "You say you're not interested but you're the one who keeps the conversation going.." he retorted, his tone growing annoyed.

You turned back to face him, sighing loudly, obviously fed up with his shit. "Okay fine.. I'm ending the conversation and politely asking you to leave the bar."

Jack's gaze hardened at your demand, his irritation clear on his face. He clenched his jaw, his eyes flickering with annoyance before he sighed and stood up from the barstool, grabbing his wallet and tossing another 20 dollar tip on the counter.

He adjusted his shirt, his expression still annoyed but more passive now. "You're fun.. Sometimes.." he muttered, his gaze flickering from your face to your chest for the last time before turning away and heading back towards his friends at their table, throwing you one last look over his shoulder.

You watched as he made his way back to Rafe's table, Topper instantly brightening up as Jack approached the table. You glanced back down at the second 20 dollar tip, smiling to yourself. You just made 40 bucks by simply rejecting an annoying kook's advances. The country-club job continued to surprise you.

Rafe had been watching the interaction from the table the entire time, his gaze fixated on you and Jack. He was watching with irritation and jealousy, his expression hardening as he noticed how close the guy got to you. He couldn't hear what you two were saying, but he sure could see how close the guy's face got to yours as he leaned on the bar.

Topper let out a whoop as Jack sat back down, slapping his back in a half-hearted attempt to cheer him up for his failed attempt at hitting on you. He smirked, "Not so successful, huh?" he asked, glancing over towards the bar in amusement.

Jack leaned back against the chair, trying to maintain his composure after the less than successful conversation. He huffed, annoyance evident on his face, "I don't get it, man.. I had her going for a bit, she was even playing along.. Then out of nowhere she just shut me down.”

Topper shook his head, amused by his cousin's frustration, "Yeah, that's usually how it goes when you try to have a civil conversation with a Pogue girl.." he responded with a shrug, grabbing his almost depleted beer and downing it in one large gulp.

Rafe had been listening with a mix of amusement and satisfaction, sipping on his beer quietly. He couldn't help but feel amused by how his friend failed to sweep you off your feet and annoyed that you were even giving him the time of day. He stayed silent, trying to keep his own jealousy and irritation in check.

Jack let out a loud sigh, still annoyed and irritated with how the interaction ended. He leaned forward, his eyes flickering over to the bar, "She's a piece of work, that one.." he muttered, still staring at you. Topper chuckled, taking another gulp of his beer, "Yeah.. But she's fine.. Wouldn't mind getting a piece of that myself.." he joked, earning a scoff from Jack.

Rafe's grip on his beer tightened involuntarily, his jaw clenching as he overheard their comments. He knew how men talked about women all the time. But for some reason, hearing them talk about you rubbed him the wrong way. He took another gulp of his beer, trying to mask his irritation.

Of course Rafe had no claim over you. It wasn't like the two of you were dating. You slept together three times and that was it. He was more than sure that if he walked over to the bar right now, you'd give him the same attitude you gave Jack, maybe worse. So his irritation and jealousy were completely unwarranted since you were a piece of work and an absolute menace to have around. And Rafe was well aware of the fact that you were in love with your annoying pogue best friend. God, if he thought he couldn't dislike the loud and reckless pogue more, he was wrong. You were sleeping with him whenever you got wasted to try and get another guy (who had a girl) out of your system and here he was, getting jealous over you. How pathetic.

Rafe took another long sip of his beer, trying to keep his gaze from wandering to the bar where you were. He was used to keeping his feelings in check (sometimes) but for some reason, hearing you reject other guys made his heart flutter a little. He bit down on his bottom lip, shaking his head at his own idiotic emotions. He looked away, trying to distract himself with conversations around him.

Jack was still rambling about his failed attempt at talking to you, still irritated and disappointed. He didn't handle failure well, never did. "Goddamn it, how hard can it be to chat up a girl..?" he muttered angrily under his breath. Topper chuckled, shaking his head "With Pogues.. Pretty damn hard..." He added with a scoff, taking another gulp of his beer. Rafe couldn't help but chuckle, his mood lightening a little.

Jack huffed, running a hand through his hair in frustration, "But she was flirting with me for a bit, though.." He said in irritation, his gaze flicking over back to you. Rafe followed his gaze, his own gaze flicking over to you once again. "I guess she doesn't like that pretty face of yours after all.. Or the fancy clothes.. Or the money.." He commented sarcastically, his eyes taking in your outfit and the way you carried yourself, his gaze falling down to the necklace peeking out from the collar of your shirt. The same cheap necklace he had dangling in his face when you rode him..

Jack scowled at the insult, his expression hardening once again, "It's not like you're doing any better... When was the last time you even got laid?.." Topper snickered at that comment, amused by the jab.

Rafe hummed as if he was thinking over the comment, poking the inside of his cheek with the tip of his tongue. In reality he was just revisiting the last time he had slept with you like a couple of days ago, the memories flooding his brain pleasantly. "Two days ago.. more or less.." he mumbled casually, smirking slightly at Jack.

Jack rolled his eyes, annoyed at how confident and smug Rafe seemed. Despite his irritation, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow in surprise, "Two days ago.. with who exactly...?" He asked, his interest piqued. Topper leaned in, now intrigued at the possibility of gossip.

Rafe took a casual sip of his drink, his smirk growing slightly. "Doesn't matter.. Point is, I got some recently. While your sorry ass is here whining like a little kid about a Pogue girl turning you down..." He replied, his tone condescending.

Jack scoffed, his annoyance growing even more. He knew they were both just trying to get a rise out of each other, but it was working. "Well.. I still have a better chance with her than you do.." He retorted, his gaze flickering over to you again.

Rafe stifled a scoff, almost choking on his beer at the ridiculous statement. He couldn't help but be amused and annoyed at the same time. "Oh really.. And how did that go for you? I just watched her reject you from across the room and make you look like a total dick..".

Jack clenched his jaw, refusing to be embarrassed by his failure. He was Jack Maynard, he always got what he wanted. "I was getting close... she was interested.." he snapped back, trying to defend himself.

Rafe chuckled derisively, rolling his eyes at Jack's arrogance. "Oh yeah, real interested in your annoying ass.." he snarked back, taking a long swig from his beer. This was especially funny to Rafe knowing he scored before with you. Knowing that unlike the guy sitting in front of him, complaining about how you shut him down, he had a bigger chance of scoring again with you than this guy ever did. And that just lightened his sour mood, even if it was just a hint lighter.

Jack gritted his teeth, his irritation growing with each passing second. He couldn't stand the cocky confidence coming from Rafe. "Oh yeah.. How do you know so much about what she's interested in.. Just cuz she let you take her home once doesn't make you an expert.."

Rafe scoffed, not being able to stop his cocky smirk from growing. He leaned back against his chair, his gaze meeting Jacks, a challenge in his eyes. "Well I'm not the one who just got rejected, am I?" he replied smugly, before adding "And don't forget.. once is more than your zero times..".

Jack clenched his jaw tightly, his hands curling into fists. He was getting tired of the cocky smirk plastered on Rafe's face, the way he was so smug and condescending. "At least I tried, man. Unlike you.." he shot back with a scoff, trying to hide his annoyance. Topper watched the back and forth in between his cousin and friend with increasing amusement.

Rafe chuckled, shaking his head at the obvious attempt to undermine him. "Oh, I tried alright.. multiple times, actually.." he responded with a cocky smirk, taking another sip of his beer and ignoring the curious look Topper was sending his way.

Jack huffed in annoyance, his irritations growing every second. "Yeah, and how's that working out for you? Got rejected a bunch, did you?" he replied sarcastically, his gaze flickering over to you for yet another time.

Rafe didn't bother looking in your direction, he knew you were busy with the job. Instead, he let out an amused scoff at Jacks response. "Not me, no.. Some people actually know how to handle a girl.. and it's a lot more complicated than just trying to talk it out like you did." He replied, leaning back on his chair nonchalantly, taking a long swig from his beer. Topper looked back and forth between them, growing curious by the second.

Jack felt like his patience was running thin at this point and he was ready to flip the table over, only barely managing to control himself from doing so. "Oh, yeah?.. And what exactly is your approach, then? Huh? You're just gonna strut over there and flash your money at her until she thinks you're interesting?" he retorted with an annoyed scoff.

Rafe laughed at the childish and irrational response, his smirk growing wider as he watched Jack get more and more irritated. "No, man.. That's more your style.. You'd just flash your Rolex and your dad's credit card and think that'll do the trick.." he replied, his tone amused and mocking. Topper stifled a laugh at Jacks expense, enjoying the banter.

Jack's irritation reached a boiling point when Rafe brought his family's wealth into the conversation. He was fed up with the insults and condescending tone, "At least I have something to use. What do you offer? Just your arrogant attitude and shitty personality..."

Rafe chuckled, raising his beer to his lips. He couldn't help but feel amused at just how irritated he was getting his friend. "Yeah.. you got money. And yet the Pogue girl still didn't give two shits about you.. and let's be real... I actually have a personality."

Jack was close to physically exploding at this point. He was tired of the condescending tone and insults, but what really got under his skin was the mention of you and your lack of interest in him. Despite the fact he knew you were not interested in him, hearing the truth from someone else hurt his pride. "Oh, yeah? Right... Because being a dick is personality.." he retorted dryly as he took another sip of his bourbon.

Rafe scoffed, a smirk playing at his lips at Jacks obvious irritation. He knew he was hitting a nerve, and it was too easy to get under his skin. "Well, I'd take my personality over your arrogance any day.. At least I don't whine like a little kid when I don't get what I want..."

Jack was just about to snap again, his irritations getting the worst of him for a moment, before Topper intervened. He could sense the growing tension and before a fight breaks out he cleared his throat, trying to steer the conversation into a different direction. "Alright, enough.. Both of y'all are being dickheads.. Can we drop the topic, please? Let's talk about something else."

Jack grumbled under his breath, unable to let go of his irritation just yet, while Rafe took another smug sip from his beer, still enjoying the banter. But the rest of the conversation shifted into a different, less heated topic. They still looked at each other with irritation, but kept their snarkiness to themselves to not cause a scene.

By the end of their drinking, the early afternoon shifting into early evening, you had finally cleaned up most of the counter, glancing occasionally over to the table of Kook boys, as the alcohol has started taking in effect. The atmosphere changing into a loud one. The group kept on getting more rowdy and you weren't sure how to feel, your gaze flicking over to them every now and then, watching them with a mixture of annoyance and entertainment. The tables around the bar continued to fill up, your shift growing more unbearable as you had to interact with more condescending kooks while simultaneously pouring the same few drinks over and over.

Rafe had downed quite a lot throughout the day and was feeling pretty drunk, but not too far gone yet. Just enough to feel the alcohol and the buzz, but still remember what he was doing. He occasionally let his gaze wander over to the bar to catch a glimpse of you working, a lazy cocky smirk on his face each time he did. He was definitely checking you out more often than he should.

At a moment when things seemed to calm down a bit, you were wiping down the bar-counter when you felt an all too familiar pair of blue eyes on you, boring into your skull. You didn't need to look up to know who it was, you could sense him watching you from across the room. The guy had a habit of staring a little too intensely for your liking whenever the two of you were in the same room. Even before you slept together. Which you didn't know if it was supposed to be flattering or not.

Rafe was sitting with his friends yet his gaze was fixated on you on the side. His eyes never left you, he was too fascinated with every little move you did. And he didn't really care who could see him staring right now. His eyes were glued to you through hooded lids, his head tilted to the side as he watched you intently, a cocky smirk plastered on his face as he slowly took in the sight of you.

You could feel Rafe's eyes on you, boring into you like a drill as he lazily leaned back to slouch on his chair. Which he changed at some point during the day, now sitting in a chair which faced the bar directly. You knew he was watching you and you knew he was drunk, the way his eyes were roaming over your body shamelessly gave him away. You could also feel his friends' eyes on him, not so discreetly, observing the way he was looking over at you. You tried your best not to acknowledge his gaze, even though your whole body was heating up from his intense stare. You were used to getting checked out by the younger kook boys, but Rafe was a different story. Your shared animosity and the fact that you knew him outside of work, made it all the more... awkward? You didn't even know if that was the correct word for how your relationship progressed over the past week.

Rafe was getting some interesting looks from his friends, but he didn't care. He was too busy watching your every move, his gaze intense and hungry. He liked it when you were ignoring him, it made it feel like a fun little game of cat and mouse. He knew he was being too obvious with his staring, but he couldn't help it. Every inch of you was like a magnet to his eyes.

He watched as you continued your work, his gaze flickering up and down your figure, drinking in the sight of you in those jeans. He could almost feel his mouth watering at the view. He was getting drunker by the minute, his inhibitions lowering and his desire growing stronger.

He took a sip of his beer, his gaze still following your every move as you were now bent over one booth to pick up some trash, Rafe's eyes roaming down your body to your ass, practically drooling a bit. He could hardly keep himself from getting up and walking over to you, but he knew it would cause a scene with his friends, so he just sat back and continued ogling you from across the bar.

You could feel the heat in your cheeks as you went through the same old routine of collecting trash, occasionally stealing glances at the table across the room where he was sitting. Rafe was definitely not being subtle about his stares anymore, his gaze hungry and intense, making your heart rate quicken in response. If this had been another night, you might have found it amusing how obvious he was being, but given the fact that you were working, it was actually becoming extremely irritating. Especially since you were completely sober, unlike him. You definitely didn't wanna interact with him, or any of the guys at his table for that matter. You walked back behind the bar, just tidying up the space in hopes of ignoring the stare down Rafe was trying to have with you, accidentally looking over at him for a split second and cursing yourself internally.

As soon as your eyes flickered over to his, Rafe smirked, noticing the sudden shift in your facial expression. He could tell you tried ignoring him, but one quick accidental look revealed the opposite. You were aware of his gaze. And he loved it. He slowly ran his tongue over his bottom lip, the smirk never leaving his face, eyes locked on you like a predator locked on its prey.

He took another lazy sip of his beer, his eyes still on you, his gaze growing darker and hungrier by the minute. He watched as you tidied up the counter, his lazy smirk growing wider as he found himself growing more and more enchanted by the fact how completely unbothered you seemed by his stares, as if you weren't getting ogled by a drunk boy at all

After finishing up wiping the counter for the third time in the last ten minutes you decided you had enough of it. You fished your phone from your back pocket, leaning against the counter as you unlocked and swiped through your apps to reach the messages. You hovered over Rafe's contact, chewing on your bottom lip. Were you two even supposed to text? That would just give him the satisfaction of irritating you. But you had to decide quick, given you shouldn't be seen on your phone at the bar, despite not having anything to do or any customer to serve. So you gave in texting him briefly before stashing your phone back into your back pocket.

You rolled your eyes at his last text, tucking your phone back into your back pocket ending the conversation by leaving him on read. A small smile tugging at your lips as the bar started getting more crowded now that it was reaching rush hour. You spared another glance towards his table, sliding the glass of champagne to the last lady in the group of older kook women sitting at the bar, smiling as you opened the tab for them.

He watched as you worked, your every movement was like a spell he couldn't take his gaze off of. The way you moved around the room, the way you interacted with the customers, it was like watching an artist at work. He also noticed how you had put your phone away, refusing to engage in the banter with him anymore. And he had to admit, he missed your attention.

He found himself nursing his beer, his eyes glued to your figure as you continued to attend to the other customers. He was lost in his thoughts, a small frown tugging at his lips. He didn't like when you ignored him like this, it made him feel vulnerable in a way he wasn't used to.

He hated that you were able to mess with him like this. He wasn't the type to let anyone get under his skin, but you? You had him wrapped around your pinky without even realizing it.

Maybe it was the alcohol in his system that made him so desperate for your attention, or maybe he was just feeling more emotional than usual. But he couldn't shake off the feeling of wanting to be near you.

He knew it was a bad idea, given the fact that you were working and you were both in public, but he didn't care. He needed to be close to you, even if just for a moment.

He downed the last of his beer, getting up from his seat with a bit of a sway as he made his way towards the bar, his eyes not leaving your figure for a second.

You were occupied with cleaning the bar countertop as he approached the bar, choosing to ignore him for a few moments until he'd eventually speak first. Because he always did. You still had the hope that he just walked over to get a refill or maybe even close out his tab for the day, but you probably didn't have that kind of luck.

He leaned against the bar top, propping himself up on his elbow as he watched you work. He couldn't help but admire the way your hips moved under those tight jeans every time you bent down to reach for something.

He waited for you to look up at him, but you seemed to be intentionally ignoring him, pretending like he wasn't even there. He couldn't help but smile, you were stubborn, he knew that much, and it was kinda hot. He cleared his throat, trying to get your attention, but you simply continued wiping down the bar.

"I know you can hear me." He called out in a singsong tone, his smirk growing wider as he watched you freeze in your movements at his words.

Your face soured in mock sadness before looking up at him and setting down the rag, "Unfortunately.." you sighed, shaking your head.

He chuckled softly, his smirk growing wider at your sarcastic response. He leaned a little bit closer towards you, resting his elbow on the bar top and propping his chin on his hand. He was in a strangely playful mood tonight, and that usually meant he was itching for a reaction from you. He gave you an obvious once over, taking his time admiring your body in the tight jeans.

He noticed how the denim hugged every curve of your body, the way your apron was tied around your waist. "Looking good tonight." He spoke, his tone low and playful, his eyes never leaving your figure.

He wasn't even trying to hide the fact that he was openly checking you out, or hitting on you and you couldn't help but grimace slightly. Although he was definitely doing better than his "friend" who tried to chat you up earlier that day. "Then i must be doing something wrong, huh?" you asked casually, feigning disappointment.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head, his eyes still glued to your body. "No, no baby, definitely doing something right." He replied, his tone suggestive yet playful. He was enjoying this little game you two were playing, even though it was driving him crazy. "Those jeans should be illegal." He added with a smirk, his eyes finally flicking up to meet yours.

"Rafe.. your pick up lines should be illegal.." you mumbled, studying his form as he leaned in, cheek still propped on his elbow lazily. He was obviously more than tipsy with how much he downed today and with the way he was talking to you.

A smirk tugged at his lips, his eyes glistening with amusement as he leaned in even closer, his face now just a few inches away from yours. Your scent engulfed him as he let his eyes wander over your face, taking in every single detail. "I haven't even tried any of my actual good ones yet." He replied in a low tone, his gaze slowly trailing down to your lips, his smirk growing wider.

You pretended to shudder in mock disgust, not leaning back when he leaned in, although he was getting too close for personal space even with bar countertop between you two. "Please don't.. Do you wanna drink something? or are you here to make the rest of my shift harder?"

He chuckled softly, tilting his head to the side as his eyes roamed your face once more. Your words had no effect on him, he knew you were just being your usual snarky self, even if you were secretly enjoying him getting all up in your space.

"I'll drink anything off your lips." He replied bluntly, his smirk growing even wider at the thought.

The flirty statement didn't seem to phase you as you leaned back slightly to fidget with the rag. You had to admit it wasn't too bad, definitely unique, but he was being obnoxious and Rafe-y, so the charm of it flaked away instantly. "Don't think I'm allowed to serve drinks that way.. Sorry, handsome.." you mumbled, pretending to be apologetic once again.

He groaned, rolling his eyes but there was no real annoyance behind it. He liked this. He liked you being a complete brat to him, acting like he wasn't affecting you at all when deep down you were at least a little flustered over him.

"That's a damn shame. I'd pay good money for that." He said in a teasing tone, his smirk transforming into a sly smile.

"I bet.. You kooks like to just throw away money left and right.." you teased lowly, mirroring his expression. You adjusted your glasses with a soft flick of your fingers, studying his features and the way he sat on the barstool.

He chuckled softly, resting his chin on his hand once again and looking up at you through half-lidded eyes. He loved the way you were eyeing him, the way your gaze lingered on his lips for just a bit too long. He leaned forward a bit more, closing the distance between you even more.

"Only if it's worth it." He murmured, his eyes roaming your features before they dropped to your lips, his smirk growing wider.

"If i uh.. get a price list, I'll let you know.." you mumbled, smiling tightly at him, still fidgeting with the rag.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head at your snarky response. He couldn't resist the urge to tease you as much as possible, knowing it would piss you off, and he loved it that way. He leaned in even closer, the smirk on his face growing even wider as he watched you fidget around, playing with the rag in your hands.

"I have a blank check ready, baby." He replied cheekily, his gaze never leaving your figure.

You scoffed, rolling your eyes with a slight smile. You didn't understand how he managed to be charming and annoying at the same time. All while being unfairly handsome. "I'm sure you do.. Maybe order a drink first and then we can talk.."

He smirked, clearly enjoying himself. He let out a low chuckle, giving you a once over once again, a smirk plastered on his face. He leaned back slightly, running his tongue over his bottom lip as his eyes roamed your body, taking his sweet time to admire every curve of your body.

"Oh. Someone's getting impatient." He replied cockily, leaning forwards once again, getting closer to you. "This is landing right in my lap, isn't it?"

"You're hogging my bar, country-club.. At this pace, people who actually want to order won't have somewhere to sit.." you narrowed your eyes, smirking as you felt your breath hitch ever so slightly when his tongue ran over his bottom lip slowly, his blue eyes checking you out for the countless time that day. You felt a bit guilty, getting affected by the Rafe Cameron. This was still the same guy who had a distaste for your social class and friends. Nothing changed. Right?

He chuckled lightly, noticing how you were visibly affected by him, and that realization alone made him even more cocky. He knew he could get under your skin. He knew exactly how to push your buttons and how to make you break down that wall of annoyance that you built up against him. He smirked, leaning back in the barstool and giving you a once over with his piercing blue eyes.

"Don't worry baby, I'll tip you well." He replied, his smirk growing wider as he watched your every move.

"You need to order first so you can leave a tip.." you pointed out in a snarky tone, smirking teasingly at him.

He laughed softly, amused by your witty comebacks. He loved seeing you act like this, his smirk growing wider as he continued to eye you up, shamelessly checking you out as he spoke.

"And what's gonna happen if I don't leave a tip... You'll kick me out?" He asked in a cocky tone, his eyes still roaming your body.

Your eyes never left his blue ones, your smirk growing as you leaned in to whisper "Already tried to over text and it didn't work sadly.."

He felt his heart skip a beat at your response. The way you were bantering, the look on your face, and the sound of your voice. It was doing things to him that he wasn't expecting. He let out a breath, running a hand through his hair, trying to remain casual.

But it wasn't working. At least not for him.

He leaned closer, his face inches away from yours, his eyes wandering over to your lips before he could stop himself.

He couldn't help the feeling coursing through his body, the way you looked at him was driving him insane. He was supposed to be messing with your head, not other way around.

He chuckled dryly, leaning a little bit closer, his breath fanning over your face, his eyes glued to yours, not even trying to hide the fact that he'd been staring at you up and down all night.

"Try again to kick me out, baby. I'd like to see that." He whispered.

You leaned back slightly seeing as the distance between the two of you was shortening too much for comfort or professionalism. You really don't wanna lose your job over bantering with Rafe Cameron in a suggestive manner, "You're a VIP member of this club, i can't really kick you out as an employee, can i?" you asked casually, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down. You were being ridiculous, this was the same guy who looked down on you and liked to make your shifts unbearable, why were you being nervous?

His cocky smirk widened even more at your response. He loved the fact that you couldn't kick him out, it was giving him free rein to bother, pester, irritate, and tease you to his hearts content. He felt a sense of power over you, and it was making him even more cocky.

"Damn right, baby I'm a VIP." He said with a slight hint of arrogance in his tone, his eyes still roaming over your form, and he was trying his best not to stare at your lips.

He chuckled deeply at your witty remarks, his eyes locked on yours as the tension continued to build between the two of you. He leaned forward once again, his face an inch away from yours, his lips hovering over your skin, almost close enough to touch.

"Baby.." He muttered in a low tone, his breath fanning over your face once again, his eyes roaming over your lips, as he fought the strong urge to close the distance and kiss you. This was getting out of hand.

You chewed the inside of your cheek, letting out a small scoff at his low and needy tone as if it was the most funniest thing. You stepped back even more, putting some needed distance between the two of you. Your eyes drifted from his to the table he was sat at, his friends still drinking and talking among each other. "Why aren't you with your friends..?" you mumbled, occupying your hands with tidying up the counter, throwing away the lemon peels and wiping down the spilled tequila.

He let out a dry chuckle, feeling slightly disappointed when you took a few steps back, putting more distance between the two of you. He rolled his eyes at the mention of his friends, letting out an annoyed huff.

"They're boring, that's why I decided to come bother you." He replied, his tone slightly annoyed, as he leaned against the bar top on his elbows, his gaze roaming over your figure once again.

You let out another sound resembling a laugh, even though it was more airy and breathy than one, eyes flickering back to the group once again. "Your new addition to the group paid me a visit at the bar and tried to hit on me earlier today.. Did you send him over to make fun of me for entertainment?" you asked softly, referring to Jack's earlier visit at the bar.

He rolled his eyes once again at the mention of Jack, visibly annoyed. The idea of Jack trying to hit on you made him irrationally angry earlier, even though he'd never admit it. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out an annoyed sigh.

"No, I didn't send him over." He replied, his tone slightly irritated. He took a sip of his beer before continuing, "He's a dick, ignore him."

You leaned in slightly, narrowing your eyes subtly behind your glasses. You were almost sure the older Cameron boy had sent over to entertain his little group and you weren't entirely convinced of his tense denial. "That's funny... 'Cause when he walked over i was like: 'this guy looks kinda familiar..' And then i realized he tried hitting on me at the party a few days ago.." you mumbled so only he could hear. "And I'm pretty sure he was the one who spiked my drink.."

He didn't like what he was hearing. His jaw immediately clenched at your words. The thought of Jack trying to make a move on you and even worse, drugging you was making him livid. He didn't even try to hide his anger. Which he now had a reason for. Meaning he could probably kick this guy's ass finally and warrant it on something as bad as him spiking your drink.

"He tried hitting on you... and he's the one who spiked your drink..?" he asked, his tone low and dangerous.

You leaned back once again, nodding almost too casually. The pieces clicked earlier while studying Jack from afar trying to figure out why he looked familiar despite not being from the island. And then it clicked. "Yep. I just thought you sent him over to fuck with me or something.."

He felt a sudden burst of irritation. He was pissed at Jack for trying to hit on you, and even more pissed that he had the audacity to spike your drink. He took a deep breath, trying to control his emotions.

"I would never send him over here to mess with you. I'm not that much of an dickhead."

You put your hands up defensively, eyes flickering across the room at Jack without even intending to so at this point. "You're Rafe.. I can expect just about anything from your royal highness.." you muttered teasingly, shrugging as you looked back into his eyes.

He let out a dry chuckle at your comment. He couldn't deny that he had a bit of a reputation for being a cocky jerk, but he was offended that you thought he was that bad. Plus, there was something about hearing you tease him. It was kinda hot too.

"Are you implying that I'm a dickhead?" He spoke in a low tone, leaning forward on the counter top once again.

"You're not?" you asked, grinning teasingly at him.

He smirked at your response, leaning a little bit closer, his gaze flickering over your features, taking you all in, inch by inch.

"A dickhead..?" he whispered, his tone low and teasing as he studied your face intently. "Maybe..." he admitted in a mocking tone, his smirk widening as he leaned even closer, his face just inches away from yours.

You hummed lowly, nodding slowly as he leaned in over the counter top without any shame, and you were glad your manager wasn't able to see you blatantly flirting with a patron in the middle of a shift. You weren't entirely sure what was happening to you and why you were entertaining Rafe's antics. Before you hooked up he'd flirt with you but you'd pay it no mind, so what changed now? "Besides.. Dickhead is an understatement..." you whispered mockingly, your eyes drinking in his features in the dim light of the country club, your grin softening due to the proximity.

His smirk widened, clearly amused by your response.

"Oh, come on now. I'm a little offended actually.." he teased gently, leaning forward even more, his face now mere inches away from yours. He could feel your breath fan over his face, the tension between the two of you was like the atmosphere before a lightning strike. He swallowed, his eyes flickering down to your lips.

He tried to sound cool and collected, but there was no hiding the fact that he was getting more than just a little affected.

"You should be... That's what i strive for.." you chuckled, reaching up to adjust your glasses slowly.

He chuckled softly at your response, the sound low in his throat, his eyes roaming over your face as you adjusted your glasses, and he bit his lip to contain the growing smirk on his face.

This was new. This was territory that neither of you had ventured into with each other.

He leaned in, his face now just an inch away, his gaze focused on you. "Yeah? Being a smartass gets your rocks off, huh, baby?"

You grimaced at his question, a confused smirk tugging at your lips. This indeed, was territory that neither of you would have thought you'd step in. Actually flirting? As two people who hated each other supposedly? Very strange. "Not exactly, no... That's just how i talk and you take offense to anything i say.." you murmured back, a small giggle escaping you as he leaned in even closer, as if the counter top wasn't in his way.

He chuckled once more, enjoying the playful banter between the two of you. It was almost unreal how your usually antagonistic nature was slowly transforming into something so much more. He couldn't help it, he was absolutely fixated by your presence. He was intrigued by your every move.

He leaned in even closer, his nose almost touching yours, his eyes roaming over your face.

"I don't take offense to everything. Just the things that are stupid, which is about 80 percent of the things you say." he teased.

The teasing words made you roll your eyes, shaking your head in mock annoyance, the two of you almost forgetting where you were and that you were both surrounded by people drinking in the country club leisurely. "And you flirt with me by insulting me... Who's more stupider?" you asked, drumming your fingers on the counter top as he grazed his nose against yours, giving in and trailing your pointer finger over his forearm slowly and in a feather-light touch.

He chuckled softly, loving the way you were slowly letting your guard down, and your demeanor around him was becoming more and more relaxed. He felt a shiver course through his body as you gently traced his forearm with your finger, and he watched you with eyes that held something more than just cockiness.

"I dunno.. maybe you. You're the one insulting me and then trying to cop a feel." he replied with a smirk, his eyes roaming your face once more.

Your expression twisted into an amused one at his words, gasping softly in disbelief, " 'Cop a feel' is an exaggeration.. I'm just.. being nice." you whispered, snorting slightly without realizing, your finger stopping its up and down motion to dig your nail into his skin gently.

He let out another low chuckle at your response, his smirk widening at how you were trying to downplay the fact that you were actually kind of flirting with him now, whether it was conscious or not, it still counted.

He winced softly at the feeling of your nail digging into his arm, feeling the skin underneath break slightly under the pressure, but he was too focused on you to even care at this point. "Being nice huh?" he teased, raising an eyebrow at that statement

Your eyes flickered down at your own finger, pressing down your nail a little bit more, maybe even close to stinging "Yeah, is it surprising that i can be a little nice?" you asked narrowing your eyes a little.

He took a sharp intake of breath, his eyes flickering to your finger still digging into his skin. It was slightly painful, but he didn't mind it too much. He actually enjoyed it, just a slight bit.

He let out a low chuckle, letting a smirk play on his lips. "A little nice, yeah. You're usually anything but nice to me, baby."

You fell quiet for a moment, as if you were thinking over something, still not leaning back even though right now you were definitely testing the boundaries of a professional interaction. "Do you think they'd fire me if you kissed me right now..?" you asked out of nowhere, your slight smile widening at your own whispered words.

His eyes widened slightly at your question, his smirk transforming into a smile of surprise at your unexpected words.

He looked around the room once, checking if anyone was paying attention to the two of you, his gaze falling back on you as he tried to play it cool.

"Mmm.. they might. Would you risk that?" he asked, his smirk growing wider.

You trailed your finger over his forearm again, nail brushing over the small crescent mark you left when digging it into his skin, the gesture almost soothing, "No.. I want you to order something so i can go back to work.." you mumbled, grinning teasingly as you pulled back slightly, moving behind the bar to distract yourself a little.

He smirked at your response, slightly disappointed at the loss of contact, but he decided to play into his role of a cocky rich country-club boy for a bit. Even though he'd rather just watch you work the entire night.

He leaned back in the barstool, fixing his shirt before speaking, "Get me a scotch, baby." he said in a demanding tone.

"Highball?" you asked, tucking the rag resting on the counter top in your apron's pocket.

He smirked once more, enjoying you taking his order and playing along. He leaned against the bar top, his gaze fixed on your figure.

"Yeah.. You know how to make a good one.” he replied casually, tilting his head to the side as he watched you prepare his drink.

You scrunched up your face despite knowing that once he got a little tipsy at the country club he didn't bother with fancy drink orders and just downed highballs like it was his religion. That was his usual, and the first time he ordered it you couldn't believe that someone as snobby as him was drinking whisky and soda. You moved swiftly as you prepared the drink, grateful from the distraction provided by his order since things were growing too charged for your liking at the workplace with Rafe. And just in general regarding the two of you.

You filled the highball glass with solid ice and poured the scotch and topping it with club soda, adding a bit of ginger ale, knowing he always requested it anyway. You stirred it gently and placed it on the counter in front of him and leaning back "Am i adding that to your current tab?" you asked, already preparing to add the drink to the running tab under his name.

He took the glass with a smirk, swirling it around slightly and savoring the smell before bringing it to his lips and taking a sip. He let out a small sigh before speaking, "Yeah, put it on my tab.. I'll pay it off when I'm done for the night." he replied, his eyes glued to you as he took another sip, the liquor burning his throat and sending a shiver through him.

You hummed entering the drink in the system and updating his total on the tab before flitting your eyes back to him as he took the first sip. "you enjoying the drink? did i get it right?" you asked, nodding vaguely towards the drink as you adjusted your glasses.

He smirked as he took another sip, enjoying the taste before nodding in approval. He was impressed by how well you knew his drink order already, and how you got it down perfectly every time.

"Yeah, you did a good job." he replied in response, taking another sip and letting the liquid burn his throat. Once again, he felt his eyes roam over your figure, drinking you up and enjoying the sight in front of him.

You felt your cheeks heat up a little as his gaze roamed over your figure once again, his eyes hungrily trailing every single curve. You could feel his heated gaze even if you tried to ignore it, and it was beginning to get slightly awkward, and it was making you restless. You couldn't help but feel a little bit self-conscious in his presence, but it felt good to be so blatantly lusted over. Even if this was Rafe, and you weren't exactly wearing the most appealing outfit. A light blue polo shirt (provided by the club of course), a simple pair of jeans and a brown apron tied from waist down. You looked especially rough right now since it was nearing the end of your shift so why was he shamelessly drooling over you?

His gaze slowly traveled up your figure from your feet, to your legs, then your thighs, hip and waist, finally resting on your chest. Despite your very plain and mundane clothes, he couldn't help but find you insanely attractive. Your rough, sweaty appearance was adding to the allure and he felt himself growing increasingly hot just at the sight of you. He could feel his pants becoming a bit tight and he had to shift slightly in the barstool.

He took another sip of his drink, his gaze still glued on you, taking his sweet time to scan every inch of your body.

You continued to fidget in your spot, eyes flittering around almost desperately. Rush hour was almost over now, and the people in the country club were focused on hanging out with each other rather than drinking endlessly, since they were nicely buzzed. So aside from Rafe and a group of ladies to your left no one was really sitting at the bar. You had nothing to polish and the counter was clean from your excessive wiping, the space not cluttered since your shift was almost over.

So you were left with standing there almost awkwardly, staring right back at Rafe who was ogling you without a care in the world while drinking a highball casually. God, you hated work.

He watched as you fidgeted in your spot, your movements almost frantic as you tried to keep yourself busy with something, anything. His smile grew a little bit wider as he watched you squirm under his gaze, finding this situation absolutely hilarious. He knew that everyone was too busy in their own groups, enjoying eachothers company, and he knew that nobody was paying them any attention.

He finished the last of his drink, putting the empty glass down on the counter top and leaning in over the bar top.

"Baby.." He muttered almost desperately once again, his eyes never leaving yours.

You reached for the glass as soon as he put it down, placing it on your tray of dirty glasses that you needed to take to the kitchen and trying to muster a grimace at the word 'baby.' Even if you found yourself slightly liking how needy and low it sounded due to him being tipsy. "What..?" you mumbled in something to subtle exasperation, sighing softly.

He chuckled softly at your exasperated tone, still watching you intently as he leaned on the bar top. He could see that your demeanor was trying to stay nonchalant, but there was a hint of irritation and something else in your expression. He loved how you reacted to his words, no matter the situation.

He let out a low hum, tilting his head to the side as he spoke in a low tone, "Stop trying to act like you don't find me hot right now."

You stood in your spot, rolling your eyes in mild annoyance at his deduction, crossing your arms "Stop blatantly flirting with the bartender at your country-club.."

He chuckled softly again, the sound low and deep. He could tell that you were trying to act annoyed, but he knew that there was a hint of attraction in your eyes, no matter how hard you tried to cover it up. He leaned in a little closer, his voice dropping even lower, his eyes locked with yours.

"Why? I'm sure you've seen guys hit on you all the time before.. I mean, who could blame them? You look sexy in that boring polo shirt..."

You grimaced once again, confusion flashing over your features. Drunk Rafe Cameron was definitely a sight to behold, and you couldn't believe he was still sitting there, almost hunched over the bar top, flirting with you and using the most corniest lines ever. "You're so tipsy it would be funny if this shift wouldn't have completely ruined me.." you muttered, adjusting your glasses as a distraction from the growing tension.

He chuckled at your response, finding your attempt to divert the conversation comical. He knew that his flirting was probably bordering on stupid and corny, but he didn't care. He was drunk, tired, and had nothing better to do. The growing tension between the two of you was palpable, and he could feel his heart rate picking up at the thought of doing something completely reckless in that moment.

"You look pretty ruined right now, dolly." He responded, a smirk playing on his lips as he took in your tired but still beautiful face. "But i think i can ruin you even more.."

"One of these days I'm actually gonna report you for harassment to my manager.." you chuckled dryly, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

He let out a light scoff at your comment, a smirk still playing on his lips. He knew that you didn't really mean your words, and the thought of you reporting in to your manager about him making passes on you was almost amusing.

"And what are you going to say, baby? That I'm a rich spoiled brat that you secretly find attractive? I'm sure your manager will be very shocked.."

"Better yet... Who said i found you attractive? you're just a country-club brat who has nothing better to do than to flirt with the help.." you teased, shaking your head in mock disbelief. Your eyes were fixed into his, the dim light from the lamps scattered in the country club bar making his features looks more soft and blurred, a rare occurrence for Rafe Cameron.

He chuckled at your response, his eyes sparkling with amusement and something else. It was almost like he was enjoying this little back and forth between the two of you, despite your words having a bite to them.

"Oh, baby.. You're the prettiest girl in this whole damn country club, and we both know it.." he said in a low tone, taking in your features under the soft light, admiring how beautiful you looked. He had always thought you were pretty, but seeing you under the dim lights like this was making his heart beat much faster.

Your eyes roamed over his face as he chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners when he laughed or grinned, the sight reminding you of JJ for a split moment. You pushed down the aching in your chest, letting the tension and lust drown out the buzzing of your heartbreak by holding onto the words he muttered softly. "You ran out of options already?" you asked, grinning slowly.

He was acutely aware of the way your eyes were studying his face, and the way you smiled despite trying to hold in a smirk. He could see the pain behind your eyes, the heartbreak etched on your features, but it only made him want you more. He could feel his body growing more and more hot, the idea of having you right there, on the bar top, was almost impossible to resist.

"Nah, baby. I have plenty of options.. You're just my favorite."

You scoffed, the sound breathy and slightly mocking "I feel honored.."

He chuckled at your response, a sly smile on his lips. He loved how you were able to match him whenever he got forward with you. The fact that you were so witty and feisty just fueled the fire in him even more.

"You should be." he replied, his voice low. He leaned in even closer, his eyes locked on yours. "You're not like the other girls I hook up with. You're different. Special."

You leaned on your elbows, resting them on the bar top as you tilted your head to the side, pretending to study his face intently "You hook up with other girls? And here i thought we were exclusive.." you murmured, narrowing your eyes in mock hurt.

He let out a low scoff, finding your mock hurt expression hilarious. But there was something about the fact that you were pretending to care about his past hookups that made him want to tease you even more.

"Baby, there's nothing exclusive here." he said, trying to keep his expression nonchalant even though he could feel his heart rate increasing at the idea of you actually caring about his hookups. "And you wanna know the number of girls who I've hooked up with in the last two weeks alone..?"

"That's right, nothing's exclusive about us... I just said i was using you to get over the fact that the guy I'm in love with has a girlfriend.." you whispered, your tone seductive despite the fact that your words were nothing along those lines. Rafe didn't seem deterred, matter of fact he seemed like he was waiting for you to say something like that, his smirk widening as you leaned closer to him.

Of course, the older boy still thinks about your little confession in his car the night you got spiked and he had to take you home to take care of you. About how in love with JJ you were, and how the dumb blonde wasn't gonna return your burning feelings cause he was dating the Carrera girl. If you asked him, it was a useless loss of time, especially since you were such a pretty girl and the world didn't narrow down to just one blonde surfer. But no one actually asked Rafe Cameron so..

His smirk widened even more as you leaned in closer to him, your tone seductive and alluring despite the words coming out of your mouth. He'd be lying if he said that he didn't wish he could replace the idiot that had your heart. Especially after the night he took care of you after you got spiked. He'd never admit it, but that entire night was permanently burned in his head, and the memory of you confessing your love to another guy hurt more than he cared to admit.

"Oh yeah? And who's the unlucky bastard you're trying to get over..?" he asked despite knowing the answer. Because if Rafe was anything, he was one masochistic bastard and he loved twisting the knife that stabbed him.

Your expression soured, even if it was for a hint, a small twitch in your features, exhaling softly as if there was a weight pressing down on your shoulders. You had felt it for a week or so now, barely even spending time with the pogues anymore due to the fact that JJ and Kie just started dating. "JJ.." you muttered, the name giving you a bittersweet taste as you spoke each syllable.

A pang of a thousand knives twisted in his stomach as you mentioned JJ's name, confirming his worst nightmare. He had heard it before, but hearing you say the words out loud and sober this time, was like a gut punch. He swallowed the sudden wave of jealousy and anger down, his heart aching as if someone was physically squeezing the life out of it. Which he instantly blamed on the alcohol, not wanting to dwell on any feelings tied to you for more than two seconds.

"JJ's a fucking idiot." he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a bitter sarcasm. "He's too stupid to see that you're way too good for him."

You scoffed bitterly, your eyes roaming over his features without realizing, tracing them from behind your glasses, still leaning casually on the bar top, faces close "You don't have to pretend like you care about my soap opera of a life.." you whispered softly, "I don't even wanna be a part of it.." you chuckled bitterly, your teeth digging into your bottom lip thoughtfully.

He let out a scoff at your words, his eyes locked on yours, noticing the way you were studying his features with your doe eyes. He wanted to reach out and run his thumb over your bottom lip, to soothe away the pain that was written all over your face. But he restrained himself, his hands gripping the edge of the bar top to keep himself in control.

"Who said I was pretending?" he asked quietly, his voice soft and sincere.

You let out another chuckle, this time the sound genuine yet low, your features twisting in soft amusement "I dunno.. The voices?" you mumbled, shifting the focus of your eyes between his. Left-right, right-left.

He couldn't help but feel a pang of something in his chest at the sound of your chuckle, a rare moment of genuine humor seeping through your witty facade. He chuckled softly at your comment, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You're as funny as always." he replied, his eyes fixed on yours, and how they were darting back and forth between his. He found himself getting lost in the way your eyes shimmered under the dim light of the bar, the thought of how easy it would be to just lean forward and kiss you.

"Being funny is just one of my greatest features..." you grinned smugly before adding with a low, suggestive undertone "Among other qualities, of course.."

He chuckled softly as you spoke confidently, a smirk spreading across his face at the suggestive undertone in your voice. His eyes darkening with a mixture of lust and amusement as he spoke.

"Oh, I know all about those other qualities." he said, his voice low and filled with a playful innuendo. "You know I have a weakness for smart, witty, hot bartender girls.." he added, leaning in closer to you, his eyes practically glued to your lips.

"Then you must be just as mentally ill as me, country-club.." you teased, your breath hitching as he continued to inch closer, his blue eyes fixed on your lips. Which were basically almost shredded to pieces given you nibbled nervously on them all day.

He chuckled at your response, his smirk widening at the hitch in your breath. He could see the way your lips were slightly chapped from your constant habit of biting them, and the sight only made him want to kiss them even more.

"You have no idea, dolly." he muttered under his breath, now only a few inches away from you. "I'm a little bit insane when it comes to you."

You scoffed, tilting your head to the side slightly, desperately holding onto the last bit of control seeing as he wasn't backing away from leaning in. "Are you usually this desperate and a little pathetic or is it just to be funny?" you asked, your shaky words carrying a smidge of condescension.

His smirk widened into a sly, crooked grin at your words, the slight edge of condescension in your tone only making him want to get closer.

"Only for you, baby." he replied, his voice low and seductive. He leaned in even closer, his breath hot against your ear as he added, "I'd be on my knees for you right now if I could.."

Your brows raised in surprise, your mind torn between the fact that he was just going along with the teasing because he was tipsy or if he was actually serious. Both options seemed thrilling enough, looking down at his lips for a few moments as he grinned, your voice coming out even more low and teasing "Oh really? The big, bad Rafe Cameron on his knees for someone..?"

His hands gripped the edge of the bartop even tighter, his heart rate picking up at your question. The image of him on his knees for you was all he could see in his mind now, his mind swimming with the thought of your hand wrapped in his hair as he ate you out.

"For you, doll? Always." he said, his voice low and rough. "I'd do anything to hear you say my name.."

You didn't know what it was, but every time Rafe seemed to flirt with you in a genuine manner your first response was nervous amusement. You weren't entirely sure when that changed from absolutely hating his invasive and unstable presence into actually thriving under his corny attentions. And you weren't sure if you liked it.

By the look on his face, you could only guess you were both thinking about the same thing, falling silent for a few moments as you stared at him, brows still raised in surprise and maybe even arousal. You lowered your head to laugh softly, taking his words at face value and assuming he was just trying to be funny, the only sounds around you both being the atmosphere of the country club still packed with patrons around you.

He watched the myriad of emotions fleeting over your face as he spoke, the amused shock and slight arousal in your expression fueling his desire to get even closer to you. He wanted to run his hands through your soft hair, to kiss that gorgeous laugh of yours, to press you against the bar and have his way with you in front of everyone in this god damned country club…

But he just stood there, his knuckles almost turning white as he held onto the edge of the bar, trying to keep himself in check as he watched you laugh softly.

He couldn't tear his eyes away from your face, the sound of your soft laughter like music to his ears. He was still struggling to rein in his desires, the image of you spread out in front of him, moaning his name filling his mind, already feeling how your thighs would threaten to close around his face as you got closer. The thought of having you right there, in front of everyone, in this crowded country club, was driving him feral with need.

He suddenly reached out, his fingers gently wrapping around your chin, tilting your face up to look at him. His touch was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the fiery lust in his eyes.

Your amused smile faltered slightly as he tilted your face up, your hands itching to adjust your glasses out of nervousness as you watched him expectantly before speaking up "What..?"

He chuckled lowly, noticing the way you almost reached up to adjust your glasses, a hint of nervousness in your eyes. He couldn't believe how beautiful you were, standing there, looking like the perfect mix of innocent and seductive all at once. It was driving him crazy.

"You really have no idea, do you dolly?" he whispered, his voice low and filled with a mix of hunger and tenderness. "You have no idea how much I want you. How badly I want to have you right now.." he added, his fingers tracing your jawline softly.

Your breathing hitched as if you had never been touched by a guy before, or even less- spoken to by one. Your fingers drummed on the counter nervously, exhaling as you studied his face intently, waiting for the punchline to land so you could laugh (like you always did when flirted with you). Maybe for the first time while interacting with Rafe you were genuinely flustered. You didn't know what it was in the air, and much to your dismay the punchline didn't come, leaving you leaning over the counter top staring up at him with wide eyes.

You blinked a couple of times, itching more than anything to have the power to reach your hand up and adjust your glasses, instead you just continued to look up at him as a small smile tugged at your lips "Yeah sure.." you mumbled, trying to sound teasing and sarcastic, unaffected by the neediness in his eyes and voice.

Rafe could almost feel his heart leaping out of his chest at your response, the sound of your voice making his chest fill with a mixture of desire and relief. He could sense the slight surprise and nervousness in your tone, and it made him feel a sense of power, knowing that he was able to make you flustered for once. He leaned in closer, his fingers still gently holding your chin, the need to have you more intense than ever, almost primal.

"Say it." he murmured, his voice low and demanding. "Say you need me too."

You were almost ready to actually comply for once in your life, more surprising given this was Rafe. And you'd never find yourself actually doing anything he'd ask you if it didn't entail you doing your fucking job. You breathed out as he leaned closer, ghosting his lips over yours as if the two of you weren't still in the country club bar, and as if you weren't an employee of the said club almost getting ready to kiss one of the highest paying patrons. You nodded vaguely, humming in response as you kept your eyes locked on his, the small hum coming out without even realizing.

The fact that you were actually responding, that he had you so close to actually giving in to him, was making Rafe feel like he was high on ecstasy. His mind was filled with nothing but thoughts of you, nothing but the need to feel your lips on his, your body against his, the taste and smell of you on his tongue. He watched as you nodded and hummed, the sound driving him even more insane.

"Say it." he repeated, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. "Say you need me. Say it, dammit."

Your eyes drifted down to his lips, watching them as intently as you were watching his eyes, trying to keep your voice as unaffected and steady as possible "I'm not-.. I'm not gonna say that.." you murmured, chuckling breathlessly.

He felt like he was going crazy, the way your eyes traced his lips, the sound of your laugh, the fact that you were so goddamned stubborn and defiant even in a moment like this. He wanted to grab your face and kiss you until you couldn't think straight, until you were begging for him to take you right there in front of the entire country club, until the only words you could speak was his goddamn name.

"Say it, baby. Tell me you need me."

Your heart raced in your chest like never before, now itching to just lean in a kiss him, consequences be damned. But you didn't. Not yet, although you knew next time you and Rafe were gonna be alone you definitely will. Your words were almost inaudible over the noises from the other kooks in the island club, and you weren't sure if you actually said the words 'i need you' outloud.

But before you could see his reaction to your words, you were startled to death by someone clearing their throat behind you. When you jumped back from Rafe, scrambling to turn around and face the person, you were praying to every god up there, that it wasn't your manager. And thankfully it wasn't. "Fuck! Sofia.. Can you stop-.. Sneaking up on me like that?" you whisper shouted at her in exasperation over being startled by your coworker standing behind you with a raised brow. "Seriously it doesn't get funnier each time you do it.."

Rafe was so close to just grabbing you, to just kissing the living daylights out of you until you admitted that you needed him, that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. But then the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you broke him out of the haze of lust that clouded his mind. He blinked a few times, coming back to reality and realizing that you had actually whispered the words he'd been so desperate to hear.

He turned to look at the person who had interrupted the moment, his irritation flaring up at the sight of your co-worker. Which he wasn't too proud to admit that he knew.... And even slept with in the past. Maybe he had a type now that he thought about it.

He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on the bar, his mind still a bit fuzzy from the alcohol and from the almost-kiss he had with you. He could still feel the ghost of your breath on his lips, and the sight of you blushing and stuttering as you spoke to your co-worker was not helping to calm down the ache in his jeans. He tried to focus on the conversation between the two of you, but his mind kept wandering back to the memory of your lips so close to his, and how badly he wanted to feel them on his again.

"Your shift ended 15 minutes ago.." stated Sofia, narrowing her eyes at you with an amused yet curious smirk.

Rafe raised an eyebrow at the comment from your co-worker, his mind quickly doing the math in his head. Your shift had ended 15 minutes ago, which meant that you were technically on free time now. Which he knew very well what could happen in 15 minutes....

A sly smirk spread across his face as he looked between you and your co-worker with a knowing gleam in his eyes.

You spared a fleeting gaze towards Rafe before looking back to Sofia and adjusting your glasses. God, you didn't even notice. And you were supposed to already be changed and out back waiting for JJ to pick you up and take you to the Chateau. Instead you were sitting there, flirting blatantly with Rafe. "I was just.. waiting for you.." you chuckled awkwardly at your coworker, reaching behind you to slowly untie the apron.

His smirk widened as he watched you fumble with the apron behind you, the thought of taking it off for you himself slowly creeping into his mind. He pushed it back though, knowing he had to be patient, that soon enough you would be alone with him, in his car, under him, moaning-. He mentally shook his head to clear his thoughts, focusing back on your conversation with your co-worker instead.

Sofia raised an eyebrow, looking between you and Rafe for a few moments, as if she was assessing what was going on between the two of you. She could probably tell from the tension in the air and the look in both of your eyes that there was something more than just ordering a drink happening. And the fact that you were still in your work uniform while Rafe was practically devouring you with his eyes didn't go unnoticed either.

"Well, you better get going then." She said with a smirk, a hint of a tease in her voice.

Your eyes drifted back to Rafe still leaning over the bar casually like he wasn't damn near making out with you right here, right now. What the hell were you doing? you had to ask yourself every time you were close to him. Which at the moment was a question without an answer. "Uh.. yeah." you muttered back, shifting in your spot while Rafe just simply stood up and walked back over to his table, where his friends were still talking and laughing loudly. Leaving all alone at the bar with Sofia, whose teasing look turned into a more curious one.

Rafe could feel your eyes on him as he walked back to his table, his friends instantly teasing and making jokes about his interaction with you. He couldn't help but shoot a glance back towards the bar, his gaze meeting yours for a brief moment before he looked away. He tried to focus on the conversation his friends were having, but his mind was still racing with thoughts of you, and how badly he wanted to just say 'f*ck it' and pull you away from your work and have his way with you right here on the bar.

Sofia leaned against the bar, crossing her arms and looking at you with a sly smile, her eyes flickering between you and Rafe. She had a feeling that something more than just a drink was going on between you and the infamous billionaire bad boy of the island. And she was damn well going to get it out of you.

"Sooo...." she drawled, her tone teasing and curious. "What's going on between you and Rafe Cameron, huh?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

You let out a nervous chuckle, grimacing in mock disgust at her question. "Me and Rafe? Nothing.. he was just ordering a drink, that's all.." you deflected, your grip on the apron in your hand tightening as you leaned on the counter of the bar by the sink.

Sofia chuckled, not buying your answer for a second. She knew damn well what she had seen and heard while you were talking to Rafe, and she was not going to let you get away without spilling the tea.

"Uh-huh, sure." she replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "So, the googly eyes, the leaning over the bar like he wanted to kiss your face off, that was all him just ordering a drink, right?" she teased with a smirk.

Her deduction made you pause almost visibly before you had the chance to deflect once again, growing more flustered, which surprised you because you were never flustered. Let alone from speaking with Rafe. "Well.. Yeah. He's just drunk.." you shrugged. "And also didn't you also hook up with him for a while last summer? He seems like he has a type for pogue bartenders.." you mumbled teasingly, still trying to deflect the attention from you onto her.

Sofia raised an eyebrow at your attempt to deflect the conversation onto her, but her smirk widened at the mention of her previous hook up with Rafe. She was not going to let that slip past her either. "Ouch, that was low." she chuckled, a hint of amusement in her voice.

She paused for a moment, studying your flushed expression closely before adding "Don't change the subject. We're talking about you and Rafe, not me."

"Aren't you gonna try and warn me and share your wisdom as the older coworker..? You know since you hooked up with him before?" you asked, leaning in teasingly as you felt yourself relax a little bit. "Not that I'm hooking up with him or anything along those lines.." you added hurriedly, shaking your head despite lying through your teeth.

Sofia raised an eyebrow at your question, a small chuckle escaping her lips as she leaned against the counter to match your position. She could tell that you were trying to deflect and avoid talking about the fact that you were most definitely getting close with Rafe. But she decided to play along for now, pretending to give into your distraction.

"Well.." she drawled, her tone a bit smug. "I can't blame you for wanting some of that billionaire bad boy D, but I gotta say.. He's not the most.. loyal. Or stable."

You grimaced once again, this time the gesture genuine as if the idea of committing to Rafe was actually ridiculous. "Trust me i don't want him to be loyal to me..." you trailed off before adding. "And besides i don't even like him.. He's snobby and annoying, the least good thing about him would be the D. If i was getting some.. Which I'm not."

Sofia chuckled at your response, shaking her head and crossing her arms over her chest. She knew damn well that you were lying, but she decided to play along for now, feigning skepticism.

"Right, right, of course. You don't like him, and you're definitely not getting any of that good D from him." she said with a smirk, her tone laden with sarcasm. "Seriously, you're as convincing as a brick wall."

Your shoulders dropped as she continued to call you out on your blatant lying. In some way maybe you had physical attraction to Rafe, given you slept with him three times already, but your mind drifted back to JJ and how pathetically in love you were with him while he had a whole girlfriend, and your mood soured even more. "All i can tell you is that even if i was hooking up with him it would be casual. Because you know.. I'm emotionally too attached to someone i can never have and it's eating me up inside for a week or so. Normal girlhood stuff.." you stated as you waved your hand in the air dismissively, your words cynical and sarcastic.

Sofia's smirk faded a bit as she picked up on the shift in your tone and demeanor. She could see the pain and bitterness in your eyes as you talked about being in love with someone you could never have and it tugged at her heart slightly. She knew exactly what it was like to be in that kind of situation, and it wasn't something she wished upon anybody.

"Ouch." she muttered, her voice quieter now. "Been there, done that. It sucks." she said softly before adding after a beat of silence. "You talking about JJ?"

Your eyes snapped to her instantly, brows furrowing as she shot the perfect target with one try. In such a casual way too, like it was obvious to everyone but JJ how in love with him you were. "What? Where is that deduction coming from? Why would your first guess be JJ?" you asked, a small frown pulling at your features.

Sofia simply raised an eyebrow, her gaze locking onto yours. She could see the surprise and defensiveness in your expression at her accurate guess, and it only confirmed what she already suspected. She took a moment to study you before responding, her voice gentle yet slightly amused.

"Well, I've seen the way you look at him." she stated matter-of-factly. "Like he hung the moon or some sappy bullshit like that. Plus, you're always hanging around him and pining like a lost puppy."

"Please tell me it's not that obvious.." you muttered, deadpanning before you groaned in something akin to frustration.

Sofia chuckled at your response, shaking her head slightly. "Sorry, sweetheart." she replied with a sympathetic tone. "I hate to break it to you, but it's pretty damn obvious. Anyone with eyes who's been around you and JJ together can tell you're head over heels for the guy. It's almost painful to watch, honestly."

"Imagine how i feel.." you muttered, your gaze dropping down on the floor, letting them roam over your beat up sneakers. "The only person not aware of the fact is the problem itself."

Sofia let out a small sigh at your words, her heart aching for you. She could only imagine the torment and frustration you must feel being in love with someone who was completely oblivious to your feelings, even someone as clueless and dense as JJ Maybank.

"God, that's rough." she said softly, her voice genuine. "I can't believe JJ hasn't picked up on it yet. The blind idiot."

You raised your gaze once again, feeling overcame by a myriad of emotions including disgust at yourself for moping over someone so obviously. Your expression hardened as you tried to feign nonchalance, words coming out lowly "Well even if he has, he's dating Kie.. So.." you trailed off, mind flashing with all the moments you witnessed between the two in the past week, chest aching just a smidge.

Sofia's heart ached at the sight of your hardening expression, knowing that you were trying so hard to hide the pain and disappointment you were feeling. She knew how much it killed you to see JJ with Kiara, and it was clear to her that it was like a knife twisting in the wound every time you saw them together.

"Yeah... that's the kicker, isn't it?" she said, her voice empathetic. "The fact that he'll probably never look past Kiara and see you for what you're really worth."

"Girl... That's really deep." amusement flashed over your face after a few moments, placing a hand on her shoulder as you snorted. "But i am hooking up with Rafe to bury my feelings in a pool of self hatred and guilt. So I'm coping pretty well if i do say so myself.." you murmured, grinning widely.

Sofia chuckled at your response, rolling her eyes at your sarcastic comment. She knew you were trying to deflect and make light of the situation.

"Oh, yeah. That's an extremely healthy way to deal with your feelings. Diving headfirst into a pool of hot, filthy self-hatred and guilt sex with a rich, unstable bad boy. Definitely the best way to handle your feelings for your best friend who's dating someone else." she teased, giving you a knowing smirk.

You pretended to sigh in disappointment as she made an accurate description of your situation, despite the self destructive tendencies of the whole ordeal. "When you put it like that you're taking the fun out of it and making it sound stupid and self destructive.." you rolled your eyes, adjusting your glasses.

Sofia laughed at your response, shaking her head in amusement. She knew damn well that you were taking this whole thing lighthearted, but she also knew that deep down, you were fully aware of how stupid and self-destructive your current situation was.

"Well, I'm sorry to rain on your parade, but sometimes the truth hurts, sweetheart. And the truth is, you're engaging in some self-destructive behavior that'll probably end badly if you keep it up."

You shrugged dismissively despite knowing that she was in fact right. And that you probably could've chosen someone else to hook up with to drown out your feelings. Because looking at it right now, if the pogues found out you could lose all of them. But who were you, if not the worst person at making choices and ruining your life? You held it close to your heart to live up to the title everyday.

"Well my shift ended unfortunately and i have to cut this conversation short.." you mumbled in mock disappointment, desperately wanting to end the conversation since you managed to sound more and more stupid as words kept getting exchanged. "Instead of being a bartender you should look into the vacant spot for a psychologist at the club. I'm sure they'll hire you, babes.. These kooks definitely need someone to deal with their unstableness and alcoholism from an young age." you patted her shoulder, walking past her from behind the bar, heading towards the employee locker to get changed out of your uniform and finally be done with the day.

Sofia rolled her eyes at your sarcastic comment, shaking her head slightly. She knew you were deflecting once again, trying to cover up the fact that deep down, you were well aware of the self-destructive nature of your choices. But she also knew better than to push the issue further.

"Yeah, yeah. Go get changed, smartass. Try not to trip on your self-sabotage on the way out. And I'll think about the psychologist thing." she replied, a smirk playing on her lips.

As you walked away towards the employee locker to change, Sofia watched you go, a mixture of concern and mild annoyance on her face. She knew you were good at hiding your feelings behind sarcasm and witty comments, but she couldn't help but feel a twinge of worry for you. She wondered if this whole thing with Rafe was just a coping mechanism for the pain of loving someone you believed you could never have. But she decided to let it go for now, shaking her head as she turned to continue cleaning up behind the bar.

Meanwhile, as you changed out of your work uniform and got ready to leave, your mind was swirling with thoughts and emotions, but the main thing on your mind was your complicated relationship with Rafe. You could feel the weight of the whole situation pressing down on you, and you couldn't help but wonder if Sofia was right. Was this all just another form of self-destructive behavior? Were you really fooling yourself into believing that this casual hook up with Rafe would help you deal with your feelings for JJ? As you pondered over these questions, the sounds of the country club slowly faded into the background.

You stood at the back, looking down at your phone, waiting for JJ to reply to your texts and let you know that he was in fact coming to pick you up from the club like he promised yesterday. Which never happened. You fidgeted with the hoodie string, chewing down on the small plastic part and scrolling through your phone for fifteen minutes before he actually texted you. Instead of the usual 'on my way!' followed by a string of dumb excuses of why he was late came a text that quite frankly sent your feelings plummeting down even more. Which honestly, were in such a state that you were wondering when they were gonna reach the rock bottom of the hole you were in.

Today 9:58 pm

'Sorry date with kie got stretched, currently at the wreck, still eating :( u can take the bus right?'

Blared your phone back at you. You wanted to say typical JJ but this wasn't the case. He was late but he never pulled stunts like these before. Having a girlfriend wasn't the problem here, him thinking he could manage to go on a date with his and then also pick you up as he promised was. He could've let you know, and then maybe you could ask to leave early to catch the last bus, but he didn't and now you were left to walk to the Chateau. Which you weren't even sure you wanted to do anymore.

Your heart sank as you read the text from JJ, disappointment and frustration washing over you in waves. Of course, he would choose his girlfriend over you. But what stung even more was the fact that he hadn't even bothered to let you know in advance. And now, you were left with the prospect of having to walk all the way back to the Chateau because he was busy on a date with Kiara.

You felt a pang of hurt in your chest as you sighed, putting on your backpack and slinging it over your slumped shoulders.

You reached into the pocket of your hoodie, the anger and exhaustion from the shift weighing down on you considerably, dropping down to sit on the curb of the small sidewalk behind the country club. You pulled out the pack of cigarettes, plucking one and lighting it almost too desperately, inhaling as soon as the end of it burned a dull orange. Calling your mom to come pick you up was a no go because 1. she was probably drunk, hooking up with her boyfriend and therefore couldn't drive and 2. she simply wouldn't want to. Because she was your mom and there a few things in this world she wanted to do, which unfortunately and due to circumstances that you didn't understand, didn't include you.

Now was walking all that bad? No. You had your earphones and enough music on your phone to get you through the walk, but there was a small storm warning for tonight and in general walking home at night sober terrified you. You never understood how you could do it while being drunk, especially as a girl. Maybe you should keep a small flask of vodka in your backpack for times like these. But you'd just solidify your own alcoholic tendencies, and you weren't quite ready to be aware of them yet. So, no flask for the time being.

You sat on the curb, letting out a cloud of smoke as you exhaled slowly, the anger and disappointment still hanging heavy in your chest. You were considering your options. The walk back to the Chateau was doable, but it would take a while, and the thought of walking through the darkness on your own didn't sit well with you. Especially with the storm warning. You could call an Uber, but you didn't have the spare cash for that, and you'd already spent most of your paycheck on weed earlier. Spending the tips you got today on an Uber was basically throwing money away.

You took another puff of the cigarette, letting the smoke fill your lungs and numb your emotions for a moment. As you exhaled, you couldn't help but wonder if this was what your life had been reduced to. A series of bad decisions and unhealthy coping mechanisms. You knew you were being hard on yourself, but in this moment, it was hard not to be. You could hear the faint sounds of laughter and chatter from inside the country club, the stark contrast to your lonely situation only making you feel more isolated and alone.

The sound of laughter and chatter from the inside of the country club only seemed to highlight the sense of isolation you felt. You felt a pang of loneliness. This life was not where you wanted to be. You wanted to be happy and carefree like everyone inside the club. You wanted to be carefree like JJ. The thought of him enjoying his date while you were out here smoking away your pain only added fuel to the fire of self-pity. You took another long drag of the cigarette, inhaling deeply, the smoke filling your lungs and calming your emotions.

After the long walk to the chateau in which you fortunately didn't get stabbed and mugged to death, you reached the front door, taking out your earphones and stopping the music that was blaring inside them. Instantly you were met with the faint sounds of the pogues inside. Your friends were probably tipsy and judging by Kiara's car sitting parked outside, JJ and Kie were inside too. The thought alone was enough to bring your mood back to the state it was before you started walking here, and you found yourself hesitating even if it was for a few moments, rethinking the decision of going inside.

As you stood outside the front door of the Chateau, you could faintly hear the voices of your friends inside, the sound of their laughter and chatter floating through the windows. You paused for a moment, the thought of seeing JJ and Kiara together bringing back the pang of hurt and disappointment you felt earlier. Part of you wanted to turn around and go back the way you came, but you knew that was just cowardice talking, and the stubborn, masochistic side of you won over.

You mentally prepared yourself for the possibility of seeing JJ and Kiara together, a sight that you knew would only add to your pain. With a deep breath, you pushed open the door and walked inside, trying to appear nonchalant as you entered. John B and Pope were playing beer pong, Sarah watching intently by her boyfriend's side and the sight made you smile. And then your eyes shifted to the couch, where JJ and Kie were snuggled up next to each other, completely unaware of what was happening around them and the small smile dropped instantly, probably comically even. You had to take a deep breath and step further into the living room, making your presence known since they didn't hear the door opening due to the music playing from a speaker next to Pope's feet.

As you walked further into the living room, the sight of JJ and Kiara snuggled up together on the couch sent a jolt of pain through your chest, but you tried your best to brush it off and act nonchalant.

Your entrance into the room went mostly unnoticed at first, as most of the Pogues were focused on the game of beer pong happening between John B and Pope. It wasn't until you stepped closer, your presence finally breaking through the haze of music and laughter, that JJ and Kiara finally turned their attention towards you.

JJ's eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of you, a mixture of surprise and guilt briefly flashing across his face. He could see the disappointment and hurt in your expression, even if you were trying to hide it. But Kiara, completely oblivious to the tension, immediately perked up at your arrival.

"Hey you!" Kiara exclaimed, her voice cheerful and loud. "Where were you? We were wondering when you'd show up!"

You stood in the middle of the living room awkwardly, your hand stopping mid way as you were about to take your backpack off, when Kie's voice stunned you for a second. Your eyes drifted from hers to JJ's as you spoke up, a tight smile gracing your lips clumsily "Yeah.. I had to walk home. The last bus from the country club leaves at 9 and i finished at 9:30.."

JJ's eyes narrowed slightly as you spoke, a pang of guilt shooting through him. He knew damn well that he was the reason you had to walk all the way back here, instead of him picking you up like he promised.

But, JJ being the cocky idiot in this whole situation just leaned back against the sofa, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Damn, that sucks.” He said, his nonchalant tone only adding more salt to your wound. “Guess you should've left work a bit earlier then, huh?"

Your stomach twisted as he spoke teasingly and casually, no hint of remorse playing over his handsome features, his hand draped over the couch and playing with a strand of Kie's hair like he had no care in the world. Like you didn't just walk here all the way across the island, in the dark with a storm warning looming over your head. Your fingers finally wrapped around the backpack strap, sliding it off your shoulders and dropping it by the coffee table in front of the couch, eyes narrowed significantly. 'Not even a sorry?' you asked yourself internally as slumped on one of the lawn chairs in front of the couch, sighing. "Guess i should've.. But i wasn't supposed to take the bus, was i?" you asked, the question meant to subtly make a jab at JJ breaking his promise.

JJ felt a pang of guilt at the subtle jab in your question, even though his expression remained deceptively calm and nonchalant. He knew exactly what you were hinting at, and he knew he had messed up by forgetting about his promise to pick you up from work.

He continued to play with Kiara's hair, his movements a little more tense than before, the teasing smirk still plastered on his face.

"Yeah well, plans change." He said with a shrug, his gaze flickering from you to Kiara, feigning innocence.

Your brows raised a bit, your disbelief at his audacity almost bleeding out onto your expression before you managed to school it. You weren't gonna make a scene, you kept repeating to yourself like a mantra, jealousy and anger bubbling up in your stomach and make it twist like it would usually before a test. Except you weren't at school, you were sitting in front of your best friends, who seemingly had a great time on their date at your expense. You tried to chuckle casually, adjusting your glasses as you spoke after a few moments.

"I'm assuming your date went well, right?" you asked, pointing to the two of them sitting in front of you, your smile not reaching your eyes quite fully.

JJ could see the anger and jealousy in your eyes, the effort it was taking you to keep it hidden only making him feel guiltier. But he was never one to admit his faults easily, especially not in front of other people. Instead, he just nodded his head, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Yea, it was pretty fun." He said nonchalant, his hand still playing with Kiara's hair. Kiara chimed in as well, completely oblivious to the tension in the room.

"It was great! We went to the Wreck and then took a walk on the beach." She said cheerfully.

You nodded as if you actually cared about the details of their stupid date, feeling like there was cement slowly getting poured over your neurons, your brain desperately trying to shut itself out from feeling the regret you were feeling at not just making a beeline for your house. Your legs ached, the heel of your foot feeling like it was on fire from standing up all day without sitting down more than ten minutes, you had barely anything to eat and you were overall just in a shitty mood. You probably looked like you needed a shower, smelled like it too.

But still, that didn't deter you, you were not gonna falter in the sight of exhaustion and bitterness, instead choosing to chew on your already shredded bottom lip as you averted your gaze for just a little. "I'm sure it went great, JJ's really good at grand gestures when it means he gets to ignore the little ones.." you mumbled, hoping the last part wasn't audible over the music playing from the speaker.

The comment caught JJ's attention and his hand paused in Kiara's hair, his expression faltering for a brief second before he quickly concealed it. He could feel the bite in your words, the hidden accusation that he was more willing to go all out for Kiara than put in effort for you. It stung, but he quickly composed himself, continuing to play with Kiara's hair.

"Hey, I do the big and the small gestures, thank you very much." He shot back, trying to keep his voice light and unbothered, even though he knew damn well you had a point.

"I'm sure you do." you replied in a cheerful tone that didn't quite match your tight expression, waving your hand in the air as you spoke, "I mean.. I didn't really get to congratulate you guys officially. And it's been a week already." you chuckled, looking between them with yet another tense smile as your gaze settled on Kiara "Dude, you're seriously so lucky you have JJ's full attention and.. dedication to put in the effort."

Kiara giggled, blissfully unaware of the underlying tension between you and JJ. She didn't pick up your sarcastic tone or the hidden jab in your words. She just saw it as harmless teasing between friends, and she responded with her usual cheerfulness.

"I know, right?" She said, looking lovingly up at JJ. "I'm damn lucky."

JJ's fingers continued tangling in Kiara's hair, his expression still casual, but there was a hint of discomfort in his eyes as he glanced at you.

The conversation continued, with Kiara blissfully rambling on about their date and their plans for the future while JJ pretended to listen intently, his mind elsewhere. He could feel the discomfort in the air, the tension between you and him like a thick cloud hanging over them. He couldn't help but steal glances at you, silently begging you to drop the act and just confront him, but you stayed silent, continuing to feign nonchalant banter with Kiara.

John B and Pope, meanwhile, seemed blissfully unaware of the tension, their attention solely focused on the beer pong game in front of them.

The conversation between Kiara, you, and JJ continued to flow, the awkward tension in the air almost palpable. Kiara continued to babble about their date and their plans for the future, while JJ just nodded along half-heartedly, his hand still running through Kiara's hair. John B and Pope were too drunk to notice the tension, still deeply absorbed in their game of beer pong, their laughter and banter filling the room.

Eventually, Kiara got up, excusing herself to the bathroom, leaving you and JJ alone on the couches for the first time since you arrived.

The moment Kiara disappeared, the silence between you and JJ became deafening. It was as if a spotlight was suddenly shining on the two of you, highlighting the tension and the unspoken words. He couldn't bring himself to look at you, his eyes still glued to the floor, his hands clenching and unclenching nervously in his lap.

After a few moments, he finally spoke up, his voice a low murmur.

"You're mad at me, aren't you?"

Your eyes were fixed on his face, trying to intimidate him with your intense gaze and it worked since he spoke up first. Giving you the chance to respond instead of addressing the fact that you were mad, rightfully so. "Should i be mad at you? It's not your duty to pick me up and drop me places." you spoke casually before adding "That's for Kie.." you whispered, a small mocking smile tugging at your lips.

JJ clenched his jaw, a mixture of annoyance and guilt flashing across his face. He knew your words were meant as a subtle dig, and it stung. The mention of Kiara in the context of picking you up and dropping you off sent a pang of guilt through him, but he refused to let it show. He met your gaze with a defiant glare, his voice firm and defensive.

"I promised I'd pick you up," he bit out, his hands clenching into fists at his sides.

You rolled your eyes, your façade dropping slightly as he stated the obvious thing, looking out to the side at the dark window, fingers playing with the frame of your glasses. "Right.. don't worry your pretty little head about it. I had a blast walking here at night with a storm warning interrupting my music every ten minutes.."

JJ felt a wave of guilt wash over him as you described your walk home, the storm warning and the danger that had come with it. His jaw clenched tighter, his eyes locking on your face as you looked out the window, his heart starting to pound in his chest. His own words, cocky and nonchalant, played back in his head, making him feel like a total jackass.

He didn't respond at first, his voice quiet when he spoke up again, his voice tinged with guilt.

"Why... why didn't you just call an Uber..?"

Your eyes snapped back to his face, brows furrowing in barely contained anger. God, you were so ready to snap. "Because i don't have the money, blondie. Not like your girlfriend. She can just call an Uber or get in her car and go places while all i have in my name is a stupid, old skateboard. Which by the way, i didn't have with me because i took the bus this morning. And then you promised to pick me up, so i didn't bring with me to work."

JJ's jaw clenched as you snapped at him, your words hitting every guilt button he had for the last hour. His cocky demeanor crumbled for a split second, guilt flashing across his face before it was quickly concealed. He ran a hand through his hair, avoiding your gaze as you spoke about your lack of money and means of transportation.

He had never really thought about the difference in your and Kiara's financial situations before, and the realization made him feel like the biggest douchebag.

"I'm.. sorry," he mumbled.

He had never realized the disparity between your financial situations and Kiara's. The fact that you had to rely on the pogues' Twinkie for rides and couldn't simply call an Uber or hop in your own car like Kiara, who had the financial means to do so. And he had completely overlooked the fact that you had even taken the bus instead of bringing your skateboard just because he promised to pick you up.

Seeing how upset it made you, how much it pissed you off, made him feel like a complete and utterly thoughtless jackass. He felt guilty as hell.

Which you didn't care about. You could see the guilt written all over his face but the anger coursing through you was way too strong to let him off the hook and accept his apology. Instead you just grunted in acknowledgement, looking to the side once again as you fidgeted with the small charms attached to your phone case, trying to relax your tense shoulders and expression.

JJ clenched his jaw, watching your reaction with a heavy heart. He could see the anger still burning in your eyes and the way you avoided his gaze as you fidgeted with the charms on your phone case. He wanted to reach out, to try and make amends, but he knew damn well that it was too early. You weren't ready to listen, let alone accept his apology.

He shifted on his seat, his muscles taut with tension, and swallowed hard.

".. are you really that pissed at me..?" He asked, his voice low.

"I'm just exhausted from work JJ." you mumbled, not looking at him and still choosing not to fully acknowledge him.

JJ's heart sank further at your response. The exhaustion in your voice was palpable, and it only added to the weight of his guilt. He knew damn well that he was partially to blame for your weariness. You'd taken the bus to work instead of bringing your skateboard just because he promised to pick you up. And now, instead of keeping his word, he'd completely neglected you to have a stupid date with Kiara.

He clenched his jaw, his guilt-ridden expression turning into frustration when you continued to avoid his gaze.

He let out a frustrated huff, his annoyance at your cold demeanor starting to get to him. He knew he didn't deserve for you to be all sweet and forgiving, but he wished you'd at least look at him and not just avoid his gaze like he was some sort of leper.

He leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs as he tried to catch your eye.