summary: after returning home from a mission, Leon seems a little different When you find out Ada was involved, old insecurities start creeping back in, and you try to become the perfect wife before he can realize you were never enough... but Leon notices everything.
warnings: re9!Leon x reader, no use of y/n, age gap relationship, younger wife!reader, mentions of Ada Wong, insecurity, jealousy, emotional hurt/comfort, reader comparing herself to Ada, fear of abandonment, Leon being emotionally constipated but deeply in love, marriage, established relationship, no Ada hate, soft angst, comfort, fluff, kissing, implied intimacy but no explicit smut, english is not the writers first language.
wc: 6.1k.
author’s note: this is kind of the reversed version of “Hold me where it hurts”, requested by my dear anon 🤎, where instead of Leon being the one who breaks down, reader is the one quietly falling apart and trying to prove she’s enough for him. I loved the idea of exploring Ada without turning it into hate. I wanted to try to also write more about the background reader and Leon have.
The first time Leon saw you, you were behind the counter of a small restaurant you worked at back then, moving between tables with that effortless kind of grace you had. It wasn’t a particularly fancy place, nor one of those spots where people dressed up as if they had something to prove, but it had warm lighting at night, low music, dark wooden tables, and a quiet atmosphere.
Leon had gone there because Sherry had recommended it.
Truthfully, she had been insisting for weeks that he needed to get out of the house, even if it was just to have a decent dinner and pretend, for an hour, that he was a normal person. He had told her he didn’t have time, that he was tired, that anything would do as long as he could eat in silence and leave without having to talk much to anyone. Sherry, as always, ignored half of his excuses and sent him the address anyway.
“Just go,” she had told him over the phone. “Don’t act like you’re about to get married. You just have to eat dinner.”
Leon had no idea then how ironic that would end up sounding.
He arrived late, wearing a dark jacket and the kind of exhaustion on his face that already seemed to be part of him. He sat at a table near the wall, not too far from the entrance, and glanced around out of pure instinct.
And then you appeared.
You didn’t do anything special. There was no movie-like moment, no sudden silence, none of that. You simply walked over with a small notepad in your hand and a kind smile. Something strange happened in Leon’s chest, something so quiet he could almost pretend it had been nothing.
You were young, much younger than him, and maybe that was why, at first, he tried to look away too quickly. Not because he saw you as a girl, not at all. You were a grown woman, sure in the way you moved, with the kind of beauty that needed no explanation. You had that sort of attractiveness that didn’t depend only on your body or your face, even though both would have been more than enough to make anyone turn their head. It was also the way you carried yourself. The soft fall of your hair, the way your uniform suited you far better than it was probably meant to, the pretty glow the lamps gave your skin, the sweet curve of your mouth when you smiled without forcing it.
There were beautiful women everywhere. Leon knew that. He had spent half his life walking in and out of cities, airports, government offices, hotels, missions where beauty was sometimes a mask and other times a threat. But there was something different about you. You were one of those people who seemed to fill the space around them without trying. Soft, feminine, warm, a clean kind of presence.
“Good evening,” you said, with a voice that stayed tucked somewhere in his memory before he even knew your name. “Do you know what you’d like to drink?”
Leon took a second to answer.
“Water is fine,” he replied, lowering his gaze to the menu as if there was anything on it more interesting than you. “Thank you.”
You smiled a little, as if his seriousness amused you, and walked back toward the counter without giving it much importance. But Leon did. He stayed there, staring at the menu without reading it, listening to your voice in the background as you spoke to other customers, the soft little laugh that slipped out when you were talking with your coworkers, the patience in the way you repeated things to people who weren’t listening properly. You weren’t only kind because it was your job. There was a real sweetness in you, a lovely sort of politeness, a way of treating people that didn’t seem rehearsed.
When he left the restaurant that night, he left a tip far too generous and told himself he wouldn’t come back.
He came back three days later.
Then again the following week.
And then on a Friday, when he wasn’t even hungry.
At first, you thought of him as just another customer. An attractive man, yes, the kind you remembered even after serving thirty people in one night, but also too reserved for you to think there could be anything behind it. Leon didn’t speak much, almost always ordered the same thing, and never made uncomfortable comments. He never looked at you in that dirty way some men did, confusing being served with being entitled to something more.
As the weeks passed, you started recognizing him before he had fully stepped inside. The dark jacket, the slightly messy blond hair, the tired eyes… You smiled at him with a little more confidence each time, and Leon, who had survived things others couldn’t even imagine, started feeling ridiculously weak at something as simple as seeing you brighten a little when you saw him.
“The usual?” you asked him one night, resting a hand on the back of the chair across from him.
Leon looked up.
“Am I already that predictable?”
“A little,” you admitted, and your smile widened just enough to make his heart stumble. “But I don’t mean it as a bad thing.”
He let out a low laugh, brief and almost rusty, as if he didn’t use it much.
“Then yes. The usual.”
From there, everything began moving forward with a beautiful kind of slowness. Leon wasn’t an impulsive man when it came to good things. With you, he was clumsy in a quiet way, careful to the point of seeming distant, as if every step toward you had to be measured twice so he wouldn’t scare you, hurt you, or drag you into a life he didn’t always know how to endure himself.
You, on the other hand, had a different kind of courage. You weren’t naive. Leon understood that quickly. You were sweet, yes, and there was a tenderness in you that felt almost unfamiliar to him, but you weren’t fragile in the way people often imagined beautiful women to be. You had character. You knew how to keep smiling in the middle of an awful shift, how to answer politely when someone tried to be too clever, how to get home late and wake up early the next day without turning it into a tragedy. There was a maturity in you that had nothing to do with age, and maybe that was what finally brought him down.
One night, when you were closing up and the restaurant had emptied out, Leon offered to walk you to your car.
He didn’t say it in a strange way. He was just standing there by the door, hands in the pockets of his jacket, wearing that calm expression that always seemed to be hiding too many things.
“It’s late,” he said, blushing a little. “I can wait until you’re out.”
You looked at him with a mix of amusement and curiosity.
“Is that something you do with all waitresses or just with me?”
Leon lowered his eyes for a second, and it was the first time you saw him truly uncomfortable.
“J-just with you.”
“Then you can wait,” you murmured. “But don’t make that serious face. You look like you’re here to arrest me.”
He laughed again, and that time it lasted a little longer.
That was how it all began. With small conversations by the restaurant door, walks to your car, Leon asking whether you had gotten home safely and you replying with a ridiculous photo of your bedroom ceiling just to make him smile, with the first time you saw him outside that place and realized he was even more handsome when he wasn’t trying to hide behind a table and a glass of water.
Leon took his time before kissing you, much longer than you expected.
Not because he didn’t want to. You could tell by the way he looked at you when he thought you were distracted, by the care with which he opened the car door for you, by the way he stayed close without touching you too much, as if he was always about to break some rule he had made for himself. But Leon was like that. There was something in him that held back even when he wanted you. A part of him that seemed to repeat that you were too young, too beautiful, too clean for him, that he had no right to step into your life just because, for the first time in years, he had found someone who made him want to stay.
You were the one who finally broke that distance.
It had been a cold night, one of those nights where you had left the restaurant with flushed cheeks and your coat half-buttoned. Leon had walked you to your car like he had so many times before, and you had stayed there, standing in front of him, pretending to look for your keys in your bag even though you had them in your hand.
“Leon,” you said at last, lifting your eyes to his, “are you ever going to kiss me, or do I need to make an appointment?”
The expression on his face would have been funny if it hadn’t made your heart ache so much.
For a second, he seemed not to know what to do with his hands, with his mouth, with that whole body so used to reacting to danger but not to a woman looking at him like she wanted him. Then he let out a slow breath, took a step toward you, and touched your face with a gentleness that almost undid you before the kiss.
“I’ve been trying not to,” he confessed, smiling faintly.
And then he kissed you.
It wasn’t a perfect movie kiss. It was better. Slow, restrained at first, as if he was still giving himself one last chance to stop. But when your fingers closed around the front of his jacket and you leaned a little closer, something in him gave way. He kissed you deeper, with a quiet need he had been keeping under his skin for weeks, and you felt the whole world shrink around the two of you: the cold, the car, the empty street, everything disappearing under the warm weight of his mouth against yours.
After that, Leon tried to take things slowly, but it didn’t always work. Because Leon, no matter how much he insisted you should take your time, had started looking at you as if he had found a home in a person, and you, who at first had kept telling yourself that this man was too old, too serious, too complicated, began to love every part of him. The beautiful ones and the difficult ones.
With time, he told you more, though not all at once. First, he talked about his job in a vague way, with measured explanations and silences in between. Then came names, missions, losses. Raccoon City appeared in his mouth one night like an old wound that had never fully closed. You didn’t say anything at first. You only took his hand under the table and let him speak as far as he could.
He expected fear, maybe judgment, or that uncomfortable look people wore when they didn’t know what to do with someone else’s pain. But you looked at him with bright eyes and a strange calm.
“I’m so sorry you had to live through that,” you whispered.
Leon swallowed. He squeezed your hand carefully.
Because no one stayed with Leon easily. People came in and out of his life, pushed by orders, missions, accidents, tragedies. Some stayed in his memory, others in his guilt, but you stayed in a different way. You stayed by making him dinner when he came home exhausted, by learning not to touch him suddenly when he was too deeply asleep, by making him laugh on days when he thought nothing could make him feel better.
And Leon fell in love with you with an intensity that scared him.
He told you for the first time in his apartment, on an ordinary night, while the two of you were in the kitchen. You were wearing one of his shirts, your hair down, your bare feet against the cold floor. You were tasting a sauce with a spoon and turned around to ask him whether it needed salt, completely unaware of the way he had been staring at you.
“What?” you asked, smiling. “Is it bad?”
Leon slowly shook his head.
“I love you,” he murmured, looking you in the eyes.
The spoon stayed suspended in your hand.
“You’re telling me this now? While I’m making a horrible sauce?” you said, offended by the fact that he had chosen to confess while you were in a very unflattering outfit.
“It’s not horrible,” he said, laughing at the weight you had lifted from his shoulders, though his eyes were still serious. “I love you,” he repeated.
And that time, you crossed the kitchen to kiss him with sauce on your hands and your heart beating so hard that he had to hold you against his chest to calm you down.
The age difference had always been there, though Leon never used it to make you feel small. In fact, it was almost the opposite. Sometimes it worried him too much. There were moments when you noticed him watching you with that shadow in his eyes, especially when you went out with people your age or when someone made a clumsy comment about how young you were compared to him. You usually brushed it off, telling him you weren’t a child, that you knew exactly who you were with, that you didn’t need anyone deciding what kind of life you were allowed to choose.
But there was a part of you that felt that difference too.
Leon cared for you with a quiet devotion: he listened to you, respected you, wanted you in a way that made you feel beautiful without ever turning you into an object. But sometimes, in the middle of a dinner with his acquaintances or when you heard names that belonged to his past, you realized there were entire years of Leon’s life you had never known, people who had marked him long before you walked into that restaurant with a smile.
And among all those names, Ada Wong had always held a strange place.
Leon never hid her from you. The first time he mentioned her, you still didn’t know what to do with that name. Sherry was at your house that afternoon, sitting cross-legged on the couch while you served her coffee. By then, Sherry and you had already become friends in a natural way, as if you had known each other your whole lives. She loved you because you were good for Leon, because you made him more human, more present, less closed off inside himself. You loved her because there was a strong kind of sweetness in her, a way of understanding him without judging him that made you feel less alone when he left on missions and the house became too big.
It was Sherry who let the name slip almost without meaning to.
She didn’t say anything bad, only a reference to the past, to a situation you didn’t fully understand and that Leon cut short with a quick look. Not angry, but uncomfortable.
And you noticed.
That night, after Sherry left and the house went quiet, you asked him who she was. Leon stayed still for a moment, as if deciding how much he could say without hurting you.
“Someone from my past,” he answered, dry and clipped.
“That could mean a lot of things,” you said, a knot growing in your stomach.
He sighed, resting his elbows on his knees. He told you enough for you to understand that Ada wasn’t an ex in the normal sense of the word, nor just a simple partner, nor a clean enemy. It was something much more complicated: a dangerous woman, impossible to read completely. Someone who had appeared and disappeared from his life at moments when everything else was falling apart too. Someone he had shared things with that couldn’t be reduced to an easy label.
“Did you love her?” you asked, your voice lower than you meant it to be, the words leaving your throat as if they were made of needles.
Leon took a while to answer.
“I thought I did,” he said at last. “Or maybe I wanted to believe I did. For a long time, Ada was… complicated.”
You nodded, looking down at your hands. Leon turned toward you as soon as he saw your face change.
“Hey. Look at me.”
You did, though it was hard.
“That was before you.”
It was a simple sentence, but it didn’t fully calm you. Because “before you” didn’t always mean “less important than you.” Sometimes the past had deeper roots precisely because it had survived time, distance, and wounds. And you, with all your youth, your pretty skin, your desired body, and your ability to make Leon smile in the kitchen, suddenly felt small beside a woman who seemed to belong to some legendary part of his life.
Ada Wong wasn’t a waitress he had met by chance.
Ada had been there in the middle of horror, danger, and impossible decisions. She knew the Leon who held guns, the Leon who bled. You, however, knew the Leon who left his keys in the same bowl when he came home, the one who fell asleep on the couch with the TV still on, the one who kissed your forehead in the morning before leaving. And even though that intimacy was beautiful, your cruel mind sometimes tried to convince you it was less exciting.
Leon, of course, tried to reassure you.
“I’m not with her,” he said. “I’m with you.”
“I know,” you replied, your tone bitter.
“No, you don’t,” he murmured, moving closer. “If you did, you wouldn’t be looking at me like that.”
You tried to smile.
You didn’t think about it every day. You didn’t go through life distrusting him or imagining betrayals where there were none. Leon made you feel loved in a real, steady, mature way. But Ada was an elegant shadow in the corner of your mind, a doubt that appeared at the worst moments. When Leon received a call and grew serious, or when Sherry mentioned something from the past and you smiled as if you didn’t care, even though inside you were trying to fit pieces together from a story you hadn’t been part of.
Still, the relationship kept growing.
Leon proposed almost two years after that first kiss by your car. It wasn’t a dramatic proposal. He did it at home, on a rainy morning, while you were sitting in bed with a mug between your hands and your hair messy over your shoulders. You had been talking about the future for days.
He appeared in the bedroom doorway with an expression far too serious.
“What did you do?” you asked, because Leon, with that face, always looked like he was about to confess he had broken something or had to leave the country.
“Nothing bad.”
“That’s exactly what someone who did something bad would say,” you said, raising one eyebrow.
Leon slowly walked over and sat beside you. For a moment, he said nothing. He only looked at you in that way you already knew, as if he was still surprised to find you there, in his bed, in his life, in a place where no one was forcing you to stay.
Then he took a small box out of his pocket.
“You don’t have to answer now,” he said quickly, and the nervous rush in his voice broke your heart a little. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. I know this is a lot. I know my life isn’t simple, and neither am I. There are things I can’t promise you, and I hate that. I hate that I can’t give you a normal life every day. But I love you. I love you in a way I didn’t know I could still love someone. And if one day you decide you want to build a life with me, really, with everything that means, I want you to know I already want that life with you.”
You brought a hand to your mouth.
Leon opened the box. The ring was beautiful, delicate, clearly chosen with care. It wasn’t showy, but it was special.
And you cried, nodding while wiping away your tears. Leon let out a choked laugh when he saw you nod before you could even speak, and when you finally said yes, he kissed you as if something he had believed lost for years had been handed back to him.
The wedding was small.
Sherry cried more than she wanted to admit, and some of Leon’s friends attended with an almost solemn kind of discretion, aware that for him, this was much more than getting married. It was allowing himself to have something good without constantly preparing to lose it.
You looked beautiful.
Leon knew it before he even saw you walking toward him. He knew it from the way everyone turned, from the soft silence that fell over the room, from the expression on Sherry’s face as she brought a hand to her chest. But when he saw you, really saw you, he went still.
You wore a simple dress that was perfect for you, one that shaped your figure with a delicacy that didn’t need to exaggerate anything. Your hair fell the way you liked it, your skin was glowing, your eyes bright with nerves and emotion. You smelled like that perfume of yours Leon would recognize anywhere, soft and feminine, the same one that sometimes lingered on the pillow when you got up before him. You looked young, yes, younger than him, and maybe anyone could have thought about the difference between you when seeing you together. But Leon only thought you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
When you reached his side, you saw him swallow.
“You’re shaking,” you whispered, barely moving your lips.
“I’m not shaking.”
He lowered his gaze to your hands for a second.
“Well, a little.”
That made you smile, and that smile was nearly enough to undo him.
During the vows, Leon didn’t promise impossible things. He promised to come back whenever he could, to choose you even on difficult days, to not make you feel alone on purpose. He promised to love you with everything he had, even if sometimes he didn’t know how to do it perfectly.
When you kissed him at the end of the ceremony, with applause in the background and his hands holding your waist as if he still couldn’t believe he had the right to touch you like that in front of everyone, you thought that maybe this was happiness.
The first months of marriage were peaceful in a way Leon wasn’t used to.
He liked coming home and finding you there, seeing your things mixed with his, your creams in the bathroom, your books on the nightstand, your shoes by the entrance, your clothes folded with a care he had never had for his own. He liked hearing you move around the house, singing softly when you thought he couldn’t hear you, complaining about the cold while stealing one of his sweatshirts, falling asleep on his chest with the absolute trust of someone who knew they were safe.
And you were happy too.
But the insecurity didn’t disappear just because Leon had put a ring on your finger.
Sometimes it became even quieter, harder to admit, because how were you supposed to say you felt threatened by a woman from the past when you were his wife? How were you supposed to confess that there were days when you looked at yourself in the mirror, young, pretty, desired, and still felt like it wasn’t enough? How could you explain that it wasn’t a lack of trust in him, but fear that some part of his soul might still be looking toward a story you could never compete with?
Leon didn’t know everything that went through your head. He suspected things, of course. He was too good at reading small changes. He noticed when you went quiet after hearing certain names, when you suddenly became too affectionate, when you tried to make up for a sadness you hadn’t explained. But you always managed to steer the topic away with a kiss, a joke, a caress at the back of his neck.
Until Leon came back from one of his missions with a different attitude than usual.
It wasn’t exactly sadness. Not guilt either. It was a kind of intermittent distance, as if at times Leon slipped back to some point in the mission without meaning to. You tried not to overthink it. He had come back from a mission; of course he would be strange. Leon wasn’t a machine who could walk through the door and leave everything else outside.
But the next day, Sherry came over.
She hugged Leon tightly, called him an idiot for scaring her again, and then sat with you in the kitchen while he took a call in another room.
At first, you talked about normal things. How little he had slept, how unbearable it was to wait for news, how Leon pretended to be fine even when he had the face of someone who needed twelve hours of sleep and three years of therapy. You laughed with her, tired but happy.
Until Sherry mentioned Ada.
She didn’t do it with bad intentions. She never would have. In fact, it slipped out almost like a worried observation, spoken too quickly, trusting the friendship you already had.
“I guess seeing her again must’ve stirred something up too,” she said, stirring her coffee. “No wonder he’s been weird.”
Your hand froze over your mug.
“Seeing who?”
Sherry looked up, and the moment she saw your face, she knew Leon hadn’t told you.
“Oh.”
That “oh” was enough to make your chest go cold.
You didn’t need her to add anything else to understand. But she did, carefully, trying not to cause more damage than she already had. She explained that Ada had appeared during the mission, that there had been an encounter, and that Leon probably hadn’t hidden it from you out of malice, but because sometimes he was an emotional idiot who preferred swallowing things down rather than worrying the people he loved.
You nodded several times.
“Of course,” you said. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
Sherry looked at you with pity.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” she said, stroking your knee with regret. “Really. Leon loves you.”
You knew Leon loved you.
But knowing something didn’t always stop you from feeling the opposite.
The image formed in your head on its own: Ada appearing in front of him, beautiful, calm, wrapped in that mystery you would never have, and Leon seeing her, returning to a past where you didn’t exist.
Suddenly, everything fell into place in the worst possible way.
He wasn’t distant because of the mission.
He was distant because of her.
When Leon came back into the kitchen, he noticed something was wrong.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” you answered quickly. “Of course.”
Sherry looked at you with concern, but said nothing.
From that day on, you started acting differently.
It wasn’t dramatic at first. You didn’t grow cold or start a fight. Quite the opposite. You became more attentive.
You made his favorite meals even when you were tired. You laid out his clothes, insisted that he rest, that he shouldn’t worry about anything, that you could handle everything. You started getting ready more at home, not in an obvious way, but with that quiet care of someone trying to always look desirable without admitting she was afraid she wasn’t enough. You wore the perfume you knew he liked, put on a little makeup even when you weren’t going anywhere, wore prettier nightgowns, softer clothes, things you used to save for special occasions.
At first, Leon thought you were simply happy to have him home.
But you were terrified the charm would break. Terrified that he had come back and, seeing you in your kitchen, in your house, with your simple life and domestic gestures, would realize you couldn’t compete with the kind of woman who appeared in the middle of danger and disappeared before anyone could reach her.
So you tried to be perfect.
If Leon went quiet, you didn’t ask. You stroked his hair and told him to rest. If you saw him looking at his phone, you swallowed the question and offered him coffee. If at night you felt him distant, you moved closer with soft kisses and careful hands, trying to remind him with your body and your tenderness that you were there, that you were his wife, that you could give him peace, love, desire, anything he needed.
It took Leon a few days to truly worry.
Not because he wasn’t observant, but because a selfish, tired part of him wanted to accept your care without analyzing it. But Leon knew the difference between being loved and being appeased out of anxiety.
He saw it one night in particular.
You had made dinner, cleaned the kitchen before he could get up, insisted that he sit down, that he do nothing, that you could handle it all. You were wearing a comfortable but pretty dress, your hair done, your lips touched with a soft gloss. You looked beautiful, in a way Leon couldn’t fully enjoy because there was something tense underneath it.
When he came up behind you to help with the dishes, you turned around immediately.
“No, leave it. I’ll do it.”
“Baby, I can wash a plate,” he replied.
Leon rested a hand on the counter, gently blocking your way without trapping you.
“Look at me.”
You went still.
Leon watched you in silence. You looked away toward the sink, toward your wet hands, toward anything that wasn’t his eyes.
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
He didn’t say it angrily. That was worse. He said it with a soft, tired certainty, as if it hurt him to point out something you were trying so desperately to hide.
“Leon, really, I don’t want to talk about anything weird. You just got back. I just want to take care of you.”
“You already do,” he answered, sighing. “You’ve been acting for days like you have to earn your place in this house.”
The sentence hit you so hard you could barely breathe, and Leon saw the way your jaw tightened and your eyes filled before you could stop it.
“I’m not doing that,” you whispered.
“Yes, sweetheart. You are.”
The pet name, said with so much tenderness, finally broke you.
You tried to turn back toward the sink, but Leon carefully took your wrist.
“Talk to me,” he asked.
You shook your head.
“It’s stupid.”
“If it’s hurting you, then it isn’t stupid,” he said, searching your face for answers.
“You saw her,” you blurted out. “Ada.”
Leon went still.
“Sherry told me by accident,” you added quickly, as if you needed to defend her. “It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t mean to hurt me. She just… mentioned it. And I didn’t know.”
Leon let go of your wrist very slowly.
“I was going to tell you.”
“No, Leon, you don’t have to. It’s your life and your past. I don’t want to be that person who demands explanations for everything. I don’t want to seem insecure or ridiculous or—”
“Stop.”
His voice was low but firm.
Leon took a step closer. His face was serious.
“You’re not ridiculous. You’ve been trying to be perfect for me for days, and every time you do something for me, it looks like you’re waiting for me to decide if it was enough.”
The first tear fell before you could turn away. Leon wiped it with his thumb.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” you murmured. “I know I shouldn’t feel like this. Ada isn’t to blame for anything, and I don’t hate her. I don’t even really know her. It’s just… it’s just that she belongs to a part of you I’ll never understand,” you confessed. “And every time her name comes up, I feel like there’s something between you two that can’t be touched. And I know I’m your wife, but sometimes that doesn’t make me feel safer. Sometimes it makes me feel like I have more to lose.”
Leon swallowed, guilt crossing his face immediately.
“Baby…”
“And I know I’m younger,” you continued, unable to stop now. “I know people sometimes look at it strangely, that even you have been scared of that. And I try not to think about it, but then someone like her appears, someone who was with you when I didn’t even know who you were, someone who understands that life, and I feel stupid. I feel like I’m just the pretty girl waiting for you at home.”
Leon looked at you as if that sentence had physically hurt him.
“You’re not ‘the pretty girl waiting for me at home.’ God, look at me.”
He held your face between his hands, gently forcing you to lift your gaze.
“You’re my wife. The person I want to come back to when everything else goes to hell. You’re the one who knows me when I’m not bleeding, when I’m not armed, when I’m not trying to survive. Do you have any idea how important that is to me?”
You breathed shakily.
“But with her—”
“With her, there were many things that were never simple,” he interrupted. “There were lies. There were moments when I wanted to believe I could understand her, and others when I knew I shouldn’t even try. Ada is part of my past. I’m not going to disrespect you by lying about that.”
It hurt, but you nodded.
Leon brought his forehead a little closer to yours.
“But you’re not a second choice.”
The sentence broke you.
“You never have been,” he continued. “I didn’t choose you because I couldn’t have something else. I didn’t marry you because I needed a quiet life to cover up what came before. I chose you because I love you. Because you walked into my life and, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like I had to be ready to lose everything. And when I’m away, all I want is to come back to the smell of your perfume in our room and hear you complain that I left my boots where I shouldn’t.”
A tearful laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it. Leon smiled faintly too, though his eyes were bright. You covered your face for a second, embarrassed and overwhelmed, and Leon hugged you.
“I should’ve told you sooner,” he murmured against your hair. “Not because anything happened that threatened this, but because I knew it could hurt you to hear it from someone else. I’m sorry.”
He touched your ring with his thumb, slowly.
“I have something real now, and I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Your eyes filled with tears again.
“I was scared seeing her would make you realize you still loved her.”
Leon shook his head.
“Seeing her made me realize I’m not the man who gets stuck in that anymore.”
He hugged you again, tighter this time, one hand on the back of your neck and the other on your waist.
“I don’t need to be convinced to love you,” he said against your ear. “You don’t have to earn a place that’s already yours.”
That was when you truly broke down, your face against his chest, your hands clutching at him as if all the fear you had been carrying for days had finally come loose. Leon held you without moving, taking in every tremble.
When you finally lifted your head, your eyes were swollen.
Leon turned off the water in the sink, took a towel, dried your hands as if it were the most important thing in the world, and then guided you to the living room. He didn’t let you keep cleaning. He sat down with you on the couch, settled you sideways on his lap, and wrapped a blanket around you even though it wasn’t that cold. Leon stroked your arm under the blanket.
“Tomorrow, I’m ordering food. You’re choosing a terrible movie, and I’ll complain for the first ten minutes and then watch the whole thing with you.”
A small smile appeared on your lips.
“You always do that.”
“Because your movies are bad,” he replied.
You lifted your head to look at him, pretending to be offended.
“Excuse me?”
Leon smiled in that soft way he only gave you. You tried to keep a straight face, but you couldn’t. You laughed quietly, and Leon took the chance to kiss you. It was a slow kiss, unhurried, without the sad desperation with which you had been seeking him out these past few days.
When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours.
“Don’t try to compete with a ghost again,” he whispered.
You stayed there for a moment, breathing with him, feeling the warmth of his body, the weight of his hands, the quiet safety of the house around you. For the first time since Sherry had said that name in the kitchen, Ada stopped feeling like an enormous, unbeatable threat. She was still part of his story. That wasn’t going to change. But maybe you didn’t need to erase that part to be important.
“Leon,” you murmured. “Do you really not regret it?”
He pulled back just enough to look at you properly.
“You? Never.”
Then he kissed you again, softer this time.
“When I came back from the mission and saw you running toward me,” he said quietly, “I thought there was nothing in this world I wanted more than that.”
So you only turned in his arms, hid your face in his neck, and held him with all your strength. Leon closed his eyes at the feeling of you, feeling the love of his life finally resting beside him after so many difficult days.
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SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ Following the aftermath of Casa Amor and The 'Boss Bitch' challenge, the islanders are forced to confront lingering conflicts
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, verbal arguments, suggestive content (love island typical), toxic relationship dynamics (miles x haja, sofia x rafe), manipulation, Y/N IS NOT DUMB STOP COMING IN MY REPLIES WITH THAT SHE IS JUST TRAUMATIZED AND HURT AND NOT THINKING CLEARLY😭READ THE ROOM PLEASE IT'S BEEN THERE THE SIGNS HAVE BEEN THERE
˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗
DAY twenty-one came before you knew it, the aftermath of the Casa Amor recoupling still hanging in the air.
You walked into the glam room, eyes heavy as you yawned, the mirrors lights blinding you as they did every morning. Everyone else was already up, half-way ready for the day. But before you could even reach for your hairbrush, the door creaked open.
Theo stepped in first, carrying himself with a grace that usually made your heart skip, but today, you just felt hollow. He offered you a warm smile, placing a plate of eggs and fruit on the edge of your vanity.
"Thought you might be hungry," Theo murmured, his voice oddly soothing. He leaned down, brushing his lips softly against your temple.
"Thanks," you whispered, offering a small smile.
Before he could even step back though, the door swung open again.
And Rafe walked in.
Your chest tightened at the sight of him—the buzzcut, the broad shoulders, and those blue eyes that were currently burning holes straight into the man next to you.
In a way, you did miss seeing him.
In his hand, Rafe held a tall glass filled with a freshly blended smoothie. The one he made you every morning.
Or used to.
The exact one he used to make you every single morning when things were perfect.
The problem was, things weren’t perfect.
And you weren't a couple anymore.
Rafe offered Theo a polite, short nod, stepping into your space. He sat the glass down in front of you, his jaw clenching.
"Made you this," he said, his voice still raspy, a sound that used to make you excited for the rest of the day. "Figured you might want it."
“...I’m gonna go,” Theo whispered, leaning down to kiss your cheek, leaving with a small smile, not wanting to be possibly be caught in the middle of whatever was going on, as you squeezed his hand in a silent goodbye, a gesture that didn’t go unnoticed by Rafe as Theo left and the other boys began to flood the room, also bringing food.
You looked from the pink liquid up to his face. "I don't want it," you deadpanned, your voice flat, absent of the warmth he was hoping for.
Around you, the dressing room was growing louder. Sarah was blending her foundation while John B whispered to her, Cleo was being lovey-dovey with Justin, and the remaining islanders were talking loudly enough to create a blanket of background noise.
Because of the ambience, you and Rafe were trapped whispering, silently arguing.
Rafe didn’t walk away. His eyes narrowed, searching yours. "C'mon, angel. Just take it—"
"Go give the smoothie to your girlfriend," you hissed, leaning closer, tilting your chin up at him.
Rafe sucked in a deep breath, nostrils flaring. He stepped even closer, leaning down so his mouth was closer to your ear. "Can you stop saying that shit?" he muttered, voice harsh. "You know damn well she isn't my girlfriend. You know why I’m here."
"I don't know anything about you," you hiss back, glaring at him over your shoulder, your fingers gripping the edge of the marble counter. "Now, leave me alone." you snarl, pushing the smoothie glass to the edge of the table, so fast it screeched.
Rafe stood still for a long moment and you could feel the heat radiating off his body. He looked at you, then let out a defeated sigh. Respecting your boundary, he slowly stepped back. Wordlessly, he turned and walked straight out of the glam room, ignoring the way everyone was pretending they weren’t staring.
THE rest of the morning turned into lounging and hushed conversations. The villa was huge, yet felt claustrophobic with all the hovering drama. And by mid-afternoon, you and the girls had migrated out toward the beanbags.
Two of the three new Casa Amor girls—Haja and Kaitlyn—sat in the middle of it all, introducing themselves.
Kaitlyn spoke first, telling you all about herself. "I hate that I’m finally getting to talk to all of you, like, a whole twenty-four hours later but,” she shrugged. “Uh, I’m twenty-two, I’m from San Francisco," she said, flashing a sweet, polite smile as she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "Oh! I’m Vietnamese, anddd I work as a junior tech lawyer. So, yeah, my life back home sucks."
Sarah, who had been sitting with her knees pulled tightly to her chest, jumped in, the anxiety and uncertainty of Casa still written plainly across her face. "I really don't mean to be aggressive, but... you and John B. You guys have a history, right?” Kaitlyn nods. “Can you just fill me in? Because he’s been so vague about it."
Kaitlyn sighed, looking around the circle before offering Sarah a sympathetic look. "Eh, I guess, for me, it boiled down to the fact that John B wasn't exactly the most attentive boyfriend when we were together. He seemed self-absorbed, always distracted by his own stuff, his own friends, and whatever weird theories he and his dad liked to chase.” She scoffs. “I was always an afterthought."
Sarah’s face fell, but Kaitlyn was quick to lean forward, placing a hand on Sarah’s leg. "But you don't have to worry about me. I'm over him. Honestly? From what I saw of him here... I think he actually really does like you. Even at Casa, he talked about you constantly. Even when the girls were throwing themselves at him, his head didn't fully turn."
“Fully?" Sarah raises an eyebrow, her eyes searching Kaitlyn's face. "...Did John B do anything while he was at Casa? Because my gut is telling me he’s hiding something from me. He’s being way too defensive anytime I ask and he’s always too eager to change the subject."
Kaitlyn bit her lip, looking hesitant. "...Look, I just got here. I really don't want to cause any problems or start any drama—"
"Please," Sarah pleaded, her voice cracking slightly.
Kaitlyn let out a slow sigh, casting her eyes down before looking right back at Sarah. "Okay. If you want to ask John B anything about what happened over at Casa, ask him about Delaney, JJ’s ex."
The name dropped and Sarah’s face hardened, the blood draining from her cheeks, tongue prodding the inside of her cheek like she knew something.
But before she could spiral any further, Cleo jumped into the conversation.
"So, Kaitlyn," Cleo started, her voice smooth. "Pope told me his side of the story about why he coupled up with you. What’s yours?"
Pope had spent the previous evening giving Cleo his version of events on why he had brought Kaitlyn back, insisting it was a purely platonic pairing to keep them both in the game. Cleo was curious to see if his story checked out against what Kaitlyn would say.
Kaitlyn turned to Cleo, unbothered by the interrogation. "Oh, it’s nothing. I swear.” She throws her hands up. “When we came into Casa, I really didn't find a genuine romantic connection with any of the other guys. But obviously, I still wanted to stay in the game and get a chance to enter the main villa and hopefully find someone. Pope and I got along really well just as friends. He didn't mind bringing me back, and I didn't mind being the one to keep him from elimination, just in case."
Knowing that Pope had actually told the absolute truth made Cleo’s demeanor soften, but it also started a whole other issue...
Confessional: Cleo
"Ughhh,” she groans, throwing her head back. “Is it bad that I hoped he was lying? Knowing Pope told me the truth makes things ten times harder, man! Part of me wanted him to be the bad guy so I could just free myself from him and focus on Justin. Shit, man…"
Then, it was Haja’s turn to introduce herself. She leaned back against the cushions, sunglasses atop her head. "I don’t know where to start but, um, my name’s Haja," she said, her drawl smooth and rich. "Pronounced exactly like that. I’m twenty-five, and I’m a professional dancer from Houston, Texas. I’ve actually been on tour for, like, the last year. So, this is my first summer in a while..."
“You’re...Miles’ ex, right?” Rima asks, unsure.
"We dated, yeah," she scoffs and rolls her eyes.
“How was that?” You ask, leaning back.
"Our relationship was toxic as fuck," Haja amuses, saying it like a joke, a smile on her face. "And when I say that man is manipulative?" She drags out, turning to you. "I mean, you experienced it first hand from what I saw. When he said that stuff to you? About Rafe? He used to do shit like that all the time. It’s the same move he pulled to get me away from the boyfriend I had before him."
Your heart drops at the mention of that day, at the mention of Rafe. “Guess he wasn’t too far off, though…” you mutter to yourself.
"I don’t know too much about that,” she disclaims. “All I know is that Miles was wrong to tell you that shit, and I am one hundred percent sure he was just trying to cause trouble and break you and Rafe apart for his own selfish reasons."
And because the topic had officially been dragged out into the open, you couldn't hold it back anymore. The question had been burning a hole in your chest since last night. You leaned forward, looking at Haja through your lashes.
"Haja, can you tell me what you saw...between Rafe and Sofia at Casa?” you asked, voice soft as you played with your fingers. “I just…I feel like I need to know."
The girls are surprised by your line of questioning, and reasonably so. Since last night, it seemed like the topic of Rafe or Sofia or Casa Amor had you seconds away from either throwing up or burning the villa down.
Haja looked visibly hesitant, exchanging a brief, worried glance with Kaitlyn before looking back at you. "...Long story short, when we all walked into Casa Amor on day one, Sofia made it very, very clear to every single person that she was there for Rafe, and for Rafe only." She paused, picking her words carefully. "And... I can't say that Rafe was one hundred percent into it. Definitely, at first, he seemed totally uninterested. He wouldn't even look at her, he’d walk out of rooms if she walked in. But... I guess something happened after Raunchy Races, and Sofia came back to the girls' dressing room, and she was just like, super happy, telling all of us that she was 'getting her man back'."
Your stomach dropped at her words, swallowing harshly.
"But," Haja added quickly, reaching out to touch your arm supportively. "This is just what I saw from the outside, from my perspective. I didn’t pay too much attention to them, I was focused on doing my own thing.” She tries to comfort. “If you really want a real explanation about what happened, you need to ask Rafe."
"I can’t ask him," you whispered, a broken laugh escaping your lips as you threw yourself back against the beanbag. “I can’t even bring myself to look at him. I don't know if I can trust a word that comes out of his mouth anymore." You shook your head, trying to clear the bad thoughts.
That was when Sarah jumped in, looking at both of the new girls. "Do either of you know why Miles was the one to bring Sofia back, then? Especially if she was there for Rafe?"
Both Haja and Kaitlyn looked equally confused, shaking their heads in unison.
"Honestly, we’re confused by it, too," Kaitlyn admitted. "I mean everyone got kind of close at one point or another, because of challenges and stuff, but I don’t think either of us can say we ever saw a spark or romantic vibe between them.” She shrugs. “Like Haja said, Sofia was throwing herself at Rafe the whole time, but then that last day, her and Miles were non-stop talking and next thing you know, he’s coupled up with her."
Haja let out a sarcastic scoff, a knowing smirk pulling at her lips. "I’d like to propose the theory that Miles just did it to piss me off. He was trying and failing the entire time.” She snarls. “And Sofia probably did it for the exact same reason—to get at Rafe. She used Miles as a ticket into the main villa to get back to him."
As if on cue, mid-conversation, Sarah nudged your shoulder, pointing a finger out across the lawn.
Across the grass, near the edge of the pool, Sofia and Miles were walking together, talking casually in low tones. Nobody in the main villa was particularly fond of either of them, so it was clear they were finding solace in their mutual isolation.
"Look at them," Cleo muttered, her lip curling in disgust as she also noticed. "Two snakes slithering in the same grass."
Sarah turned her head toward Haja and Kaitlyn, her eyebrows raised curiously. "Does Sofia even talk to you guys? Like, are you even cool with her?"
"Absolutely not," Haja deadpanned. "Sofia hasn't been interested in making a single connection since day one—not friendship-wise, and definitely not romantically. Her main goal has been getting Rafe back and staying in this villa by any means necessary. She barely gave us the time of day."
You sat silently, mind spinning. And you hated how the pieces of the puzzle were starting to form a messy, yet almost more clear, picture. Before you could sink completely into your own head, though, the topic of conversation shifted.
ON the opposite side of the villa, the boys had gathered around the fire pit.
Rafe was pacing a tight line along the edge of the stone seating, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts. He stopped, turning his gaze toward JJ, John B, and Pope, who were sitting around.
"I just want a fuckin’ chance to explain," Rafe sighs, his voice cracking with frustration. "She thinks she knows what happened but she doesn’t. It’s like she’s made up this story in her head and she’s sticking with it, she won't even look at me."
JJ leaned back against the cushions, spinning sunglasses between his fingers. "Bro, we gotta figure out what they actually saw because what would make her think you wanted Sofia back?" He throws out. “I mean, we were there, dude. I don’t think you did anything wrong. Like, at all.”
John B leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his brow furrowed in thought. "Maybe it was the Raunchy Races challenge?"
"Yeah," Pope agreed, nodding like a light bulb came on in his head. "Wasn’t that when she randomly kissed you? After the lap dance thing?"
Rafe immediately shut the theory down, shaking his head as he paced back toward them. "No. That's not it. It can’t be." He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "It would be obvious to anyone with a brain that that kiss was during a challenge."
"Rafe’s right," John B admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "That was clearly challenge kiss. Plus, bro, your face right after Sofia did it? You looked grossed out. If the video showed that, she wouldn't be this mad."
Rafe let out a ragged sigh of defeat, dropping onto the edge of the couch. "I can't believe she actually brought somebody back," he muttered, his voice dropping into a bitter hiss as his eyes caught Theo throwing a football with Justin across the lawn. "Who the fuck is this Italian giant anyway?" he ranted. "I feel like shit, man. I just want her to let me talk to her for five minutes, but she is literally the most stubborn girl I have ever met in my life."
JJ let out a scoff from his corner. "Oh, you think you feel bad?" JJ shook his head. "How do you think I feel right now? The girls are all pissed at me for something I don't even think is completely my fault." He shook his head, eyes widening with stress. "I never wanted Kie to get dumped 'cause of me. She was a really good person, and she didn't deserve to go home like that. But at the end of the day, we are all here to find love, man. And I just...didn't see that with her. I can't force something that isn't there."
"Yeah, they were ready to execute you," John B sighed, leaning back against the couch, trying to maintain some level of peace. "Look, I’m just really glad I chose to come back alone, and that Sarah did the same. We’re in a good spot." He paused, his expression turning anxious as he rubbed his chin. "But... I can't lie. I’m lowkey worried that if Sarah knew exactly what was going through my mind and everything I said or did while we were over there... she might not be as happy to be coupled up with me right now."
Pope let out a heavy sigh from his seat, staring blankly at his feet. "I feel you. I got the chance to explain to Cleo that I did stand on my word, that I only brought Kaitlyn back to make sure I stayed in the villa and didn't get dumped. But I'm not even sure if she believes me..."
The boys all fell silent, their eyes drifting across the wide lawn to where the girls were sitting, talking.
"Hopefully," Pope muttered quietly, "we can all figure our shit out soon."
AND it didn't take long for the boys to start plucking you off, one by one, desperate to clear the air.
Justin was the first to make a move, sauntering over, offering a polite smile before looking at Cleo. "Mind if I pull you?"
"No, of course not." She beamed. "Let’s go," Cleo said smoothly, sliding out of her seat, taking his hand and following him over to a quiet corner near the outdoor kitchen.
They sat down on the barstools, Justin leaning his forearms against the counter as he looked into her eyes. "So... I just wanted to check in. I know last night was a lot and that things are weird with Pope back.” He starts anxiously, knee bouncing. “I guess, it’s just…do you actually like me? Like, with him here, do you want to keep getting to know me?"
Cleo offered him a relaxed smile. "Justin, of course I like you.” She breathes. “And I do want to keep getting to know you. You’ve been great to me."
Justin nodded, but his expression turned slightly guarded. "But...what about Pope?"
Cleo let out a slow breath, refusing to lie to him. "I’m not gonna deny that a piece of me has always been with Pope because of our initial connection during the first couple weeks. I do...still have feelings there.” She admits, finally to herself. “But... I’m just not sure if I want to go forward with exploring them anymore after everything that happened. I feel like you have always put me first since the moment you walked in, and I really appreciate you for that. I just want to focus on us."
Justin listened, respectful as he nodded slowly. "I appreciate the honesty, Cleo. Seriously. I understand where you're coming from, and I’m not gonna push you."
Confessional: Justin
"I really do respect her for being honest. And I know there are other beautiful women in this villa who would probably give me one hundred percent of their attention right now. But the truth is... I don't want anyone else. I only want Cleo. Is it too early to say that?"
On the other side of the yard, John B had finally gathered the courage to pull Sarah away. He led her over to the daybeds, tense as he sat down opposite her.
"Sarah," John B started, reaching out toward her hand. Sarah was clueless. "I feel like we should talk."
“Okay…”
“There’s no point in really dancing around it, so,” John B sucks in a deep breath. “I guess I’ll start by asking…what did you do during Casa?”
“...Do you mean like emotional or physical?” She tries to clarify, and John B ponders for a moment, face twisting.
“Both, I guess.”
"Um," Sarah started, thinking, but also confused. "To be honest? Nothing.” She laughs to herself. “I mean, I was open to exploring and everything. I talked to some of the guys I didn’t know, but I didn’t click with anyone. And if you were worried about my ex, me and Thomas didn’t do anything. We’ve been over.” She throws out casually. “And physically, outside of challenges, I still didn’t do anything. I slept alone in Soul Ties the entire time, I didn’t kiss anyone…hell, I don’t even think I hugged any of those guys. And it wasn't for lack of trying, it was more so for the fact...no one could ever beat what I feel for you."
John B swallowed hard, nodding, the guilt written plain across his freckled face.
“...What about you?” Sarah dragged, noting the look on his face. But he remained silent. “...Hello? John B—”
"Sarah,” He blurted, eyes locking onto her own, wide and frantic. “I need you to promise not to get mad," He tries, looking apprehensive.
Sarah's face twists, leaning back away from him slightly. "...Why?"
John B took a deep breath, straightening out. "While I was at Casa... I did end up…catching feelings for a girl." He admits, dropping his head.
"Delaney.” Sarah deadpans, remembering Kaitlyn's words from only moments prior.
John B nods, having at least the decency to look shameful, watching Sarah scoff, her shoulders dropping. “But it wasn’t anything serious—”
“I knew it.”
“She was just…there, and—”
“Did you kiss her?” She cuts him off sharply. “Outside of a challenge.” She clarifies. “Did you?”
John B hesitated for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting away before locking back onto hers. "...Yeah," he admitted. "But only once. I swear, Sarah—"
“I fucking knew it!” She exclaims incredulously, snatching her hands out of his. “I knew it from the minute I saw that video and you were holding her fucking face. And I wanted to believe in you, so bad.”
"Sarah, calm down, please—" John B scrambled to his stand, his hands raised in a panic.
"No, don't tell me to calm down,” She scrutinizes. “Are you fucking kidding me? What, I’m just your safe option?”
“No,” John B immediately denies her words. “No, Sarah, you know you’re not—”
“You went over there, made a whole new connection with another girl, shoved your tongue down her throat, and you’re just telling me about it.” She says, disappointed before her face hardens again. “If you made a connection with her, why the hell didn't you bring her back?"
John B desperately tried to smooth it over. "Because clearly I liked you more than her, Sarah! That’s why I came back alone!” He pleads. “Delaney and you... you guys actually share a lot of the same personality traits. You even kind of look alike!” He throws out in a panic, but he can see that it only makes the girl angrier. “I think... I think part of my interest in her just came from the fact that I was missing you so much."
Sarah stared at him, her expression completely disgusted. "Missing me? You kissed another girl because you missed me?" She let out a harsh scoff. "That is the fattest load of bullshit I have ever heard in my entire life, John B."
Without letting him say another word, Sarah turned and stormed away from the conversation, leaving John B standing alone in the garden, gripping his curls in frustration.
MEANWHILE, you were sitting with Theo on the edge of the pool, kicking your feet in the water, trying your best to have a casual conversation. You were chatting and having fun, his typical flirtatious banter temporarily lifting the weight from your shoulders.
But then, Theo’s expression turned serious as silence took over. He set his water bottle on the concrete, turning fully towards your face. "I hate to ruin the mood,” He starts. “But, if you don’t mind me asking…I’d like to know what happened last night." You tilt your head at him innocently, not clear on his question before he clarifies himself. “Your talk with Rafe, bella.” He laughs lowly, but there’s not much humor in it, mostly anxiety.
You let out a soft sigh. "He was basically trying to explain to me that whatever I saw in that video clip... he says I…misinterpreted it. He was swearing up and down that he didn't do anything wrong."
Theo watched you closely, his brow furrowing as his fingers brushed yours from where they were splayed next to each other on the ground. "And you believe him?"
You bit your lip, face scrunching in thought. "Off the top of my head, I have to say no," you said flatly, shaking your head. "I don’t know. Something about it all feels…weird."
Theo hums, letting the silence hang for a moment before, "What if he’s actually telling the truth?"
You groan lightly, kicking your feet against the water more aggressively. "That’s…a problem for another day, Theo," you murmured, looking away across the water.
Despite your dismissive tone, Theo didn't let the subject drop. He leaned closer, pressing the issue. "Y/N,” his voice drops, more serious than you’d ever heard it as a hand falls to your thigh. “I would really like a straight answer to the question."
And something about the topic of conversation or the fact that Theo wouldn’t drop it just put you off. You knew he had every right to ask but the subject matter made you…angry. Defensive. You pulled your legs out of the water, turning to glare at him with slightly narrowed eyes. "Why does it matter?"
Theo hesitated, his jaw working for a second before he confessed. "Because... I’m worried that if he is, you’ll choose him over me."
You physically flinched at his words, eyes widening as your expression softened slightly. You reached out, placing a hand on his forearm. "Theo,” you call softly. “I have a real connection with you. Keeping you here wasn't some petty revenge plot or a way to get back at Rafe. I genuinely do have feelings for you."
Theo listened, but he didn't look entirely convinced. He let out a slow sigh. "I understand what you're saying, bella. But I’m not blind. I know that your feelings for Rafe are stronger than what you feel for me.”
“That’s not—”
“You can try to deny it all you want, but you forget I watched you two fall for each other before even coming here. You liked him and he liked you. A lot. And I know feelings don’t disappear overnight.” He reminds, and you huff, relenting. “But a part of me feels like... if you hadn't seen that video of Rafe and Sofia kissing... you would have never picked me." He tells you, sighing. "...Am I wrong?"
The question hit you hard, knocking the wind out of your lungs as you scrambled for a response, knowing hesitation would only make it worse.
"I—yes, I mean—no?—I don't..." you stuttered over your words. "Theo, I don't know..." you finally admitted, looking down at your hands, letting your shoulders slump. "I really do like you. I like the way you make me feel safe and how attentive you are and how you call me beautiful.” You list off, trying to appeal to him. “But... I can't lie to you. I think, maybe, seeing that kiss between Rafe and Sofia... it might’ve fast-tracked something for me.” You admit, somewhat shamefully. “But I’m not using you, Theo. I swear."
Theo stared at you for three long seconds, a look of disappointment and hurt settling plain across his features. He was rightfully put off by your hesitation, the confirmation of his worst fear written across your own features, whether you were ready to admit to him or not.
He slowly pulled his forearm away from your touch, standing up from the edge of the pool. "I understand," Theo said, his voice perfectly polite, but drained of the warmth it held just minutes ago.
“Theo—”
"Thank you for the honesty.” He nods politely. “I think... I’m gonna go inside, get some water..." and without giving you a chance to repair the damage, he walked away, leaving you sitting alone, feeling like the worst person ever, cursing yourself.
And as you sat there sulking from the aftermath of the conversation, your sad eyes drifted across the lawn.
On the daybeds, Sofia and Miles were talking casually when, suddenly, Rafe walked past them from one direction and Haja walked past from the other, Miles and Sofia quickly glanced at them both before randomly jumping on each other, Miles wrapping his arm tightly around her waist as Sofia leaned in, planting a sloppy kiss on his lips.
It was obvious they were trying to make both of their exes jealous, but neither Rafe nor Haja paid them a single ounce of mind, walking right past the display as if Miles and Sofia were completely invisible.
And you couldn’t help the way your eyes glued themselves to Rafe longer than intended, watching him walk—remembering how it felt to have his arms around you, how it felt to lay on his chest at night, how it felt to have his hand gently squeeze the base of your throat while he kissed you like he hadn’t in years—
You startled yourself out of your daydreaming when Rafe must’ve sensed a pair of eyes on him, turning as his eyes locked with yours, holding your stare.
But you were the one to break eye contact, slightly embarrassed.
You missed him.
But fuck him.
RAFE, on the other hand, kept staring at you as he walked across the lawn.
He noted the way your hair fell in front of your face, finding it adorable, missing the way you'd do that when he made you nervous. He wished he could tell you how good you looked in the bikini you chose today, to whisper in your ear how he couldn’t wait to be the one to take it off of you whenever you decided to give him that chance.
And when he realized that another guy, in the same villa, was probably having the same thoughts, and rightfully so because he was coupled up with you now, all of his anger returned. And, frustrated by your refusal to even listen to him, Rafe decided that if you wouldn't give him the time of day, he needed to get through to someone you would.
He looked around the deck, surveying his options—Sarah looked furious after her talk with John B, Cleo had been practically attached to Justin's hip all morning, and he nor you were close enough with Haja or Kaitlyn to pull them. And he damn sure wasn't going to talk to Sofia.
So, considering he was currently in a couple with Rima, he figured it was time to use the coupling to his advantage. He jogged over to where she was suntanning on a lounge chair she’d dragged out into the sun, clearing his throat as he loomed above her, blocking the sun.
She lifted her head from where it was laying on her folded arms, cocking a curious eyebrow the man’s way.
"Can we talk?"
Rima pushed her sunglasses down, looking up at him with a stubborn expression. Like you and the rest of the girls, she was under the impression that Rafe had spent his time at Casa kissing Sofia behind your back, and was now just trying to clean up his tracks.
"Rafe," Rima said flatly, sitting up. "I really don't want to hear—"
"Please," Rafe begged, his voice cracking slightly. "Just listen to me for two minutes. I swear to God I’m telling the truth, but she won’t listen to me." He whines. "I’m hoping you will."
Rima let out a deep sigh, sitting up and crossing her arms over her chest. "Fine. Two minutes. Go."
Rafe let the ghost of a smile grace his face as he took the available space on the sun lounger next to her, not wasting any time. "Look, Sofia was all over me the second we walked into Casa, Rima, I swear. She was relentless. But I ignored her the entire time. I swear on my mother’s grave." He said, entirely serious. He leaned forward, eyes wide with urgency and desperation. "I did not sleep in a bed with anyone, I slept outside the entire time, getting ate the fuck up by mosquitoes." To back up his point, Rafe aggressively gestured towards his legs, revealing his calves and thighs, which were covered in dozens of angry, red, swollen mosquito bites. "Like, look at my fuckin’ legs."
Rima looked down at the bites, her eyebrows raising slightly in surprise before looking back at him.
"And outside of challenges," Rafe continued frantically, "I did not kiss anyone. I did not touch anyone. And I wasn't forcing myself to not make a connection, I just didn't find one because the only girl I want is Y/N.” He huffs, getting it all out in one breath, voice lowering for the final part of his plea. “Whatever kiss she thinks she saw in that video... she’s wrong."
Rima listened, her sharp eyes scanning his face. She let out a slow breath, raising her own skepticism. "Okay, Rafe.” She starts, letting her shoulders rise and fall. “I hear what you're saying. But I don’t think you understand how bad that video looked.." She leaned in closer, voice dropping. "We saw the kiss during the challenge, yeah. But what really got to her, what I think is really breaking her heart right now, isn't that. It’s what you said." Rima stared right into his eyes. "She watched you argue with your ex, and the second she came onto you, you say you miss her and then y’all kissed. It looks like you were trying to fight unresolved feelings you might’ve had, or have, and failed in the end."
Rafe’s eyes widened, his jaw slacking as the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place inside his brain. He finally understood what you had seen, and why you had thrown your connection away so fast.
You didn’t see the whole conversation.
"Fuck," Rafe whispered, dragging his hands down his face. "Rima... there was so much more to that conversation. I can't even fully explain how edited that shit must’ve been to make it look like that, but when I said I missed her... I didn't mean it like that. I swear to you."
Rima raised an eyebrow, her tone sharp. "So... you did say it?"
Rafe looked at a loss for words, stuttering over his thoughts. "Y-Yes, but... it’s a lot... it’s different than what you think.” He tries to clean it up. “I’m not that kind of guy. But she won't even give me the time of day to prove it to her. She’s avoiding me like the plague." He looked at Rima with sad, blue, puppy-dog eyes. "Will you just please help me? I’m literally begging you."
Rima stared at him for a long moment. She had looked into the faces of a lot of guilty men in her life, but looking at Rafe right now, she didn't see a liar. All she saw was a man who was utterly terrified of losing you and desperate to get you back. She’d never gotten a begging-type of vibe from Rafe before, and that, plus his evident desperation, was what led her to believe him.
She sighed, giving in. "How the hell am I supposed to help you?" Rima asked, throwing her hands up. "She saw what she saw, and she already brought an entire Italian God back to the villa. She’s in a whole new couple, Rafe. And, I know it’s not what you want to hear, but I think she does actually like him."
"Okay, yeah, I get that,” Rafe waves off, not really caring. “Just... be my wing woman," Rafe pleaded quietly. "Be my eyes on the inside. Help me figure out what she’s thinking, so that way I know how to go about fixing this. I just want her to know that I didn't lie to her." He admits, his face falling as his next words leave his lips. "After that, if she doesn't...want me anymore. I'll accept that. But I can't let her go over something as stupid as this. I can't." His voice shook. "I’m not asking you to go behind her back or lie to anyone, Rima. I’m just asking you to help a man out."
Rima let out a long sigh, shaking her head before a small smirk pulled at her lips. "Fine. I’ll help you." Her expression instantly turned serious, her voice dropping into a low whisper. "But let me make one thing clear to you right now. I swear, if it comes out that your ass is lying to me—because in here, everything always comes out—I’m going to break. your. face.” She threatens, a finger jammed into his chest. “Are we clear?"
Rafe swallowed hard, nodding quickly—only happy to be making progress in getting through to you. "Crystal."
Just then, Rafe's phone dinged, the man sliding it out of his pocket. "Shit," he smirked to himself, standing up. "I got a text!"
At that, everyone stopped what they were doing, drawing in closer as he read it out.
"Islanders, it’s time to find out who is climbing the corporate ladder and who is up for termination! Girls, get ready to give the boys a performance review they’ll never forget in today's challenge, Boss Bitch! #BoardroomBabes #CorporateTakeover #SlimeAndSizzle"
The yard erupted into a choir of cheers and whistles as you all ran off to change.
YOU’D all returned moments later, looking ridiculously hot—the boys completely shirtless under open blazers, ties hanging loosely against bare, toned chests, and shorts that left very little to the imagination.
You and the rest of the girls pulled out all the stops, per usual.
Every one had some version of a provocative business-casual fit. You, specifically, were adorned in a lace brassiere under an open blazer that had the 'girls' sitting perfectly, probably one of the smallest skirts you’d ever worn, and a pair of glasses sitting cutely on the tip of your nose.
You were all sitting around a curved table where the lawn had been transformed into a sleek boardroom, the table top littered with colorful papers that would soon be serving as a runway, a podium, and a deep pit of thick, pink slime.
The challenge was simple—you’d come out, give the men a show, choose someone outside of your couple to kiss, read a trivia question that could be naughty or nice and choose someone to dunk before exiting the “meeting” with a passionate kiss to your partner.
The men waited anxiously, smiling to each other when the doors opened, revealing their first girl.
Cleo was the first to emerge, and she set the bar high. Clad in a vibrant cobalt blue blazer that laid wide open over a matching sheer lace brassiere, she looked drop-dead gorgeous. You were all hooting and hollering as she climbed onto the boardroom table, hips moving fluidly to the heavy bass of the music. She arched her back, grinding down the length of the table while running her hands down her own torso.
"Go on then, girl!" Justin shouted, making Cleo laugh lightly, hyping her up with his eyes glued to her.
But she surprised everyone when she sat down in front of Pope’s chair, a sultry smirk pulling at her lips as she grabbed him firmly by his tie, and yanked him towards her, pressing her lips against his own as Pope let his hands roam. Your jaw dropped as Cleo deepened the kiss, tilting his head back as the villa went crazy.
Of course, the original guys were the loudest—JJ, John B, and Rafe sounding like hyenas, happy that Pope was, seemingly, on the road to that second chance he’d been groveling for.
But further down the table, Justin swallowed harshly. He tried to play it cool, but a frown marred his features as he watched Pope's hands basically map out Cleo’s body.
After a few moments, Cleo broke the kiss, swaggering over to the podium to snatch up her trivia card. She read the prompt aloud, hand on her hip—"Which islander is bringing the team morale down?"
"Oh, this is a no-brainer," Cleo laughed, pointing the hand with the card in it at JJ. "You knocked us down a staff member, rude boy." She teased as JJ took his walk of shame to the hot seat, lips curled inwards as he sat down, anticipating the drop.
Cleo slammed the lever and JJ went face first into the puddle of goo as you all winced, watching him rise, wiping the thick goo from his face. And Cleo concluded her turn by walking straight over to Justin.
She climbed into his lap, straddling his thighs, and delivered a sexy, breathless kiss that wiped the frown right off his face, leaving him grinning like a fool by the time she took her seat next to him.
When Sarah stepped up the chopping block, dressed in a crimson blazer and a black lace bra underneath, she radiated a dangerous kind of aura. She climbed onto the table, eyes locked dead on John B as she did a slow, provocative grind, dropping low to the music before strutting to the edge. But something about their gaze held a kind of unspoken tension.
And everyone’s jaws hit the floor when Sarah stepped down and made a b-line…for JJ.
JJ’s eyes went wide as he caught her strutting over, his hands going up in mock surrender, but as Sarah wrapped her arms around his neck and smashed her lips against his, he didn't pull away. It was a steamy kiss that had you all stunned, noises of disbelief echoing around the table.
John B was left wordless, his face dropping as a look of intense jealousy washed over him.
Confessional: Sarah
"Am I being petty? Absolutely.” She laughs. “Since there’s enough of John B to go around, I figured there’s enough of me for his best friend in here to get a taste." She leans back. “Oh, but don’t worry, John B! I only kissed your best friend because I missed you!” She mocks, rolling her eyes.
Ungluing her lips from JJ’s, Sarah marched over to the podium, her eyes cutting straight through John B on her way over before she read her trivia card.
"Which employee loves to take secret meetings with new clients behind their partner's back?"
"Oooooh," Everyone looked around, probably having a couple of people in mind with recent events.
But, again, to everyone’s surprise, Sarah locked eyes with John B, beckoning him over with a single finger as he obeyed and walked over while you all exchanged weary, confused glances.
Oh, you’d definitely ask her about this later.
Though, right now, you focused on watching as John B got comfortable in the elevated seat while Sarah looked all too happy to slam the lever and send him into the pit, soaking his blazer and curls in pink slime.
And to top it all off, she had deliver her final kiss to him. Sarah sauntered over, climbed onto his sticky, slimed lap, and delivered an agonizingly slow kiss, leaving John B dazed and defeated.
Confessional : Sarah
"I don't know if I'm still mad." Sarah shrugged. "Like, he explored and still chose me but that shit sucked, dude!" She whines. "...But dunking him definitely helped."
After her, Haja turned the boardroom into show and you all, fortunately, had front row seats. Her movements across the table were so fluid—dropping into a slow split and executing flawless, complicated moves that had the boys standing up out of their chairs, screaming.
But the real mess came when Haja lowered herself down from the table and walked straight over to Miles. Everyone, the boys especially, looked around like, 'what the hell?' given how much they hated each other, or at least appeared to.
Miles smirked, smug as Haja pulled him in by his open blazer, delivering a deep kiss that looked entirely too comfortable. JJ’s jaw clenched, a look of insecurity crossing his features as he watched the girl he was coupled up with swap spit with her ex...by choice.
Confessional: JJ
"So…she acts like Miles is the literal bane of her entire existence…and to back it up, she shoves her tongue down his throat?” He throws out, clearly put off. “It’s messing with my head, bro. I feel like a pawn in their weird little game..."
Haja broke the kiss, pushing Miles back by his shoulders, stepping up to the podium to read her trivia card.
"Which employee is trying to pull off a hostile takeover in another department?"
Haja pretended to think, her eyes traveling when the stopped on Miles…before jumping to Sofia, beckoning her over as Sofia pointed a finger at herself, surprised. Haja nodded, urging her up out of her seat. "This one's for you, sweetie," She teased as Sofia tried to act unbothered, sitting in the chair, closing her eyes and waiting for the moment to come.
Haja slammed the lever back, and Sofia let out a small shriek as she fell into the pool, slime splattering across her face and into her hair. And as she rose, scooping the substance out of her eyes, almost slipping on her way back to her seat, Haja concluded her turn by walking back to JJ. She took him by the chin, forcing him to look at her, and delivered a passionate kiss that almost made him forget he was mildly upset with her, leaving him grinning.
Kaitlyn’s turn was undeniably sultry. She already had this mature, sexy confidence about her, but as she did a slow crawl down the center of the conference table, her dark hair falling over her shoulders before stepping down—she stole the show. And she proved she knew exactly how to twist a knife, whether purposely or not, when her outside kiss targeted John B.
John B looked flustered as she approached, shifting his weight as her lips met his, but he kissed her back when he remembered Sarah’s lips on JJ’s.
And Sarah simply watched with a lethal stare, jaw working.
Confessional: Kaitlyn
"Honestly, I just kissed John B for a bit of fun and we have that history, so it felt safe. But looking back? Probably not the right move.” She winces. “I clearly wasn’t reading the room, and I think I just added more fuel to Sarah's fire. Oops?"
Kaitlyn untangled herself from John B and moved swiftly to the podium, reading her card.
"Which employee thinks they're the boss when they're actually just a temp?"
Kaitlyn laughed, holding the card to her mouth, laughing before her eyes landed dead smack on Miles. Various reactions sounded out as the man rose from his seat, Kaitlyn stepping aside to let him take a seat in the chair before yanking the lever back, letting him drop.
The slime coated almost every inch of him, dripping down his frame as he stepped out of the pool, a tight-lipped grimace on his face as Kaitlyn then walked over to Pope, ending her turn with a sexy kiss.
And before you knew it, it was your turn to show off. You were wearing an oversized white blazer that laid wide open over a matching white lace brassiere, framing you perfectly.
You climbed onto the long, curved conference table, the bass of the music thumping as you let yourself go, used to these games by now. You dropped to your knees, crawling seductively down the center of the table, locking eyes with the perimeter of guys as everyone cheered you on, louder than ever. You held your glasses in your mouth, clutched between your teeth, hanging loosely from your lips as you ran your hands up your thighs, holding eye contact with Rafe for a split second before deliberately bypassing him.
Confessional: Rafe
"Just fuckin' kill me. I don't think I deserve it but this is torture."
The boys were shouting, completely losing their minds. But, of course, your girls were even louder.
You got caught up in the moment, glasses hanging sexily low on your face as your peered over them, realizing you had to choose someone to kiss.
And he came to mind, of course he did.
But he didn’t get that luxury anymore.
So, without much thought, you stopped in front of JJ, eyes locked onto his. He laughed, throwing his hands up as a blush rose on his cheeks, but he caught you by the waist as you tugged him harshly by his tie, slanting your lips against his as his hands splayed out against your lower back, pulling you in closer.
Confessional: You
You were squealing, covering your face with your hands. “I will never get used to kissing JJ.” You whined into your hands dramatically. “It’s so weird! It literally felt like incest. And I’m still kind of pissed at him!”
Confessional : JJ
“Y’know, I know she could’ve kissed Rafe, probably wanted to,” He ponders, shrugging. “But I don’t think I mind being her scapegoat.” He smirks.
Despite the internal awkwardness, the kiss looked like something out of a movie, and while Theo sat back with a calm smirk, Rafe looked somewhere between grossed out and pissed off, his face contorting as he had to just look away.
It wasn’t like you hadn’t kissed JJ before, almost everyone had kissed everyone, but this time you had the choice to. You could’ve picked him, and you didn’t. It cut him straight to the bone that you could have chosen to kiss him, and you explicitly chose to kiss someone else.
He knew why you did it, but the rejection still felt like a punch to the gut.
As you broke away from JJ, leaving him red, hot, and flustered, walking over to the podium, you swiped up the trivia card.
"Which employee loves trying to manage two different corporate accounts at the same time?"
The villa fell into a chorus of oohs, and, feeling particularly messy, you didn't think on it as your eyes locked directly onto Rafe, narrowing your eyes and beckoning him forward with a single finger.
Rafe didn’t look the least bit upset as he got up, making his way towards you. He actually looked amused, happy you were acknowledging him. Pleased, even.
And it made you even madder as he came to a stop in front of you. But you didn’t let it show, fixing him with a bitter smile. "Time for an audit, baby boy." you teased.
And Rafe raised a single eyebrow, crossing his arms as he towered over you, veins in his arms flexing. “That’s a new one,” he tilts his head. “What happened to ‘big guy’?”
Your jaw clenched as you fixed him with an unamused expression. “You tell me.”
“I’ve been tryin’.” He says, both of you completely forgetting there are indeed people watching, especially two people in particular, as his voice drops its teasing tone.
You simply huff, jerking your head to the side. “Shut up. Get your ass in the chair.” You bite out, moving to put your hand on the lever, shifting your weight as you watch him climb into the seat.
“Yes, ma’am.” He throws out carelessly, sitting down with his hands in his lap, waiting. His words send a heat crawling up your neck but you use those emotions to pull the lever, dropping Rafe into the pool of goo, most of it getting on his chest and neck.
And you couldn’t help the way your eyes trailed the length of his body as he stood up, pink slime dripping down, curving over his shoulders, filling the valleys between his abs as he exited the pool, wiping the little bit that did get on his face.
And as you watched him, you had two people watching you. And Theo and Sofia did not look happy, by any means.
Snapping out of your stupor when Rafe, once again catches you staring and sends a slow smirk your way, you turn on your heel, walk straight over to Theo and climb onto his lap, wounding your legs around his waist, and plant a sloppy, slow kiss that had everyone else cheering but had Rafe’s jaw clenching so hard, he swore he felt something pop.
After you, Sofia was the next to step out, and she didn’t look as graceful as she’d hoped because of the fact she’d already been dunked. She did a sexy dance across the table, eyeing all of the boys, shooting them looks before setting her sights on one guy.
She marched straight over to Rafe, not without a glare towards you, so fast you barely caught it. She leaned in, wrapping her arms around his neck, as you swore you saw him sigh heavier than ever right before she pressed her lips against his, attempting to deepen the kiss into something more.
But Rafe cut the kiss short. After a split second, he turned his face away from hers, his hands catching her shoulders.
Everyone looked shocked, JJ letting out a low whistle, muttering under his breath. "Oh, damn."
This was the first time the original girls, and specifically you, had ever seen Rafe reject Sofia’s advances, as he claimed he did, in person. And, somewhat shamefully, a spike of satisfaction mixed with total confusion hit you as you watched him wipe his mouth with the pad of his thumb as Sofia walked away, visibly embarrassed. Her eyes locked straight onto you, a fire in them.
She had noticed the mere fraction of a second Rafe pulled away from her, the way his eyes had immediately shot across the table to find you, watching him glare at her when he realized you had looked away, a snarl on your lips.
Desperate to recover her dignity, she walked over to the podium, pissed off and territorial, reading her trivia card.
"Which temporary hire is just filling a vacancy until the original person comes back to reclaim the position?"
And it went weirdly silent as everyone watched Sofia’s mean eyes lock on to you across the table, tilting her head sweetly.
"Y/N," she called you out.
A few people made noises, most just stared, waiting to see what would happen. And Rafe huffed, tired of the girl’s antics by now.
You simply tilted your head back at her, smiling softly as you rose from your seat, walking around the table. As you passed Rafe, he reached for your hand, gently enough that no one else noticed. You glanced down at his hand briefly as you continued walking past him towards Sofia, what sounded like an apology tumbling from his lips fading into thin air as you stopped in front of the girl.
She looked you up and down, quick enough that you were sure no one really caught it, before speaking.
“It was sweet of you to keep things running for me—”
Theo’s face twists as he sits up straighter. “Hey.”
“Sofia.” Rafe scolds, clearly irritated as much as everyone else.
“Its fine.” You shrug, meeting both boy’s eyes before turning back to Sofia.
“...But I'm happy to take over and let you take a well-deserved break.” She shrugs, smiling at you. “No hard feelings?”
You looking down, laughing to yourself—who does this bitch think she is?—as you tie your hair up into a ponytail, everyone’s eyes widening as they were under the impression you were seconds away from getting yourself sent home when you look back up, smiling.
“No hard feelings.” You return the fake sentiment, returning her favor from the previous night as you brush her shoulder as you walk past her to take your seat in the dunk chair. Your eyes lock with Theo’s as you send him a small wink, letting him know it’s okay. Then they look at your girls, making a small heart with your hands as they blow kisses at you, before your eyes make one last pit stop on Rafe—glaring into his soul as you can only note how angry yet sad he looks before you hear the lever click and feel yourself falling.
A wave of thick, sticky pink slime hits you in the face, the goo coating your white blazer, dripping down your neck. You took it like nothing—standing up calmly, smiling as the voices of the girls telling you that you ‘still look good’ traveled through the air, completely covered, but you refused to let Sofia see it get to you.
You kept your composure, wiping the slime from your eyes, fixing Sofia with a cold, unamused stare that made her look away first as you removed your blazer and returned to your seat.
Confessional: You
"I am never, ever one to be mad at the girl in these situations. But, clearly, this kitty’s got claws.” You admit, plucking dried slime from your collarbone, shrugging. “But it’s okay... because I do too. She picked the wrong bitch to play dirty with."
When you’re sat, Sofia concludes her turn by walking over to Miles, who smirks as she delivers a kiss to end her turn.
After the debacle with Sofia, Rima was the final girl to go, bringing her typical confidence as she did a dance across the table that had everyone hyped up. Though, for her kiss, she walked straight over to Justin, pulling him in by his tie.
Confessional: Rima
"Look, I chose to kiss Justin because I’m familiar with kissing him. He’s my ex, so it felt more natural than kissing any of these other guys. I love you, Cleo! Don't be mad at meee!"
But Cleo didn't take a single ounce of offense to the kiss, knowing that, for one, it was a typical challenge, sitting back and winking at her. Rima then walked over to the podium, reading the final trivia card with a playful grin.
"Which employee is secretly running this entire firm and deserves a bonus?"
She throws her hands out, looking offended. “Can I dunk myself?” She proposed, making you all chuckle. “No, I’m serious.” Though, she laughs along, rolling her eyes lightheartedly before relenting. “Fine, besides me, I’d have to say…” she ponders, looking around before pointing both fingers at Cleo. "Give my girl her bonus!"
The whole table cheered as Cleo did a cute jog up to the podium, settling in the chair as Rima dunked her.
Rima then ended her turn, and the game, by walking over to Rafe, climbing onto his lap, and delivering a sexy kiss. And though you know it meant nothing, you hated the fact that it still made your chest tighten.
Because it meant you still cared.
BY the time evening arrived, the villa had settled into silence. The challenge had long been over, but the residual drama was still looming.
In the girls' dressing room, the core group—you, Rima, Cleo, and Sarah—were huddled around the mirrors.
"Okay, Sarah, we need to address the elephant in the room first," Cleo said, leaning against the counter as she brushed out her hair. "You kissing JJ? That was the last thing I expected."
“Me too,” you added, smoothing serum into your skin. “What was that about?”
Sarah let out a heavy sigh, sitting down on her stool. "John B and I had a talk right before the challenge.” She starts. “...He admitted that he kissed Delaney outside of a challenge while they were at Casa Amor.”
“What?” Rima cuts in, eyebrows shooting into her hairline.
“Yeah,” Sarah slumps. “I was just so angry, and wanted to do something to make him as upset as I was. When I told him afterward that it was just a petty move, he got pretty pissed. He said he was being completely honest with me about Delaney, and he feels like I’m not acknowledging that fact and only being pissed that he kissed someone else when that’s ‘literally the point’." She puts in air quotes, rolling her eyes lightly. "I mean, he's right, I guess. But still, I don't like that he waited until the next day to tell me..."
Sarah scoffed, looking at her reflection. "I told him that if he feels like shoving his tongue down every girl's throat that looks exactly like me is the point of the show, then he should feel completely free to keep doing that.”
You all made noises of approval at her words.
"What about you and Pope?" you asked, turning to Cleo and leaning against the vanity. “I didn’t expect you to kiss him, to be honest.”
Cleo shrugged. "I only kissed him to see if the spark was still there," Cleo admitted bluntly. "And unfortunately, it is.” She groans. “And now I feel like I’ve just made things ten times harder for myself with Justin..."
Rima laughed, nudging your shoulder playfully. "What we really need to get into is you kissing JJ," she wiggles her eyebrows. “He looked about ready to float after you with heart eyes like they do in cartoons.”
You made a dramatic, exaggerated face of horror, scrunching your nose up. "No, please it was so weird. JJ is like my annoying little brother."
Rima smirked, sliding a glance your way as she found now a good time to start trying to make good on her alliance with Rafe. "You know... you could have easily chosen to kiss Rafe. He was sitting right there, y'know, and his eyes were glued to you."
The mention of his name made your face harden. "Fuck that, and fuck him," you snapped, side-eyes flashing across the room toward where Sofia was getting ready for bed. "I’m not interested in being someone's sloppy seconds."
Sofia didn't say a word, but her jaw clenched as she overheard the comment. Rima, smirking as she caught your shade, then turned to Haja, trying to switch topics before whatever it was between you two boiled over. "Haja, can we address you…kissing Miles?"
Haja simply dismissed it with a casual shrug, applying her moisturizer. "I mean, the man is an absolutely terrible person, but there’s no denying he’s a good kisser."
A few minutes later, the newer Casa girls—Haja, Kaitlyn, and Sofia—left the dressing room to head to the bedroom, leaving the four of you alone to actually talk.
Sarah turned to you, her expression serious. "Finally,” she groaned, awaiting their exit. “Can we talk about Sofia dunking you during her turn? It didn't even make any sense with the question asked."
"And she seemed way too happy to see you covered in that shit," Cleo noted sharply, pursing her lips.
"Oh, please, we all know why she did it," Rima added, a deadpan expression across her features.
You let out an exhausted sigh, dropping the conversation, unwilling to give Sofia any more energy. "If she wants to play dirty, she has the wrong bitch.” You scoffed.
OVER in the guys' bathroom, the atmosphere was equally tense. John B, JJ, Pope, and Rafe were crowded around the sinks, while Miles, Theo, and Justin had already entered the bedroom with the Casa girls.
John B was running a hand through his hair, spazzing out. "Is it bad that I regret telling Sarah the truth? I feel like now she’s just trying to punish me for doing what we came here to do, which was exploring options.” He sighs. “I don't understand why it matters so much anyway because at the end of the day, I still came back to her. I chose her."
JJ let out an equally exhausted sigh, looking discouraged. "And I don't know if Haja is actually here for me. I think she’s super sexy and confident, and I love that about her. But I’m starting to think she’s just using me as some kind of piece in her game to make Miles mad..."
Pope looked just as crushed, staring down at the drain as he rinsed his face. "I was so worried after the recoupling that bringing Kaitlyn back was the wrong choice and that I’d ruined all my chances with Cleo. But honestly? The kiss today during the challenge... it gave me hope, man. I still felt that same spark we had when we first met. Just the simple fact that she chose to kiss me gives me hope that I can fix what I broke with her."
Rafe let out a loud, frustrated groan from his corner. "I’m pissed, man," he ranted to the guys. “I have never had to go through this much trouble dealing with a girl in my life. And I didn’t even do anything wrong for once!"
He shook his head, wounded. "She knew damn well she could have kissed me during that challenge. And instead, she chose to kiss JJ—no offense,"
"None taken, dude," JJ muttered.
"And then," Rafe continued, his voice cracking, "seeing her kiss Theo in person? Up close? Fuck that. I could've hurled. I still haven't eaten..."
John B looked up, adjusting his towel. "What about Sofia dunking her though?” He raises an eyebrow. “That was weird as hell. It was like Sofia was trying to assert her dominance or something."
"She was," Rafe seethed, his eyes narrowing. "And that’s exactly why I don't want her anywhere near me or her. She does petty bullshit like that." Rafe let out a jagged breath, his shoulders slumping as the anger drained out of him. He leaned back against the bathroom wall, hands dropping limply to his sides.
"But I don't even give a fuck about Sofia," He muttered, his voice dropping into a rough whisper. He looked across at the three of them, his Adam’s Apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. "I just... I miss her, man. I miss Y/N so fucking much, shit’s drivin’ me out of my mind."
The guys all slowly stopped what they were doing. JJ paused mid-shave, and Pope lowered his towel, the bathroom going quiet as everyone clocked the shakiness in his voice.
"I spent days sleeping outside on those damn daybeds, getting eaten alive by mosquitoes, just counting down the hours until I could get back to her," Rafe ranted, the words pouring out of him like a dam breaking. "I did everything right. I kept our conversation in Soul Ties in my head the entire time. All I wanted was to get back to her. And then I walk back in... and she’s holding hands with some dude she met five days ago? It's like no matter what I do in life, the universe always finds some way to fuck me over."
Rafe shook his head, a broken chuckle escaping his lips, his blue eyes going glassy.
JJ blinked rapidly, staring at him in absolute disbelief. He nudged John B’s arm, pointing a finger. "Whoa... bro. Hold on a second. Dude, are you about to cry right now?"
John B and Pope immediately exchanged a staggered look. The three of them stood frozen, staring at Rafe like he had just grown a second head. This was Rafe Cameron.
Rafe didn't cry. He got angry, he got loud—but he did not get teary eyed over a girl.
Rafe’s face flushed a deeply embarrassed shade of crimson, voice cracking sharply as he tried to bark back. "No. I’m not fucking crying.” He scowled, but it was evident.
"Nah, man, you're definitely mistin’ up," JJ teased, a grin breaking across his face. "Man's completely whipped."
"Fuck off," Rafe snapped, but there was no real anger or malice in his tone as he muttered under his breath.
"We’re just messing with you, man," Pope stepped in quickly, his tone shifting into something much softer as he patted Rafe firmly on the shoulder.
"Yeah, we’re only joking," John B added earnestly, tossing his towel aside and walking over to stand in front of him. The teasing dropped as the trio of boys stepped forward in silent comradery. "Look, we know you're hurt. We were hurt for you.” He said. “We saw how you were at Casa, you were the most loyal guy there, to be honest. She just needs time to realize that."
JJ sighed, his expression turning serious as he leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “We’ve got your back. We’ll help you out with her, however we can." He let out a light, honest chuckle. "Because honestly? Without her, you’re miserable, man. You’re walkin’ around this place like a fuckin’...caged tiger, scowling at the walls and shit, and it’s making everyone else miserable.” He adds honestly, though lighthearted. “For our own sanity, we gotta get you two back together."
Rafe let out a long breath through his nose, his shoulders relaxing as he looked at the three boys he could confidently call his friends. He didn't say thank you—he couldn't bring himself to be that vulnerable, only further proving just how much progress he’d made with you and you alone—but the desperate look in his eyes softened as he gave the boys a curt nod.
CLOSER to midnight, the house had finally gone dark. You were lying in bed, your mind spinning with a million conflicting thoughts, unable to sleep.
Feeling thirsty and overwhelmed, you quietly slid out from the sheets, and from up under Theo’s light embrace, and crept downstairs to grab a glass of water from the kitchen.
The villa was drenched in a deep blue, moonlight shining, the night quiet. You walked into the kitchen area, reaching for a glass as you yawned, when you froze.
Rafe was standing there, in the dark and in the silence, awkwardness settling over the space as you locked eyes.
Both of you were angry and confused and felt some level of betrayal, but beneath all of that, there was an evident sadness radiating off both of you—feelings don’t just disappear and now that your connection was no longer being nurtured, it was just up in the air, and neither of you knew what to do with it.
You were the first to break the gaze, ignoring his presence, turning your back to him as you filled your glass from the water dispenser.
Rafe watched you, his chest rising and falling with a heavy, sad breath.
He was the first to speak.
"So, you're really just not gonna speak to me?"
You bit the inside of your cheek, turned around slowly, holding the glass tightly in your hand, fixing him with a cold stare. "We have nothing left to speak about, Rafe.” You bit out. “I made my choice. You made yours."
"But I didn't, though." Rafe huffed out, taking a step closer to you, his eyes wide with a desperate fury. "That's what I’ve been trying to tell you, but you won’t listen. I didn't choose her—"
"I saw the video, Rafe—"
"And the video didn’t show you everything." he argued back, voice cracking.
“It showed me enough.”
“...So, that’s just it?” Rafe asked, hurt filling his eyes. “You’re gonna throw us away, me and you, over what you think you saw? What you think you know—”
“So, you didn’t tell her you missed her?” You asked, unamused, eyes glued to his now. To him, you looked calm, casual, checked out. But on the inside, your heart was racing.
Rafe sighed, pinching the skin between his eyebrows. “I did, but I didn’t mean it—”
“And then, let me guess, I’m supposed to believe you didn’t let her kiss you, either. That you didn’t kiss her back—”
“I didn’t.”
“And I don’t believe you.”
“Because you don’t want to.” Rafe threw out, weak. “I told you I was done holding shit back from you, that I would tell you the truth, and that’s what I’m doing. Like, I don’t understand, is this your past trust issues or something—”
“Don’t—”
“Or is it the guy you brought back? Do you feel like you have to push me away to be with him?”
You took a step forward, the glass of water trembling slightly in your grip. "This has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with you. You don't get to turn your screw-ups around and blame my judgment."
"But that's exactly what you're doing." Rafe fired back, his voice rising now, desperate. He stepped right back into your space. "You're projecting. You're standing here looking right at me, but you're seeing your damn ex.” You huffed, letting out a humorless laugh, but deep down…you knew he was right. “You're looking at me and you're just waiting for me to turn into a piece of shit ‘cause that’s what you’re used to."
"Will you stop—"
"No, I'm not gonna stop. If you’re gonna hear me say anything, you’re gonna hear me say this," he argued, his eyes wide, swimming with frustration and hurt. "I know I have a temper, and I know I've been a mess, but I have been nothing but real with you about my past and my feelings.” He pleads. “You know I’m being honest. I can see it in your eyes, angel.” The nickname had you taking a deep breath to steady yourself. It’d been days since you heard it. You didn’t realize how much you missed hearing it leave his lips. “You know I didn't do anything wrong over there."
He was almost right.
It was something that had been lingering in the back of your mind, nagging you every time the silence got too loud.
What if he was telling the truth? What if he really didn't do anything?
But then you look back on all the times you had given your ex, or any other guy, the benefit of the doubt and it always came full circle, slapping you right back in the face, reminding you how stupid you were to believe them. So yeah, you pondered on the possibility of Rafe telling the truth, but your heart was begging you to not possibly put yourself through that again, because while Rafe had opened up to you about parts of himself and you had done the same, you both still had a really long way to go before you could confidently say that you knew each other. And your heart and mind and body were screaming at you, all saying different things
He took another half-step, closing the distance. "I might not know all of you, yet, but I know you enough. Enough to know that you're sitting here, overthinking it because you're terrified that if you trust me, I’m gonna make you look stupid—”
“You already did.”
Your jaw tightened, a fresh pool of tears pricking behind your eyelids.
Rafe sighed, defeated.
“...I’m not the guy that you’re so afraid of me being.” He says softly. “But I don’t know what else I can say or do to get you to understand that. To believe it.”
Suddenly, the fury between you two evaporated. You were standing face to face, inches apart, breathing the same air.
Rafe’s eyes dropped from your gaze, tracking down the lines of your face, the slight frown on your lips as his jaw worked silently. Slowly, with a trembling hand, he reached up and you tensed, your heart beating violently, but you didn't pull back as his thumb gently brushed against your cheek.
His touch felt warm against your face as he rubbed a spot right near your jawline, thumb lingering tenderly for a moment before he slowly pulled his hand away, looking down at his finger.
"You had..." Rafe murmured, his voice soft, entirely empty of its previous anger and frustration. "You still had slime on your face."
You stared up at him, breath hitching, the proximity, the familiar scent of his cologne and the sound of the ocean in the distance completely clouding your logic.
For a split second, the divide between you vanished. Your eyes drifted down to his lips, and Rafe leaned in closer, his head tilting down as he prepared to close the remaining space between you.
…When the memory of the video flashed in your mind like a warning sign.
You snapped yourself out of the trance, yanking your face back from his touch, eyeing the dried flake of pink slime still on his thumb.
"...Yeah,” you sighed. “Courtesy of the girl you missed so much," you snarked, the words cutting through the moment.
Rafe flinched, his face falling. "Angel, please—"
"Just stop, Rafe.” You shook your head, turning to grab your water glass from the counter, ready to bolt back upstairs.
He let out a desperate sigh, his hands hovering in the empty space between you. "Please... just let me explain," he pleaded, his voice rough. "I miss you. I missed you every single day I was over there. I miss you even when I know you’re around somewhere but I hate that I can’t see you.” He admitted, eyes growing slightly. “Why are you making it so hard for me? Why can't you just trust me?"
Before you could even open your mouth to counter him, the sound of bare feet hitting the ground made you both freeze, turning towards the sound.
Sofia stepped into the kitchen—that's why, you thought to yourself. She was holding an empty water bottle and the second her tired eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight and she realized how close you and Rafe were standing in the kitchen, surprised by your presence at all, the air in the space turned awkward.
"Oh..." Sofia dragged out, her voice dropping into that same soft, innocent tone that sounded entirely too practiced. She stopped a few feet away, clutching the bottle to her chest. "Sorry. I just came down to get some water."
She offered a sweet smile, but you didn't look at her lips—you looked straight at her eyes.
Even in the low light of the villa, you could see the hostility written plainly across her face. Sofia was not fond of you, she’d made that clear, and it was obvious that she was furious to find you and Rafe huddled up together in the middle of the night, too close for her comfort. Her jaw was tight, a bitter twitch of irritation flashing in her eyes before she quickly smoothed her expression back over before she turned her back, filling her water bottle.
"Speak of the devil," you muttered, your voice cold. You grabbed your glass from the counter, done with the situation.
"Wait, don't go," Rafe said frantically. He reached out, his fingers catching your wrist to try and get you to stay. "We weren’t done talking. Just—"
"We are now.” you hissed. “You’ve got all the company you need." you seethed, yanking your arm out of his grip.
And you didn't give him another second, and you definitely didn't give Sofia the satisfaction of watching you argue.
Shooting them both a final glare, you spun on your heel and sauntered out of the kitchen, your footsteps echoing as you headed straight back upstairs to the bedroom.
He sighed, cursing to himself as a single tear fell from his eye, quickly dragging both of his hands down his face, shaking his emotions off. Or, at least, trying to. He had taken one step forward, planning to return to his solitude on the daybeds and sulk when she spoke.
"Well, now that she’s finally gone,” She started, shifting her weight, a smug grin on her lips. “We can actually finish what we started.”
THE next morning, you were woken up by the feeling of heat on your face, the Fiji sun beaming through the tall window. It felt like punishment, exposing every washed out expression and heavy heart traveling through the villa.
The glam room was already an obstacle course when you walked in—discarded spray cans, tangled curling iron cords, and half-empty water bottles.
Everyone got ready, per usual, the guys bringing up breakfast and swiftly exiting. You’d disappeared to the adjoined bathroom at some point to brush your teeth, coming back to that damn smoothie right in front of your mirror, next to the plate of eggs and fruit Theo had given to you earlier.
But this time, without the pressure of Rafe’s gaze and the desire to push him away, you drank it.
Too engrossed in getting ready yourself, you didn’t notice everyone slowly filtering out to mingle, leaving only you and Rima in a comfortable silence.
"You look like you're about to fight a war, girlie," Rima broke the ice. “I haven’t seen that smile of yours all morning,” She noted, turning her sharp eyes toward you. "And you look like you haven't slept more than twenty minutes."
You let out a dry laugh. "I haven't. My mind has been running laps since last night. This place is starting to feel like an experiment I didn't sign up for..."
Rima hummed, smoothing lotion over her knuckles. She took a step closer, her eyes searching yours. "I can imagine. The energy still kind of sucks.” She admits, shrugging. “How are you actually doing, though? How are things with you and Theo?"
"Theo is…great," you said quickly, voice flat. "He’s been nothing but sweet to me. He made me breakfast, he listens... he’s exactly the kind of guy a girl should want."
"...But he’s not the guy you want." Rima countered smoothly, her tone conversational, though the bait was dangling right in front of your face. You glanced at her, a pained expression on your face as she said what you weren’t willing to. She leaned against the adjacent mirror, crossing her arms over her chest. "Babe, you’ve got to face the music. When I walked past the patio this morning, Rafe looked like he’d been hit by a bus." Her face twisted. "It's a very hard sight to look at his big ass being all sad. He’s hurt. Like, really hurt."
You kept your eyes fixed on the mirror, refusing to look at her. "Rafe is fine."
"No, he’s not," Rima pressed, her voice dropping. She tilted her head, watching the way your jaw clenched. "And I don't know if you’ve noticed... but he’s been sleeping out on those hard ass daybeds since he got back from Casa."
"Good.” You quip. “The daybeds have excellent airflow," you snarked bitterly, your voice rising just a fraction. "He can stay out there until the finale for all I care."
“Don’t do that. I know you care. You know you care.” Rima let out a slow breath, shaking her head. She leaned in just a bit closer, her eyes locking onto yours. "He told me what happened in the kitchen last night. He pulled me first thing this morning, before the sun was even fully up. He’s trying to make it right, babe. But you’re not letting him…."
Your eyes narrowed, chest heaving with a spike of irritation that was really directed toward no one but yourself.
"Why does it sound like you're taking his side right now?" you bit out. “Did you forget what we all saw in that video?"
"I didn’t forget and I’m not taking his side. I’m really not," Rima said, keeping her voice level. "I’m just saying... he looks really damn hurt for a guy who supposedly wants to be with his ex. If he wanted Sofia, it’s clear that she’s wide open for him." She rolls her eyes, making a sound of disgust. "But instead, he’s pacing around the villa, making smoothies that he knows will probably get poured out, though I see you were more open-minded today—” She smirks, eyeing the half-full glass. “And begging anyone who will listen to help him get through to you."
"He’s not hurt. He just feels guilty…” you scoffed, a breath escaping your lips as you rubbed a hand aggressively over your face. “He got caught and now that his game plan blew up in his face and I actually brought someone back, his ego is bruised. That’s all it is."
Rima didn't push back against your words or your anger. She just stood there, her features softening into a look of sympathetic pity. She let the silence hang between you for a few seconds before she spoke again, her voice dropping into a more serious tone.
"I’m just saying... maybe we misunderstood something about what happened over at Casa.”
The sentence hung in the air and you stared up at her as the logic of her words began to fight against the wall of anger you’d been building. You let out a long sigh, shoulders slumping in exhaustion.
"You believe him, don't you?" you asked quietly, voice cracking slightly as you looked at her.
"I do," Rima said honestly, stepping forward and placing a supportive hand on your knee. "I don't think that man is lying to you."
She shifted her weight, her eyes locking onto yours. "I have looked into the faces of a lot of guilty men. I know what a liar looks like. And when I looked at Rafe, I didn't see a guilty man. I saw a man who was genuinely terrified of losing the one good thing he’s found in this place."
You looked down at your hands, your throat growing tight as your brain scrambled to find another excuse, another fruitless reason, and before you could stop yourself, the words started pouring out of your mouth.
"Last night," you whispered, your voice shaking. "In the kitchen, when we were arguing... he told me I have 'trust issues', that I’m just waiting for him to turn into a piece of shit because ‘that’s what I’m used to’." You let out a choked, hollow laugh, a tear escaping your eyelashes, tracing down your cheek. "And the worst part...is that deep down, I know he’s right. But, even then, it’s like I can’t help it. I want to believe him, that there’s more to it, that it wasn’t what it looked like. But I’m so scared of looking fucking dumb."
Rima listened, her hand squeezing your knee tightly as you opened up.
"I’ve spent my entire life dealing with men who treated me like an option," you confessed, the tears started coming faster. "I am so used to giving a guy the benefit of the doubt, letting my guard down, and then looking like a complete idiot for it."
Rima let out a soft sigh, leaning down so she was at eye level with you. Her hand moved from your knee up to your arm, her touch warm.
"Look at me," Rima ordered gently. "I hear you. But let me be real with you, as a friend—it’s not healthy, and it is not fair, to project the mistakes of your past relationships onto Rafe."
She shook her head, her voice firm. "Rafe has done nothing since the moment you two paired up but try for you. He’s been working through his own shit, purely because he wants to better himself so he can be better for you. He laid his cards on the table, even asked you to close things off, and he has consistently shown you who he wants to be. It is not worth throwing away a connection that is clearly that deep and that real...based on a fear you have because of how some loser back home treated you.” She tells you. “Rafe is not that guy."
You wiped furiously at your face with the back of your hand, nodding at her words..
"Look, I know we don't know exactly what went down, minute by minute, over at Casa," Rima admitted, offering you a small, encouraging smile. "But in my gut? I truly believe that boy didn't do anything. I’m pretty sure he might even be falling for you. Anyone with eyes can see it." She let out a loud laugh, trying to lighten the mood as she patted your shoulder. "And hey... if it turns out I’m wrong and he actually did do some shady shit? You can happily beat my ass first for giving you bad advice, and then I will personally help you beat his from one side of this villa to the other.” She offers. “Deal?"
A small, wet chuckle escaped your lips as you looked at her. You drew your lips into a tight line, turning back toward your mirror to fix the makeup your tears had ruined.
"Deal," you murmured softly. "But... I can't make any promises, Rima."
"I don't expect you to give him a pass, sweetie," She smiled, standing up and heading toward the door, hand on the knob. "Just give him a chance to speak."
BY midday, the Fiji heat had reached its peak, and the islanders were scattered about the property in small clusters.
Down by the edge of the lower terrace, Rafe was sitting on a daybed, his fingers mindlessly pulling at a loose thread on his shorts. He looked isolated, a cloud of frustration tracing his features.
The sound of sandals clicking against the concrete made him snap his head up, finding Rima sauntering down the path. She didn't waste any time, sliding onto the cushions directly next to him.
Rafe sat up straight instantly, his blue eyes wide, drilling into her face. "Well?" he burst out, voice anxious. "Did you talk to her?"
“What ever happened to ‘hello’, ‘good morning’, ‘how are you’?” Rima took a slow sip of her water, letting him sweat for a fraction of a second before she rolled her eyes when he deadpanned her. "Jesus, yes, I talked to her, Rafe."
"And?" He leaned in closer. "What did she say?"
"Long story short, she’s scared and hurt." Rima said straightforwardly. "And that’s probably the reason why it’s so damn hard for you to get through to her right now. She’s emotional, so she’s not very open to reason or logic."
Rafe let out a frustrated groan, dragging his palms down his face. "I don't get it, Rima. I told her last night... I swear I didn't do anything wrong over there. Why can't she just see it for what it is?"
"Because she’s terrified, Rafe," Rima explained, crossing her legs. "And she did talk to me about last night. When you called her out in the kitchen about not being able to trust guys because of things that happened to her in her past? She probably won’t admit it to you, but...she did tell me that she thinks you were right."
Rafe’s hands dropped from his face, eyes narrowing as he processed her words, a sudden look of curiosity and concern gracing his features as a question came to mind.
"...How did she act when her ex was here?"
Rima let out a heavy breath, her expression turning somber as she recalled the expression that had crossed your face at the start of Casa. "She was pissed. She didn’t want him here at all. Like, not even a little bit. The second she realized what was going on, her entire face went blank and it was like her whole personality just flatlined." She tells him honestly. "She barely spoke a single word to the man," Rima continued. "Every time he tried to strike up a conversation, she would immediately stand up, walk away, anything but acknowledge him. She wouldn't even look him in the eye. I wanna say that the very few times they interacted, she was either chewing him out or glaring him down.” She said. “And let me tell you, as a woman watching another woman? Whatever happened between them, it definitely left a mark on her."
Rafe sat completely still, his breathing shallow as Rima's words and what you’d told him about your past painted a vivid picture of the pain you had been running from.
"So, I guess, when she watched that video of you and Sofia," Rima pointed out, her voice gentle but firm. "She got the exact same feelings that she used to get in that relationship. Or maybe another. Either way, her brain probably convinced her that the cycle was bound to repeat itself with you. That’s probably the reason why she’s being so stubborn and pushing you away—she thinks she’s just protecting herself from looking like an idiot again."
Rafe let out a long breath, his head dropping as he stared at his feet. "I hate that I made her feel like that," he whispered, voice shaking. "I didn't want to be another bad memory in her life." He shook his head, a desperate, angry edge returning to his voice. "And Sofia being here... it’s just making everything fucking worse. She’s doing it on purpose. She knows exactly what she’s doing to her head, and it’s driving me crazy because I can't force Sofia to leave, and I can't force Y/N to listen."
Rima offered him a supportive smile, patting his arm reassuringly. "You can't force anything in here, Rafe. But you can be patient. Just give her a little space to breathe, and when you do get a chance to talk to her, don't get defensive.” She advised. “Just...lay your heart out on the line. That's the only girl advice I can give you right now."
Rafe looked up at her, his eyes full of a silent gratitude. He took a deep breath, straightening his shoulders as he tried to gather his composure. "Thank you, Rima. Seriously. For doing this for me. For me and her."
Before Rima could even respond, the sharp ping of multiple phones echoed across the pool deck. The tri-tone chime cut through the afternoon air, causing every islander in the yard to stop in their tracks.
Down by the pool, JJ pulled his device from his swim shorts, his eyes widening as he scanned the notification. "Yo! Text, y'all!" he shouted, his voice echoing across the lawn as the islanders began to migrate around him.
You walked out onto the lower terrace, your fingers tightly wrapped around your water bottle. You took a seat on a beanbag next to Sarah and Cleo. Rafe walked over from his chat with Rima, her joining the three of you as his eyes locked directly onto your face the second you appeared, watching you talk to your girls, watching your head fall back as you laughed at something Cleo said.
God, he missed when you would laugh like that with him.
JJ opened the message, his voice ringing out clearly.
"Islanders, the public has been watching your every move since the dramatic fallout of Casa Amor. They’ve seen the tears, the arguments, and the broken trust, and they think one couple desperately needs a little bit of time away from the drama to sort out their unfinished business."
A collective gasp ran across the lawn, and your stomach dropped as JJ read the final lines.
"Y/N and Rafe... the viewers have voted for the two of you to escape the villa and head out on a private, one-on-one date outside the villa! Please go get dressed and head to the front entrance. #TimeOut #FaceTheTruth #UnfinishedBusiness"
And that was when the air went still, a genuine smile breaking out across Rafe’s face for the first time all day, hope visible in his expression. He looked straight at you, his blue eyes bright, a spark in them that you genuinely missed. But one you also felt bad for dimming. But you still weren’t sure if you should.
The guys seemed happy for Rafe, even Theo clapping him on the back as they pushed him towards the villa to start getting ready, while the girls sat with you, not saying much, trying to gauge your reaction first.
Your jaw was clenched as you sat silent, not knowing how to feel, when Rima leaned over, whispering. “Just one chance,” she reminded, and you looked to her, vulnerability swimming in your eyes as she nudged you, kissing your cheek. “You got this.” She encouraged, pulling you up to drag you a few feet away from the others, wanting her next words to only be to you. “Let him be the good guy for once. Don't force him to be the bad one just because you think it'll save you from being hurt.” She told you firmly, no room for debate. “Promise me you’ll at least do that.”
You huffed, your shoulders slumping. “I promise.” You nodded once.
And that seemed to satisfy the woman as she smiled, tugging you forward into a brief hug before the gathering broke up to let you get ready, heading toward the staircase. Though, before you could even reach it, a hand gently caught your wrist.
You whirled around to find Theo standing there, his eyes shadowed with that same quiet anxiety that had poured itself over him since your talk yesterday. It was only then had you realized that you hadn’t spoken much since then. Even last night, he was sleep when you climbed into the bed, silent tears running down your cheeks.
But right now, he didn't look angry.
"Hey," he said softly, his voice low as he looked down at your face. "...Look, I’m sorry for walking away from you yesterday."
You frowned, knowing he had nothing to apologize for. “Theo, you have nothing to be sorry for—”
“I do,” he dismissed your dismissal. “I knew what I signed up for coming in and I can’t be upset with you for not having it all figured out.” He explained. “I just…I want you to know that I’m not here to tie you down or force you into anything. I know what you and Rafe have is complicated. Just... go on the date. And be honest with yourself.” He advised, though there was something behind his eyes. Like he knew what that might mean for him. “I just want you to know that you’ll still have me right here when you get back, piccola. I’m not going anywhere.” He assured. “...Not unless you want me to."
The sheer grace of his words made a lump form in your throat. You offered him a tight, grateful nod. “I know,” you choked out, fighting tears. “Thank you.” You said, hugging the man before turning to head up to the dressing room.
THE car ride out to the date location was…weird. To put it mildly. It didn’t help you’d spent the last hour getting ready and trying not to spiral.
The black SUV wound its way along the rocky coastal roads, the only sound between you and Rafe being the low sound of the engine, the AC, and the distant crash of the waves through the open windows. You sat pressed against the door, your eyes fixed firmly out the window, refusing to look in his direction.
Rafe sat beside you, his hands resting on his knees, his knuckles white as he repeatedly curled and uncurled his fists, a nervous habit. He kept opening and closing his mouth, thinking of something to say then immediately losing the thought, his throat working silently as he fought his own nerves.
When the car finally came to a stop, the driver held the door open, and you stepped out into a secluded cliffside sanctuary—a rustic wooden table for two right at the edge of the plateau, overlooking the endless expanse of the ocean. The setting sun was beginning to paint the sky in deep shades of amber, casting long, golden shadows across the ground. A bottle of champagne sat chilling in a silver bucket next to a platter of fresh berries and charcuterie, but all of this did absolutely nothing to ease the ball of anxiety sitting behind your ribs.
You walked over, your heels clicking softly against the stone. Though, Rafe was quicker, getting ahead and pulling your chair out for you, not making a big deal of the gesture as he fixed you with a fleeting smile before sliding into the chair opposite yours.
It was silent. Awkward. Tense.
Should you speak? No, he should speak first.
Does it even really fucking matter?
You reach for your glass of champagne after he pours it, keeping your eyes on the bubbles, refusing to meet his gaze as your leg bounced relentlessly underneath the table. But as you finally forced yourself to look up, peering through your eyelashes, you noticed that Rafe had a small, gentle smile on his face as he sat there, staring at you.
He looked incredibly handsome in a crisp white button-up shirt, a soft, boyish drowsiness that showed just how happy he was to finally have you in a space where nobody else could interrupt. A space where it was just you and him and he could explain.
He took a deep breath, rolling his sleeves just below his elbows and resting his forearms on the table as he looked across at you.
"...Thank you. For not jumping out of the car," Rafe started quietly, trying to catch you gaze, lighten the mood, and get you to say something. "I know this is the last place you want to be right now, angel. I know you don't really like me right now, but I’m glad you’re here with me."
You kept your face completely neutral, chewing your lip as you continued to watch the champagne bubbles jump. "The public voted, Rafe.” You remind him, but the word weren’t as bitter as most of yours had been towards him lately. “I didn't have a choice."
"Well, I’m glad they did," Rafe confessed as he leaned in closer. "Because I’ve been trying to get you to listen to me, and I’m finally able to just sit down and explain everything to you without anyone else walking in." He paused, his jaw clenching slightly as he gathered his thoughts, his eyes locking onto yours as you finally lifted your head, relaxing into the chair as you set the glass down and splayed both your hands out on the table.
You thought about saying something, but then you remembered Rima’s word about just being quiet and listening.
"I don’t think you understand," Rafe began, his voice wavering. "Waking up that morning and realizing we were being carted off... all the guys were excited, man.” He laughs at the memory. “They were hitting each other, laughing as everyone tried to pack their shit without waking you all up, whisper-shouting ‘Casa’ over and over on the way out... But the entire time I was sitting in that car riding over there, I kept you in my mind."
He reached across the table, his hand hovering over yours for a moment before he let it drop onto the wood, not wanting to push you too far. "When we got there, I was immediately ready to leave. No joke, I swear to you. I never wanted to go in the first place." He throws in. "And whether it was cold, hot, humid as hell... I slept outside by myself on those fuck ass daybeds the entire time. And, without you curled up on me, they actually kind of suck to sleep on.” He throws out, trying to get a smile out of you. He got the ghost of one, but it was enough. “I couldn't stomach the thought of sharing a bed with someone else. And, outside of the challenges, I did nothing. I didn't touch anyone, I didn't flirt, I didn’t kiss anyone,” he emphasized, eyes boring into yours.
You listened, your chest tightening, but you kept your mouth shut, letting him speak.
"And of course, the girls were relentless," Rafe muttered. "They’re bombshells, and even worse, they’ve been watching all of us, using what they've seen to try and secure a spot in the main villa, so they knew exactly how to play dirty. They would pull me and try to talk shit about you. They’d make little sly comments about how you probably didn't appreciate me, or how you were probably already onto a new guy the second my back was turned. But I shot that shit down. Every single time.” He affirmed. “I wasn't going for any of it because nobody could even hold a candle to you."
Rafe took in a jagged breath, his face falling as he addressed the elephant in the room.
“The… kiss. With Sofia.” Rafe starts, his chest heaving as he watches your jaw tighten. “I didn't start that, angel. I didn’t kiss her back. Not even close. It was after that challenge where she'd already kissed me once, and I was screaming at her," He admits, painfully. He didn't exactly want you to know about that, knowing his temper was something he'd been trying to work on. "I was telling her we were over, done, that I’ve been done.” His blue eyes bore into yours, desperate for you to see the truth. “But Sofia... she’s always been persistent. She’s used to getting whatever the hell she wants because that’s how I treated her in our relationship, whenever things were good anyway. So mid-argument, she just...lunged forward, throwing herself at me.” He huffs, his nostrils flaring. “The second her lips hit mine, I swear to God, I shoved her off me. And I can see why you think—”
“You said you missed her.” You cut him off, your voice cracking as you shift away from him, your eyebrows pinching. “You say you didn’t initiate it or kiss her back, okay...but you gave her a reason to think it was okay, Rafe.”
Rafe lets out a jagged sigh, dropping his head into his hands. “...There’s no good way to explain this. I said I missed her… I did.” He nods slowly, rubbing his jaw as he picks his next words with agonizing care. “But it wasn't like that.”
“You keep saying that—” You scoff.
“Because it wasn't.” He cuts you off, finally reaching out to grasp your hand. “I told her I missed the version of her that I thought was real. I don't remember what I said word-for-word, and I’m sorry I can’t give you that." He pleads. "But all I meant in that moment was that I missed the person she was. When we first met. I don't know if that makes it any better or worse, but that's the truth. That's what you didn't hear. I was not telling Sofia that I missed her in a way that meant I wanted her back in my life." He clarifies.
"I told her I missed who I thought she was, but that person doesn't exist anymore. But I told her it doesn't matter anyway because I have someone else now—you.” He tells you sternly. “She took it the wrong way, and the second she kissed me, I pushed her back and walked away because...I didn’t know what the fuck else to do.”
Rafe stopped pacing his words, his posture sagging as he looked at your silent form across the table. The anger left him, replaced by a quiet heartbreak as he looked at your face.
"And walking back in, seeing you with Theo... it breaks my heart in a lot of ways. It really does," Rafe whispered, a tear finally escaping his eye and tracing down his cheek. "I’m not gonna lie and act like it doesn't kill me to see him with you.” He says, having to choke the words out like they pain him physically. “But... I’m also not gonna hold you back if I’m not what you want anymore. If Theo is truly the guy you want, and he’s making you happy and giving you the peace I couldn't... then I’ll stay away.” His bottom lip quivering for a fraction of a second as his eyes set on yours, fighting the tears you can see building in his waterline. “I will let you go."
He leaned closer across the table. "But if you even still have just a tiny feeling left inside you from the moment we first met, from that first blindfolded kiss... then I am begging you, just give me one more chance. You can ask me whatever the fuck you want about Casa. I don’t care if you ask me every day forever, I am willing to give you every single detail. I have nothing to hide from you.” He says confidently, throwing a hand out towards the scenery. “You can go ask any of the guys who were there with me. I swear I haven't told them to say a single word to cover for me or anything, I’ve been too busy losing my mind over you. Go ask them yourself. They’ll tell you the same thing."
For two days, you had carried your anger like a sword, using the image of that video to keep your walls up, to hide from the terrifying vulnerability of your own feelings. But sitting across from him now, watching Rafe beg before your eyes—his voice shaking, his legs covered in mosquito bites, and his eyes swimming with tears—you conceded.
And you couldn’t stop any of it—the way your breath hitched, the way your lips quivering as a violent sob tore out of your throat as you let your head fall forward, burying your face in your hands, the tears overflowing.
"Hey, no... hey, angel, don't cry, please," Rafe murmured frantically, out of his chair in a second, rounding the table and dropping to his knees right beside your chair. He didn't force you into an embrace, but his large, warm hands gently wrapped around your wrists, slowly pulling your hands away from your face so he could look at you.
"I’m sorry...," you sobbed as you looked down at his tortured face through your blurred vision. " I don’t know... seeing you kiss her... and hearing you say miss her, after everything you told me... it just really fucked with me. That shit hurt.” Your voice wavered. “And I didn't know what the hell you and Sofia had going on, and I was just so terrified that I was being sucked into it, and I don't want that. All I wanted was you and it just—"
You let out a ragged breath. "...I have never been the only girl, Rafe.” You confess, teary eyes looking at him. “I have always been the girl that gets cheated on, the girl men cheat with. I’ve been the girl that guys use as a placeholder just to get over another woman, and I’ve been the girl left holding on to what was while everyone else moves on."
You play with the folded edge of his sleeve your trembling fingers, your voice a desperate whisper. "I came here to get away from that, to find a guy who actually saw me as his first choice, without hesitation. And this whole situation, ever since I got that video, I’ve felt like the universe is just laughing in my face. I didn't want you to put me right back in that box, Rafe. I couldn't handle looking that stupid again."
Rafe listened to you, his own eyes spilling over with tears as the full weight of your fears finally made sense to him. He reached up, his thumbs tenderly wiping the rivers of tears from your cheeks, his touch light.
"I’m never gonna put you in that box, angel," Rafe promised as he squeezed your hands tightly. "You are not an option to me, and you are definitely not a placeholder. You are the only girl I see in this entire place."
You sniffled, swallowing the lump in your throat as you looked into his eyes. "...What I have with Theo... It is nowhere near touching what you and I had.” You shake your head as the words leave your lips, feeling guilty. “He’s great, and he’s sweet, but... he’s not you. And I feel like such a bitch for putting him in the middle of all this," You let out a shaky breath, looking down. "But if it’s honestly best for my own sanity in the long run to start a new connection with another guy, rather than keep getting hurt and spiraling over whatever drama follows you then..."
You knew it wasn’t Rafe’s fault. You were trying to trust that. But you weren’t sure if Sofia ever planned on exiting the frame. And you weren’t sure you wanted to fight over his love.
"I know, angel. I know," Rafe murmured softly, leaning his forehead gently against your knee. "And I’m not gonna force you to make a decision right now.” He nods, but you can see how much it all pains him as he rests his head on your knees. “I’m just... I'm glad you listened to me." He says, placing a small kiss on your exposed knee.
And you both just sat like that for a while, silent, but it was comfortable this time. Somewhat, anyway.
By the time the date wrapped up and the sun had completely slipped beneath the horizon, and thought you weren't entirely fixed, and things were still incredibly weird, you weren't angry anymore.
And your mind was open to the truth.
But now, you had to decide what you wanted to do with it.
THE second the black SUV pulled back up to the front driveway of the main villa, you stepped out with a silent weight on your shoulders. You turned to Rafe, hugging him one last time before walking away.
You had a single mission in mind. You had to do this before going forward with anything else.
You navigated the side path of the lawn, your eyes scanning the property until you spotted JJ sitting alone by the outdoor gym, mindlessly spinning a football in his hands.
“JJ,” you called, marching straight up to him, dress flowing around you.
JJ blinked, startled by your sudden appearance, but he quickly dropped the football, sliding over on the weight bench to make room for you. "You’re back from the date. How did it—"
"I need you to be one-hundred with me," you interrupted gently, sitting down beside him, your expression serious as you locked eyes with him. "No jokes, no side-stepping, and no bro-code bullshit.” You asserted. “...I need you to tell me what happened at Casa."
“Okay…” JJ’s playful demeanor dropped. He took a look at the sad, anticipatory look in your eyes and let out a slow breath, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Are you asking about what happened with all of us…or what happened with Rafe?"
You bit your lower lip, your fingers twisting together nervously. "...I’m asking about Rafe, JJ.” He quipped. “He’s swearing up and down to me that Sofia is the one trying to ruin everything, and that he’s completely innocent. I just need to know if he’s telling the truth."
JJ turned his head to look at you. "From what I saw with my own two eyes? The entire time we were over at Casa Amor, Rafe was easily the most loyal guy in that house. Hands down."
You felt the smallest bit of relief at JJ’s words.
"The man slept outside on those damn daybeds every single night," JJ explained, his voice serious. "He barely interacted with any of the new girls outside of the challenges, and if he did? It was small talk about nothing. I once heard him talking about the fuckin' weather, about how white the clouds were and what it meant."
JJ shook his head, a faint smile touching his lips. "And especially when it came to Sofia? Man, Rafe acted like that girl was invisible. She would walk into the kitchen, and he would up and leave the room. She would try to walk over to the daybeds to start a conversation with him, and Rafe would immediately turn around and start a conversation with anyone else nearby—me, John B, Pope, the other girls—anybody just to avoid giving her the time of day. He was icin’ her out."
He let out a soft sigh, looking out over the water. "I was so sure that by the time Casa Amor was over, you and Rafe would choose to still be together, without a doubt. Out of all the couples in this villa, I had the most faith in you two to stay locked down. So when we walked through those doors and I saw you standing there coupled up with Theo? I was shocked."
You sat frozen on the weight bench, the truth of his words raining down on you hard…but also matching perfectly with what Rafe and Haja had already told you.
"Oh! And after the kiss during Raunchy Races? Because I’ve heard that’s what’s causing a lot of issues," JJ continued, his voice dropping. "Rafe freaked the fuck out, Y/N. Like, total meltdown. I don’t know what he said to her but he found us—pacing, ranting to us about it. He was worried because knows exactly how this show works, and he was just really praying and hoping that he would have a chance to explain the context to you before production did something with it. And, well, basically, his worst fear came true."
JJ turned fully toward you then. "Plus, that night, it was like day three or four I think when I assume y’all got this video, and you yelled 'Fuck Rafe'? The look of pure fear and hurt that hit Rafe’s eyes in that moment was an expression I have never seen on his face before, bro. You could hear how hurt you were, even from all the way at Casa."
"You guys heard that?" you whispered, embarrassment hitting you as you covered your mouth.
"Loud and clear, babygirl," JJ nodded tightly.
You sighed, your head spinning as the final wall of your defense completely disintegrated. Crumbled. You felt distraught, confused, and overwhelmed with a crushing wave of realization—Rafe, Haja, and now JJ had all given you the exact same version of events.
Rafe was telling the truth.
Most likely, anyway.
NEEDING to clear the air with the guy you were currently coupled up with, you reluctantly made your way back into the house, finding Theo sitting alone on the sofa in the indoor lounge. He looked up as you entered, his eyes reading the emotional storm written plainly across your features.
You walked over slowly, slipping your heels off and sliding into the cushions beside him, leaving a respectful amount of space between you.
"Hey," Theo said gently, his voice smooth. "You're back from the date. How did it go?"
You let out a heavy sigh, rubbing your face with both hands. "Theo... Rafe explained a lot of things out there.” You started. “And... it’s left me in a really, really weird, confusing place, mentally."
Theo watched you for a long beat, taking in your slumped shoulders and your red-rimmed eyes. “I’m assuming he got the chance to explain then,” He says quietly, a look of realization crossed his face, but he kept his composure. "Well, how are you feeling about him now?"
"I don't know," you admitted quietly, looking down at your lap. "I’m just... I’m overwhelmed." You turned your head to look at him, searching his face. "How are you feeling? About all of this?"
Theo let out a soft, bittersweet breath, leaning his elbows on his knees as he stared straight ahead. "Honestly, bella... I really, really do like you. From the second I walked into this villa, I was captivated by you, and I was really hoping that I could be the guy to...change your mind, and to make you happy."
He turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto yours. "But I can clearly see that whatever you and Rafe have between you... is very, very complicated, and honestly? It feels kind of unbreakable.” He confesses, slumping like he was admitting defeat. “You two have a pull toward each other. And I think I, as well as you, have been trying to ignore it."
Your face dropped at his words. "Theo, I'm sorry," You started. "I've been trying to give you a fair chance—"
"You have." He assures, sitting up straighter, hands on your thighs. "You absolutely have. I don't want you to doubt that. You've been nothing but honest with me, I'm not faulting you for any of this. I'm just as much to blame." He reached out, his hand gently squeezing yours for a brief second before releasing it. "At the end of the day, I just want you to be the one to make the final decision. I don't want to push you, and I don't want to force you into a corner. Whether you decide you want to stick with me and keep exploring what we have... or you decide you want to try again with Rafe... I want you to know that I am really glad I met you. You are an amazing woman."
Your heart melted at his selflessness, tears building in your eyes. You looked at him, your voice a cracking whisper. "Non mi odi?" You ask for the second time.
Theo let out a low chuckle, the gloomy cloud above you two breaking into something lighter as a handsome smirk returned to his lips. He leaned in close, his eyes twinkling with amusement as he answered you. "Non potrei mai odiarti, bellissima." He admitted, the moment much less tense that it just was. “Your Italian is much better.”
You let out a soft laugh through your tears. "I’ll always have you to thank."
BY nighttime, the girls had gathered in the glam room to prepare for bed. You stood in front of the center mirror, fixing your hair, looking significantly less upset than you had in days, but increasingly more sad as the reality of your choice loomed over you.
Sarah turned around from her vanity, her eyes wide as she pinned her hair up. "Alright, we’ve been waiting all night.” She cuts in, always blunt. “How did the date go? Are we back on the Rafe-Train orrrr should we start cutting down the palm trees and carving pitchforks?"
You let out a breath, rounding the table and sitting down on your stool as Cleo and Rima turned their heads to listen. "He explained everything, I think," you admitted quietly. "And... I talked to JJ right when I got back and he basically verified every word Rafe said, saying he was the most loyal guy at Casa. So between Rafe, Haja, and JJ—the story remains the same. Which means that Rafe is probably telling the truth…"
"Awww," Sarah gushed, clapping her hands together. "This is good! Why do you look so sad?"
"Because I talked to Theo right after," you added, your voice dropping. "I told him how confused I was, and he was just... so Theo about it—calm, sweet, understanding. He told me he can see our connection is unbreakable, and he just wants me to follow my heart, even if it doesn’t lead me to him. But... Rafe also said the same thing."
"Wow," Cleo murmured, shaking her head in approval. "You’ve got two men fighting for you, girl. You're livin' my dream."
"No, Cleo," you whine. "This dream sucks." you groaned, burying your face in your hands. "I’m still stuck between them. Theo is amazing and he's been so great to me and, I know I keep saying it but, I just can't stand to hurt him. And I brought him back here, it wouldn't be fair to not give him that chance,” You say, nearly rambling, letting the words fall. “...but no matter what I do, Rafe is just…there, and I can't ignore it. Me and Rafe have been building a connection for weeks at this point and I've invested so much time into him, he's invested so much time into me and I wouldn't trade it for the world. I wouldn't trade anything that me and Rafe have gone through or talked about together for anything and… I miss him."
Forgetting entirely about Sofia’s presence in the room—who was currently standing by the wardrobe racks, pretending to fold a t-shirt—the original girls continued interrogating you, determined to get to the bottom of your emotional tiff.
"Okay, look—right here, right now," Rima started, leaning forward. "No more side-stepping, and no more 'I don't know'. If it turns out that Rafe is telling the truth—which it looks like he is—who are you choosing?" She crosses her arms. "Rafe or Theo? Don’t think, just answer—"
“Rafe.”
The dressing room went dead silent. You sat frozen on your stool, your heart racing as your reflection stared back at you. Through the glass, you could see Sofia’s reflection in the background, her entire body locking up.
You took a deep, shuddering breath, the truth finally forcing its way out of your throat.
"...I would choose Rafe." you whispered softly.
Sarah let out a soft, satisfied smile, nodding her head. "Well... there it is.” She smiled. “You know where your heart is, babe. So now? It’s up to you to move accordingly."
"Exactly," Cleo agreed, standing up. "Good luck, girl.” She hugs you, yawning. “Mama’s goin’ to bed. I’m exhausted."
“I’m right with you,”
One by one, Sarah, Cleo, and Rima gathered their blankets and filed out of the glam room, bidding you a sleepy goodnight, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving you completely alone in the room with Sofia, seeing as Haja and Kaitlyn had been long gone as well.
The silence in the room turned biting. You remained seated at your vanity, continuing your nightly routine, refusing to give her the satisfaction of your attention.
Sofia stood across the room, biting the inside of her cheek, debating whether or not to speak.
And when she did, she didn't start off polite at all, letting out a sharp scoff, tossing a hanger onto the rack before turning her body to face you fully, arms crossed tightly over her chest.
"...I know we don't talk much," Sofia started, her voice dropping into that fake, calculatedly polite tone that made your blood boil. "But I just want to get something out there before you start making a fool of yourself."
You slowly turned your head, fixing her with a calm, unamused stare over your shoulder.
Sofia took a slow step closer. "I think that going after Rafe is a complete waste of your time.” She shrugs. “I don't know what kind of little romantic fairytale he’s trying to sell you, or what lies he’s whispering in your ear... but that’s all it is. Lies. I should know. I dated him. In the real world."
She let out a short, patronizing laugh. "Rafe and I... we have a history. A history that goes way, way deeper than some reality TV show and three weeks of challenges and sharing a bed. We fostered a real relationship outside of this place, where things actually matter."
Sofia leaned forward slightly, her fake-nice smile widening into a venomous smirk. "The only reason you and Rafe even have a ‘relationship’ right now... is because of this show. But outside of this? Trust me, you wouldn't last a single second with the real Rafe. You don't know him like I do. I understand what it’s like to love Rafe because I’ve been there first. I was before you."
The insult was purposeful, designed to slide directly under your skin and trigger every single ounce of the trauma you had been fighting. She wanted you to get loud, she wanted you to scream, she wanted you emotionally wrecked, as far away from Rafe as possible, and she wanted you to look like the crazy, insecure girl in front of the cameras.
But you didn't give her that. You wouldn’t.
You sat perfectly still, your expression completely unmoved by her sharp words. You let a slow, unamused smile pull at the corners of your lips as you stood up from your vanity chair, glaring over at her.
"Are you done?" you asked smoothly, your voice perfectly calm.
Sofia blinked, her smug smile falling. "...Wh—"
"I hear what you're saying about being 'first'," you interrupted, your voice dropping into a snarky undertone as you stepped closer. "But from where I’m standing? Being first clearly doesn't mean anything. If it did, you wouldn’t be here."
Sofia’s jaw tensed, her face turning an angry shade of crimson.
"You can call me temporary all you want, you can keep glaring me every chance you get, you can keep trying to embarrass me," you whispered with a smirk. "But at least I’m not desperate, going through all of this trouble for a man who won’t even look at me twice.” You quipped, hissing. “You’re the only one fighting his feelings for me, thinking it’ll change his feelings for you, I’m assuming.” You bite out. “It won’t.”
Without giving her a chance to attempt another shady comeback, you spun on your heel and walked straight out of the glam room, letting the door click shut behind you, leaving Sofia standing alone in her own humiliated silence.
WHEN you pushed the bedroom door open, the room was bathed in that soft glow, the other islanders already huddled beneath their duvets.
You slid under the sheets of your shared mattress, moving close to Theo.
He didn't greet you with his usual touch, the conversation from the earlier still hanging heavily between you, but the second he felt your body heat, he didn't pull away.
Wordlessly, Theo rolled onto his side, his strong arms pulling you firmly against his bare chest, enveloping you in a tight embrace. He snuggled you close, his grip almost desperate as he buried his face into the crook of your neck.
The warmth of his body radiated against yours, and your chest filled with a bittersweet ache because you knew where your heart was leading you—but you still couldn't deny the good in the man holding you right now.
Theo tightened his grip around your waist, holding you so tightly, his deep voice a low whisper against your skin.
"Just in case this is the last time I share a bed with you."
next chapter>
i give this chapter like a 6/10, it's something i don't like about it but then there's parts i absolutely loveeee
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ Following a victory in the Temperatures Rising challenge, the villa completely reaches a breaking point during the post-Casa Amor recoupling
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, verbal arguments, suggestive content (love island typical), kind of fast paced but it was necessary, y'all might hate me LMAOOO
˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗
YOU wake up before the lights even flicker on in the main bedroom, staring blankly at the ceiling. The air conditioning is humming, but it does nothing to cool the burning weight sitting on your chest. '
For a split second, your brain tries to trick you into thinking everything is normal—that Rafe is the one sleeping next to you, that if you turn your head you’ll see him snoring or staring at you, waiting to see you open your eyes and him be the first one to see them.
Then, the memory of yesterday drives itself into you.
The video.
You close your eyes tightly, but it doesn’t help. The image is burned into the back of your eyelids—Rafe. Sofia. Kissing. Twice.
That you knew about.
You can still hear his voice through the tiny speaker of the phone, weak and distorted, yet telling his ex-girlfriend that he missed her, loud and clear. You can still see the way he didn’t pull away when she leaned in.
Two weeks of building something that felt real, something you thought was unbreakable, shattered in less than a minute.
Beside you, the sheets rustle and that’s when you're pulled back.
Theo stirs, shifting his weight, throwing a lazy arm over the space between you. He doesn’t wake up, but just the sight of him makes a lump form in your throat.
He’s been so good to you since he got here, holding back his own feelings because he knew how wrapped up you were in Rafe.
And look where that respect got you.
When the bedroom lights finally do click on, you don’t even have the energy to groan like the other girls do. You just pull the duvet up over your chin, still staring blankly at the wall.
A little while later, the bedroom doors creak open. The Casa boys walk in, trying to be as quiet as possible, carrying plates of food and mugs of coffee. Justin is leading, a bright smile on his face as he heads straight for Cleo’s bed. Brandon follows closely behind, looking for Rima, while Thomas carries a tray toward Kiara and a small offering for Sarah.
Theo is right at the back. You didn’t even remember him getting up out of the bed, his eyes searching the room until they land on you. He’s carrying a plate of pancakes with strawberries and a glass of iced coffee.
"Morning, bellissima," Theo murmurs, his voice deep, gravelly. He carefully sets the plate down on your bedside table and sits on the edge of your mattress. “I did my best. You seemed exhausted.”
"Thanks, Theo," you say, your voice cracking slightly. You force yourself to sit up, leaning back against the headboard. You try to offer him a smile, but it feels barely there. "It looks amazing. You didn’t have to do all this."
"I know," he says softly, reaching out to gently nudge your knee through the covers. "I told you yesterday, I’m here for whatever you need. If you need pancakes, I make pancakes. If you need me to throw a brick at the wall for you, I can do that too." He teases, a tired smile on his face
A tiny laugh slips past your lips, and Theo’s face lights up at the sound.
But, across the room, its noticeably miserable.
Sarah is sitting cross-legged on her bed, picking aimlessly at a piece of avocado toast that Thomas brought her, a friendly gesture. She hasn't even looked up at anyone, her eyes bloodshot. Kiara looks even worse, staring at her coffee mug, her shoulders hunched over as Thomas tries to whisper something comforting to her.
Confessional : You
“I just want to crawl under a rock.” You stare blankly. “We had just gotten back on track, and I trusted him. To see him with Sofia, telling her he misses her?” You whispered to yourself, upset. “I feel stupid, like a total idiot for sitting here being loyal while he’s practically treating Casa Amor like a vacation with his ex.”
AFTER a very tense and quiet breakfast where nobody really ate anything, the boys give you and the girls some space to get ready for the day.
You drag yourself into the glam room, slouching into one of the chairs in front of the mirrors. Sarah sits to your left, staring blankly at her makeup bag, while Kiara slumps into the chair on your right, burying her face in her hands.
The silence is tear-jerking until Rima walks in, clapping her hands together to break the tension, rising her hands above her head like she just had the most re-energizing sleep of her life. Cleo follows right behind her, crossing her arms.
"Good morning, mamacitas," Rima starts, playful and full of love, though she looks at the three of you with a no-nonsense expression. "I, unfortunately, cannot, and will not, look at your miserable faces anymore.” She fixes you all with a tight-lipped grimace. "I hate seeing gorgeous women let stupid boys ruin their spark."
"Easy for you to say," Kiara mutters, her voice muffled by her hands. "You didn’t see the boy you were in couple with tongue-fucking two girls on camera..."
"Kieee," Rima chimes in, stepping forward. "We all saw the video. It was awful, yes. But you need a reality check. All of you. How long have we known these guys? Hm? Two weeks.” She emphasizes. “Two. Weeks. We’ve known them for fourteen days, and you’re letting them ruin your fun!"
"Exactly," Cleo agrees, just as energized this morning. "These guys are our exes, sure. But they came in here for us and, most of them, are treating us like damn royalty. Why are you wasting your tears on boys who are clearly not thinking about your feelings right now?"
Sarah sighs, leaning her head back against her chair. " We know you guys are right. We do.” She speaks for all of you. “...I’m trying not to focus on what John B said or did in that clip. I want to have fun today. But... I don't know, I’m still holding out a bit of hope.” She admits sheepishly. “I mean, I don’t know what happened during their full conversation, and it looked like they only shared kisses during challenges…” She throws out, hoping she doesn’t get flamed for her stance. “I don’t want to completely throw away what we have over something I’m not even sure is anything bad."
Kiara lets out a bitter laugh, dropping her hands from her face. Her eyes are rimmed red. "Can’t say the same for JJ. He’s clearly over there living his best life.” She scoffs, disgusted. “Kissing whatever girl is thrown at him, smiling, laughing... it’s like I don’t even exist to him. Like, was he ever actually serious about me, or was this whole thing just a big game to him?"
Rima and Cleo both nod, validating their hurt, before their eyes slowly shift over to you. You’ve been quiet the whole time, just staring at your fingernails, a knot of anger tightly twisting in your stomach.
"Babe," Cleo calls softly, tone softening as she looks at you. "What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?"
You let out a long, shaky breath, shaking your head. "...I’m just done. I’m over it."
Sarah and Kiara both turn their heads to look at you, surprised.
"I don't think there’s any misinterpretation over what I saw," you say. "We spent the last two weeks getting to know each other. We talked about things that I thought meant something. He asked me to close things off, for fuck sake. And then the second he gets a chance, he runs right back to his ex? And I can't get the image out of my head.” You shake your head, scoffing. “I can’t unhear him telling Sofia that he misses her and then just.... There’s no excuse for that. He said it out of his own mouth."
"I know it's a slap in the face," Rima says, fixing you with a sorrowful gaze. "I really didn’t think he would do that to you."
"None of us did. He fooled us, too. But," Cleo says, leaning in closer to you. "Use that video as your motivation, girl. If Rafe is over there doing whatever the hell he wants, then you need to break free. You need to start looking out for number one. You need to do what's best for you."
Rima smiles, a cheeky glint in her eye as she watches your expression shift. "...Does what you saw in that video make you a bit more open to… exploring Theo?” she taunts. “More than you’ve been allowing yourself to?"
The room goes quiet as all four girls wait for your answer.
Everyone knows that Theo has been on you since the guys walked in, and everyone also knows that you’ve been holding back, keeping him at arm’s length because you wanted to respect Rafe.
You let out a breath that’s half-sigh, half-laugh, and a determined smile pulls at the corners of your lips.
"Hell yeah, it makes me more open," you say, a nod accompanying your words. "I’ve been sitting here considering Rafe's feelings, trying to be respectful of him, and he clearly hasn't been doing the same for me. He didn’t think about me for a second when Sofia was in front of him. So, yeah.” You realize, conviction in your voice. “From this point on, I’m here for me, just like you guys said."
"Yes! That's what I want to hear!" Rima cheers, jumping up to give you a quick squeeze around the shoulders. "No more crying over boys who don't deserve it."
Confessional : Kiara
“Hearing the girls talk... it definitely gives me a bit of a push. I’m still gutted about JJ, I’m not going to lie. It hurts to feel like you’re easily forgotten.” She huffs. “But Rima and Cleo are right. I can’t just sit in a corner and rot while he’s out there clearly living it up.”
THE rest of the day unfolds, trapped in a strange, sun-drenched haze. The cloud of misery that had blanketed the villa in the morning slowly begins to fade away as you and the girls finally start giving the Casa Amor boys the time of day.
Well, most of you.
Sarah still keeps to herself for the majority of the afternoon, spreads her towel out on a sun lounger by the pool, putting her sunglasses on. True to her word, she’s holding out hope for John B. When Mattheo, the only guy who hasn’t really gotten on with anyone due to his pursuit of you, tries to slide onto the edge of her lounger with two glasses of ice water, she smiles politely, talks casually with him, but the second he tries to drop a flirty compliment, she steers the conversation back to the friend zone.
Later, she spends a good hour on the daybeds, chatting with Cleo.
Kiara, however, takes Rima and Cleo’s advice to heart. You watch from across the deck as she approaches Thomas, who is working out by the outdoor gym. She looks gorgeous in a bright red bikini, her hair tied up in a high ponytail. Thomas drops his weights the second she walks over, a grin spreading across his face.
By mid-afternoon, the two of them migrate over to the daybeds.
They’re laughing, and Thomas is leaning in close, his hand resting gently on her knee. You can see Kiara’s shoulders relax for the first time in days. As Thomas says something that makes her throw her head back and laugh, she suddenly leans forward, catching him by surprise, and presses her lips to his. It’s a long kiss, and when she pulls back, Thomas looks ecstatic.
Meanwhile, Rima is having a chat with Brandon on the beanbags. She’s twisting a strand of her hair around her finger, listening to him talk about his life back home. It’s clear she really likes him, an undeniable chemistry there, but every time Brandon tries to get her to lock things down or talk about the inevitable recoupling, she plays it cool. She hasn’t made up her mind, and she’s making him work for every single inch of her attention.
Cleo and Justin, on the other hand, look like they’ve been coupled up for months, practically attached at the hip, floating around the pool together on a giant inflatable ring, laughing so loudly that their voices echo across the courtyard. Cleo looks genuinely happy, glowing, a contrast to the version of her that existed when she was constantly worrying about Miles' trustworthiness and Pope’s uncertainty.
But your focus is on the boy sitting right next to you.
You and Theo spend almost the entire afternoon together on the large sofa in the shade. He doesn’t push you, and he doesn’t force you to talk about the video, he just provides his most comforting company.
When you randomly drop into an angry rant about how fucked up Rafe is, Theo listens, nodding along, his arm stretched out along the back of the sofa behind you.
And when you decide you want to pretend Rafe doesn’t exist, like you didn’t see what you saw, Theo is happy to switch gears, making jokes and teasing you until your stomach hurts from laughing.
He gives you the emotional space you need, letting you be messy and angry without making you feel judged.
"Alright, pop quiz," Theo says, turning his body to face you fully, his eyes sparkling. "It is time for your daily Italian lesson. You are failing miserably so far, bella."
"Hey! I am not failing," you defend yourself, laughing as you nudge his shoulder. "I remember what you taught me yesterday." You say matter-of-factly.
"Oh yeah? Alright then." He challenges. "What does...sei bellissima mean?"
"...You are very beautiful," you say smoothly, a cocky expression on your face, chin held high.
"Perfect.” His eyes glue themselves to your face. “There is hope for you yet," Theo chuckles, his voice dropping as he leans closer. "Let’s try something a little more advanced." His eyes sparkle. "If you want to tell someone that they have completely stolen your heart, you say, Mi hai rubato il cuore."
You try to mimic the words, your tongue tripping over the vowels. "Mi hai... rubato il... cuore?"
"Close, close," Theo murmurs, his eyes dropping down to your lips for a brief second before locking back onto yours. "The pronunciation needs a little bit more passion, you know? Like this,” he shifts on the cushion, reiterating his words more slowly. “Mi hai rubato il cuore. You have to mean it."
"I do mean it," you whisper through a short laugh, the playful atmosphere suddenly shifting into something more breath snatching.
Theo smiles softly, his fingers reaching out to gently brush his thumb against the soft of your cheek, his touch lingering against your skin. "Good."
Confessional: Theo
“I know she’s had a rough couple of days, and I hate seeing her hurt. But selfishly... I am glad she's finally letting herself be more open to me.” He smirks, sheepish as he palms the back of his neck. “I’ve grown very fond of her and I plan to spend every second making sure she knows she deserves a guy who only has eyes for her.”
Though, the quiet bubble of the afternoon is suddenly broken by the beep-beep of multiple phones echoing across the pool deck. Rima jumps up from her beanbag, snatching her phone.
"I got a text!" she shrieks, her voice echoing.
The girls instantly crowd around her, the Casa Amor boys looking on with raised eyebrows as she reads the screen aloud, a smirk spreading across her face.
"Girls, it’s time to see who is really getting hot and bothered. Today, the Main Villa and Casa Amor will go head-to-head in the ultimate battle of desire in Temperatures Rising. #HotAndBothered #BeatTheBoys"
You all couldn’t fake the level of excitement that came out if you tried.
You needed something to lift the mood from whatever the hell happened yesterday, and since the guys wanted to take your kindness for weakness?
You’d return the favor.
"THE challenge will work in rounds. In each round, you all will go toe-to-toe against your original partner alongside your Casa partner. You’ll blindly draw your category and make your Casa partner's temperature rise to the goal first. The giant thermometers will track your real-time progress."
You read out as you all sit around the firepit where two massive prop thermometers tower on each side of a neon platform—one a hot pink for you girls, and the other a cool blue representing the boys over at Casa Amor.
Confessional : Rima
"I’m so ready to show these boys what they're missing," Rima beams. “Because, clearly, they need to be reminded.”
A phone chimes just then, announcing the first matchup as Kiara reads the text.
“First up: Kiara versus JJ.”
Kiara doesn't hesitate, standing and locking eyes with Mattheo. "Get up." She urges him as he stands, trailing after her, standing on the platform as Kiara steps up to the tinted acrylic box, reaching her hand inside. She swirls her fingers around before pulling out a pink ball, turning it over.
"Tickle," Kiara reads aloud, turning the ball to face you all, grabbing the pink cat feather by the box. Kiara and Mattheo step onto the platform, and because of everything, there’s an undeniable awkwardness between them, but Kiara is determined.
The timer blares, and they get straight to it—Mattheo drops to his knees, and Kiara wastes no time getting down and dirty with the tickling. She runs the feather down his bare chest as he sheds his top, tracking his obliques, while Mattheo returns the favor, dragging his fingers up her inner thighs and along her ribs. It’s hilarious but actually kind of sexy as they give it their absolute all, squirming and laughing dirtily on the platform.
The rest of you are all screaming, cheering them on like a pack of animals.
You glance at the thermometers, noticing the pink meter climbing steady, but suddenly, the blue thermometer spikes, going up two increments in rapid succession—fuck. And before Kiara and Mattheo can hit the threshold, a loud ding echoes as the blue meter hits the top.
A text flashes on Kie’s phone as she straightens herself out, sighing.
"JJ and Haja have won the point for Casa Amor."
Kiara scoffs, tossing the feather aside, her eyes narrowing at the blue thermometer. "Of course he did," she mutters under her breath, walking back to the group, fixing her top.
Confessional : Kiara
“Like, what was the point even? Y’all put me up against Sir Lips-a-Lot, he was probably over there tickling girls with his tongue...” She rolls her eyes.
As she and Mattheo take their seats, Sarah’s phone makes a sound and she flips it open.
“Sarah versus John B.”
Sarah steps forward, her face fierce but still holding a certain…uncertainty. "Tommy, you're with me." She urges him forward with a single, crooked finger as she marches up to the platform and ball-chamber, thrusts her hand in, and pulls out her ball.
"Suck," she reads, a grin on her lips.
And the second the timer counts down, Sarah goes wild, no holding back.
She throws herself at Thomas, her hands instantly gripping his hair. She goes straight for his neck, sucking fiercely against his skin, leaving a dark mark within seconds. Thomas's eyes go wide, flustered as Sarah moves to his ears, sucking the lobes before kneeling and dragging her mouth down to his fingers, taking them into her mouth one by one with an unwavering stare.
And you all go absolutely feral, sounding like a rowdy bleacher section at a baseball game.
"YES SARAHHH!" Rima screams, pumping her fists.
Thomas is breathless, his hands holding Sarah's face just to keep his balance. The pink thermometer shoots up like a rocket, rising steadily and fast, and before the blue meter even gets halfway, it reaches the top and Rima is reading out a text.
"Sarah and Thomas have taken the point!"
You all jump up and down, the deck shaking as Sarah and Thomas walk back, wiping her mouth with a triumphant smirk, while Thomas stands there looking like his soul just left his body.
Confessional : Sarah
“Who’s the better option, now?” Sarah tilts her head, blowing a kiss. “Bitch.”
And the second they’re sat, Cleo’s phone goes off— “Cleo versus Miles.”
Cleo squeals, grabbing Justin as she struts over to the box, pulling out the category— Kiss.
"Oh, I am ready," she purrs, and the buzzer sounds without her wasting a single second.
She practically launches herself at Justin, wrapping her legs around his waist as he catches her effortlessly. In one swift motion, she tears his unbuttoned shirt completely off his shoulders, letting it flutter to the ground as you all cheer her on like a pack of wolves—standing up, whooping, cheering, howling.
She shoves her tongue straight down his throat, her hands running through his short hair.
Justin catches what she throws him, gripping her thighs, spinning her around and laying her flat down on the platform. He straddles her, grinding his hips firmly against hers, over and over, making her dress ride up her thighs. He kisses her passionately, dragging his lips down her jaw, her throat, and along her collarbone while Cleo laughs, arching into him.
The pink meter is neck-and-neck with the blue meter and you all get even louder as it becomes a literal race against time. Both thermometers are hovering a millimeter from the top—
Ding.
The blue siren hits first, and the boys at Casa Amor just barely edged them out.
Cleo sighs as she digs out her phone, groaning. "Miles and Sofia have taken the lead for Casa Amor.”
You all groan, defeated, but Cleo is still satisfied, pulling Justin down for one last kiss before they return to their seats and Rima’s phone goes off, signaling her turn— “Rima versus Pope.”
Rima smiles brightly as you all clap while she grabs Brandon, her eyes fixed on the prize as she reaches into the tinted box and pulls out ‘lick’.
"Brandon, baby, get ready for the ride of your life," Rima whispers to him, a dangerous glint in her eye as she turns into a woman possessed when the timer starts. She shoves Brandon backward, pinning his wrists flat against the platform as she leans over him, her tongue tracing a slow, wet, hot line from his belly button all the way up his abs. Brandon lets out a loud, low groan that echoes through the yard.
But Rima doesn't stop, she only moves up to his chest, licking up and down his torso, using the tip of her tongue to trace the dark ink of the tattoos sprawling across his body. She pins him tighter as you all scream, her mouth working against his skin with a hunger that has the entire villa covering their mouths in shock.
The pink thermometer is moving fast, way faster than the blue meter could ever dream of when the pink light hits the top, blinking.
"Rima and Brandon have tied the score!"
You all cheer for them as Rima gets up and winks at Brandon, letting him up as he pants, dazed.
Then, the final text hits the screen as they sit down, a buzz against your skin— “Y/N versus Rafe.”
You feel a fire bloom in your chest, smirking as you look at Theo, finding his dark eyes already locked on you. You take his hand in yours as the others clap, watching you step up to the tinted chamber, plunge your hand inside, and grab the final ball.
You pull it out and hold it up high—nibble.
You laugh, wondering how you were going to do this but everyone else seemed excited as the countdown began.
Theo turns to you, and you meet him halfway, crashing your lips into his.
It’s not a soft kiss. It's harsh, bruising, as you bite down on his bottom lip, pulling it firmly before releasing, and Theo lets out a sharp breath, returning the favor by gripping your jaw and biting your top lip, sending a jolt straight to your core.
A shiver wrecks your body as Theo moves down to your neck, nibbling his way along your pulsing veins as his hands slide up your shoulders, and using nothing but his teeth, he catches the thin straps of your dress, slowly peeling them down to reveal the skin of your chest, nibbling along the delicate curves of your exposed breasts.
The girls are losing their minds as the guys howl at Theo’s antics.
Fueled by their excitement, you grab Theo by his shoulders and flip him onto his back, straddling his lap. You lean down, nibbling sensitive spots across his chest, not even hearing every cheer about how you’d already won.
He drags your face back up to his own, his mouth to your ear as his teeth graze your earlobe, biting down just enough to make you gasp before he whispers something against your skin.
"Sei così sexy quando prendi il controllo..."
Then, lowering yourself further, you lean down and hook the elastic waistline of his underwear that was showing right between your teeth, pulling it back and letting it pluck back against his skin.
“We won! Damn,” a voice finally breaks through, laughing.
You glance up at the meters while still hovering above a breathless Theo—the pink thermometer at its limit.
Your phone chimes and you grab it from where it landed on the deck, blowing hair out of your face as you smile.
"Y/N and Theodore stole the game. The Villa wins!”
The girls instantly storm the platform, jumping from their places and rushing towards you, throwing their arms around you and Theo, screaming at the top of their lungs as the guys dogpile on top of you all. You connect in one, massive hug—jumping around like pre-school kids before letting go.
Without a word, Rima grabs your hand and Cleo’s with a wide smile as you both grab Sarah and Kie, the five of you sprinting up to the balcony that overlooks the surrounding hills and trees, spotting lights at Casa Amor in the distance.
Leaning over the railing, hyped up on spite and victory, you all scream at the top of your lungs into the open air, chanting the same phrase over and over
"Fuck Casa!"
"OH my god," Cleo gasps, fanning her face with her hand as she leans back against the cushions of the terrace sofa. "I needed that. I needed that, so bad."
"I think we all did," Kiara smiles, shaking her head as a smirk settles on her face. "I bet they're pissed."
"They should be!" Rima scoffs. "They thought they were out there living it up, completely forgetting who they left behind. We are the blueprints."
"That was way more fun than I though it'd be," Sarah chimes in, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I would give everything to have them tied down and watch us do it all over again." She laughs, leaning over and nudging your shoulder. "And can we talk about you?"
"Me?" you laugh nervously, looking around. "What about me?"
"Girl," Rima deadpans. "We were screaming that we'd won and you were still going." She amuses herself, the others around giggling. "Theo looked like he met God."
You feel a heat creep up your neck, laughing along with them. "I had to get the point! For...all of us..."
"More like you had to show Rafe how badly he fucked up," Cleo teases. "I don't blame you. He definitely missed a good show."
You huff, rolling your eyes, fighting a smile as, right on cue, a shadow falls over you all and footsteps sound out. You look up to find Theo standing at the stairs.
"Sorry to interrupt the after party, ladies," he says. He extends a hand toward you. "But can I steal Y/N for a chat?"
"Oooooh," the girls instantly chorus in unison, urging him to steal you away.
"Take her!"
"Don't do anything we wouldn't do!" Cleo calls out playfully as you take his hand, letting him pull you down the steps.
Theo doesn't take you far, just around the corner to the daybeds. The night air is warm, but his presence makes you warmer.
He turns to face you, leaning his hip against the edge of the daybed as he guides you to sit, his arms crossed over his chest as he looks down at you.
"So," Theo starts, his eyes twinkling. "You really pulled some tricks out there."
You tilt your head up. "What can I say?" you shrug cutely. "I like a good game."
He nods, humming, reaching out to let his hand rest against the base of your neck. "The underwear move," he starts. "Am I the first to experience that number?
You sway in your spot, tucking your lip between your teeth, thinking. "Mmm... I think you'd feel less special if I told you," you tease, looking him up and down. "Why?" You feign innocence. "Did you mind?"
"Mind?" Theo’s voice drops. His thumb tracing slow circles against your pulse. "Never." He breaths. "Not with you. I was about two seconds away from forgetting about the cameras and throwing the game just to keep you right there on top of me."
Your face grows warm at his words, biting back a smile. "You talk a big game for someone who nearly fainted from a little biting."
Theo raises an eyebrow. "Who said it was the biting that had me lightheaded?" he teases, inching closer. "What if I said it was just you?"
And he doesn’t wait for an actual answer, his hand sliding up to your jaw as he pulls you against him, both of you completely disregarding any previously set boundaries.
When his lips hit yours, it’s much different from the challenge. There's no cheering, no crowd, no theatrics—just a hunger that had been building since the moment he saw you.
He tastes like mint and something else, and the kiss starts deep, his lips parting yours with an urgency that makes you whimper into his mouth. Your hands find their way to his chest, palms flat against it, feeling the frantic thud of his heart.
Theo groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating into your chest. He pushes you back until your laying on the daybed, shifting his weight so he’s pressing you down onto the cushions. The kiss turns brutal, his tongue tangling with yours as his teeth graze your bottom lip again, pulling a gasp from your throat. His free hand slides up your thigh, his touch hot, pulling your body firmly against his hips.
By the time he finally pulls back, regaining his composure, just a fraction of an inch, both of you are breathless and your lips are wet and swollen. Theo rests his forehead against yours, his eyes dark, his chest heaving in tandem with your own.
He smirks watching you look at him with wide, lust-blown eyes, knowing you're waiting for him to dive back in. But he just huffs a low laugh, squeezing your thigh.
"You were saying?"
WHEN night falls, the exhaustion of the day, and the last few days, finally catches up to everyone.
Sarah still doesn’t even step foot into the main bedroom, grabbing a blanket and a pillow and heading straight out to Soul Ties, wanting to be alone with her thoughts and her evidently unwavering faith to John B.
Kiara, determined to keep pushing forward, grabs Thomas’s hand and guides him out to the daybeds, deciding to spend the night sleeping under the stars with him.
That leaves just you, Theo, Cleo, Justin, Rima, Brandon, and Mattheo in the main bedroom.
And when the lights click off, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint glow of the neon lights bleeding through the curtains, you can hear Cleo and Justin whispering softly in their bed, followed by the quiet sound of them kissing.
Rima and Brandon are curled up together, already fast asleep with Mattheo mindlessly staring up at the ceiling, in the bed by himself.
You turn onto your side, facing Theo. The gap between you both feels incredibly small tonight and he's already facing you, his head propped up on his hand, eyes watching you in the shadows.
"Are you still awake?" he whispers, his voice a passing sound against the quiet of the room.
"Yeah," you whisper back, pulling the blanket up to your nose. "...My mind won't stop." you admit, voice shaky.
Theo slides closer to you across the bed, his free hand reaching to find yours under the covers. His fingers intertwine with your own, his skin warm and reassuring. "Parla con me," he whispers. Talk to me.
"...It’s hard," you admit softly, your eyes searching for his in the dark. "But... being with you today made it a lot easier. Thank you."
"You don't need to keep thanking me," he says, a tender smile touching his lips. He tugs gently on your hand, pulling you a bit closer. "C’mere..."
And you don’t hesitate this time, crossing the small divide until your faces are only inches apart. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body, the faint scent of him wrapping around you.
"I don’t like to see you cry," Theo whispers, his hand leaving yours to gently cup the side of your face. His thumb traces your cheekbone, his touch feather-light. "I mean it. Sei bellissima."
Your breath hitches as you take a deep one, and you can’t stop yourself as you look at his lips, then back up to his eyes, and for the first time in days, the knot in your chest melts away.
You don’t pull back. Instead, you lean forward, closing the remaining distance between you.
When your lips meet Theo’s, it’s soft. He kisses you with a certain gentleness that sends a shiver down your spine. His hand shifts to the back of your neck, his fingers pulling you in as he deepens the kiss, pulling you completely against him, lips slotting against yours, tongue dipping inside just enough to tease.
When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathing a bit heavier and Theo rests his forehead against yours, a soft, breathless chuckle escaping him.
"Yeah," he whispers against your skin. "I like that."
You smile into the darkness, wrapping your arms around his neck as you slide against him, curling your body into his chest. He wraps his arms tightly around your waist, pulling the duvet over both of you. As you fall asleep, wrapped up in his warmth, you feel a sense of peace you haven’t felt since Casa Amor started.
But deep down, you know the real storm hasn’t even hit yet.
THE next morning, nearly everything is different. The calm of yesterday has almost gone, replaced by this crushing wave of anxiety.
When you walk out onto the terrace for the usual morning girl chat, nobody is smiling, the reality of what is about to happen tonight finally sinking in. You know today is going to be nothing short of a complete whirlwind of decisions.
Because the boys are coming back.
Nobody knows exactly what they did, they probably don’t know you all know anything at all, nobody knows who they’re bringing with them, and the uncertainty of where anyone is going to stand by the end of the night has everyone’s nerves fried.
"I feel sick," Kiara confesses, rocking back and forth on one of the outdoor chairs, her hands wrapped tightly around a mug of green tea. "Like, actually sick to my stomach."
"I know," Cleo says, though she looks composed compared to the rest of you, sitting with her legs crossed. "It’s terrifying, but I just want it over with. I’m tired of guessing, of wondering what’s happening over there."
"Are you completely set on your choice then?" Rima asks, leaning against the terrace railing.
"100%," Cleo says without a single second of hesitation. "Miles and I were completely dead in the water anyway, and Pope..." She shrugs, a tight-lipped grimace on her face.
Rima nods, looking down at her own feet. “I’m still... I don't know. I’ve been having a great time with Brandon, but the closer we get to the decision, the more I’m starting to think about everything, but then again, do I want to stick with Pope when I don't even know where his head is at?"
Sarah is completely quiet, just staring out over the pool. She doesn't say it, but everyone knows she’s sticking with John B. She’s putting all her cards on the table, all of her eggs in his basket, betting everything on the hope that his kisses or lack of words in her defense didn’t mean anything.
You just sit there, your stomach twisting into a million tight, tiny knots. You spent the whole night wrapped in Theo’s arms, and it felt incredible, but now that the sun is up and the recoupling is looming, the weight of it all is crashing down on you.
The boys make breakfast for everyone again, and you girls try your best to put on a brave face and have fun with them. You eat, you laugh at Justin’s jokes and Thomas’s clumsiness, and you let Theo sit next to you, his hand resting reassuringly on your thigh. Everyone is trying to enjoy the summer weather and experience, trying to pretend like the axe isn’t about to fall.
BY early afternoon, everyone is scattered around. You’re standing in the outdoor kitchen, pouring yourself a glass of water, when the sound of heels catches your attention and a collective gasp echoes across the yard.
Walking into the villa, looking absolutely stunning, is Ariana.
"Oh my God," Kiara whispers, instantly jumping up from her pool chair. "No."
"Girls, boys... please, gather around the fire pit," Ariana’s voice echoes across the courtyard.
Your heart drops and you exchange a wide-eyed look with Sarah as you walk over to the seating area. The Casa boys sit on one side, while the girls sit on the other, the air deathly quiet.
Ariana stands at the center, a serious and knowing smile on her face.
"Hello, Islanders," she greets, her eyes scanning the anxious faces lined up before her. "As you know, today is the last day of Casa Amor."
A silence settles over the fire pit, everyone exchanging looks as someone finally let it be known aloud. You can hear the rustle of the palm trees in the wind, but nobody moves an inch.
"Tonight," Ariana continues, "the original boys will be returning to the villa. And by the end of the night, each of you girls—as well as your boys back at Casa Amor—will be tasked with making one monumental decision.” She dramaticizes. “You will have to decide whether you want to stick with your original partner, or twist and bring back one of these boys to explore a new connection."
She pauses, letting the words hang in the air.
"I must also remind you," Ariana adds, her tone turning ominous, "that if you do not wish to bring someone back from Casa Amor, but you also do not wish to remain in your original couple... you may decide to remain single.” She informs, her expression softening into something genuinely supportive. "It’s going to be a tough night, but remember—do what is best for you. Have fun, look after your hearts, and good luck.” She smiles pitifully. “I will see you all tonight."
With a final click of her heels, Ariana turns and walks out of the villa, leaving you all sitting around worldlessly.
AS soon as the gathering breaks up, Theo catches your eye and jerks his head toward the daybeds, silently asking to pull you for a chat. You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat, and follow him over to the Speakeasy.
The two of you sit down facing each other, the space between you heavy. Theo looks at you, his eyes serious but still gentle.
"Alright, bella," he grunts, breaking the ice and taking a deep breath as he adjusts in his seat. "I don't want to pressure you, but…I need to know what you’re thinking."
You look at him, taking in his handsome face, his kind eyes, and the genuine worry etched into his forehead. "...I want to know where your head is at first."
Theo lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head. "Me? I’ve been enjoying every second of getting to know you. I like you, piccola,” he flirts. “You are the most incredible, beautiful, and genuine girl I have ever met in my life. Sleeping in the bed with you last night... kissing you... it just confirmed everything for me. I didn’t come in here looking for anything, but I found you anyway."
Small tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you have to look down at your hands to keep from crying, cursing yourself. "You are literally one of the sweetest, most amazing guys I have ever met.” You laugh. “And I’m not just saying that. Getting to know you has been the best part of this so far."
"...But?" Theo prompts softly, sensing the hesitation in your voice.
"But... I can't give you a straightforward answer right now," you confess, your voice cracking as you look back up at him. "I am so sorry. I hate to keep you waiting. I hate feeling like I’m keeping you on a string, because you deserve a girl who can look you in the eye right now and tell you exactly what she’s going to do. But I'm still so confused. My head is a mess, and I don't want to give you an answer right now, promise you something, and then switch up at the last second." You pout. "That wouldn’t be fair to you."
Theo looks at you for a long moment, the silence stretching between you. For a second, you’re terrified he’s going to get angry, that he’s going to walk away. But he just lets out a quiet sigh and reaches out, taking both of your hands in his.
You meet his eyes, a tear finally escaping and rolling down your cheek.
"I understand," Theo says. "And, hey, no matter what happens tonight... no matter what decision you make, I want you to know that I enjoyed getting to talk to you, getting to know you. Even just sleeping in that bed next to you, feeling you close to me... it was perfect. I’ve only known you for a few days, bella, but I know that you will always be in my mind. You are an unforgettable girl." He tells you firmly. "So don't worry about me. Do what you need to do."
You fix him with a sad, half-hearted smile. "You don't hate me?" and you hate how small you sound.
But Theo just looks at you, eyes full of pity. "I could never hate you."
You nod tearfully, overwhelmed by his kindness as he pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face in your hair.
Theo is the perfect guy on paper, the perfect guy in reality—so why is your heart still painfully aching for the boy who broke it?
THE conversation with Theo leaves you feeling emotionally exhausted and you leave the Speakeasy, wiping your tears, desperately needing to talk to someone who isn't involved in the love triangle you’ve created for yourself.
You spot Sarah sitting alone on the beanbags, and you head straight for her. The second she sees your face, her expression softens, and she opens her arms up for you. You sink onto the edge of her beanbag, burying your face in her shoulder as a fresh wave of tears overtakes you.
"Oh, sweetie," Sarah coos, rubbing your back gently as you cry. "It’s okay."
After a few minutes, you pull back, wiping your eyes. "I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m so upset...."
"Yes, you do. Don't apologize," Sarah says firmly, taking your hand. "I’m not far behind you."
You look at her, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. "How are you doing this? How can you still hold out so much hope on John B after seeing that video?"
Sarah lets out a long breath, looking out. "John B and I, we’ve been through a lot here already. And when I looked at that video, I really forced myself to dissect it. Some things can be so easily taken out of context. He was kissing Delaney, yes, but it looked like a challenge. I have to trust that he’s just playing the game, that his heart is still with me.” She tells you honestly. “If I don't have faith in him, then what did I come here for?"
She turns back to face you, her eyes warm. "But listen to me. No one, and I mean no one, is judging you for exploring Theo right now. Nobody is judging you for being uncertain about Rafe. If I had gotten a video of John B kissing his ex, hearing him tell her that he missed her? I’d be pretty fucking pissed, too.” She comforts. “Don’t kick yourself so much."
"That’s the thing," you sob, fresh tears spilling over your eyelashes. "I don't know what to do. I’m stuck. Half of me wants to have faith in Rafe... but then the other half says there’s nothing left to have faith in. I saw it with my own eyes. But then... what if I misunderstood something? I don't want to drag Theo along if I’m just going to run back to Rafe. But what if I really grow to like Theo, even more than Rafe? And if I didn't misunderstand anything, and I do decide to give Rafe another chance thinking I did... I will have just let a really good guy go and completely fucked myself over, basically." You rant.
Sarah pulls you into another tight hug. "I know. I know it’s a horrible position to be in. But you need to chill.” She laughs. “You being stuck between a rock and a hard place right now... it is not your fault. Rafe put you in this position, not you. You're going to make the right choice at the end of the day. And whatever choice you make at that fire pit, we're all behind you."
THE afternoon flies by in a blur, and before you know it, the dreaded text arrives.
Cleo picks up her phone from the kitchen counter. "I’ve got a text!"
"Oh God, here we go," Kiara whispers, clutching her stomach.
"Girls," Cleo reads, her voice trembling slightly. "Tonight, the boys will be returning to the villa and it will be time to make your final decisions. Please, get ready for tonight’s recoupling. #TheUltimateChoice #CasaNoMore"
The text serves as the final reminder that the countdown has basically just hit zero.
AN hour later, the makeup room is a mess. But unlike the previous nights where the room was filled with giggles and gossip, it’s incredibly serious. Now that the moment is actually here, everyone is being a lot more open about what they’re really thinking.
Sarah is sitting in front of the mirror, carefully applying a dark red lipstick. "I’m just going to hope for the best. My heart is with John B, and I’m sticking with him. Whatever happens, happens."
Kiara is zipping up her dress, her hands shaking. "Guys…my mind still isn't made up. I’m terrified.” She breathes out. “...And it doesn't help that Thomas and I kissed yesterday.” She says, the girls gasping as she blushes. “It felt really good, and it made me feel wanted for the first time in a while. I’m still torn, but..."
Cleo looks at herself in the full-length mirror, smoothing down a tight, emerald-green gown. "Well, it should be no surprise to anyone what my decision is going to be tonight.” She beams. “Justin has been a dream."
Rima is curling her hair, her expression unreadable. She catches Cleo’s eye in the mirror as she raises an expectant brow at her. "Oh, you girls are just going to have to wait and see. I’ve made my choice, but I’m keeping it under wraps. You know I like being dramatic." she shrugs cutely.
Suddenly, all four pairs of eyes turn, locking onto you.
You’re standing in the corner, wearing a breathtaking dress that hugs you perfectly, but your face is drained and the silence stretches as they wait for you to give them something.
You look at your reflection, swallowing hard, and offer a very vague smile but no words. And before anyone can press you for more, a loud tone echoes, you picking up your phone and reading out the text.
“Islanders, please gather at the fire pit immediately. It is time for tonight’s recoupling.”
This is it.
There’s no more time to think. No more time to cry.
And as you walk out, you find the Casa Amor boys waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
Theo’s eyes lock onto you the second you appear, a soft expression crossing his face. He steps forward, offering you his arm with a quiet smile. You take it, your fingers trembling against his skin as the boys guide you girls over to the firepit.
And standing at the center of it all is Ariana.
The walk to the fire pit feels like a death march, and you and the girls take your seats on the semi-circular bench, while the Casa boys are told to stand next to Ariana.
The crackle of the fire pit is the only sound breaking the silence of the night.
Ariana looks at everyone, her expression serious. "Islanders... welcome to, one of, the most important recouplings you will face during your time here."
She turns her attention to the line of Casa boys first. "Before we begin, I want to ask the boys... how did you find your experience here in the villa?"
Justin smiles, stepping forward slightly to speak first. "I loved it. It’s been an incredible experience, and I met an amazing girl. I could’ve been happier coming in but I couldn’t be any happier tonight."
Thomas nods in agreement. "Yeah, same here. It was a breath of fresh air, I appreciated the familiar faces, and I’m really grateful for the new ones."
Brandon and Theo both express similar sentiments, with Theo catching your eye and giving you a soft, supportive nod. "It was unforgettable," Theo says clearly.
But then, Ariana turns to the final boy. "Mattheo? How was your experience?"
Mattheo stands with his arms crossed, a dark scowl firmly etched onto his face. He lets out a loud, mocking scoff. "Honestly, I felt like coming here was a total waste of time.” He shrugs. “The girls here were completely closed off, stuck in the past, and I don’t think I was given a fair chance."
A collective murmur echoes from the girls and you feel anger pierce through you. After everything you’ve been through over the last forty-eight hours, you were not in the mood.
You lean forward, glaring directly at Mattheo across the fire pit. "Oh, please, Mattheo,” you hiss. “You’re literally just mad that for the first time in your life, you didn’t get what you wanted."
Everyone let out muffled sounds, while Mattheo’s face turns a bright, angry shade of red. He glares at you, but he doesn't dare say another word.
Ariana breaks the tension, an amused smirk playing on her lips before she turns her attention toward the girls. "Girls... I want to hear from you. Tell me how you felt about your Casa Amor experience, and where your faith and trust in your original boys stood, and stands, tonight."
Sarah is the first one prompted to speak, her hands clasped in front of her. "I was really excited for Casa Amor at first. And I had a wonderful time getting to know the boys and reconnecting with Thomas.” She shouts out. “But the entire time, I was really just thinking about John B. Getting that video... it hurt, I’m not going to lie. But I’m excited, and honestly terrified, to find out what he chose to do at the end of the day."
Kiara speaks up next, her voice trembling slightly. "Coming into Casa Amor... my spirits were already pretty low, to be fair. JJ and I weren't on the greatest terms before he left, and I was really trying to be positive throughout this whole experience. But getting that video... it made a really big dent on any confidence I had left in him. At the end of the day, I came here to find love, and that’s what I’m going to pursue, whether it’s with him or someone else."
Cleo goes third, looking confident. "I was super excited for Casa Amor, especially considering that I think my experience with the original boys had been really rocky or not as smooth as I had hoped coming in.” She speaks honestly. “I was excited for the opportunity to explore new connections. I will say, I was a little bit disappointed at first to see that these guys weren't brand new and that we were familiar with them in one way or another, but I’m still so grateful they came, and I truly believe I made the connection I've been waiting for."
Rima starts next, a grin on her face. "I was basically jumping for joy over Casa Amor,” She says excitedly, breaking the ice. “I could not wait for the opportunity to meet new guys. I agree with Cleo, realizing these were all past flames and exes was a little bit disappointing. But I met some pretty great guys regardless."
Finally, Ariana’s eyes land on you. "And you? How was your Casa Amor experience?"
You take a deep breath, thinking on your words. Your heart is pounding so loudly, you’re terrified everyone can hear it.
"Coming into Casa Amor, I didn't feel the greatest," you say, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. "I felt like Rafe and I were finally regaining our footing and getting back to that amazing place we were in when we first met. I was really starting to feel that pull toward him again that I felt during our first kiss."
You pause, taking a shaky breath, your eyes briefly flickering to Theo.
"But Casa Amor has been a rollercoaster. I’ve met some amazing guys here... some even greater guys who make me feel incredibly special and who even teach me flirty things in Italian," you add, a small, cheeky smile playing on your lips as a subtle nod is sent to Theodore, who blushes, ducking his head. "But... after getting that video from Casa... it changed my outlook on what I thought was a solid connection. It broke my trust. But at the end of the day, all I can do now is follow my heart and do what’s best for me."
Ariana nods slowly, her eyes full of sympathy. "Thank you, girls, for your honesty.” Ariana throws out. “Now... it is officially time for the decisions to be made.” She turns serious. “...I will ask each of you whether you would like to couple up with one of the boys from Casa Amor, to return to your original couple, or whether you would like to remain single," she explains. “You will then get to find out what your boys have decided as they re-enter the villa.”
The air is silent, everyone is still, hearts racing as you await Ariana’s next words.
"...Kiara," Ariana calls out. "Please, stand up." Kiara stands, her hands tightly gripping the fabric of her dress. "Kiara, you were coupled up with JJ before Casa. Tonight, you have the choice to stick with him, or twist and couple up with one of the Casa Amor boys. What is your decision?"
Kiara swallows hard, looking across at Thomas before looking back at Ariana. "Tonight... I am choosing…” She swallows, eyes tearing up. “...to stick with JJ."
A quiet murmur goes through the Casa boys and Thomas looks down, a sad but respectful expression on his face.
"I am making this decision," Kiara explains, her voice cracking slightly, "because in my connection with JJ... I can’t say I’ve always felt the most secure. But the spark I felt with him is something I have never felt with anyone else before. I’m hoping that he was simply having his fun, or maybe it was all just a big misunderstanding.” She continues. “I made a really great connection with Thomas here, and he’s an amazing guy, but...I don't think that connection overtakes the one I believe I have with JJ."
"Thank you, Kiara," Ariana says, nodding. "You have chosen to stay coupled up with JJ.” She emphasizes. “I must remind you that if JJ returns from Casa Amor alone, he is all yours. But if he returns coupled up with a new girl... you will be left single and vulnerable.” She says, eyes steady as silence overtakes the firepit. “It’s time…to see what JJ decided."
Ariana looks toward the main villa doors, everyone else following.
Everyone holds their breath, and for a few agonizing seconds, there’s nothing.
Then, you see a pair of feet round the corner.
JJ walks out.
As he walks down into the villa, he appears to be completely alone. Kiara lets out a hopeful breath, a smile starting to form on her face—until JJ fully turns the corner.
Walking right beside him, her hand tucked firmly into his arm, is a new girl.
A stunning, dark-skinned girl—bright smile, sharp eyes.
Kiara’s smile instantly vanishes, face turning completely pale as your jaw drops. JJ looks up, his eyes landing on her standing alone at the fire pit, and his face floods with embarrassment. He hangs his head slightly as he walks over, leading Haja to stand next to Ariana with him.
"JJ, Haja... welcome back," Ariana says smoothly. "JJ, as you can see, Kiara is standing here completely alone because she chose to stay loyal to you.” She tells sadly. “How does it feel to see her standing there?"
JJ scratches the back of his neck, refusing to look Kiara in the eye. "Uh, it feels terrible.” He winces. “I can’t lie, it really does. I feel bad seeing Kie standing there alone."
“Yeah, right,” Kiara scoffs, shuffling on her feet.
"Why did you choose to couple up with Haja?" Ariana asks, cutting the tension.
"I just... I wasn't feeling confident in my connection with Kie before I left," JJ admits, his voice low. "I think we were just way too different and that we would’ve clashed sooner or later. I am really sorry that I didn't get the chance to discuss that with Kie before..."
Ariana turns back to Kiara. "Kiara, how do you feel?”
“Stupid.” She shrugs, fighting tears. “I feel really stupid.” is all she says, all she can manage to say.
And Ariana understands as she fixes the girl with a pitiful pout, speaking once more to her. “Kiara, because JJ has coupled up with Haja from Casa Amor, that means you are now officially single and vulnerable. Please, take your seat. JJ and Haja, you may also sit."
Kiara sits down, her jaw clenched tight, staring blankly ahead, completely ignoring JJ’s gaze as he sits on the farthest edge of the cushion with Haja by his side.
"Sarah," Ariana calls out. "Please, stand." Sarah stands up, her chest rising and falling with an anxious breath. "Sarah, you were coupled up with John B before Casa Amor.” She starts. “After this experience, what is your decision tonight?"
"To say this week has been easy would be a lie," Sarah begins, her voice trembling slightly before she finds her footing. "I think John B and I have had our fair share of ups and downs since the moment we met, and we definitely don't always make things easy for ourselves." She pauses, swallowing the lump in her throat.
"When that video clip came through... I’m not going to sit here and pretend I didn't have doubts. I spent the last few days in my head, feeling terrified, and honestly, wanting to protect myself from getting hurt. And I know it would be so much easier to just choose a new guy and save myself..." A tear slips down her cheek, yet a soft smile touching her lips.
"But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that you can't build something real if you run the second things get terrifying. What I have with this boy isn't perfect, but it’s the most real thing I've ever felt. At the end of the day, my faith in what we’ve built is stronger than my fear of what might have happened. So, I’m choosing to trust him." Sarah takes one final breath, shoulders square.
"I would like to stay with John B."
Ariana smiles. "Thank you, Sarah," she says, giving her the same warning about the consequences if John B twists. "Without much more waiting, it’s time to see what John B decided…"
Once again, all eyes dart to the villa doors and the silence is deafening.
Then, John B rounds the corner. He walks into the villa, hands in his pockets... completely alone.
You allow yourselves to release the breaths you were holding, Sarah visibly relaxing as everyone starts clapping loudly, and Sarah instantly brings her hands to her mouth, tears of joy spilling over her cheeks as John B breaks into a grin, lightly jogging down the path straight into her arms.
He lifts her off her feet, spinning her around as she cries into his neck.
When they finally pull apart, John B stands next to her, his arm wrapped tightly around Sarah’s shoulders.
"John B, Sarah chose to stay loyal to you, and you have done the same," Ariana smiles. "How was the decision for you?"
"Casa was definitely fun, Ariana," John B admits honestly, rubbing Sarah’s shoulder. "I was open to exploring at first, and obviously the whole ex thing was a…shocker.” He lets out awkwardly. “But to be completely fair, Sarah never left my mind once. I wouldn't throw away what we have for anything."
Sarah smiles and everyone claps as the reunited couple takes their seat.
"Rima," Ariana calls next. "It’s your turn." Rima stands up, smoothing down her dress as the fire pit goes quiet, everyone leaning in, desperate to know what she’s going to do. "Rima, before Casa, you were coupled up with Pope.” Rima nods, chewing the inside of her cheek. “What is your decision tonight?"
She takes a deep breath, looking at Ariana. "I’m making this choice," Rima starts, "because, while I got on really, really well with Brandon, and I still think he is a fantastic guy with an unheard-of level of depth to him... there were just a lot of clashing factors with our lives outside of here.” Her smile falls. “He told me he’d be open to considering a move to Atlanta from New York for me, which is sweet. But the same way I don't want to just upend my entire life in Georgia for a guy I’m not totally sure about, I don't want a guy to have to do the same for me. I want something that feels natural, something we don't have to force." She pouts. “...but at the same time, I don’t think Pope and I are the matched that I once hoped we might be.” She grimaces to herself.
"So, tonight... I am choosing to remain single." She reveals. “I would not like to couple up with any of the Casa guys, but I would also not like to return to my couple with Pope.”
The fire pit erupts into gasps, all of you looking stunned. Brandon looks down at his shoes, disappointment crossing his face, though he quickly masks it with a polite, respectful nod.
Rima looks at Brandon with a gentle, apologetic smile. "Overall, the distance and the difference in our lifestyles was just a really big thing that came into play. While I think he would be a lot of fun, he just doesn't seem like the type long-term that would fit into my picture, but I stand by the fact that he truly is an amazing guy."
Ariana turns to him. “Brandon,” she calls. “How’re you feeling about Rima’s decision?”
Brandon nods, offering her a kind smile. "No offense taken,” he shakes it off. “I get it. I won’t lie and say I’m happy, but my time with her was great and, yeah,” he turns to Rima. “I wish you nothing but the best."
Rima smiles at him tearfully, nodding as she sways on her feet.
"Well, Rima," Ariana says, turning back. "Let's see what decision Pope has made,"
The villa is then quiet for a moment again. Nothing but the wind, cicadas, then the sound of footsteps as Pope rounds the corner.
And your heart sinks.
Pope is walking in... and he is not alone. Walking hand-in-hand with him, looking satisfied, is a beautiful, dark-haired girl.
Sarah’s eyes go wide, John B shakes his head while Pope looks completely bashful, hanging his head low, unable to look at you all as he stops next to Ariana.
"Pope, Kaitlyn... welcome to the villa," Ariana says, her tone casual. "Pope, Rima is standing alone as she has chosen to remain single.” She informs him. “How does it feel to see her standing there completely alone?"
Pope winces, refusing to look at Rima. "Honestly... I feel like a dick.” He sighs. “I wasn't expecting Rima to stay with me, to be fair, because I didn't consider our connection to be a super strong one before we left. And, even though she’s chosen to not couple up with me, or anyone, I still feel terrible for not being someone she could be certain about." He admits. “And I feel bad about the other people I’ve possibly confused or hurt…” His eyes lock with Cleo’s.
Rima lets out a dry laugh from her spot as Ariana turns to her. "Rima, you are now single and vulnerable. How are you feeling?"
"I feel okay," Rima says, careless. "I wasn’t even sure what I was expecting. But to be honest, I’m actually more hurt for Cleo right now than I am for myself. Because Pope, once again, led a girl on and didn't stand on his word." She lets it all out, turning to Cleo with a soft smile as Cleo returns the gesture, mouthing ‘thank you’ and holding up a heart with her fingers.
Ariana smiles sadly, quietly, before turning her eyes to arguably the most anticipated choice of the night as she calls your name.
"Please, stand."
You take a shuddering breath and stand up, knees feeling like jelly. You can feel everyone’s eyes locked onto the side of your face.
"You were coupled up with Rafe," Ariana says, her voice echoing in the air. "Tonight, the choice is yours.” She draws out. “...Do you stick with Rafe, twist and couple up with one of the Casa boys, or remain single?"
You look at Ariana, and a wave of emotion hits you so hard that tears instantly build in your eyes. You bite your lower lip, trying to stop them from falling, but a single tear slips down your cheek.
"I guess I have to start by saying that this decision is far from easy. I think everyone who’s been locked in here with me knows that…" you joke, voice trembling slightly. "I came in being 100% loyal to Rafe. I didn't want to do a single thing to mess up what we had built. I felt confident in the connection, in us, and honestly, in everything he told me. But at the end of the day, just like every guy before him..." you glare briefly at Mattheo. "Rafe made me realize how naive I was for that."
Across the fire pit, John B, Pope, and JJ’s faces twist into expressions of utter confusion and concern. They look at each other, then back at you, completely unaware of where this was going.
Because they knew Rafe’s decision. And everything that happened at Casa.
But you didn’t.
"I really enjoyed my time with Rafe. And I found myself falling for him.” You admit, tearfully. “But I won’t allow myself to be fooled by yet another spineless man, especially not with the evidence right in front of my face,” you huff, wiping your tears. “Especially when there is a much better, clearly more genuine connection standing right in front of me.” You smile, eyes drifting as you gather yourself in one breath, looking at Ariana. “So, tonight, after days of making choices for Rafe, I’m making this one for me,” you take a deep breath, fighting even more tears.
“....And I am choosing to couple up with Theo."
Theo lets out a heavy breath, stepping forward instantly to wrap his arms around you as the guy’s jaws drop, the girls clapping for you. Theo pulls you into a tight embrace, whispering a quiet ‘thank you, bella’ into your hair before taking your hand firmly in his.
Ariana smiles gently, watching the pair of you. "You have chosen to couple up with Theo.” She announces, smile fading only a bit following her next words. “This means, if Rafe returns from Casa Amor alone, he will be single and vulnerable.” She tells you seriously. “Do you think Rafe has made the same choice?"
You look at Ariana, your jaw tightening.
"Yes," you swallow hard. “I do.”
"Well, there’s no better time to find out," Ariana says, her voice ringing clear.
The entire villa seems to hold its breath, the silence nerve-wracking. You tighten your grip on Theo’s hand, bracing yourself for the sight of Rafe walking through those doors with Sofia. You prepare your heart to feel anger, betrayal—
Then, a figure rounds the corner of the walkway.
It’s Rafe.
He walks in...
and he’s completely alone.
And you swear you’ve never felt your heart drop so fast and so far.
Gasps and murmurs rip through the fire pit—the girls mumble curses, their mouths wide open, eyes wide. The guys are shaking their heads, confused and disappointed. You feel the blood completely drain from your body, head to toe, your heart skipping multiple beats.
Rafe is alone.
He didn’t bring Sofia back.
He didn’t bring anyone back.
He walks down the path, his shoulders tense, jaw tightly clenched. But the second his eyes sweep over the fire pit and land on you... he stops dead in his tracks for a fraction of a second. His eyes look down at your hand tightly intertwined with Theo’s, and you can see the exact moment his heart breaks into a million pieces.
A look of hurt flashes across his face before he quickly tries to mask it as he walks over to stand next to Ariana.
"Rafe... welcome back," Ariana says, her voice full of sorrow. "Rafe, as you can see... Y/N has chosen to couple up with Theo…”
“Yeah,” his voice comes out weak as he glances down at his shoes, bouncing on his feet as he looks back up, eyes stuck on yours, a silent question in them—why? “Yeah, I see that…”
“How does it feel to see her with another guy?"
Rafe stands with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, jaw flexing violently. He swallows hard.
"Uh, shit hurts. Yeah, it really fucking hurts.” His face twists as he fights tears. “Casa Amor was terrible... especially being away from her every single day. I thought we were good, so good.” His knees buckle involuntarily, fighting himself. “I was practically counting down the days. So, to come back here and see her standing there with another guy…” he tries to find the words but can’t, opting to shrug in defeat. “But it is what it is, I guess."
You scoff, rolling your eyes, but Rafe catches it, his eyes narrow.
“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re upset?” He calls you out.
You reel your neck back at his words. “Excuse me?”
“Well, it’s almost like I’m the one standing alone and you’re pissed about it—”
“It’s not my fault you didn’t bring your fucking girlfriend back.”
“I—”
“Let’s calm down,” Ariana interjects as Rafe stops, huffing, trying to shrug it off like it’s nothing, but everyone at the fire pit can tell he is devastated, never having seen him so wordless, so calm and casual about you. His eyes are full of a bleeding pain that makes your stomach turn.
"Rafe, you are now single and vulnerable," Ariana says softly.
He simply hums and nods, his eyes meeting yours a final time before he looks away. And you can’t help the guilt that stirs in your stomach, but it wasn’t your fault…
Right?
"Lastly," Ariana announces. "Cleo, please stand."
Cleo stands up gracefully.
"Cleo, you were coupled up with Miles.” Ariana says. “What is your decision tonight?"
The girl takes a deep breath, fighting a smile. "Coming into this villa, I made a connection right away," Cleo explains, looking at Pope. "But I don't think it was equally or mutually reciprocated. Ever since Justin walked through those doors, he gave me that feeling I missed out on the first time—the feeling of someone being 100% on me and being completely certain of it.” She smiles. “I know I was coupled up with Miles, but that connection quickly died out. And, while Pope and I had a serious conversation before he left, I just didn't see him actually standing on his word, and clearly, I was right. I have to do what’s best for me at the end of the day, so,” she sucks in a deep breath. “I’m choosing to couple up with Justin."
Justin lets out a sigh of relief, a huge grin breaking out as he steps forward to join her, all of you clapping for them.
Justin wraps his arm around Cleo’s waist, kissing her cheek before the two of them sit down together as a new couple.
"Congratulations, Cleo and Justin…but we are not quite finished," Ariana announces, turning back to the final decision. "It’s time to see what Miles decided."
And for the last time that night, all heads turn to the villa entrance, the ‘Love Me Not’ sign flickering as a shadow rounds the corner and Miles comes bounding down the walkway a moment later, looking incredibly cheerful…walking hand-in-hand with a gorgeous girl.
And when you get a good look at the girl, your breath gets lodged in your throat.
Sofia.
Miles is holding hands with Sofia.
This time, there’s no gasps or low chatter—it is completely silent as everyone watches the pair enter the villa.
Ariana welcomes Miles and Sofia back, informing both Miles and Cleo that they are now in new couples, but you don’t really register her words. Not even as she asks Miles about his experience, and he shamelessly grins.
You chose Theo.
Rafe is single.
Miles brought Sofia back.
You finally snap back to reality when Ariana’s voice breaks through, looking at the remaining, unchosen Casa Amor boys. "Brandon, Thomas, Mattheo... unfortunately, your time in the villa has come to an end. Please, say your goodbyes."
The boys step forward, sharing quick hugs with the other guys they came in with and all of you girls as well, bidding a polite farewell and ‘good luck’ to the original boys before the three of them turn and walk out of the villa doors for good, waving goodbye as you all sit.
Cleo is under Justin’s arm, Sarah and John B are sat together, You and Theo are side by side, JJ and Haja are sat silent by one another, Miles and Sofia are slung over one another, all while Rafe, Kiara, and Rima remain at the far end of the fire pit.
Kiara is visibly fuming, Rima is unreadable, and Rafe’s eyes are glued to you.
But still, Ariana isn't finished yet.
"Islanders... unfortunately, the night is not over," she drops a final, brutal bombshell, looking at the rest of you now sitting down. "Currently, we have two single girls standing before us—Rima and Kiara. And we have one single guy—Rafe.” She reminds, looking somewhat upset. “Rafe... you must now make a choice.” She reveals, everyone getting more confused the more the seconds tick by.
“You must choose which of these two single girls you would like to couple up with.” Ariana lets out, everyone gasping. “The girl left single will be dumped from the island...tonight."
A horrific silence falls over the group as Ariana prompts both Kiara and Rima to both step forward, standing side-by-side.
Rafe stands up slowly following them, his hands still in his pockets. He looks at the two girls, but then his eyes slowly drift over to you, sitting next to Theo. His gaze never leaves yours, burning into you. There’s no anger in his eyes—just sadness.
The silence stretches as he thinks until, finally, he clears his throat.
"I don’t think it’s any secret," Rafe starts, his eyes finally moving away from you, "That there is only one girl I actually want.” he shrugs. “And I’m hoping to God I can figure out what the fuck went wrong tonight because I am at a real loss for words.” He scoffs, almost criticizing himself. “And even though I’m making a ‘choice’ right now, I think we all know I’m really not. But regardless, being faced with keeping one of these girls here, there is one who I’ve grown to think of as someone I could be friends with, and it’s pretty hard for me to make those.” He laughs, lifting the mood for only a second. “We’re both pretty headstrong, goal-oriented, and although there isn't a romantic spark between us, I’d be more than happy to hold things down with her until I can figure out what happened tonight." He sighs, glancing at you one last time.
"The girl I am choosing to couple up with... is Rima," Rafe announces, his voice firm.
Rima lets out a breath, stepping forward to stand next to him as you all clap, tears in your eyes, not only from his words, but the realization that was coming.
"Rafe, you have chosen to couple up with Rima," Ariana says, stepping forward. "Which means... Kiara,” She starts, turning to the girl as all of you tear up, audible sniffs coming from where Sarah is sitting next to John B. “You are single…vulnerable…and dumped from the island."
All of your heads drop at her words, wiping fat tears away as Sarah bursts into silent sobs. Despite all the disagreements and petty drama, Kiara was a day one, been here since the very first minute, and the thought of losing her is heartbreaking for everyone, especially Sarah, and JJ, who looks devastated by the consequences of his actions.
You and the girls don’t wait to rise from your seats, sad, and gather around Kiara, crying and hugging her tightly as Ariana concludes the recoupling and exits the villa as you and the girls disregard every major change that Casa Amor has brought and escort Kie up to the bedroom to pack her things, leaving everyone else at the firepit.
KIARA heads straight into the glam room to start packing her bags the second you’re inside the villa, and you all crowd around her, trying to help her fold her clothes through tears.
As Kiara throws some shoes into her suitcase, the door swings open. JJ walks in, his face pale, eyes bloodshot.
"Can I please talk to you for a second…before you go?" he asks, his voice cracking.
Kiara stops what she’s doing, slowly turning around to face him. The grief on her face hardens into a teary-eyed rage. "Talk to me?” she scoffs, all of you watching silently. “You want to talk to me now, JJ?"
"Please," he begs, stepping closer, further inside the room.
"No, you know what? Fine. Let's talk," Kiara snaps, her voice rising as she steps up to him, right in front of everyone, you all watching the confrontation unfold. "Right here."
"I chose you tonight, JJ." Kiara cries, her tears spilling over. "I sat there for days, missing you, holding out hope for you! And I stood at that fire pit and chose you, even after I saw what the hell you were doing over there, all for you to walk through those doors with another girl?” She seethes, hurt. “You’ve been stringing me along this entire time! Why even beg for another chance if you were just going to throw it away in a matter of days?"
"Kie, I’m so fuckin’ sorry," JJ pleads back, his hands running through his hair in frustration. "But the closer we got... it was hard, man! It was so hard for me and I just didn't see us goin' anywhere!” He finally admits. “We're just two completely different people, Kie, and I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to tell you that—"
"No, you’re not!" Kiara fires back, her voice shaking. "You should have told me that before you left because I know you knew before then, that’s not something you realize overnight, asshole! You made me look like an idiot!"
"I didn't have a fuckin’ choice, Kie!" JJ defends himself, his voice cracking with emotion as you all step in, trying to calm them down. "There was no time—"
"There’s always time to be fucking honest, JJ!" she screams.
The argument rages on, bitter and full of unresolved hurt, until, you assume the boys hear, and John B and Pope finally step in, breaking them up and pulling a desperate JJ away as you and the girls console Kie.
She turns back to her suitcase, finishes packing in a furious silence, and says a tearful, heartbreaking goodbye to all of you, suitcase in hand.
You all walk her down the steps, rubbing her back as she calms herself.
Goodbye Confessional : Kie
"I'm not going to lie, it stings. A lot," Kiara says, a bitter laugh escaping her. "To sit there, choose to be loyal, and watch him walk through those doors with a brand new girl on his arm? It’s humiliating. But more than anything, I’m just…angry." She leans forward. " It just proves to me that he wasn't mature enough for what we had. That Thomas was right—maybe guys like JJ don’t ever change. And you know what? It’s his loss. And even though I am gutted to be walking out tonight because of him, I’m also so grateful for what I did find here.” She smiles. “Despite everything that might’ve been thrown around or said, those girls are my sisters for life. I’m gonna miss them.” Kiara wipes a stray tear from her cheek with the back of her hand, lifting her chin high as she gives a final nod to the camera. "My Love Island journey cut short, and it definitely didn't end the way I wanted it to. But I’m walking out of here with my head held high, my dignity intact, and knowing I was completely true to myself. JJ can have his fun.” She shrugs, throwing up a peace sign. “I'm going home."
She hugs you all tightly one by one, whispering farewells and apologies before she wheels her suitcase out of the villa doors for good. You all watch sadly as she goes, this goodbye significantly more emotional than the previous ones.
And once she’s gone, out of sight, the entire group spreads apart like shotgun ammo, breaking off into separate corners, because a lot of people are still very pissed off.
“You are all pieces of shit,” Sarah scoffs, hair whipping around her as she storms away from the villa entrance.
The boys all look around cluelessly, offended. “What did we do?” John B points to himself.
"Are you serious?" Sarah yells, stepping forward with her hands on her hips. "JJ is the literal reason Kiara just got fucking dumped."
"You completely played her.” Cleo chimes in, rushing to Kie’s defense. “You humiliated her!"
"Whoa, whoa, chill!" John B steps in, throwing his arms out to shield JJ as the girls gain on him, while Miles and the other boys crowd around him too. "It can’t be entirely on JJ. You guys don't know how it went down over there!"
"Don't defend him!" you snap.
"Look, we got the text early as hell in the morning." Miles argues, raising his voice over the shouting. "JJ wanted to tell her, he wanted to explain things, but we didn't have time. Besides, let’s be real—they weren't gonna work out anyway! It’s not his fault."
“Y’all are only saying that because you all did some fucked up shit,” Rima snaps back, voice bitter. “John B was sitting here letting a copy of Sarah talk shit about her, Pope was enjoying getting his fly unzipped a little too much, Miles was dry-humping people like he gets paid for it, JJ was playing tongue-hockey for three days and three nights, and Rafe was kissing his ex!” Rima airs it all out, prompting one huge argument as everyone paces after another, dissolving into smaller, bitter arguments.
Rima pivots, pointing directly into Pope’s chest. "And don't you try to look away! You brought another girl back after literally pillowtalking Cleo and begging her for another chance?!" She hisses, Cleo standing behind her with her arms crossed.
"Rima, please, just let me—" Pope stammers, trying to side-step her to get to Cleo. “Let me talk to you. Please.”
"...Fine." Cleo interrupts smoothly, stepping between them, grabbing Pope firmly by the forearm.
Miles cuts in then and tries to step in front of them. "Cleo, wait, I would like—"
Before he can finish his sentence, Cleo shoves her flat palm into Miles’ face, dismissing him without a backward glance. "I do not care about a single thing that comes out of your mouth right now. Me and you have been done. Go play with your new girl."
As Cleo drags Pope away toward the kitchen, Sarah wraps her fingers around John B’s wrist. Her expression is serious, something heavy behind her eyes. "We need to talk." She isn't furious, but her tone leaves zero room for argument. She needs answers about what he didn't say in her defense when Delaney was throwing herself at him.
And that left you, standing near the edge of the pool deck, chest heaving as you try to process the drama around you. Rafe is single, you’re with Theo, Sofia’s in the villa, and Kie is gone.
Your teeth are grinding, palms pressed into the socket of your eyes when you feel a presence enter your bubble, turning to find Theo. He steps closer, his hand finding the small of your back, asking if you’re okay when a shadow falls over you.
You look up. It's Rafe.
His face is twisted, jaw pulsing as he stares at you, ignoring Theo’s presence. "Can I talk to you?"
The sheer audacity of him standing there, acting like he has the right to an explanation or even a simple conversation after what he did, makes something inside you snap.
"Talk to me?” you reiterate incredulously. “Rafe, get the fuck out of my face," you spat. "You're a dick, do you know that? A...bald-headed dick."
"I've been told," Rafe doesn't even flinch as you push past him, dragging Theo with you. If anything, a desperate, broken look crosses his features. "But I can't say it doesn't hurt coming from you.” He shrugs, swallowing your sharp words down. “But I’ll be a dick. I’ll be whatever the hell you want me to be if that’s what gets you to talk to me.” He tells you, trying to catch your gaze. “Please."
You let out a mocking laugh, looking up at Theo, who gives your waist a supportive squeeze before stepping back to give you space, walking off.
You turn back to Rafe, eyes blazing.
"You want to talk? " you snap, jerking your head toward the stairs. "Bring your bald-headed ass on then."
Rafe just huffs, and you swear there’s a hint of amusement, a faint smirk on his lips as he follows you up to Soul Ties, hands in his pockets. The silence between you is heavy and the second you hit the terrace, it all comes apart.
"What the fuck happened?" Rafe grits out, his voice strained. "We were good. I did everything right, everything you asked, and I walk back in to find you coupled up with some new guy?"
"You want to know what happened?" you seethed, tears you’ve been fighting all night finally spilling over your cheeks. You point a trembling finger directly at his chest. "You kissed her, Rafe. You kissed Sofia! Twice! We got the fucking video! I saw it with my own eyes—"
"Now, hold on, wait a minute.” He sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “You don't understand—"
"Oh, I understand perfectly.” You cut him off, eyes wide and manic before they narrow again. “You told your ex-girlfriend you missed her and you kissed her."
"That wasn't the whole conversation!" Rafe shouts back, desperately trying to grab your hands, but you smack his fingers away. "I pushed her away! Every single time she tried something, I made it 100% clear that I wasn't into it! If I wanted to be with Sofia, don't you think I would have brought her back tonight?!” He tries to get through to you. “But I didn't! I walked through those doors alone for you!"
"Or maybe because Miles beat you to it!" you fire back, your voice cracking.
"T-That doesn’t even make sense!" Rafe yells, pacing a tight circle before storming back to you, his eyes wild. "Miles was the last to choose. I did not choose her. I could’ve and I didn’t. Because I didn’t want to! I am over her! She knows that, I thought you did, too—"
"A girl doesn't just lean in and kiss you twice unless you gave her a reason to think it was okay, Rafe!" You're crying heavily now.
Rafe flinches, agony crossing his face. He steps into your personal space, his breathing heavy as he looks down into your eyes. "It’s like you want to believe the worst in me. It’s like you literally cannot trust that I’d actually tell you the truth. You just assume I’m the bad guy."
"Yeah, Rafe! Because I have never in my entire life had a guy actually tell me the truth!" you sob, wiping your face aggressively. "I trusted you. I let my guard down, I actually saw myself with you after this, and you just fucked me over and made me look stupid as hell!"
Seeing you crumble completely breaks him. “I promise it’s not like that. You’re not letting me explain anything—” His anger vanishes, replaced by desperation as he reaches out, large hands gently catching your shoulders, trying to pull you into his chest to console you. "Hey, look at me... please, just listen to me..."
"Stop," you bite out, wrenching yourself out of his grip.
And before the argument can escalate any further, the sound of hurried footsteps echoes on the stairs as Rima, Sarah, and Cleo appear next to the pair of you. Cleo steps firmly between you and Rafe, putting an arm around your shoulders while Rima glares at him.
"That's enough," Rima says, her tone cold. "Give her space. Walk away."
Rafe looks at you, his chest heaving, eyes pleading for you to say something, but you just bury your face in Cleo’s shoulder, sobbing. With a frustrated huff, Rafe turns and storms down the stairs.
Once he’s gone, the girls lead you to Say Less.
You sit on the edge of the semi-circular cushin, tracing your fingers over your eyes to wipe away the smudged mascara, still angry-crying.
"I just can't believe him," you whisper, your voice thick with sadness. "He made me feel so stupid. And his fucking ex is in here now and I have to sit here and watch them look at each other from afar, pretending like they don't like each other when they were clearly doing shit behind everyone's backs." Your breath hitched, shaking your head. "I don't even know what kind of messed-up love triangle—love square—fuckin’ love hexagon I’ve gotten myself into. I'm sitting here with all these stupid feelings for Rafe, but then I have feelings for Theo who has been nothing but amazing to me. But then Sofia is here, clearly wanting Rafe back, but she's coupled up with Miles. Like, why the fuck did Miles even bring her back? I’m so lost on that…"
Rima rubs your back as you try to steady your breathing, the girls all giving you pity looks as you continue wiping at your eyes. "You know what? I'm done talking about it.” You breath. “Someone else speak before I flip this place upside down…"
Sarah sighs softly, leaning her head against the seat. "I get it, babe.” She pouts at you. “Honestly, I'm feeling a bit thrown off too. Things with John B are... okay, I'm glad he chose to stay coupled up with me, but I can't shake the feeling that he's holding something back.” She shakes her head. “Just now, I asked him about Delaney, he got really defensive and then immediately tried to sweet-talk me. I don’t know, I feel like there's something he's just not telling me about what happened over there with her."
“What is done in the dark will always come to the light,” Rima throws out. “I say keep pressing him about it. Because these boys can play guilty all they want, but they didn’t look too guilty when they were catching ass and swapping DNA.” Rima declares before turning her attention to Cleo. "What about you? What happened with Pope in the kitchen? Because I was this close to murdering him for you."
Cleo lets out an exhausted breath. "I don't even know if I believe a word that comes out of his mouth anymore.” She shrugs. “But he basically told me that the only reason he brought Kaitlyn back was as a safe option. He was convinced you were going to twist, and he didn't want to get eliminated before he ‘had a chance to try again with me’."
"Seriously?" Rima scoffs, rolling her eyes.
"Yeah," Cleo says. "Apparently, Kaitlyn is cool with it. She’s just happy to be here to see if she can find a connection with someone else. That’s what he says but…I don’t know if I believe that shit." Cleo huffs. “Plus, I’m really into Justin. So, it’s a toss up either way.”
“I say stick with Justin.” Rima tells the girl. “He’s been sure about you. Pope hasn’t. Case closed.”
Cleo nods, as if to say ‘you have a point’.
They continue talking about the way the night unfolded, occasionally rubbing your arm or calling out to you as you stared down at your hands.
THE air in the glam room as all of the girls get ready for bed is no better.
Near the back of the room, the new girls—Haja, Kaitlyn, and Sofia—are unpacking their suitcases, claiming their vanity mirrors and organizing their makeup and skincare.
Though, while Haja and Kaitlyn make polite conversation, trying to ease the tension, Sofia takes a different approach, making it a point to mark her territory.
Every few minutes, she casts a sharp glance across the room at you. When you stand up to grab something, Sofia purposefully re-routes her path directly past you, brushing her shoulder slightly against yours as she walks too close, a tiny smirk playing on her lips.
You keep your head down, jaw clenched so tight it aches, hands trembling. You’re keeping it cool, but all of the other girls see exactly what Sofia is doing.
Confessional: Cleo
“Sofiaaa, girl, you need to watch yourself.” She smiles, shaking her head. “She thinks she’s being cute and playing mean girl, but she doesn't realize she’s playing with the wrong one. My girl has already been pushed to her limit tonight, and trust me—something about that girl tells me that doesn’t play.”
WHEN the lights click off, plunging the bedroom into a darkness, the room feels like a prison.
Cleo and Justin climb into their bed, turning away from the rest of the room.
Sarah and John B cuddle close, the unspoken doubts still hanging between them.
Pope and Kaitlyn lie with a certain distinct distance between them, while Miles and Sofia share a bed on the far side, ignoring the glares they received before the lights went out.
You climb into bed next to Theo. He doesn't say a word about what happened with Rafe, he doesn't ask for details or push you to talk. He just opens his arms, and you slide right into them, burying your face in his chest as you let out a silent and exhausted sob.
He holds you tightly, his fingers gently stroking your skin.
But as you lie there, you can't stop thinking about the half-empty space across the room—Rafe and Rima’s bed.
Rima is huddled under her blanket, peaceful. But out on the daybeds, Rafe is lying alone, a single blanket pulled over his broad shoulders, staring blankly up at the dark sky, seemingly unable to find the stars in it without you next to him.
And he doesn't close his eyes once.
Knowing that every single time he did, he only saw flashes of you.
SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ After the fallout of Movie Night, Rafe finally tears down his emotional walls, allowing the pair of you to regain your footing.
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ can't remember if this is proofread all the way through sorry xx, swearing, past substance use/addiction, past emotional/verbal use, sexual/suggestive themes, GET EXCITED, also the chapter names are songs idk if i told y'all but yea, tr & rafe are so smexy in this chapter UGH
˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗
YOU sat in front of the vanity mirror, the handle of your curling iron resting in your palm, though you hadn't actually moved it. The dressing room was drowning in an extremely unnatural silence. On any other day, this room was chaotic—hairspray clouds, spilled makeup bags, and overlapping voices.
You would normally be gossiping with Sarah about whatever ridiculous thing John B had said the night before, or laughing with Cleo as she helped you with your hair.
Today? Nothing.
The only sound was the occasional click of an eyeshadow palette closing, a yawn, or the patting of a beauty blender against skin.
Across the room, Kiara was focusing on her eyeliner, her jaw set. She hadn't made eye contact with a single person since last night when she declared that she didn't want to sleep in the main bedroom, JJ trailing behind her.
Movie Night had left a mass trail of destruction and the dust was still settling.
The door to the room slowly opened, breaking the silence as you all turned to look. The boys walked in, one behind the other, each carrying a freshly prepared breakfast plate, the boys playing waiters to keep their girls happy.
John B walked in first, holding a plate of avocado toast and fruit for Sarah, offering her a tentative smile. "Morning," he murmured, sliding the plate onto her vanity counter. Sarah gave him a soft, appreciative smile, but her eyes remained shadowed, her shoulders tense.
Pope entered after, delivering a neatly stacked pile of pancakes to Rima. "Made sure you actually got them from me this time," he joked quietly. Rima smiled, patting his arm and pecking his cheek.
Miles slid through the door, his eyes immediately locking onto Cleo. He approached her vanity, placing a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of her. "For the finest woman in the villa," he said, trying to inject some of his usual charm into the room.
But Cleo looked at the plate, then up at him, her expression unreadable but entirely unamused. "Thanks," she said, her voice flat.
JJ slunk in toward the back, carrying a plate for Kiara. His movements lacked their usual cheerfulness as he set the food down near her makeup bag, clearing his throat. "Got you some toast and eggs."
Kiara didn't look up from her mirror, merely nodding. "Thanks, J."
Then there was Rafe, of course.
He didn't look at anyone else in the room, eyes were locked on you the second he crossed the threshold. He carried a plate with a toasted bagel, cream cheese spread exactly the way you liked it, and a handful of strawberries. He stepped up behind your chair, placing the plate gently next to your curling iron, his hand lingering on the back of your seat. His knuckles brushed against your shoulder, sending a familiar spark through your skin, but the weight in your chest from yesterday didn't budge.
"Hey," He murmured, his voice still slightly raspy from sleep.
"Hey. Thank you," you replied simply, giving him the smallest smile he’d ever seen. You picked up a strawberry, but your appetite was completely gone as you bit into it. You just wanted to distract yourself from how obviously awkward the room was.
Rafe stood there for a moment, his eyes scanning your face, then darting around the room. He took in the way Kiara was ignoring everyone, the way Sarah was pouting, and just the absolute lack of energy.
Rafe reached down, his fingers wrapping firmly but gently around your wrist, you pausing mid-chew to peer up at him. "C'mere for a second," he muttered, throwing his head out in the direction of the hallway.
You didn't protest, gently huffing as you let him pull you out of your chair, leaving your breakfast behind as he guided you out of the room and into the hallway.
He let the door close behind you, cutting off the view of the other girls as the guys also filed out, going back towards the bedroom, and turned to face you.
"It's like a funeral home in there. Everything alright?" Rafe asked, his tone a mix of frustration and genuine concern.
You let out a long sigh. "...Everyone is still on edge from last night. Most of the us have an issue with Kie right now, and she thinks everyone is being fake and ganging up on her. It's just making things weird and uncomfortable…"
Rafe nodded slowly, his posture softening slightly as he looked down at you. "Right. Well, look, I was mostly just asking to make sure you were okay.” He cooed, ducking his head down. “You know I don’t care about their drama, I just care about how it's affecting you." He paused, his jaw tightening again as his eyes searched yours, shifting to a topic that had been lingering. "And... I wanted to ask if…y’know, if we’re okay. You know, because of the conversation from yesterday..."
Your heart gave a painful thud as you sucked in a deep breath. Yesterday. The conversation where you had practically begged him to let his guard down, to tell you about his life, his past, his demons, whatever he was hiding—anything to bridge the gap between you.
And he didn’t.
You looked at Rafe, taking in the lines of his face, the slight nervous twitch in his jaw, and the almost desperate way he was waiting for your answer.
"Honestly, Rafe, I'm not really sure where I stand with you right now," you said, your voice cracking slightly before you steadied it.
Rafe’s eyes widened a fraction as he took a step closer to you. "What do you mean?” He asked. “You know how I feel about you. I'm all in on you—"
"I know what you say, Rafe, but…," you trailed off, looking up at him with sad eyes. "I really, really do like you. I haven't looked at another guy in this villa since the night I walked in. But I don't know how much longer I can deal with feeling completely in the dark about who you actually are. It feels like every time I try to get close to you, you shut me out. I can't be with someone like that..."
Rafe opened his mouth to speak, a desperate look flashing across his features, but no words came out. He looked stranded, caught between his urge to pull you close and keep you at arms length.
"I just need some time to think," you whispered, giving him one last lingering look before you turned around, leaving him standing alone in the empty hallway.
YOU had barely re-settled into your chair and picked up your now cold bagel when the dressing room door clicked open again. This time, it wasn't one of the guys. It was Rima, re-entering the room from wherever she’d gone off to.
"Alright," Rima said, clapping her hands together once, the sound echoing. "Listen. Whenever you all are done getting ready and eating, I’d like everyone—and I mean everyone, the guys included—to get together. Anywhere in the villa. Just...pick a spot and get there."
Sarah paused, a hair clip halfway to her head. "What for? Did someone get a text?"
Rima didn't give a straightforward answer. She simply offered a mysterious smile and leaned against the doorframe. "No text. Just meet me out there when you're done. Trust me, we need this. Don't take all day."
With that, she turned on her heel and left the room, leaving you all exchanging hesitant glances.
"Great," Cleo muttered under her breath, finally pushing her breakfast plate away and rising from her seat. "A meeting. Just what this joyful morning needed."
TWENTY minutes later, you all had finished getting ready and filed out into the main yard. The guys were already there, scattered around the daybeds, the edges of the pool, and the beanbags.
Rafe was sitting on the edge of a daybed, his elbows resting on his knees, staring intently at the ground. When you walked out, his eyes instantly shot to you, tracking your movements as you went to sit on a beanbag next to Sarah and Cleo as Kie took an unnecessary seat far away.
Miles was sitting on the opposite side of the deck, looking entirely nonchalant, though the tightness of his shoulders went against him. JJ, John B, and Pope were leaning against the outdoor bar, looking like they wanted to be anywhere else on earth.
Rima stood in the center of it all, looking like a judge presiding over a court, clearing her throat.
"Okay," Rima began, her voice carrying. "I called this...villa meeting because the energy in here right now sucks.” she said bluntly. “I know. Movie Night. Secrets came out, things were said, but if we keep going like this, the next few weeks are going to be miserable. So, we are going to sit here, and we are going to air it out, and we are going to sort these issues out today."
She turned her gaze to the guys first. "I want to start with the men.” She shifts her weight. “Do any of you have issues you need to voice? Because from where I'm standing, most of the tension is coming from one specific corner." She looks pointedly at Rafe and Miles who are glaring across at one another.
The guys looked around, mostly shaking their heads or murmuring. John B rubbed the back of his neck. "I think most of us are good. We talked our stuff through last night."
"Not all of us," Rafe’s voice cut through the air as he leaned back on his hands. He lifted his head, his eyes locking onto Miles. "I still have a massive fucking problem with this guy."
Rima sighed softly, gesturing toward the two of them. "Alright. Rafe, Miles, you two have been at each other's throats since yesterday because of what Miles said to…” she gestured towards you. “Miles, the floor is yours, first. Explain yourself."
Miles shifted in his seat, rubbing his hands down his thighs.
"Look," He started, directing his words toward you, completely avoiding Rafe’s lethal gaze. "I really didn't mean any harm by what I said. Truly. I was just telling you what I thought. I thought I was doing you a favor by letting you know where his head might be at. It wasn't malicious."
"Bullshit," Rafe spat, leaning forward, his voice low.
"I'm just saying what it looked like from my perspective—" Miles tried to defend himself, but he was quickly cut off.
"Oh, please, Miles," Sarah jumped in, her voice filled with annoyance. She leaned forward from her beanbag, pointing a finger at him. "Nobody believes that you were just ‘being a good guy.’ You waited until Rafe wasn't around and basically cornered her."
"I’d have to agree," Cleo chimed in, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, eyes narrowed at Miles. "You made her cry all because, as it looked like, you were trying to use her as some kind of pawn in your little game."
Just because Cleo was coupled up with him didn’t mean she was letting the man off of her very sharp hook. At the end of the day, she did have a connection with him, but she didn’t feel that it came at the cost of her connection with you.
Miles looked around the circle, searching for an ally, but he found not a single one. John B shook his head in disapproval, and even JJ looked away. The collective consensus was clear— he had crossed a line.
Sensing that he had no ground left to stand on, Miles threw his hands up in surrender. "Alright. Alright, look. I apologize. I misread the situation, and I shouldn't have brought it to you the way I did. I'm sorry for making you upset," he said, looking at you.
You sat quietly for a moment, feeling everyone's eyes shift to you. You looked at Miles, feeling a sense of detachment. The tears you had cried yesterday felt distant now.
"Honestly, Miles? I don't really accept your apology," you said, your voice calm. "Because I don't think you're actually sorry for what you did. You're just sorry you got called out on it by everybody. But at this point, it's whatever.” you shrugged, drawing your lips into a tight line. “It doesn't affect me anymore. I know where I stand, and your opinion doesn't mean anything to me."
A quiet murmur of 'damn' went through the boys, and Miles winced slightly but nodded, defeated.
Rima looked between Rafe and Miles, her hands on her hips. "Alright. The apology has been given and dealt with. Rafe, Miles... are you two cool with each other now? Can we drop this?"
Rafe kept his eyes locked on Miles, his expression still cold. "I'll drop it if she wants me to drop it," Rafe said, his voice hard. "But make no mistake, I am not talking to this guy. Ever." He emphasized. "You stay out of my way, and hers, and I’ll stay out of yours."
Miles shrugged, murmuring, "Fair enough,".
Rima then turned her attention back to the group, shifting her weight. "Okay. Now that the boys have drawn their lines, let's move on to the girls. Because the dressing room this morning was suffocating.” She exaggerated with her hands at her neck. “Kiara, we can start with you. Explain how you're feeling right now."
Kiara sat up straight, crossing her legs, her chin tilted upward.
"Honestly, I feel like I said everything I had to say yesterday," Kiara began, her voice tight. "I think it was incredibly weird and fake of these two,” she pointed at you and Sarah. “to talk about me behind my back and coordinate my life without ever coming to me directly. It really felt like everyone was putting Cleo's feelings and Cleo's situation completely above mine. I've been nothing but open since I walked into this villa, and frankly, I don't want friends who operate like that."
Sarah immediately let out a frustrated laugh, shaking her head. "Kiara, oh my god.” She huffed. “I cannot explain myself to you anymore than I already have."
Sarah leaned forward, her voice rising slightly. "Nobody was picking sides, and nobody was putting one person over the other. At the end of the day, before that recoupling, you had two connections. You had JJ, and you had Pope. Cleo only had Pope. She had one single connection. When we were talking about it, we weren't trying to sabotage you, we were looking out for both of you. We wanted to make sure Cleo didn't get dumped from the island, and we knew you would be fine either way."
Rima turned her gaze over to you, calling your name. "What's your piece in this?"
You took a deep breath, adjusting on the beanbag. You looked directly at Kiara, choosing your words carefully but intentionally. You didn't want to make a scene anymore, but you weren't going to swallow your pride either.
"Look, Kie," you said, keeping your voice measured. "I don't want you to think that I was intentionally going behind your back to hurt you. That genuinely wasn't my intention, and if it came across as sneaky, I can acknowledge that. But..." You paused, your eyes hardening just a fraction. "I'm also not going to sit here and say I feel sorry about what was said in those conversations. Because to be completely honest, what you said about me in the confessional was way worse."
Kiara shifted uncomfortably, her eyes darting to you.
"You sat there and told the entire public—and the entire villa—that I have absolutely 'no self-respect' because of how I was handling things with Rafe," you continued. "That’s a direct insult to me as a person from someone who was supposed to be my friend. So if we're talking about who was being fake and who was talking behind whose back, I think you need to look in the mirror before you point fingers at us."
Kiara opened her mouth to argue, but she seemed to catch herself, shutting it tightly and looking down at her hands.
Rima nodded slowly, then looked at Cleo. "Cleo? Do you have anything to add?"
Cleo sat back, her expression uncompromising. "I don't really have anything to apologize for," Cleo said bluntly. "I said what I said, and I meant it. I don't want to make an enemy out of you, Kiara. I really don't. But I'm also not going to back down from my opinion. After seeing how you reacted to all of this, and seeing how you talk about people when the cameras are on you alone, I'm just going to be honest…I'm not sure about your intentions being here, and I'm definitely not sure about your intentions being friends with any of us girls. Right now, I just don't see you as someone who can be trusted at the end of the day."
The words were harsh, the girls clearly still at odds. There was no embrace, no tears of reconciliation.
Rima stepped back into the center, clapping her hands together to draw the focus back to her.
"Okay. Everyone listen to me," Rima said, her voice dropping into a softer tone. "The reality is, we are not going to agree on everything. The girls are still at odds, the boys have their boundaries, and that's fine. But we need to agree to put this behind us. Time flies in here, and it completely defeats the entire purpose of this experience to spend your days surrounded by a whole bunch of enemies. It's just going to bring the vibe down for the rest of the time we're here, and honestly, you never know when a text is going to come in. You never know when someone is going to be going home. And you never know who that someone might be."
She looked at Kiara, then Cleo, then at you, then at Rafe and Miles. "So, let's just agree to wipe the slate clean. You don't have to be best friends. You don't have to braid each other's hair. But we move forward with respect. Can we do that?"
There was a brief, tense pause before a collective wave of reluctant but mutual nods went around the circle.
It wasn't a perfect fix, but it was a truce. The villa had a ‘clean slate’, fragile as it was.
FOR the rest of that afternoon, you all broke off into separate corners, the tension slowly fading as people sought out private conversations.
You walked over to the far edge of the garden, near the daybeds shielded by palm trees. You sat down, pulling your knees up to your chest, staring out at the horizon.
It was only a moment before footsteps crunched against the grass. You didn't need to look up to know who it was—the shadow that fell over you was tall, broad, and entirely familiar.
Rafe stood there for a second, looking down at you with an expression that was entirely stripped of his usual confidence.
He looked vulnerable—almost fragile.
"Can I sit?" he asked quietly.
You looked up at him, your heart aching slightly at the look in his eyes. You lowered your legs, making room on the wide daybed. "Yeah,"
He sat down beside you, but he didn't immediately try to touch you or close the distance. He rested his forearms on his knees, staring out at the pool, taking a deep breath.
"You made a really good point yesterday, what you said about me expecting you to close things off when I can’t even be honest…" Rafe began, his voice low, almost a whisper. "And it's been bouncing around in my head ever since you said it. And...you were right. You usually are." He admitted in a light laugh.
You watched him, holding your breath but trying not to let it show.
"And then Rima gave that speech just now," Rafe continued, a faint, sad smile touching his lips. "She kinda opened my eyes, honestly. She was right about not knowing what each day holds in here. I've been so terrified of losing you, of you looking at me differently, that I've just been keeping everything locked down. But she's right—I might be scared out of my mind right now, but I'd rather tell you the truth. I'd rather lay it all out on the table so that way you can decide whether I'm truly someone you want to be with, rather than basically conning you into thinking I am."
His voice cracked slightly, and he looked down at his hands, wringing them together. "Because I'd rather you make that decision knowing everything, and know that I was honest and tried, rather than me keeping things hidden from you, and then one of us possibly gets eliminated or something happens, and I never have the chance to really give our relationship an honest shot."
You felt a tear prick the corner of your eye.
He turned fully toward you, his eyes locking onto yours. "...I wasn't a good person," Rafe confessed, the words pouring out like a dam breaking, his voice shaking. "You know about the alcohol, but alcohol wasn't my only problem. My life... you know it wasn't great. Especially after my mom died. When she passed, my dad didn't know how to handle it, my sisters were distant, and I think that's where a lot of my anger issues started. A lot of my family problems stemmed from that...unchecked rage I had of losing her."
He swallowed hard, his jaw tight as he forced himself to continue. You felt bad, almost wanting to tell him to stop, but you knew that this was the real breaking point that you both needed. "Things got a whole lot worse after I graduated high school, though. I had no direction. I was just out partying constantly, trying to numb everything. And the parties were what led to the drinking, and the drinking... it kind of led to a lot of other shit. Hard shit." He couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud, but you knew what he meant.
You felt sadness ripple through you, but you didn't pull away. You stayed perfectly still, your eyes locked onto his, offering him a safe place to land.
"I was really just lost during that part of my life. Lost and…angry." Rafe whispered, his eyes dark. "I would constantly get drunk or high, and I... I can’t even count how many times I crashed my car, speeding down back roads, not giving a shit if I lived or died. I would get into fights any and everywhere, looking for an excuse to hurt someone or get hurt myself. And I treated my friends like absolute shit. I was toxic, selfish…destructive…"
He let out a ragged breath, rubbing his face with his hands before looking back at you. "And... I'm not gonna lie to you, that's part of the reason why Sofia was such a sore subject for me. During that period of my life, she was kind of my saving grace. She was the one who pulled me out of ditches and cleaned me up. But then... I found out that pretty much everything she ever told me about her feelings for me, her life—it was all a lie. She was playing me. And it completely sent me back into that exact same spiral, worse than before. It took everything I had to finally pick myself back up, without her, and get my life together."
Rafe reached out, his hand trembling slightly as he gently took your hand in his, his thumb tracing the back of your knuckles. "The person I was all those years ago... is a completely different person from the me that you know now. I didn't keep you hidden from that because I was trying to lie to you. I hid it because... because I liked knowing that you didn't know that side of me. I wanted to forget him so bad, and when I'm with you, I feel like a good man. Like a normal, happy person. You make me feel that way. I was terrified that if you found out how ugly my past was, you'd look at me and see…I don't know, some fucked up monster."
Your couldn’t form words, too afraid that if you opened your mouth you’d end up balling. This is all you’d ever wanted from Rafe in the two weeks you’d known him.
You closed the distance between you, wrapping your other hand around his, squeezing tightly.
Confessional : You
"I'm really happy that Rafe finally opened up to me." You smiled pitifully. "I know it was probably really hard for him. But I really do adore him and I want this to work so bad, so I'm glad that he's willing to work with me now."
"Rafe," you said softly. "I appreciate you finally opening up to me. More than you know. All I ever wanted from the moment we coupled up was to really know you. I wasn't sitting here hoping that you were perfect. I don't need a perfect guy, and I don't care about how messy your past was. I just wanted you to be honest with me so I wasn't building a relationship based on delusions.” You reassured him. “Now? I feel like we can actually move forward."
You offered him a warm smile, leaning in slightly. "And honestly... if we're talking about transparency, I know I told you about my parents and running away, but...there are still parts of my past and my exes that I haven't opened up about to you. But it wasn’t for lack of wanting you to know, it was just…I would’ve told you if you asked. But I was always hoping you wouldn’t."
Rafe looked at you, surprise crossing his face. "What do you mean?"
You looked down at your joined hands, taking a breath. "My ex... he was really verbally abusive. He was the kind of guy who used me to make himself feel better about his own insecurities." You choked out, clearing your throat as your face twisted. "He would constantly berate me, belittle my achievements, and tell me I was lucky anyone even looked at me. And on top of the mind games, there was always another girl in the picture. Always. He was constantly cheating, constantly texting other women, and then turning it around on me, making me feel like I was crazy for questioning him or that I had no right because of…y’know,"
You looked back up at Rafe, your eyes gleaming with old, unresolved pain. "I guess that’s the real reason why I get so upset and defensive when these things come up in here. When you shut down and refuse to be open with me, it triggers that exact same fear. It sends me right back into that exact same state of mind I had in that relationship—feeling like I'm being lied to, like I'm being kept in the dark while the rug is about to be pulled out from under me and I have no idea. I just really, really don't want to get my heart broken like that again." Your voice shook, one tear escaping the pool that were holding back.
Rafe’s expression softened as he reached out, wiping the tear away, muttering to you ‘don’t cry’, his voice gentle as you’d ever heard it.
"I’m never going to do that to you," Rafe said, his voice firm. "I swear to you. I am never going to break your heart, and I am never going to make you feel small. And I'm sorry that I ever made you feel like I would.” He apologized. “From now on, you ask me a question, you get the truth. All of it. No bullshit."
You smiled, the lump in your throat fading. "Thank you, Rafe."
“Don’t thank me for that.” He shook his head. ""You shouldn't have even had to ask, let alone beg, me for that. I'm sorry," He apologized, leaning in as his lips met yours in a deep, tender kiss that felt entirely different from any kiss you had shared before, fueled by real, mutual understanding.
When he pulled away, he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest, and you buried your face in his neck, feeling his heart beating against your own.
WHILE you and Rafe were still wrapped up in one another by the garden, other conversations were happening across the villa grounds.
Over by the outdoor gym, Pope and JJ were lifting weights, wrapped up in a low-toned conversation. Pope finished a set, letting out a breath as he sat down on the bench, wiping his brow with a towel.
"So, Rima?" JJ asked, leaning against the squat rack, spinning a water bottle in his hands. "You guys looked pretty locked this morning."
Pope sighed, shaking his head slightly. "I mean, I'm trying with her. I really am. She's great, she's smart, and she's obviously beautiful. But... I'm not gonna lie to you. It feels like I'm just going through the motions.” He admitted, frustrated. “Nothing I do here is taking my mind off Cleo. Every where I look, I'm just thinking about her."
JJ nodded sympathetically, his expression shifting into something more somber. "Yeah, I get that, bro. Honestly... I'm starting to feel kinda weird about Kie."
Pope looked up, surprised. "Really? I thought you guys were, like, finally happy to test things out."
"That's the thing," JJ admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, looking troubled. "Before we actually got coupled up, it felt like me and Kie had an insane amount of tension, bro. Whether it was good or bad, depending on the day. But now that we’re actually in a couple... it's like all of our chemistry just faded into thin air. It's weird..." He looked over at the pool, his voice dropping. "Like, last night, when we were on the daybeds ‘n shit 'cause she left the room... I just didn't feel anything, Pope. The spark is like completely gone, and it just feels… forced now."
"Do you think it's because you feel tied down?" Pope threw out. "You're used to kind of getting around, no offense. Maybe you feel trapped?"
"Nah," JJ shook his head, curling his lips. "I thought that, too. But it's not that." He admitted, groaning. "It's like...the more we talk, the more I start to realize how different we are."
"How so?" Pope grunted, lifting weights as he spoke.
"Like, she likes to travel and save sea animals 'n shit," JJ started, shrugging. "I don't wanna travel anywhere, bro! I love my hometown, I wanna stay there forever. And I don't give a damn about recycling 'n shit, dude. All of my trash goes in the same bin. And anytime I say anything like that, she just gets so serious. She's always so serious..." JJ sighed, rubbing his face. "And I'm not made for serious."
"Do you think," grunt. "maybe that's your problem?" Pope asked, breathing heavy.
JJ just sighed. "Maybe," he said quietly. "But I'm not entirely sure that's it."
MEANWHILE, on the daybeds, Sarah and Cleo were laying out in the sun, tanning.
"So, are you and John B good?" Cleo asked, adjusting her sunglasses as she looked over at her friend.
Sarah smiled softly, nodding. "Yeah, we are. I feel really good about it, honestly. He apologized last night, of course, and we had a long talk in bed. Plus, with Topper being gone, I think it’ll put us in a good place. I just want to move past last night and focus on us. He's a good guy, he just makes stupid mistakes. All men do." Sarah paused, turning her head to look at Cleo. "What about you? How are things going between you and Miles? Especially after everything…"
Cleo let out a heavy sigh, her gaze drifting over to where Miles was sitting by the outside bar. "... I'm still into him. I think on paper, we match pretty well. But after what he did? I'm really not sure about him anymore, Sarah.” Cleo sighs, the action rippling through her lips. “It was such a snakey thing to do, and I don't tolerate men who use women as pawns. Especially my women. It makes me question his character—"
PING.
Everyone froze, wide-eyed, as Cleo scrambled for her phone.
"I've got a textttt!" she shouted, throwing her hands in the air.
"Islanders, it’s time to find out who has the true skills, and who is just a benchwarmer. Please head to the challenge area immediately for today's game: Futbol Fiasco! #GoalDiggers #SlimeTime #GetMessy"
WHEN you all filed into the challenge area, the ground was lined with artificial turf, white chalk lines, colorful booths forming a semi-circle around a pool filled with green goo, a glass shower, and hotdogs swinging from a string?
Standing at the center podium, was the guest host, Frederik Oldenburg.
"Welcome, islanders, to Futbol Fiasco!" Frederik announced, his voice booming. "Today, your teamwork, your physical compatibility, and your thick skins are going to be put to the absolute test. You will be competing as couples, racing through a multi-stage course." He beamed, accent seeping through his words.
Frederik pointed to the first station. "Here is how it works. Stage one, you and your partner must land a soccer ball into that clear plastic cylinder goal. The catch? Absolutely no hands allowed." You all groaned, shooting one another cheeky looks. "Stage two," Frederik continued, flashing a mischievous grin. "A hotdog will be dangling on a string above you and your partner’s heads. But that string is connected directly to your ankle. You must lift, lower, and manipulate your leg to position the hotdog perfectly so your partner can eat it without using their hands. And you can’t have a hotdog without ketchup and mustard..." He winked, none of you sure exactly what he meant by that.
"Stage three," Frederik shouted, gesturing to the massive, circular pit filled with green sludge. "You must dive into the mud pit and scoop up the slime, running back and forth to fill this soccer bowl up to the fill line." You slumped in your seat, knowing you’d be covered and disgusting once this was done. "Once your bowl is filled to the line, I will read a question about your fellow islanders. You and your partner must quickly agree on an answer, and then dump that bowl of green slime directly over that islander's head!"
"And finally," Frederik concluded. "To stop the clock, you must run to the shower station. We don't just want you to wash off the slime—we want to see a steamy celebration.” He wiggled his eyebrows, making you all laugh. “Couples, are you ready to make your marks?!"
You all cheered, and first up were Sarah and John B, and from the moment the whistle blew, their run was pure comedy.
John B tried to wedge the soccer ball under his chin, but he failed again and again. He bumped his nose against Sarah’s forehead, sending the ball spinning out of bounds. "Ow!" John B yelled, laughing as they had to restart, Sarah practically biting the top of the plastic ball while John B pushed it with his cheek until they finally tumbled over the cylinder, dropping it in.
At the hotdog station, John B’s lack of coordination became a devastating liability. He bucked his leg wildly, causing the hotdog to bounce up and down above Sarah’s head like a yo-yo.
"John B, keep your leg still! It’s like trying to catching a fly!" Sarah screamed, jumping up and down with her mouth open. Just as she managed to snag a bite, the cannons exploded, plastering them in a massive wave of red and yellow goo.
The rest of you jumped, not expecting that. Now you were definitely dreading your turn.
John B was blinded, wiping his eyes and jerking his leg up, which yanked the hotdog completely out of Sarah's mouth and sent it flying, though they eventually passed the stage.
In the slime pit, John B was scooping up massive armfuls of slime as Sarah basically lotioned herself in it to carry it over to the bowl, laughing hysterically as she ran to the bowl, shaking the green goo out as John B helped.
They finally hit the fill line, panting and drenched when Frederik stepped up. "Sarah, John B... your question is: Which islander is simply playing the game?"
Sarah barely blinked before she grabbed the bowl of green slime, her eyes locking onto Miles, who was sat next to Cleo. “We think this Islander is one-hundred percent playing the game…and using other people to push his agenda. Not cool.” Sarah pouted, shrugging as John B struggled to compose himself behind her, shielding a smile. “Sorry, not sorry.” With an incredibly satisfied smirk, Sarah dumped the entire container of slime directly over Miles’ head.
You all ‘ooh’d’ as you watched Miles wiped the goo from his eyes, Cleo pressed against the wall of the booth as to not get any on her as Sarah high-fived John B.
Confessional : John B & Sarah
"He was pissed." John B laughed, looking at Sarah as she simply shrugged, satisfied.
"Good." She leaned back. "Maybe he'll think twice about playing mind games, next time." She concluded, blowing a kiss at the camera.
At the shower, John B turned the heat up to eleven. He lifted one of Sarah’s legs up on his hip, wrapping planting a wet, passionate kiss on her lips as she wrapped her arms around him, the stream of water trailing down their bodies.
When they took their seats again, Miles and Cleo stepped up to the line, but the air between them was noticeably a bit icy.
Still, they tackled the soccer ball stage quickly, despite the lack of banter and even basic eye contact.
With the hotdogs, Miles tried to flash his trademark smirk as he lifted his leg. "I got you," he said. But Cleo didn't even smile, and the moment the hotdog hovered within range, she lunged forward, biting the entire thing in half. Before Miles could even react, the cannons blasted them, coating them in red and yellow slime. Cleo wiped her face with the back of her arm.
During the mud pit, the lack of teamwork became overtly obvious. Cleo damn near completely ignored Miles, scooping up green slime with her arms and clothing, running back and forth to fill the soccer bowl. Miles tried to wrap his arms around her waist to help carry the goo, but Cleo sharply nudged him away with her elbow. "I can do without the help," she muttered over her shoulder.
Once they finally filled the bowl to the line, Frederik stepped up to the podium. "Miles, Cleo... Which islander is most likely to break girl or guy code?"
Everyone looked around, wondering who they would target.
Cleo grabbed the clear soccer bowl, turned around, and walked over to Rima who shielded her face with her hands, shrieking. "Noo, please!"
“Sorry, babe. But you know it’s true.” With a grimace, Cleo lifted the bowl and dumped it on Rima’s head.
Confessional : Rima
She shrugs, leaning back, dried splotches of slime decorating her skin. “I don’t take any offense to it. I mean, it is kinda true.” She admitted. “But only here! I'm a bombshell, what did you expect?”
Confessional : Cleo & Miles
"Rima knows it's all love." Cleo smiled.
"Can we talk about how you didn't even work with me?" Miles looked at her, raising an eyebrow.
Cleo looked at him, reeling her neck back. "And whose fault is that?"
Though, you all had to admit, their victory shower wasn’t something to forget. Cleo stepped under the water, grinding her hips against him, but when Miles leaned in for the kiss, she satisfied him briefly, pulling him in just to push him back with a flick of her wrist, exiting the shower.
Then, it was Kiara and JJ.
Trying to get the ball into the goal was hilarious. Every time they tried to press their faces against the ball, their heads would bump awkwardly, and of course JJ tried to do some pro moves with the ball, failing miserably. It took them four attempts just to get the ball into the cylinder.
When it came to the ‘dangling dogs’ as Rafe had dubbed via a whisper in your ear when he was feeling jokey, JJ’s ankle movements were all over the place. He couldn’t maintain his balance, causing the hotdog to fly wildly across the air.
"JJ, c’mon! I can't even get to it!" Kiara yelled, huffing. Before she could grab a bite, the cannons exploded, plastering them both in slime. Kiara wiped her eyes, her face twisted in mild annoyance.
In the slime pit, they scooped the slime quickly, their bodies moving together.
Confessional : JJ & Kie
"I think we did pretty good." JJ smiled.
Kie looked at him, unamused. "It took us four tries." She deadpanned. "Do you take, like, anything seriously? Like ever?"
JJ sighed. "Do you ever not?" He sassed back.
"Excuse me?"
They finally filled the bowl and Frederik started reading the cue card. "Which couple is running on fumes?"
“What does that mean?” Rafe whispered in your ear from his place next to you.
“I think he’s asking which couple, like, doesn’t have chemistry anymore.” you replied, tone hushed, a hand on his thigh.
JJ took the opportunity to make a very distasteful joke, followed by self-deprecating laugh. "Honestly? Us," he muttered.
You all gasped, covering your mouthes and making faces. Kiara looked at him, not a single trace of amusement on her face. “That’s not funny…” She muttered, wiping slime off of herself, looking at JJ with something between a pout and a scowl.
“Sorry, you’re right, that’s my bad,” JJ surrendered, clearly embarrassed. “Who do you want to pick?" He tried to move on, but Kie just waved him off, turning away.
“You do it.” She dismissed. “I’m over this…” She muttered to herself, flinging slime off of her hands.
JJ sighed, knowing he’d fucked up. He grabbed the bowl, eyeing all of you before walking over to Pope, tilting his head with a tight-lipped smile. “Sorry, bro.” and he poured the slime all over Pope and Rima.
Confessional : Kiara
“I don’t know why he would even think to say that.” She scoffed, looking down at her hands. “Like, joke or not, why would that be your first thought?”
Confessional : JJ
He tries to start a sentence but he can’t, opting to sigh, dragging his hands down his face. "Fuck…”
During their shower, they still put on a show, and it lightened the mood, but you could just tell there wasn’t much there. The water washed away the thick layers of slime, but it couldn't wash away the awkwardness. JJ leaned in, and they shared an almost passionless kiss under the running water.
After them was Rima and Pope. True to their natures, their run was damn near a tutorial, barely any hiccups. Between Pope’s smarts that seemed to help him in almost every situation and Rima’s unwavering confidence, they were solid.
At the goal, Pope didn't rush. He opened his mouth wide, gripping the top seam of the soccer ball firmly with his teeth, while Rima used her forehead and chin. They walked in perfect sync, dropping the ball into the cylinder on their very first try.
Stage two, Pope operated like a human crane, lifting his leg steadily, lowering the hotdog so Rima could take neat, efficient bites, and when the cannons exploded, coating them in bright red and yellow slime, neither of them flinched. Pope maintained his balance until Rima swallowed the final bite.
In the pool of slime, they gathered the sludge effortlessly, scooping it with their arms and hands, filling the soccer bowl to the line faster than the rest of the other couples.
Confessional : Rima & Pope
"We absolutely smashed that shit." Rima smiled, high-fiving Pope who was also smiling. "I didn't peg you for the athletic type." She teased.
"There's still a lot about me you have yet to learn." Pope winked, flirting back.
"Rima, Pope... Which islander is fumbling the ball?"
Rima and Pope looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between them.
“Hm. We think…that this boy,” She emphasized. “...needs to step his game up, or else he’s going to lose a good thing. So…” Rima took the heavy bowl of green slime, sauntered over to the sidelines, and poured it directly over Rafe’s head.
You couldn’t help but gasp, as well as everyone else, hands flying to your mouth as Rafe sat there and accepted it, simply nodding with his eyes squeezed shut as the goo dripped down his frame, only moving after a moment to wipe it from his face.
Confessional : Y/N & Rafe
“I deserved that.” Rafe nodded, looking down at you.
“I can’t say I disagree,” You smirked, throwing your arms around his neck as he rolled his eyes, trying to fight a smile. “But you made up for it.” You teased, pecking his cheek.
Confessional : Rima
“Rafe knows exactly what I meant by picking him.” Rima shrugged, laughing. “It’s all love, though. He just needs to stop playing with my girl. I actually adore, Y/N…as much as I like to tease her." She rolled her eyes playfully. "I actually like her and Rafe together. I think she’s good for him, in all seriousness.”
During their shower, Pope unleashed a side of himself you don’t think you’d ever seen.
He stepped under the water, pulling Rima back against his chest and grinding his hips against hers, and their kiss was probably one of the hottest things you’d ever witnessed. Rima smiled against his lips, leaning into it as Pope pulled her close before they stopped and took their seats.
Lastly, you and Rafe were called up to the starting line. You stood side-by-side, adorned in matching hot pink soccer uniforms, the soccer ball resting in front of you.
"Ready?" Rafe whispered, leaning down slightly as his eyes scanned your face.
"As ever," you tilted your head, winking at him as Frederik’s whistle blew.
Rafe dropped to his knees, in front of you, the ball trapped between your calves as he used his face to roll it up, hands trailing the back of your thighs to keep you steady. He got it all the way up, just below your chin, the ball resting on your sternum as he gripped the plastic surface of the soccer ball with his teeth, his jaw flexing.
You pressed your cheek against the ball, helping him out to stabilize the ball between you as you both carefully waddled forward, rolling the ball cleanly into the clear plastic cylinder on your first run.
"Perfect!” Frederik shouted as you and Rafe celebrated, high-fiving as you ran over to the next stage, getting situated.
"Lower, lower it! You know I’m shorter than you, Rafe, shit!" you yelled, laughing as the hotdog danced out of your reach. Rafe groaned, balancing on one foot and lifting his leg higher to lower the string. You jerked forward, biting down on the hotdog just as the cannons exploded.
A blast of thick, warm slime covered the both of you, even getting into your mouth, making you gag. Rafe lost his balance, laughing deeply as he fell backward, wiping yellow gloop from his eyes. You quickly chewed and swallowed the hotdog, grabbing his hand as you both sprinted toward the green mud pit.
You and Rafe threw yourselves into the trench. It was cold, thick, and gave you goosebumps as Rafe immediately pulled you against him, both of you squatting as he used his broad chest, yours, and his hands to scoop up massive layers of the goo as you kept it from spilling . You hugged him, scooping the slime, running back together to the soccer bowl. You squeezed your bodies over the bowl, the green slime pouring off your skin and dripping into the container. Rafe’s hands were all over you before he hauled you over his shoulder, everyone around cheering as used his free hand to slide the slime off of your back, ass, and legs and into the bowl until it finally hit the fill line.
Confessional : Y/N & Rafe
"You're very handsy," you peered up at him, dried slime on your face, cocking an eyebrow at him.
"You don't like it?" He asked, looking down at you.
"I love it." You winked, fighting a smile.
Frederik called out, holding his cue card.
"Which islander likes to throw stones and hide their hands?"
The turf erupted into dramatic ‘ooh’s’ and you didn't even have to look at Rafe. You both knew the real answer, well, the one you wanted to go for, at least. But you decided to not reverse Rima’s efforts to make amends. Your eyes darted to Miles as Rafe handed you the bowl, using the soccer jersey to wipe his face, laughing.
“You already know what’s coming.” You quipped, narrowing your eyes at the man with a sour smile as you strutted over, holding the bowl with one hand as Miles shifted in his seat, huffing.
“Give it everything you’ve got, darling,” He taunted, a smirk on his lips as you let the slime fall all over his frame. Miles was damn near suffocating in the goo, wiping it from his face.
Confessional : Miles
“These girls really don’t hold back, do they?” He laughed, still picking pieces of dried slime from his skin.
You dropped the bowl as you and Rafe ran to the shower and he didn't waste a single second. He stepped into the stream first, turning around to tug you forward by the wrist, spinning and pinning your back firmly against the glass panel, water raining down on you both. His torso pressed flat against yours, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he leaned down, his mouth capturing yours in an absolutely filthy kiss.
He slipped his tongue between your lips, groaning as you parted them for him, the other islanders sounding like a pack of hyenas in the distance as they watched. You bit his bottom lip as one of his hands slid down to grab a handful of your ass, the other kneading your breast. You allowed one of your legs to wrap around his, pulling him in closer as your hands clawed at his back.
At that, Rafe smirked into the kiss, allowing you a brief second to catch your breath before he dipped down, hands hooking underneath your legs and hoisting you up onto him, legs wrapping around his waist as he dove back right back into the kiss, hungrier this time.
The water made it hard to breathe, but when Rafe was kissing you like a man starved, rolling his hips into yours as your friends went absolutely buck wild, you couldn’t find it in yourself to truly care. The two of you only broke apart when air became non-existent, Rafe stepping out from under water before setting you down, though his hands still lingered as you ducked your head, trying to hide your nervous grin.
"What a game!" Frederik shouted into the mic. "And that is how you play Futbol Fiasco! Now, head on back to the villa!”
BY late afternoon, Rima claimed she could still sense some minor lingering tension humming through the air. Though, you all figured she was just having fun as the self-appointed villa mediator, bossing everyone around.
She decided to take matters into her own hands. Since the afternoon had passed without any text messages or challenges, she walked out to the center of the lawn with a large cardboard box under her arm.
"Alright, family!" Rima yelled. "Gather ‘round!” She dropped the box, hands on her hips with a proud smile. “Since we have a free afternoon and the drama is…mostly buried, we’re taking the rest of the day to bond as a family. No exceptions!"
You all let out small laughs as she opened the box, revealing a giant Twister mat, several decks of cards, and fresh fruits, mixers, and alcohol.
Within an hour, everyone already felt ten times better.
JJ and John B took over the bar, blasting music through the speakers as they shook up ridiculous, overly sweet tropical drinks for everyone.
On the lawn, a game of Twister was ongoing. You found yourself tangled up in a ridiculous position, your left hand on red, your right foot on green, practically draped over Sarah while Rafe was forced to awkwardly hover directly over the both of you, his long limbs shaking as he tried to reach a distant yellow circle.
"Rafe, if you fall on me, I swear to god," Sarah laughed, her face pressed against the plastic mat.
"Then stop moving, Sarah, I'm losing my balance!" Rafe groaned, his muscles flexing as he tried to maintain his posture. He looked down at you, his eyes crinkling with laughter. "Help me out here, angel."
"You're on your own!" you laughed, strained from the stretch, completely helpless as Kie, acting as the spinner, called out, "Right hand, blue!"
Rafe made a desperate attempt to stretch, lost his footing entirely, and collapsed right next to you, sending the entire group into fits of laughter. Even Miles chuckled from the sidelines.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, everyone gathered around the outdoor fire pit. Decks of cards were brought out, and a giant game of ‘Never Have I Ever’ and drinking games took over. For the first time in days, the entire villa felt like a unit again.
The energy was back up, the rhythm was in sync, and by the time darkness fell, everyone was feeling okay.
THE late-night wind down brought the girls back into the dressing room to prepare for bed. The atmosphere was far from the dead silence it held this morning. Sarah and Cleo were laughing about JJ and John B’s terrible bartending skills, and Rima was humming a tune as she put up her hair for the night.
Kiara was there too, sitting at her usual seat. As the conversation flowed around the room, she did occasionally join in, offering a small laugh or a brief comment about the Twister game. However, it didn't take a genius to notice her pattern—Kiara was deliberately not speaking to Cleo or to you. If either of you spoke, she would look down or immediately change the subject with Sarah or Rima.
After a few minutes of the awkward interaction, Rima finished, waving a sleepy goodbye as she headed out to the bedroom. A moment later, Kiara stood up, leaving the room, shutting the door behind her without a word.
Once the click of the door signaled her absence, Sarah turned around in her chair, looking at you and Cleo with a raised eyebrow.
"Okay... how are you two with Kiara right now?" Sarah asked, dropping her voice. "Because that was incredibly noticeable."
You let out a soft sigh, tossing your used cotton pad into the bin. " I'm just not in the headspace to really talk to her or fix things, right now. I meant what I said earlier.” You shrugged. “I really feel like her thoughts about me having no self-respect should have been something she came to me about directly, as a friend, instead of going into a confessional. It just rubbed me the wrong way, and at this point in my life, I just don't want friends like that."
Cleo nodded in agreement, leaning against the counter. "I’m with you.” She agreed. “I don't have any negative feelings toward the girl. But I just need a break from her. For me especially, she’s been overwhelming since day one, especially considering that her and I have basically been sharing the exact same guys since we walked in. Before Miles, anyway.” She groaned. “I just need to take a step back from Kie right now, otherwise, she is going to drive me absolutely nuts."
Sarah nodded understandingly. "Fair enough. You guys have to protect your own peace. I get that. I just want to keep things cool where I can."
WHEN it was finally time to get into bed, you walked into the dimly lit bedroom to find Rafe already under the covers, his shoulders propped up against the pillows, waiting for you. The second you slipped under the sheets, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest.
He buried his face into the top of your head, inhaling deeply, his hand resting warmly on your hip.
"Hey," he whispered into the darkness, his voice incredibly soft.
"Hey," you murmured, turning your head slightly to smile at him.
Rafe tightened his grip on you slightly, his voice dropping. "I just wanted to say... thank you. For listening to me, and for not running away when I told you how…messy I am."
You reached back, placing your hand over his, squeezing tightly. "Always, Rafe. You don’t have to worry about that.” You reassured, kissing his arm. “Goodnight."
"Goodnight, angel."
THE next morning, as you opened your eyes and stretched against the pillows, a wave of excitement rushed through the bedroom.
Two weeks. You had officially survived two full weeks in the Love Island villa.
In reality TV time, a fortnight felt like an absolute lifetime. Relationships had formed, broken, and reformed, people had arrived and departed, and yet, here you were.
But beneath the excitement, everyone was nervous. Two weeks meant the honeymoon phase was drawing to a close. The stakes were probably getting higher, the public votes were bound to get more brutal, and everyone knew that shit was really about to start turning around.
The morning began in typical fashion, you and the girls gathering outside on the terrace this morning to eat your fruit bowls and sip your iced coffees, chatting.
"Can you believe we've actually been here fourteen days?" Sarah laughed, taking a sip of her juice. "It feels like I've known John B for five years, but also like I just walked in yesterday."
"Literally, same," Cleo chuckled. "Fourteen days of looking at the same walls. We deserve a medal."
“Hell, these walls beat the ones in my condo.” Rima joked, taking a bite of her toast when all eyes turned to her.
“You live in a condo?” You all asked in unison, surprised. Damn, she was living good.
Suddenly, a pair of hands gently dropped onto your shoulders from behind. You tilted your head back to see Rafe leaning over your chair, a playful smirk dancing on his lips.
"Morning," Rafe said, his eyes bright as he quickly pecked your lips. He didn't wait for you to answer before he gently took hold of your wrists, pulling you up from your chair easily. "Sorry, ladies, but I'm stealing her away."
"Ooh, look at him, so possessive," Sarah teased. “Don’t forget your plate, babe.” She reminded, handing it you and waving a hand dismissively as Rafe began to lead you away from the breakfast table, his arm draped over your shoulders.
He guided you up the wooden steps, stealing pieces of fruit from your plate while leading you away from the main deck and straight up to Soul Ties.
Once you reached the top, you turned around as he fell onto the small daybed with your plate in his hands, crossing your arms playfully as you looked up at him. "Why’d you whisk me away?"
Rafe simply shrugged, a soft, genuinely happy smile breaking across his face. He scooched to the edge, his hands settling gently on your hips. "I just wanted to talk to you. Is that a crime?” You smiled, shaking your head at his words. “I wanted to just bask in your presence for a little bit, especially now that we've fixed things, I hope. I felt like things have been so tense lately, and I just... I wanted to get my girl back."
Your heart melted at the sweetness in his voice. "Well, you have me."
For the next hour, you sat together on the large outdoor cushions of Soul Ties, completely lost in each other. It was a effortless conversation, you talked about literally everything and absolutely nothing all at once.
"So, what's the dream future look like for you?" you asked, leaning your head against his shoulder.
Rafe leaned his chin against your hair, staring out. "Hm,” he pondered. “A house near the water. Big yard. Definitely want some pets, I’ve always wanted one of those big dogs, like a golden retriever or a husky. Maybe even a Great Dane.” He explained, a light in his blue eyes. “What about you? How many kids are we having?"
You laughed, swatting his chest lightly. "Don’t threaten me.” You joked, settling into him. “No but, Jokes aside, I don't know, maybe two? It has to be an even number so if they get into arguments, no one is being singled out."
"You think so weird." He chuckled. "But deal," Rafe grinned, kissing the top of your head. "And we are definitely being one of those couples that travels everywhere. I want to see everything with you. Europe, Japan, tropical islands where there are no cameras. We're doing it all."
"And what happens when we get old?" you teased, looking up at him. "Are we going to be that cute couple holding hands in the nursing home?"
"Oh, absolutely," Rafe laughed, his eyes crinkling. "I'm gonna be racing my motorized wheelchair down the hallways just to win you a chocolate pudding from the cafeteria."
The conversation was wholesome and light, filled with shared giggles and soft kisses, making it entirely undeniable just how deeply you were both falling for each other.
But, of course, a loud ping echoes from your bikini top, breaking the moment. You sighed, standing up on the cushion. “I got a text!” You yelled out, the rest of the islanders cheering throughout the villa.
“Hit us, baby!” JJ’s unmistakable voice called from below. You pulled out your phone, reading the screen aloud as Rafe held your legs steady on the daybed, rubbing his hands up and down the length of them, playfully squeezing your ass as you swatted his hand away.
"Islanders, it's time to find out who has the heaviest load to carry. Please gather at the challenge area immediately for... Excess Baggage! #SpillTheTea #HeavyLuggage"
Everyone cheered from below, excited for another challenge as you looked back at Rafe. "They're really spoiling us with the challenges, huh?"
Rafe thought on it for a moment before shrugging. "Maybe it's a good thing?"
"I hope so."
THE challenge area resembled a retro airport baggage claim—a large, functional conveyor belt sitting in the center, surrounded by colorful signs. And standing at the podium, looking absolutely stunning in a matching set, was the host herself—Ariana.
You all filed into the area, cheering loudly as Ariana welcomed you all with a dazzling smile.
"Hello, Islanders! Did you miss me?" Ariana announced, her voice honey-sweet as you all cheered a chorus of 'yeah's'. "Welcome to your first challenge of week three. Today, we are playing a game that is a certified Love Island classic. It’s time to talk about your... Excess Baggage!"
The group cheered, though several people winced.
"The rules are simple," Ariana explained, gesturing to the conveyor belt behind her. "In this game, we are exposing the deep, dark, and scandalous secrets of your past relationships outside the villa. Suitcases will land on this conveyor belt. Each suitcase belongs to one of you, and it contains a label with a specific, juicy secret from your past.” She taunted. “You must step up, grab a suitcase, read the secret tag aloud, and guess which Islander the baggage belongs to. Once you think you know, you must lock in your guess by walking over and giving that Islander a big, passionate kiss!"
You all looked around, nervous.
She offered a wicked, playful smirk. "And remember, no holding back. Shall we begin?"
The conveyor belt came to life with a loud whirr as the first round of suitcases rolled out. Ariana pointed her finger straight at you, calling you out by name. "You're up first. Grab a bag!"
You skipped forward, stomach fluttering, and pulled the black suitcase off the belt. You unclipped the large laminated luggage tag and read it aloud.
"'In this Islander’s past relationship, their favorite place to get down and dirty was on a crowded public beach at midnight, and they once got arrested for it.'"
The villa erupted into loud gasps and laughter. You looked across the line of boys, trying to scan their faces. Your eyes immediately landed on JJ, spotting the redness creeping up his neck. A faint, knowing smirk was playing on his lips, and you remembered a tiny comment he had made during your first week about liking ‘outdoor fun’.
You walked over to the line of boys, stopping right in front of the blonde. "This could only be you,"
You leaned in, wrapping your arms around his neck, and delivered a sexy kiss right in front of everyone. The villa cheered loudly, hyping you up.
Confessional : You
“In that moment, I realized I’ve actually never had to kiss JJ.” You giggled covering your face. “It’s kind of weird, now.”
Ariana checked her cards, smiling. "Is it JJ?” She teased, peeking at her cards. “Yes, it is! JJ, you naughty boy!"
JJ laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as you returned to the girls' side.
Confessional : JJ
"What can I say?" He held his shoulders in the air. "I like to live on the edge. Wait 'til you hear about the boat."
As the game progressed, a second suitcase revealed a secret about your past.
“This Islander secretly possesses a collection of furry handcuffs and lace blindfolds in their bedroom drawer.”
When it was Rafe's turn, he practically sprinted across the deck, locking his guess in with an intensely passionate kiss that left you completely breathless and flustered. He’d lifted you off your feet, your legs wrapping around his waist as his tongue left no part of your mouth untouched, fingers digging into your thighs as everyone whooped and cheered behind you.
“Well, it’s not much of a secret anymore.” You smiled sheepishly, the others around laughing as Rafe let you down.
The game continued, unexpected kisses all around — John B and Cleo, Pope and Sarah, Rafe and Kie, you name them, they’ve kissed.
The challenge actually served to lighten the mood between the two of you for once, revealing some lighthearted, incredibly spicy sexual kinks that only fueled your mutual attraction.
For the other couples, however....
The conveyor belt groaned as a bright pink suitcase rolled into view. Ariana pointed her finger at Sarah. "Sarah, your turn!"
Sarah stepped up, pulling the tag.
"'This Islander’s ex caught them texting an old flame three days before they flew out to the villa.'"
A chorus of ‘ooh’s’ rang out as Sarah looked across at the boys, her eyes locking onto John B whose face had completely drained of color.
Sarah didn't walk over to kiss him. She marched over and gave him a completely unenthusiastic peck on the cheek.
Ariana winced. "Oof... that is correct. It is John B."
Confessional : John B
“They made it sound soo much worse,” He slid his hands down his face. “I still keep contact but it’s platonic! I guess, she just didn’t know that at the time…”
Sarah marched back to the girls' side, her arms crossed tightly, refusing to even look in his direction. John B buried his face in his hands, knowing he was officially back in the doghouse.
Next up was a rugged brown suitcase. Ariana pointed to Cleo. Cleo stepped forward, reading the tag with a raised eyebrow.
"'This Islander once ghosted a girl after three months of serious dating because she got a bad haircut, and then proceeded to date her roommate.'"
Cleo let out a loud, mocking laugh. She didn't hesitate. She walked straight over to Miles, giving him a quick, dry slap-kiss on the lips. "Miles, without a doubt."
"Correct again!" Ariana announced.
Confessional : Cleo
“I remember him ‘making a joke’ about it. But he said it was just that, when I didn’t laugh—a joke.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m really starting to pick up on all of his red flags.”
But the absolute peak of the drama came when a camouflage suitcase rolled out. Ariana pointed at Kiara.
Kiara stepped up, her expression tense as she pulled the tag. She read it aloud, her voice tightening with every word.
"'This Islander kept a detailed, ranked spreadsheet on their phone of every single person they have ever slept with, grading them on performance, and they updated it less than a month ago.'"
The villa shrieked.
Kiara looked across at the boys, her eyes scanning. She looked at JJ. JJ was standing there, shameful.
Kiara walked over to him, giving him a sharp, aggressive kiss on the lips. "It's JJ. Clearly."
"It is JJ." Ariana informed, solemn.
Confessional : You
“I would’ve never expected that out of JJ. Or any of the guys, really.” You said, jaw slack. “That’s crazy. JJ said he was a player, not a sleaze.”
While the boys laughed, Kiara’s expression remained completely unamused. She looked at JJ, her voice carrying. "A spreadsheet, JJ? Really? That’s disgusting."
JJ rubbed the back of his neck, taking the blow without pushback.
"Alright, Islanders," Ariana announced, closing her golden folder. "The baggage has been claimed and the secrets are out. Now, it’s up to you to unpack that load."
THE second the challenge ended, the villa split into its gender groups, the tension radiating off the deck.
Up on the terrace, the girls gathered in a tight circle.
"Three days before the villa?” Sarah muttered, pacing back and forth, her hands flailing. "John B told me he was completely single and unattached for months!"
"That’s shady," Cleo agreed, shaking her head. She then turned her attention to her own situation. "And Miles? Ghosting someone for a haircut and dating the roommate? He told me it was a joke.” She scoffed. “I was already on the fence after what he did to you,” She threw a hand in your direction. “but now this? I’m completely thrown off."
Kiara sat on the edge of the daybed, staring blankly ahead. "JJ is so immature," she muttered, almost to herself. "It’s like trying to date a frat boy."
DOWN in the outdoor gym, the guys were having their own debrief, the atmosphere equally tense.
"Bro, you are fucked," JJ said, shaking his head at John B, who was sitting on a weight bench with his head in his hands. “Three days?”
"It wasn’t like that. Me and my ex didn’t end on bad terms, so she still knew the passcode to my phone and was trying to be funny, I don’t know, and the fling texted me first!" John B groaned. "Fuck, but it looks terrible. Sarah is going to murder me…" He pouted, before his gaze shot up to JJ. “Wait. Screw you. What about you? A spreadsheet? Dude…”
JJ drew his lips into a thin line, waving him off. “It wasn’t like that, man.”
“I don’t think there’s any other way to interpret that, JJ,” Pope jumped in.
“Okay, it was like that, but,” JJ continued, attempting to defend himself. “It was for personal use only, bro! I never showed anyone. I just needed to know which chick gave the best head versus the one who—”
“Okay,” Rafe stopped the blonde, patting him on the shoulder with tight smile. “I think we got it.” He scoffed humorously.
AS night fell over the villa, the dark blue sky was illuminated by the warm glow of the pool lights. The islanders slowly retreated to their beds, the weight of the day settling into an exhausted calm.
You and Rafe slipped under the covers of your shared bed. The room quiet, save for the low murmurs of other couples trying to whisper through their conversations about everything.
Rafe turned onto his side, propping his head up with his hand, looking down at you in the dim light.
"We did good today," Rafe whispered, his fingers reaching out to caress your face.
You smiled up at him, shifting closer until your chest was resting against his. "Yeah. We did. No drama on our end for once." You giggled. "I'd say that's a win."
"Yeah, me too," Rafe said, his voice deep and entirely certain. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, his thumb tracing your jaw. "No more secrets. Just you and me."
"Just you and me," you whispered back.
You buried your face in his chest, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you into his warmth. As you closed your eyes, listening to the comforting beat of his heart, you realized that despite the chaos, you were exactly where you belonged.
Let week three bring whatever it wanted. You were ready.
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SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [10k] Another bombshell and unheard words put on the big screen cause the first major blowout in the villa
WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, verbal altercations, MOVIE NIGHT
˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗
DAY eleven starts with an incessant buzzing on the nightstand next to you.
You stir, your eyes blinking against the darkness of the bedroom. Around you, the soft sounds of breathing.
To your left, Rafe is deep asleep, one of his arms draped over your waist, thumb resting right against your hip even in his slumber. You lie perfectly still for a second, listening closely, but no one else moves.
The phone buzzes again.
Carefully, with a breathy groan, you slide out from beneath Rafe’s arm. He lets out a low grunt, his brow furrowing for a split second before he rolls onto his stomach, burying his face deeper into the pillows.
You flip your phone over, shielding the bright screen with your hand, a text popping up.
Sorry to wake you, sleeping beauty. But a new bombshell has arrived in the villa and he’s chosen you for a secret morning date. Please get dressed quietly without waking any of your fellow Islanders. #NewBoyInTown #Snatcheez
Your face twists.
A new bombshell. And he picked you?
You look back at Rafe’s sleeping form, his shoulders rising and falling in the dark. Things between the two of you have been a rollercoaster, to say the very least. But you felt like you were close to finally finding a steady rhythm, and a date with a new guy is the last thing you need to throw off the balance.
Still, you don’t have a choice. This is Love Island. If you get a text, you move.
Tip-toeing lightly on the cold floorboards, you slip out of the bedroom and make your way down the hall toward the dressing room. When you push the door open, the bright vanity lights are already on.
Standing by the mirrors, unzipping her dress, is Cleo. She’s dressed up, her hair perfectly done, but she looks like she’s just walked a mile in high heels.
When she catches your eye in the reflection of a mirror, her face lights up with a knowing grin. "Oh! You must be the second date," she gushes, turning around completely to face you.
"Cleo?" you whisper tiredly, glancing back at the door to make sure no one followed you. "You’ve already been out?"
"Girl, yes. I was woken up hours ago," Cleo says, laughing softly as she fans herself. "Let me tell you right now, you are in for it. That man is an absolute dreamboat. Tall, gorgeous... a real gentleman."
You let out a breathy, nervous laugh, walking over to your wardrobe rack to find something to wear so you could just shower, freshen up, throw on your outfit, and head out. "Really? I'm kind of losing my mind right now. I was not expecting this at all."
"Just go in with an open mind," Cleo encourages, walking over to pat your shoulder. "I know you’re pretty much locked down with Rafe, but it never hurts to be reminded of what else is out there.” She comforts, pulling up her pajama pants. “Good luck, babe."
"Thanks," you say softly.
Once she slips back out to catch a few more hours of sleep, you quickly get to work. You choose a beautiful tropical outfit—a two-piece set that highlights your figure without trying too hard. You lay it out before you shower. Afterwards, doing your makeup, keeping it clean and simple, and styling your hair. Just as you’re putting the finishing touches on your jewelry, your phone buzzes, your name catching your attention.
…Your date is waiting. Head out to the front of the villa where a car is ready to take you away. #DestinationRomance
Taking a deep breath, you slip your phone into your small bag and walk out through the front doors of the villa. A sleek, black car with tinted windows is idling in the driveway. The driver holds the door open for you with a polite nod, and you slide into the backseat, watching the villa fade into the distance behind you.
The car drives for about twenty minutes, winding away from the coast and heading deep into the heart of the island. When the vehicle finally comes to a stop, you realize you’ve been brought to a breathtaking tropical botanical terrace. Towering ferns, vibrant hibiscus flowers, and massive monstera leaves enclose the space, and the air is thick with the scent of wild orchids and the distant sound of a rushing waterfall. A beautifully set wooden table for two sits under a canopy of green with fresh fruits, pastries, and sparkling juice.
As you step out of the car, a man stands up from the table.
He is, without a doubt, breathtaking. He stands well over six feet tall, with a flawless, deep dark complexion, and style that screams effortless sophistication even in the tropical heat.
As you approach, a warm, incredibly charming smile breaks across his face. "Hi there," he says, his voice carrying an accent. He steps forward, extending a hand to meet yours. "I’m Miles."
"Hi, Miles.” You smile politely. “Nice to meet you," you say, letting him take your hand. Instead of an awkward handshake, he gently holds your fingers, guiding you toward your chair.
"The pleasure is entirely mine," Miles says, looking you up and down with an appreciative, respectful gaze as he helps slide your chair in. "I have to say, you look absolutely stunning. Pictures and TV don't do you nearly enough justice."
"Thank you," you say, a warmth creeping up your neck as you settle into your seat. "You don't look too bad yourself."
Miles chuckles, a deep sound as he sits down opposite you and pours you a glass of juice. "I try my best. Have to make a good impression, don't I?"
As you start to look over the breakfast spread, you feel the initial awkwardness melting away under his easygoing personality. "So, Miles, you invited me all the way out here. Tell me a bit about yourself."
He smiles. "Well, I'm twenty-seven, born and raised in South London—Peckham, if you’re familiar," he says, leaning back in his chair with a relaxed posture. "And I work as a Brand Consultant. Basically, I help people and businesses figure out who they are and how to present themselves to the world."
"A brand consultant," you echo, smiling. "That sounds fancy. So what brings a successful London guy all the way to a villa in the middle of nowhere?"
Miles’ smile softens into something more genuine, his dark eyes locking onto yours with an intense focus. "To be completely real with you? I’m tired of the games. Back home, it’s all about situationships and all that complicated, short-term mess. I’ve met too many girls who are far more interested in my Instagram following or what events I can get them into than me. I guess I came here looking for a woman who has real substance, y’know? Someone with ambition who knows who she is... but also has a bit of a wild side to match my own."
You nod, impressed by how articulate he is. He speaks with a lack of arrogance, yet he knows exactly what he brings to the table. "That’s really good to hear, honestly. It’s hard to find people who actually want depth these days."
"Exactly. And from what I've seen of you, you've got plenty of it," Miles says smoothly, taking a bite of a strawberry. "Which is exactly why I wanted to get you out here.”
You hum, plucking a grape from the fruit platter. “I ran into Cleo right before I left the dressing room, and she was absolutely gushing about you." You tilt your head, a playful smile on your lips as you shift the conversation. "How was your date with her?"
Miles lets out a sudden laugh, shaking his head as he rests his forearms on the table. "Asking me about another girl on our date? Is that your way of shooting me down already?"
You laugh, waving your hand defensively. "I was just curious. Cleo is a great girl."
"She is, she's lovely," Miles agrees easily. "We had a great chat, very sweet girl. But right now, my focus is across this table.” He deflects. “I want to know how you're doing. Tell me about your current situation in the villa. I've been watching, so I know you're coupled up with…Rafe, is it?"
Your smile wavers just a fraction. "Yeah. Rafe. He and I... it’s been a bit rocky, to say the least. We’ve had some really high-highs and…some pretty heavy lows."
"So I've noticed," Miles murmurs. "He seems intense."
"He can be," you admit, tracing the rim of your glass. "But he’s also unlike any guy I’ve ever met before. In a good way." You clarify. "He’s incredibly protective, and he cares really deeply. But he’s just got a lot of layers to uncover. It’s hard to explain unless you’re in it with him."
Miles watches you closely, observing the soft look that enters your eyes whenever you speak about Rafe. He lets out a lighthearted sigh, pressing a hand to his chest. "Ouch. Right in the heart. You're really trying to break me early, aren't you?"
You giggle, shaking your head. "I'm just being honest. I don't want to lead you on or make you think I'm just completely single and looking to jump ship."
"Hey, I respect the honesty. More than you know," Miles says, his tone shifting into something a little more intimate, a challenging smirk playing on his lips. "But just because you’re set on Rafe doesn’t mean my interest is just going to fade away. I don't scare off easily. And a girl like you is worth putting a bit of effort in for. I can only hope to change your mind over the next few days."
The sheer confidence in his voice sends a little thrill through you, but you keep your composure, offering him a small, polite smile. "We'll see about that."
The rest of the date passes by in a blur. Miles is incredibly charming, a true gentleman who asks questions and actually listens to your answers. But soon, the date comes to an end, the morning sun has fully climbed into the sky, and it’s time to head back.
WHEN the car pulls back up to the villa, reality hits you like a barrel of bricks. The sun is completely up, shining brightly over the pool deck, meaning the entire villa has to be awake.
And you now have no choice but to enter the villa... together.
You walk through the front doors first, stepping out onto the main patio. You’re walking a few paces ahead of Miles, hips swaying, trying to process the morning, when you realize the entire cast is gathered around the outdoor kitchen and sun loungers.
The second they hear your heels clicking against the deck, everyone turns to look.
"Where have you been all morning?" Sarah asks loudly from the daybed, her brows furrowed in confusion. "We woke up and you were just—"
Her voice completely cuts off as Miles comes trailing in right behind you, head held high.
A collective gasp echoes through the girls. Sarah’s jaw drops, Kiara halts mid-sentence with her coffee mug halfway to her mouth, and Rima instantly sits up completely straight on her sun lounger, her eyes widening.
You feel incredibly sheepish, the heat rushing to your face as you walk into the center of the patio. But the worst part is the weight you feel from the outdoor kitchen.
You look up, and your eyes lock right onto Rafe.
He’s standing by the blender, his knuckles white as he grips the edge of the counter. His face is absolute stone, jaw clenched, and his eyes are burning a hole straight through you.
You immediately leave Miles’ side, offering a quick, awkward smile to the group as you walk straight toward the kitchen counter, straight toward him.
"Hey," you say softly, stepping into his space.
Rafe doesn't look at Miles. He keeps his eyes locked entirely on you. "What's that about?" he asks, jutting his head out in Miles’ direction, trying not to seem put off.
Without hesitating, you reach out and slide your hand into his, intertwining your fingers, looking up at him. "I got a text this morning when everyone was still asleep. I didn't really have a choice, Rafe. I had to go."
Rafe looks down at your joined hands. He lets out a long, slow breath through his nose, the tension in his shoulders dropping. He knows how the show works. He knows the producers pull these stunts to stir the pot, but that doesn't mean he likes it.
He nods slowly, swallowing hard. "Yeah. Yeah, I know," he mutters. He glances up for a brief second, his eyes narrowing as he takes in Miles, before looking back down at you. He leans forward, pressing a firm, lingering peck against your cheek. "I still made you a smoothie anyway," he says, his voice softening as he reaches over and hands you a freshly blended pink smoothie. "Figured you'd be hungry."
A rush of relief and affection washes over you. "Thank you." And he hums.
Meanwhile, over by the daybeds, the remaining girls—Sarah, Kiara, and Rima—have already descended upon Miles like a pack of wolves, introducing themselves and trying to get to know him.
"Wait, Cleo," Rima asks, looking over at where Cleo is sitting calmly on the edge of a lounger, sipping her fruit water. "Why aren't you jumping up to go after the new guy? He's hot!" She talks about Miles like he isn’t feet in front of her.
Cleo and Miles exchange a knowing look across the deck, matching smirks breaking out onto both of their faces.
"We actually already met this morning," Cleo says smoothly.
"Cleo was my first date of the day," Miles adds, giving her a charming wink. "The early bird catches the worm, right?"
"Aww," Sarah squeals, clapping her hands together. "A double morning date!"
After chatting with the girls for a few minutes, Miles turns his attention toward the boys' side of the deck. John B, JJ, Pope, and Topper are standing near the pool table, watching him with varying looks of curiosity.
Miles starts to walk over with an easy smile. As he passes the kitchen counter, he stops right in front of Rafe.
He looks at Rafe, a casual smile on his face, though there’s an underlying sharpness in his eyes. "Apologies for stealing her away this morning," Miles says, offering a relaxed nod. He looks at you for a split second before looking back at Rafe. "You've got a good girl there. I’d keep her close if I were you."
Rafe stands entirely frozen, his expression completely blank as he stares at Miles, unsure of what this guy is even trying to say to him. Is it a compliment? A threat? A warning?
Confessional : Rafe
"Who the fuck is this guy? Seriously. You just letting anybody in here now?” He asks, lip curling “He walks in here, takes my girl out on a date behind my back, and then tells me to keep her close? Like... thank you, Captain Obvious. I know she’s a good girl, that's why she's with me.”
Before Rafe can say anything reckless, John B and JJ step in, clapping Miles on the back and stealing him away to grill him about his dates and his life back home.
With the boys occupied, the trio of girls instantly gather together, gesturing for you and Cleo to come up to the terrace with them. You grab your smoothie, kiss Rafe, and follow them.
"Okay, spill everything. Like, now." Rima exclaims, leaning against the railing. "Cleo, you first. How did the date go? Are you excited? Is he your type?"
Cleo chuckles, leaning back on a chair. "Honestly? He’s definitely my type. He's good-looking, very mature, and the date was great. He’s smooth, knows how to talk to a woman, and he doesn’t feel like he’s trying to put on a show. I'm definitely into it."
The girls squeal, Cleo rolling her eyes as she tries to hide her smile.
"I love this for you!" Sarah cheeses, shaking the girl's shoulders. "I really hope you guys hit it off."
Then all eyes instantly snap over to you.
"And you!" Sarah says, pointing a finger at you, her eyes wide. "Girl, when you walked in with him, my jaw dropped to the floor. Did you see Rafe's face?” She asked. “I thought he was going to flip."
"I know, I saw," you sigh, rubbing your temple. "Miles was great. He’s a gentleman, respectful, very charming..."
"But...?" Kiara prompts, leaning forward.
"But I’m not turning away from Rafe so easily," you say firmly, eyes lingering on her longer. "And I told him that. I told him that Rafe is unlike anyone else and that I’m really happy where I am."
Kie doesn't respond after that, opting to look down.
"Ooooh," Rima coos. "Did you actually tell him that? How did he react?"
"He just laughed it off," you explain, shrugging. "He basically said he respects the honesty, but he’s not scaring off easily, and he hopes he can change my mind while he's here..."
"Oh wow," Sarah murmurs. "Looks like Rafe better watch out."
"Seriously," Rima chimes in, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "He is super hot. I definitely want to get to know him."
Sarah turns to her, a teasing smirk on her face. "Rima, be honest, do you think he stole your spotlight today as the newest bombshell?"
Rima cracks a confident grin, flipping her hair once more. "Never."
You all smile and burst into laughter, the tension in the air breaking.
AROUND mid-afternoon, everyone is relaxing by the pool when that familiar, dreaded text tone echoes across the deck. "Text!" John B calls, pulling out his phone to read it aloud.
Islanders, it’s time to find out who is truly aligned and who is just faking it for the cameras. Today, you will be playing... Couple Goals! #TruthHurts #GameOn
A collective groan and cheer rose from the group as you all headed towards the game area.
The producers had set up a small stage area near the fire pit, complete with three podiums for the single islanders—Rima, Miles, and Topper—who would be hosting the game while the current couples took their seats on benches facing the stage, each equipped with a large whiteboard and marker.
Miles stands at the center podium as he speaks into his microphone. "Alright, they’ve told us we'll be asking you all a series of questions, and one of you will write down what they think your partner’s answer will be on your whiteboard. The goal is to see which couples actually know each other, and the couple with the most points at the end wins a special prize."
All of the couples turn, whispering to each other.
"What d'you think it is?" Rafe asks, leaning down.
You shrug, leaning into him as well. "I feel like they've used the Hideaway a lot recently. Maybe a date? Or some kind of advantage?"
Though, your conversation is cut short when the game begins. It starts off incredibly silly and lighthearted. The questions are standard, baseline relationship trivia.
"What is your partner’s absolute favorite food?" Rima starts you all off.
You write down 'spicy tuna rolls' for Rafe, and when he reveals his board, it matches perfectly, and he gives you a proud grin.
"What is your partner's biggest, most irrational fear?" Topper asks.
JJ writes down 'spiders' for Cleo, but Cleo’s board says 'coconut crabs', leading to a hilarious argument where JJ insists they’re the ‘same thing’. John B and Sarah are right behind you and Rafe, and Kiara and Pope manage to score a few points on questions about childhood pets and hometown details, keeping the leaderboard incredibly tight.
But as the game progresses, the questions start to take a messy turn.
"What is your partner's biggest regret since entering the villa?" Miles asks.
The air grows noticeably colder. You watch as Pope hesitates, his marker hovering over the board before he writes something down, avoiding Cleo’s gaze entirely. Though, everyone got that question wrong.
Finally, Miles steps up to the microphone for the very last question. "Alright, islanders. This is the final question of the game, worth double points.” He says, an unreadable smirk on his face, “Ladies, write down the name of your partner’s most recent ex-girlfriend."
Slowly, you turn your head to look at Rafe.
The playful demeanor he had just seconds ago vanishes completely. His entire body goes stiff, shoulders tightening as his jaw locks into place.
Rafe has never mentioned an ex to you. Not once. You know about his family drama, you know about his struggles with sobriety, but past relationships?
You look down at your blank whiteboard as the silence stretches out. You can feel the eyes of the three other islanders on you, being the only one without an answer written down. Desperate to just put something down to keep the game moving, you press the marker to the plastic, scribbling down a random, common name.
"Alright, let's see those answers!" Rima calls out.
Sarah reveals her board, which matches John B’s board perfectly, securing them the lead. Kiara writes down a name that matches Pope's. Cleo writes down a name for JJ, and though it's close, it's not right.
Then, it’s your turn. You slowly lift your board, revealing the name.
Miles looks at your board, then looks over at Rafe. "Rafe, let’s see what you wrote down."
Rafe slowly turns his whiteboard around. Written in jagged, harsh black letters is a name, one that doesn't match the generic one you've scribbled down.
Sofia.
A silence falls over the patio. You feel a strange knot twist tightly in your gut. You look up at Rafe, trying to catch his eye. "Who’s Sofia?" you ask softly, your voice barely audible over the microphone.
Rafe doesn't look at you. He quickly lowers his board, wiping the ink away with the palm of his hand, completely erasing her name in a matter of seconds. "Just an ex," he mutters, his voice flat. He doesn't offer another word, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground between his feet.
And because you and Rafe got that final question wrong, Miles tallies up the scores on the main monitor, and...
"With a total of ten points... the winners of Couple Goals are Sarah and John B!" Miles announces into the microphone. "You two have won a romantic evening date outside of the villa."
The group cheers, clapping as John B pulls Sarah into a bear hug.
After the challenge ends, the islanders quickly disperse across the villa to escape the afternoon sun. John B and Sarah hurry upstairs to get dressed for their date, by the daybeds, Cleo and Kiara are sitting together in silence, while Pope and JJ are over by the outdoor weights, Pope aggressively lifting dumbbells while JJ cheers him on. Near the pool loungers, Rima has successfully cornered Miles, chatting him up with a bright, flirtatious smile.
You walk through the doors into the main house, your mind entirely overtaken by the look on Rafe's face during the game.
You find him in the living room. The shades are drawn to keep the space dark, and he’s sitting alone on the couch, staring at a movie playing on the television screen. He has his arms spread out over the back of the sofa, but his eyes are completely blank, entirely disconnected from whatever is happening on the screen.
You take a deep breath, walking into the room quietly. You saddle up right next to him, sliding your legs onto the couch and easing into his side, trying to gauge his mood.
Rafe doesn't move away, but he doesn't wrap his arm around you either.
"Hey," you start softly, keeping your voice gentle as you look up at him. "The challenge was fun…"
"Yeah," he mutters, his eyes still fixed on the TV.
You pause, biting your lip before trying to ease into the conversation about his ex. "So... Sofia.” You mutter. “You’ve never really brought her up before."
Rafe’s jaw works and he lets out a short breath. "No reason to. It doesn't matter. It was a long time ago."
"I was just curious," you say, your voice soft as you reach out to touch his forearm. But you just couldn’t drop the conversation. "...You know a lot about my past, Rafe. I just thought... I don't know, it felt weird realizing I didn't even know her name."
Rafe finally turns his head to look at you. "You haven't exactly gone into detail about your exes either," he fires back, his tone mildly defensive.
"Because you've never asked." you argue softly, your brows knitting together. "If you’d asked me, I would’ve told you, Rafe. I want to be open with you. I'm just trying to get you to open up to me a little bit.” Your face twists. “…Why are you getting so defensive?"
Rafe lets out a frustrated sigh, pulling his arms down and rubbing his face with both hands. "I just don't feel like talking about people who don't matter to me anymore," he says. "Sofia is a distant memory, someone I don’t know anymore, and someone who doesn’t know me. I’d like to keep it that way."
The finality in his voice is clear. You stare at him for a second, hoping he'll soften, but he just turns his gaze back to the television screen, shutting you out entirely.
Letting out a shaky breath, you stand up from the couch. "Fine," you whisper.
Needing an escape from his bad attitude, you head out to the pool deck. The sun is starting to dip lower, casting long shadows across the water. You quickly drop your cover-up onto a chair and slide into the deep end of the pool, letting the cool water submerge you.
You swim around aimlessly for a bit, staying underwater for as long as your lungs can handle, welcoming the silence beneath the surface.
When you finally kick your legs and break through the surface, gasping for air, you wipe the water from your eyes and freeze.
Standing right at the edge of the pool, looking down at you with an observant expression is Miles.
You gasp slightly, startled by his sudden presence. "Jesus, Miles! You scared me..."
Miles lets out a low chuckle, shoving his hands into his pockets as he kneels down slightly at the edge of the pool. "My apologies, didn't mean to."
You catch your breath, treading water as you look up at him. "I thought you were over there with Rima."
Miles shifts his weight, a slow smirk playing on his lips as his brown eyes lock onto yours. "I was. But I’d much rather talk to you."
You roll your eyes slightly, though a faint smile tugs at your lips despite your foul mood. "You’re very headstrong, aren't you?"
Miles bursts out laughing, a rich sound. "If my mother has anything to say about it, absolutely.” He nods. “I know what I want, love. No point in beating around the bush." His laughter fades as he studies your face, taking in the stress etched into your brow. "You alright? You look a bit conflicted."
"I'm fine," you shrug, swimming closer to the edge and resting your forearms against the cool tile.
"Right," Miles murmurs softly. He glances back toward the villa's large glass windows before looking down at you again. "That challenge earlier... Rafe didn't look too happy about that ex-girlfriend question, did he?"
You let out a sigh, shrugging your shoulders again. "It’s just a sore subject, I guess. I wouldn't be too thrilled to talk about my exes on national television either."
Miles leans forward a bit more, his voice dropping into a lower tone. "Maybe. But there's a difference between being uncomfortable and what I saw over there.” He eggs on. “Rafe had a look of pure regret on his face when her name came up." He tilts his head, his gaze piercing. "I’ve known folks back home who had that exact same look when things went south. Usually, they ended up right back in the arms of the person who put it there in the first place."
Your heart hitches painfully against your ribs. “…What’re you trying to say?” You stare up at him, your voice hardening. "That Rafe is still hung up on his ex?"
"I’m not saying anything, love. I’m just telling you what I observed," Miles says, his expression entirely calm. "Rafe is a very…mysterious man, isn't he? Even before I came in, when I was sitting in holding watching everything play out on screen... I could never really decipher him."
"That's because you don't know him," you fire back instantly.
Miles fixes you with a long, unblinking look. "And you do?"
The question hangs heavy in the air, completely knocking the wind out of you. Before you can even attempt to come up with a response, Miles offers you a polite, quiet nod, turns, and walks away.
You stand frozen in the water, his words echoing through your head.
FOR the rest of the afternoon and evening, a gloomy cloud settles over you. You move through the villa like a complete ghost, barely speaking, your mind spiraling.
When bedtime finally arrives, the bedroom is filled with the usual hushed chatter and shifting sheets, but you don't engage. You get into bed, rolling onto your side, facing entirely away from Rafe's side of the bed, staring blankly at the wall.
A few minutes later, the mattress sinks as Rafe climbs in. The room falls into darkness as the main lights are switched off.
You lie perfectly still.
After a moment, you feel his large, warm hand slide gently onto your shoulder, his fingers squeezing. "Hey," his voice is a low whisper in the dark. "You awake?"
Your chest aches with sadness and confusion, and you bite your inner cheek, forcing yourself to remain completely motionless, pretending to be fast asleep.
Rafe waits in the silence for a long moment, his hand lingering on your shoulder. When you don't respond, he lets out a quiet, heavy sigh, slowly moving his hand. He rolls onto his back, leaving space between the two of you as he lets you sleep.
THE morning brings no relief. You wake up feeling drained, an ache having settled into your chest. The quietness surrounding you is extremely noticeable, considering you haven't uttered a single word since opening your eyes.
While the rest of the villa starts to wander down to the kitchen for breakfast, or into the dressing rooms to get ready, you find yourself completely isolated in the bathroom. You stand in front of the mirror, gripping the edges of the marble sink, staring at your reflection, but you aren't really seeing yourself.
Instead, Miles’ words from the pool are sending you spiraling into a acid pit of flashbacks of your own past relationship.
Before coming here, you were with a guy who completely tore you apart piece by piece. He was violently verbal in his abuse, constantly using your vulnerabilities to make himself feel powerful, tearing down your self-esteem just to build his own ego back up. And the worst part? There was always another girl in the mix. Always an ex, a friend, a coworker—someone he was secretly texting, someone he was comparing you to. And whenever you finally gathered the courage to confront him about it, he’d find some way, any way, to flip it on you.
And his favorite excuse? The one that always made your self confidence drop from 100 to below zero?
“You’re a fucking stripper for Christ’s sake. You literally dance naked on random men for money, and you're trying to lecture me about what I do while you’re doing that?”
The memories hit you like a burning slap, a familiar wave of self-doubt crashing into you. Because he’d act like you were the light of his life one day, then belittle you the next, as if you weren't doing it all to better yourself in the end. As if he was some kind of provider, like you weren't living dollar to dollar for both of you. All because you weren’t really ever what he wanted, you were just there to make him feel better about himself. No other girls gave him the time of day, and his ex wanted nothing to do with him. You figured he took your kindness for weakness, making you his easiest target.
What if history was bound to repeat itself and you weren’t just too blind to notice?
Tears prick the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision as your breathing becomes shallow just as the bathroom door suddenly clicks open, and Sarah walks in, a hairbrush in hand. "Hey, have you seen the—"
She cuts herself off immediately, her eyes widening as she takes in your posture. You’re completely still, staring at the mirror with tears silently streaming down your cheeks.
"Hey... hey, what's wrong?" Sarah asks, worried. She drops her hairbrush onto the counter, immediately turning around to lock the bathroom door behind her. She rushes over, grabbing both of your shoulders gently, forcing you to look at her. "Hey, look at me. What is going on?"
The second her hands touch your shoulders, a choked sob escapes your throat, and you bury your face in your hands.
"Do you... do you think Rafe is just using me?" You sob, your voice cracking.
Sarah looks at you like you’ve just spoken a foreign language, her expression hardening into shock. "What? No! Absolutely not. Why on earth would you think that?"
"The challenge yesterday," you cry, wiping your face as you try to get the words out. "He completely shut down when his ex’s name came up. And he wouldn't tell me anything about her, Sarah. And then... Miles... he told me he saw the look on Rafe's face. He said guys who look like that usually end up right back with their exes, and he asked me if I even really know who Rafe is." You let out a ragged breath, looking at her with wide eyes. "What if he's right? What if Rafe is still completely hung up on her and I'm just an idiot sitting here letting myself get hurt again?"
The second the words leaves your mouth, Sarah’s face goes from worried to angry.
"Are you kidding me?" Sarah snaps, her hands dropping to her hips as she paces a step back. "Miles said that to you? What the hell?" She turns back to you, grabbing your hands tightly. "Listen to me. Miles is just saying whatever he can to put a wedge between you and Rafe. He saw a fire, and he decided to pour gasoline on it. He’s playing the game, like an asshole."
You sniffle, looking down at your joined hands, calming yourself. "But Rafe wouldn't even look at me, Sarah. He completely blocked me out."
"Because men are idiots." Sarah defends fiercely. "Lots of people absolutely hate talking about their exes. John B hates talking about his past, hell, I hate talking about Topper. That doesn’t mean that we miss them, or that we want them back. It just means that some people... some people leave scars on your heart that are so deep, they’ll always be sore. Scars that never fully heal because the betrayal or the pain was just that bad. It has absolutely nothing to do with how Rafe feels about you."
Sarah reaches up, gently wiping a stray tear from your cheek with her thumb, her eyes soft. "Sweetie, it hasn’t even been two weeks and Rafe looks at you like you're the only girl in the entire world. We all see it.” She reassures. “Don't let a guy who has been here for five minutes ruin that, okay?"
You listen to Sarah's words, and for the first time in twenty-four hours, the knot in your chest begins to loosen. You take a deep breath, calming yourself down.
"Okay," you whisper, offering her a weak smile. "Thank you, Sarah."
"Anytime, babe," She smiles, giving your shoulder a firm, reassuring pat. "Now wash your face, get ready for the day, and go talk to your man.” She urged. “And Miles better pray he doesn’t doesn't get a face full of my fist."
ONCE you’ve completely calmed down, fixed your makeup, and gotten dressed for the day, you finally gather the courage to head down to the kitchen.
When you step out, you realize the kitchen is completely empty except for one person.
Rafe is standing by the stove. He’s dressed in his usual shorts, his hair a bit messy from sleep. But when you look at the kitchen island, your eyes widen. He has set up a huge breakfast spread—way bigger than usual. There are plates of eggs, bacon, sliced avocado, toasted bagels, and a fresh glass of juice.
When he hears your footsteps, he snaps his head around. His eyes find yours, and a look of pity and guilt flashes across his face.
"Hey," he says softly, his voice a little raspy.
"Hey," you reply, walking over slowly and taking a seat on one of the barstools.
Rafe quickly grabs a plate, loading it up with a bit of everything, and slides it gently in front of you. He sits down on the stool right next to yours, pulling his own plate forward.
For the first few minutes, the two of you eat in silence. The only sound the light clinking of silverware and you can still feel the weight of yesterday, but you don't want to push him again.
But Rafe clears his throat and sets his fork down, staring intently at his plate as his chest rises and falls with a heavy breath.
"...Sofia was my first real girlfriend," he says out of the blue.
You freeze, your fork halting halfway to your mouth. You slowly set it down, turning your entire body to face him, staying completely silent to let him speak.
Rafe swallows hard as he looks up at you. "I felt like a dick for how I acted yesterday. I didn't sleep at all last night because I knew I hurt you, and I hate myself for that."
"Rafe..." you murmur softly, but he shakes his head, needing to get the words out.
"No, just... let me speak, please," he pleads quietly. He takes a breath, looking back down at his hands. "Sofia... we were polar opposites. Completely different worlds. But when we first started dating, she made me feel... seen. For the first time in my life, I felt like someone actually cared about me for who I was, not just my family's money or my problems. But after a while... I realized she didn't see me as her boyfriend. She saw me as a project. Something broken that she could fix, so she could get rewarded for it later."
Rafe’s jaw clenches, a flicker of old, bitter resentment passing through his eyes. "The night we broke up... we were at a party. She went to the bathroom and left her phone open on the table. A text popped up from her best friend, and I... I looked at it. It was a whole group chat filled with texts about guys they were with, about me. She was telling her friends about her 'rich ass boyfriend,' and she literally replied with things about how most of my money was going to be spent on her soon anyway... but that she had to fix 'whatever the hell is wrong with me first.'"
You pout as you look at him, your heart breaking at his words.
"I broke up with her that same night," Rafe says, his voice dropping into a flat whisper. "She tried to apologize, chased me, called me a million times... But I haven't spoken a single word to her since. But when her name came up yesterday... it just brought every bad thing I felt that night."
He finally looks up at you, his eyes swimming with a desperate sincerity as he grabs your barstool, dragging you closer as the legs screech against the floor, hands on your thighs. "It’s still a sore subject for me because that was the very first time I ever gave someone a real chance, and she completely destroyed my trust. But I want you to know... Sofia is nothing to me. She’s dead to me. The only woman I care about, the only woman I want to move forward with... is you. I swear."
Hearing his explanation, you slide off your stool, stepping directly into the space between his knees. You reach up, cupping his face with both hands, and press your lips firmly against his.
Rafe lets out a shaky breath into the kiss, his arms instantly wrapping around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as if he’s terrified you’re going to disappear.
"...Thank you for telling me. And I’m so sorry you had to go through that." you whisper against his lips, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes.
Rafe buries his face in the crook of your neck, letting out a long, relieved sigh. "I'm fine," he murmurs, his grip tightening. "As long as I have you, I'm fine."
THE aftermath of your reconciliation lasts through the afternoon, but the energy of the villa is far from resolved. Late in the evening, a high-pitched alarm suddenly blares through the outdoor speakers, a bright flashing light on the main screen.
Every single islander's phone buzzes simultaneously. JJ grabs his first, reading the screen.
Islanders, tonight, the truth will be projected for all to see. Welcome to... #MOVIENIGHT! Grab your popcorn and head outside immediately. #PopcornReady #NoWhereToHide
You all exchange varying looks as you anxiously file out to the garden deck, where production has set up a cinema projector screen against the main wall, with rows of plush white couches laden with bowls of popcorn and drinks.
Standing at the front of the stage, looking incredibly glamorous in a stunning evening gown, is Ariana.
"Hello, islanders," She greets, a beautiful but ominous smile on her lips. "Please, take your seats."
Everyone sits down in their respective couples, the tension thick. You and Rafe sit closely on the center couch, his arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders.
"Before we begin tonight’s screening, I have an important announcement to make," Ariana continues, her gaze sweeping over the group. "Tonight, there will be a recoupling. And tonight, the power is entirely in the hands of the girls. Our newest female bombshell, Rima, will have priority."
A collective murmur goes through the girls. You shift uncomfortably, but Rafe only tugs you closer.
"But before you ladies start contemplating your final decisions," Ariana adds, her smile turning distinctly mischievous, "it’s only fair that you get a full look at everything that has been happening in this villa when your eyes weren't watching…”
Ariana steps off to the side, and the projector screen suddenly flickers to life, the words "THE REEL TRUTH" flashing in bold letters.
The clips begin to play back to back, exposing every single secret, private conversation, and hidden confessional from the last twelve days.
The first clip cuts to a confessional from Day One. John B appears on screen, shrugging with a boyish grin.
“Sarah and I kept locking eyes during the coupling, so I was kinda bummed when she went with Topper…” John B shrugged. “But your boy never gives up, so of course I had to show her what she was missing. Even if she doesn’t know it was me…yet.” He winked.
Sarah’s head snaps over to John B, her jaw dropping. "You did kiss me!" She smiles, nudging him in the ribs.
Topper lets out a loud scoff, glaring at the screen, muttering under his breath. "Unbelievable."
The screen instantly transitions to a clip from Day Three in the kitchen.
“You know,” JJ started, leaning against the outdoor kitchen counter. “I’m a big believer in exploring all my options. I know you and the buzzcut are 'a thing,’ but I can’t help that you’re easily the hottest girl in this villa.” You rolled your eyes at his words. “I think we’d have a lot more fun than you and Mr. Serious over there.”
You laughed, leaning back against the fridge as you cracked open a can of soda. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or dead serious.” You chuckled. “JJ, you are a menace. Are you ever not hitting on someone?”
“Hey, I’m a bombshell. It’s in the job description. Did you not read yours?” he teased. “But for real. You’re gorgeous, man. Just…keep me in mind if he gets too moody for you.” He threw a thumb over his shoulder to where Rafe was.
“I… appreciate the offer, JJ,” you said, patting his arm politely as you moved to exit the kitchen. “But I think I’m exactly where I want to be.”
Surprisingly, Rafe’s laughs, his arm tightening around your shoulder. He glares playful daggers across the couches straight at JJ as everyone chuckles. JJ clears his throat nervously, looking away. You were sure no one took him, or that clip, too serious.
The next clip was from Day Four, showing your private date with Rafe. The audio plays clearly over the speakers.
“…When you asked if I’d worked anywhere else… that’s, um, why I got quiet.” You choked out. “I did a lot of what I had to do to survive.” You told him, swallowing harshly. “…I worked as a bottle girl in some pretty shady clubs. I… I even stripped for a while.”
You close your eyes, a slight flush rising to your cheeks.
“Why the hell would they put that in there?” He fumes under his breath, sitting up straighter.
You put a hand on his, shrugging. “We’re on TV, Rafe.” You remind him. “Everyone was bound to figure it out anyway.” Despite your words though, he huffs, rubbing a hand up and down your arm.
The screen cuts to Day Five, a private chat between you and Cleo.
“I think…I want to go home.”
You blinked, genuinely shocked. “What? Why?”
“Because I’m tired of feeling like an idiot,” Cleo said, her voice cracking slightly as she looked at you, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. “I came here wanting to actually get to know someone. I gave Pope a real chance, and he lied to me. And looking around this place? I don’t feel a single connection with any of these other guys. John B is clearly pining after Sarah, Topper is a snake, JJ is… well, JJ, and Rafe is completely obsessed with you. I don’t want to sit around here acting like a background character just to survive an elimination. It’s embarrassing…”
Pope looks down at his lap, a heavy look of guilt washing over his face, while Cleo crosses her arms tightly, avoiding eye contact with everyone.
Next is a secret, whispered conversation between you and Sarah.
“…Honestly,” you started, palming the back of your neck, lowering your voice. “I think we need to…gently persuade Kie to go with JJ. If she stays with Pope, it’s just going to make Cleo want to leave again, and Pope clearly doesn’t know what he wants anyways.” You explained in a whisper. “If Kie goes to JJ, it gives Cleo and Pope space to either fix their issues or move on entirely.”
Sarah nodded, her mind turning. “I agree,”
“What the hell?” Kiara’s head snaps around, glaring at both you and Sarah. "Wow. So you guys were plotting on me behind my back—"
“Can we just get through it without anyone else talking, please?” John B throws out, silencing her and every one else.
You and Sarah exchange nervous glances, not responding as the clips keep rolling. A scene plays, showing Pope and Kiara.
“Kie, I’m not gonna to lie to you…” He began, a hand on hers. “The spark was real for me too. But…” He sighed. “…my mind isn’t exactly made up between you and Cleo. I still have a lot of interest in Cleo and I don’t want to throw that away if there’s still a chance. But, at the same time, I do want to get to know you. I don’t know, I guess I’m just in a weird position mentally…”
The screen then flashes to a confessional from JJ, looking hurt and bitter.
“I’m being a dick? Look, I’m tired of being the guy girls use for a good time and then drop the second they find someone more ’serious.'” He pouted. “I actually liked Kiara. I thought our date meant something. But if she’s just going to label me a red flag like everyone else before she even knows me? Fine.”
JJ curses under his breath, dropping his head but quickly recovers as Kiara side-eyes him.
Then, a clip of Sarah confronting JJ.
“You’re being a dick,” Sarah said flatly.
JJ’s face twisted. “What—”
“You heard one confessional, probably half of one, and decided to completely punish Kiara for it. She wasn’t calling you a player to be mean, she was saying she was scared to get her heart broken because she actually really likes you.” Sarah defended. “You need to get the full story before you start throwing a fit.” She snapped. “Go and talk to her like an adult.”
A soft confessional from Sarah pops up next, providing a brief moment of lightness.
"Everything with John B just feels so… natural. I don’t feel like I have to put on a show or say the perfect thing.” She smiled, her cheeks taking on an adorable shade of pink. “With Topper, I always felt like I was walking on eggshells, constantly staying on top of myself just to keep his head from turning. With John B, we’re literally geeking out over how old my house is over scrambled eggs, and…I don’t think I’ve ever felt happier.”
John B beams, kissing the top of Sarah's head, while Topper looks absolutely sick to his stomach, shifting angrily in his seat.
The screen shifts back to Pope, a look of profound guilt on his face in a confessional.
“I feel… I feel terrible. I chose Kiara because I wanted to see if there was something real there, and I do care about her. I really do. But…seeing Cleo over there, laughing with JJ… it hurts.” He admitted. “It shouldn’t, but it does. And the worst part is knowing that Kiara can see it all over my face.”
Kie huffs, mildly embarrassed, and Cleo slumps in her seat, but her eyes stay intensely focused on the screen, as if she isn’t trying to let them wander elsewhere.
The video shifts to the night of the party—the private conversation between JJ and Rafe after Rafe’s outburst.
“I… I struggled with alcohol for a really long time, man. Like, really bad.” He admitted, the weight semi-lifting. “…I’m recovering. I’ve been sober for a long while now. But it’s still…” JJ’s eyes widen in immediate understanding as Rafe’s words trail off, the pieces of the puzzle instantly clicking into place in his mind—why Rafe never had a drink at the villa, why he always stuck to water or soda, and why he looked so tense all afternoon. “I just planned to hang around today, chill out, and just get through the party,” Rafe continues, his hands shaking slightly as he rubs the back of his neck. “But everyone is fuckin’ drunk. The smell is everywhere. And she just… she kept pressing me about it. Over and over. ‘Take a drink, let me get you a drink.’ I just… I panicked, man. I lost it. I snapped at her, but I didn’t mean to.”
You squeeze Rafe’s arm tightly, leaning your head against his shoulder as the rest of the islanders steal glances at the two of you, shocked, but silent.
But the next scene only makes matters worse—the bathroom argument between you and Rafe soon after that conversation.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Rafe snaps, turning around to face you fully, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“You don’t wanna talk to me?” You reiterate, eyebrows shooting up into your hairline.
“Not right now, I don’t.” Shrugging like a kid with a bad attitude.
You scoff. “That is so unfair,” you fire back, stepping closer, your voice rising in frustration. “You’re seriously mad because JJ told me a secret? Rafe, I told you things about my life on our date that I have never told anyone, and on television for that matter. I shared my own shit with you purely because I wanted to be open and honest with you and you can’t even do the same.”
Rafe just stares at you, his eyes completely unreceptive to your perspective. “I never wanted you to know,” he says, his voice dropping into a flat, harsh whisper.
“Why?” You breathed, pleading, voice soft.
“Because it’s my business. Not yours. And not JJ’s. Mine.” “…We’re supposed to be partners,” you whisper, your voice cracking. It hurt him more than he’d care to show or admit in the moment, like being stabbed from all angles. Rafe wasn’t giving you the cold shoulder to be mean, not necessarily. He just couldn’t fathom the thought of someone knowing who he really was and still being able to see any good inside of him. To be able to still love him.
“Yeah, well, maybe that was a mistake,” Rafe mutters, the words creating a lump in his throat as he turned back to the sink, the words forcing themselves out—anything to make you leave. And they cut deep. Deep enough.
“Yeah,” you nod, trying hold back your own emotions. “Maybe it was.”
A few people wince, you included, as Rafe’s jaw clenches. But even then, the show isn't done. It cuts directly to the aftermath of Rafe’s apology out on the daybeds later that night.
“…Will you come back to the bed now?”
“Yeah,” you smile softly, bumping your nose against his.
“Okay,” Rafe says, standing up and pulling you to your feet, wrapping his arm securely around your waist. “Go ahead back up to the room. I’ll meet you up there in a second. I’m gonna make us some tea to get warm.”
“Okay,” you smile, kissing his cheek before turning and walking back into the warm house.
The moment you disappear through the glass doors and slide them shut, the soft expression vanishes from Rafe’s face. He stands alone in the dark, his hands dropping to his sides. Suddenly, he lets out a quiet curse, pacing back and forth as he violently rubs the back of his neck. A heavy wave of guilt hits him as looks back toward the bedroom window, his chest tightening with guilt.
You look up at Rafe confused, confused by his reaction after you left that you hadn’t witnessed.
“What was that?” You asked, voice hushed, low enough for only him to hear.
Rafe tenses, hoping you wouldn’t have noticed. "Hm?"
“That look. The one you had after I walked away.” You press, and Rafe looks down at you, lips parting to respond when another scene starts, Kiara appearing on screen in a confessional, looking thoroughly annoyed.
“Honestly? I hate to say this, but,” Kiara starts, a disapproving look on her face. “I think she has very little self-respect for letting a guy yell at her and make a huge, public scene like that in front of the entire house, and then just…forgiving him the next morning. Like, he was screaming in JJ’s face over nothing. If a guy treated me like that, he’d be out the door in a second.”
You freeze, humiliation hitting you. You look over at Kiara, who suddenly looks very uncomfortable, avoiding your gaze completely as you scoff, your assumptions about her turning about to be completely true.
The screen keeps going, hitting John B next in a private conversation with JJ and Pope.
"Honestly, man, I just don’t know about Sarah," John B says, sighing. "There’s just a lot of drama between her and Topper. It’s exhausting."
Sarah’s head snaps over to John B, her eyes blazing with fury. "Excuse me?"
Then, Topper appears in a confessional, an arrogant smirk on his face.
"Now that Ruthie is gone, I definitely want Sarah back," Topper shrugs. "Mainly because she’s easy. I know exactly how to play her."
A collective gasp echoes across the deck. Sarah looks like she’s about to throw her popcorn bowl straight at Topper's head.
Then it’s a confessional from Cleo.
“I am going to be entirely real right now—I am getting so tired of Kiara not knowing what she wants.” Cleo threw her hands up. “She spent days making it seem like Pope was her top choice, acting like she was so guilt-ridden by her feelings for him. Then she gets exactly what she wants at the recoupling, and now? She’s walking around this villa looking borderline depressed at the mention of me and JJ being friends.” Cleo rolls her eyes. “Pick a lane, girl.”
Kiara glares at Cleo, her face flushing. But Cleo just glares back, shrugging.
The screen cuts to Rima talking to the girls.
"Pope was right up my alley. Seriously. He is so incredibly smart, he has a fantastic build, and he was so respectful. He got a little nerdy talking about his work and goals, but honestly? I find that incredibly attractive. A man who knows where he’s going in life is a major turn-on. He is definitely high on my list."
Pope blushes furiously, while Rima just straightens in her seat, winking at him.
The screen transitions to a conversation between you and Cleo in the kitchen, eating.
“Y’know,” You started through a mouthful. “Stop me if I strike a nerve, but, I thought you and Pope were cute.” you shrugged.
Cleo makes a face. “Really?”
You nod, still chewing. “Hell, yeah.” You emphasize. “I still think you guys would be a great match. But I understand that he…y’know, fucked up beyond repair.”
“Well, beyond repair is a stretch…” Cleo mutters under her breath, playing with her salad as you pause and look at her.
Pope’s eyes light up slightly, looking over at Cleo, who quickly shifts her gaze away.
Then, a clip of Rafe and you sitting by the daybed plays.
“... Do you want to close things off between us?" Rafe asks on screen.
The proposal catches you completely off guard. Your breath catches in your throat, your mind spinning as you look up at his intense, hopeful expression. But it’s like logic hits you suddenly. You look down at his chest, a hesitant, slightly guilty feeling twisting in your gut. "Rafe... I... I think it’s a little too early for that," you say softly. "We’ve only been here for ten days. The first recoupling was literally two nights ago. I really, really like you, and I am completely focused on you... but closing things off this early feels like we're rushing into something huge on a reality show where we don’t know what's coming next. I just want to make sure we're taking our time and doing this right."
The rest of the villa watches in shock, realizing you actually turned down Rafe's proposal to close things off—basically saying no to being his girlfriend.
The screen cuts to Pope talking to John B in the bedroom.
"Honestly, man, I wish I never coupled up with Kiara," Pope admits on screen. "And seeing Cleo with JJ and Miles? It makes me so…jealous. I miss her, man."
Kiara looks like she’s about to cry, completely humiliated.
But next is the girl in question talking to Sarah.
"I definitely have a thing for JJ over Pope," Kiara admits. "But I think JJ is completely off my case now, especially after that confessional where I basically called him a man-whore."
JJ winces, rubbing the back of his neck.
The final few clips show the secret dates from the last two days. First, Rafe and Rima's date, where Rima asks about his relationship with you…
"I'm really into her," Rafe says firmly on screen. "I don't see my head turning anytime soon, or at all."
Rima smirks, reaching over and putting a hand on his arm. "Well, you never know... especially now that I'm here."
Rafe simply quirks a single, unimpressed eyebrow at her hand. "I can't stop you from trying. But I'd advise you against it."
Then, Rima's date with Pope.
"What are my chances of you choosing me if the guys pick?" Rima asks.
Pope rubs his neck. "Like... twenty-five percent."
Rima raises an eyebrow. "Where's the other seventy-five?"
Pope responds instantly, "...With Cleo."
Next is Miles' date with Cleo. The clip shows them laughing hysterically, Miles feeding her a strawberry, the chemistry evident—a cute display that obviously might ruins Pope's chances of ever getting her back.
Then, it’s Miles' date with you. The screen projects Miles looking directly at you with that intense, confident gaze.
"Just because you’re set on Rafe doesn’t mean my interest is just going to fade away," Miles’ voice echoes. "I don't scare off easily. I can only hope to change your mind."
Rafe scoffs beside you, shaking his head. But then, the last clip plays, and it wipes any amusement from Rafe’s face.
"Do you... do you think Rafe is just using me?" You sob, your voice cracking with absolute desperation.
Sarah looks at you like you’ve just spoken a foreign language, her expression hardening into shock. "What? No! Absolutely not. Why on earth would you think that?"
"The challenge yesterday," you cry, wiping your face as you try to get the words out. "He completely shut down when his ex’s name came up. And he wouldn't tell me anything about her, Sarah. And then... Miles talked to me by the pool. He told me he saw the look on Rafe's face. He said guys who look like that usually end up right back with their exes, and he asked me if I even really know who Rafe is." You let out a ragged breath, looking at her with wide eyes. "What if he's right? What if Rafe is still completely hung up on her and I'm just an idiot sitting here letting myself get hurt again?"
And now? Now, Rafe is fuming.
The projector screen suddenly cuts to black, the words "THE END" rolling up the screen.
The second the outdoor lights fade back on, the group explodes into pure chaos, and almost everyone is screaming at each other.
Hi! Love your writing! If you’re up to a rage fic -
I would love an angst trade where he calls reader clingy and she distances herself!
are you busy?
SUMMARY . . rafe gets exactly what he asks for when he calls you clingy in front of everyone and discovers that silence is a lot harder to live with than he expected.
AUTHOR’S NOTE . . 2144 words ( before edit ) ; i did use she/her pronouns for this ; did a little obsession spin on this because i feel like he’d actually become the version he saw you as before his little outburst, so a bit of irony. if anyone wats me to fulfill any more requests let me know !!
MAIN MASTERLIST | PART TWO REQUEST
the party stretches across the cameron property, spilling from the back patio and out toward the water where expensive boats rock gently against their slips. music drifts through air while people move in clusters.
you’ve spent the better part of the evening weaving through those groups looking for rafe, catching glimpses of him only long enough for somebody else to pull him away again before you can get more than a few words out of him.
when you finally spot him near the edge of the deck, talking to topper and a handful of other people, relief settles in your chest before you can stop it.
maybe it’s pathetic. maybe it isn’t. all you know is that finding him feels like finally being able to exhale after spending the last hour searching.
you make your way over without thinking twice, squeezing between a couple of people until you’re standing beside him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his arm as you tilt your head up toward him with a smile.
“there you are,” you say. “i’ve been looking for you.”
for a moment, he doesn’t answer. his jaw flexes instead while he stares out toward the water. you've seen him stressed at things that had absolutely nothing to do with you before. because of that, it takes a second to realize the look he finally turns on you isn’t aimed through you or past you. it’s aimed directly at you.
“can you relax?” he asks sharply.
the smile fades from your face. “what?”
“you’ve been looking for me all night.”
confusion settles over you immediately because the accusation feels so strange. of course you’ve been looking for him. he’s your boyfriend. he literally picked you up so you could be here tonight.
the idea that he’d be annoyed by that doesn’t even occur to you until you catch the way topper’s attention shifts between the two of you, along with the subtle quieting of the conversation around him.
“i mean, i was just trying to find you,” you tell him.
rafe smiles and runs his palm across his buzzed head, looking every bit as frustrated as he has all evening. except now, instead of whatever has been bothering him all day, all of that frustration seems to have landed squarely on your shoulders.
“no, that’s exactly what i’m talking about,” he says, “you’re always trying to find me.”
your stomach sinks. people are listening now, you know they are.
you can see it in the way conversations nearby begin to slow, or the way somebody glances over their shoulder before quickly looking away.
somehow none of that feels as important as the expression on rafe’s face, though. while everyone else fades into the background, your attention stays fixed entirely on him, searching for some indication that he’s going to stop, realize what he’s saying, and walk it back.
instead, he keeps going.
“you’re always texting me, always asking where i am, always asking what i’m doing,” he says, throwing one hand out in exasperation. “you don’t have to be attached to me every second of the day.”
your entire body gives a small involuntary flinch, not because he moves toward you or because you’re scared of him, but because hearing something like that from the person whose opinion matters most to you feels a little like missing a step in the dark.
you stare at him. that’s all you can do.
suddenly you’re replaying every interaction you’ve had over the past few months, wondering which part of it annoyed him this much.
was it the good morning texts? the calls? asking if he’d made it home safely after disappearing for hours? was it showing up when he asked you to? sitting beside him when he was in a bad mood? listening to him complain about his father, his life, his problems, and everything else? none of it had ever felt excessive to you. it had just felt like a relationship.
for the first time since you’ve known him, rafe seems to realize how bad what he said actually sounded, but just for a split second. the anger on his face falters slightly, uncertainty slipping through the cracks, but by then the damage is already done.
there are too many people standing around, too many eyes watching, and too much pride keeping either of you from pretending the moment never happened.
the lump in your throat makes it difficult to speak. still, you manage.
“okay.” the word comes out quiet enough that he almost doesn’t hear it. you don’t argue or try to defend yourself.
you simply nod once, forcing yourself to hold his gaze for another second before looking away, and somehow that hurts him far more than any argument probably would have. because for the first time all night, you’re not trying to reach him anymore.
the drive home that night is quieter than rafe expected, not because of what happened earlier. if anything, he almost wishes you were arguing back to him. arguments are familiar territory. he knows how to handle yelling and angry words and people fighting back.
what he doesn’t know how to handle is silence. after your small, quiet okay at the party, you never bring it up again.
you don’t ask him why he said it. you don’t just tell him he embarrassed you. you don’t even demand an apology or make him explain himself. you simply retreat into yourself, staring out the passenger window. a few times he glances over, almost expecting you to say something, but you never do.
eventually his grip tightens around the steering wheel as irritation replaces the guilt. if you’re upset, then be upset. if you’re angry, then say something. instead, you just sit there, and by the time he drops you off, he’s convinced himself the entire thing wasn’t nearly as bad as it felt.
the next morning feels strangely peaceful.
his phone isn’t lighting up every few hours. there isn’t a text waiting for him when he wakes up or a notification asking if he slept well, if he’s busy today, or if he wants to do something later.
at first, he barely notices. if anything, a part of him feels relieved.
isn't this what he wanted? space? room to breathe?
for the first couple of days, that’s exactly how he frames it in his head. he spends his time doing whatever he wants, going wherever he wants, and never once has to answer a question about where he’s been. every now and then he catches himself expecting a text to come through, but when it doesn’t, he simply tosses his phone aside and moves on.
it isn’t until the third day that the silence starts feeling less like freedom and more like something missing, because it isn’t just the texts. it’s everything.
it’s the fact that you don’t stop by tannyhill after being nearby, or that he doesn’t hear your name from rose asking if you’re coming over, or ward wondering if you’re joining them for dinner.
somehow you’d become woven into the routine of his life so gradually that he never noticed it happening, and now every missing piece sticks out.
he keeps expecting things to go back to normal on their own, and keeps expecting you to call first like you always do. he just keeps expecting you to show up, but each day passes exactly like the one before it.
then a week goes by. by that point, he’s checking his phone more than he’d ever admit out loud.
not texting you. he’s not that desperate. at least that’s what he tells himself. he’s just looking, just seeing if maybe you posted something, or if maybe you called while he wasn’t paying attention.
just seeing if maybe—
nothing.
which is why your name slips out so casually one afternoon that even he doesn’t realize he’s asking about you until it’s too late.
he’s sitting with topper and kelce outside the country club, all three of them halfway through a conversation that started about boats and somehow turned into making fun of one of the kook guys they know. laughter circles the table, and for a few minutes rafe almost forgets about the irritating little knot that’s been sitting in his chest all week.
then he reaches for his drink and says, “where’s y/n been?”
the laughter dies immediately. kelce blinks and topper looks up. for a second neither of them answers, because of all people, why would they know?
“what?” kelce asks.
rafe grins like he doesn’t understand. “what do you mean ‘what’?”
“you just asked where y/n’s been.”
“yeah.”
another pause. topper and kelce exchange a glance.
rafe immediately notices, and immediately hates it. “what?” he asks.
“nothing,” topper says.
“then answer the question.”
topper leans back slightly. “i don’t know. i think she was down at the wreck yesterday.”
rafe’s eyes narrow. “the wreck?”
“yeah.”
“with who?”
kelce lets out a short laugh. “how are we supposed to know?”
rafe ignores him, his attention staying fixed on topper.
topper shrugs. “some friends, i guess.”
“what friends?”
this time both of them stare at him, and rafe doesn’t understand why. the questions seem perfectly reasonable.
he’s your boyfriend, or at least he thinks he still is.
asking where you are shouldn’t feel weird, and asking who you’ve been spending time with shouldn’t earn him these looks. at least this is what he thinks in his own head.
“i don’t know, man,” topper says slowly. “i just heard she was there.”
rafe’s jaw tightens, “like, all day?”
“i guess.”
“she was there the day before too, then,” kelce adds. “pretty sure i saw her when i was driving through.”
that piece of information settles uncomfortably in rafe’s chest. so for the last two days, while he’s been sitting around waiting for some sign of life from you, you’ve apparently been out enjoying yourself.
the realization annoys him far more than it should. he tells himself it’s because it’s weird. maybe ‘cause it’s different. after months of knowing exactly where you are and what you’re doing, the sudden lack of information feels unfamiliar.
deep down, though, he knows that’s not the reason. the real reason is that he’d expected you to be upset and miss him. instead, every report he’s hearing now makes it sound like you’re doing perfectly fine without him.
that night, the thought follows him home, and then into his bedroom, and then into the early hours of the morning.
he ends up sprawled across his bed with one arm behind his head and his phone balanced against his chest, staring at the ceiling. every few minutes he unlocks his screen or checks the time. he finds himself opening the same apps for absolutely no reason before locking the phone again.
but eventually he gives up pretending. his thumb presses against your contact. he stares at your contact photo and the message thread that’s been dead for over a week. then he backs out, opens your location instead. the map loads.
you’re not home. his foot starts bouncing immediately. he tells himself he doesn’t care, he’s obviously only looking because he’s curious. right? because it’d be weird not to wonder. because—
you’re at the movies.
the realization irritates him instantly. movies with who? how many people are there with you? when did that plan even get made? how come he didn’t know about it?
his thumb pinches the screen, zooming in on the little circle as if the answer might magically appear if he looks hard enough, but he knows it doesn’t. all it tells him is that you’re somewhere having fun. somewhere that isn’t with him.
every bit of these thoughts trace back to one stupid night and one stupid argument that he can’t stop replaying no matter how badly he wants to. because the more he thinks about it, the more details come back - the way you’d looked at him and didn’t argue. you’d just looked hurt.
rafe shifts against the headboard. your location is still pulled up on his screen, somewhere near the beach tonight, probably with friends.
his jaw tightens, loosens, then tightens again. it almost makes him angry. reaching out means admitting something, that he was wrong and that he misses hearing from you.
eventually, the silence wins. or maybe it loses. he isn’t sure anymore. all he knows is that his thumb finally presses against the keyboard.
he starts typing something longer before deleting it immediately, starts again, then deletes that too. nothing sounds right. in the end, he settles on the only thing he can manage.
rafe stares at the message for a second before he finally hits send. the delivered notification appears almost instantly, and for the first time in weeks, the waiting belongs to him.
‘ are you busy? ’
and just seconds later, your read receipts pick up below his message.
Simon was such a heavy sleeper, which honestly made no sense. With the kind of work he did, you would have thought he had developed insomnia years ago. It was something you secretly envied. The way he could fall asleep so effortlessly felt almost unfair. The second his head touched the pillow, he was gone.
Actually, he could sleep pretty much anywhere, and waking him up was another story. It usually took a few gentle nudges and a couple of soft kisses pressed against his jaw before those pretty, sleepy eyes finally blinked open. And he snored, too. Not loudly, just a low, rhythmic rumble against your ear. It secretly became your own little lullaby, a sound that meant you were safe, he was home, and the rest of the world could not reach you here.
When he slept, he was basically a human weighted blanket. He was so big you often felt like you disappeared between the sheets and his massive frame, but you did not mind. You loved the way his hands always knew exactly where to find you. An arm draped heavy across your waist, his face in your tits or tucked into the crook of your neck, his chest a solid wall of warmth against your back or legs tangled up with yours.
He had this subconscious reflex: even in his deepest sleep, if you shifted or shivered, his arm would instinctively tighten, pulling you flush against him as if his body was wired to protect you from the very air around you. Seeing the man who could stare down a threat without flinching melt into a puddle of softness just because you were near? That was a sight that never failed to make your belly swim.
You used to be a notoriously light sleeper, tossing and turning for hours. Nothing helped. You tried everything. Different pillows, white noise, herbal teas, sleep schedules. It always ended the same way: staring at the ceiling at some ungodly hour while everyone else seemed to be asleep.
That was until you started sleeping next to Simon.
The moment you curled up against his warmth, your eyes would begin to drift shut on their own. It felt like your body had finally found something it trusted enough to let its guard down around. There was a profound, quiet magic in his steady breathing, and the way his raspy voice would whisper "g'night, luvie" or "c'mere, sweetheart, it's time to sleep" right before he drifted off.
And the mornings? Those were the best. He would wake up slow, his eyes heavy and hazy, and before he even fully registered the daylight, he would seek out your hand, lacing his thick fingers through yours. He would pull you back down for lazy, lingering morning kisses that tasted so sweet you could melt right there on the spot.
Somehow, between his snoring, his death grip on your waist, and the way he would steal almost all your blanket which you hated the most, Simon had become the only thing in the world that could keep you grounded. He was your home, your warmth, and the best part of every single day.
summary: clark doesn’t like his teeth, but you do.
word count: 2.6k
contains: fluff & suggestive themes. friends to lovers!!!!! clark and reader share insecurities (his teeth, her weight). reader knows clark is an alien. lots of banter/humor, some sassy and shy clark. unaddressed tension. first kiss, first confession tropes. biting kink if you squint. slipped an x files mention in there #iwanttobelieve. *no use of y/n
a/n: Holy fucking yes thank you anon.
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“What are you doing?”
Clark peered down at you with a bemused and crinkled brow. He felt the unusual tingle of your pointer finger pressing on his canine.
With your head in his lap, your arm was extended all the way out to reach his mouth. It was not as if you were hiding your curiosity. You pressed on the tooth, feeling the smooth curve and the tiny point that undoubtedly slotted into the lower set below like a puzzle piece when he smiled. The tooth was strong, it did not budge– not that it should, but you were just observing. Cataloguing.
“I’m feeling your teeth.”
Clark snickered softly and swatted your hand away, making you pout. “I can see that. I’m asking why.”
“You asked what.”
“Don’t be a smartaleck.”
You grumbled softly and let him hoist you up by the hand, and you sat beside him on the couch in his loft, eyes shamelessly redirecting to his mouth again. “I like your teeth.”
Clark’s cheeks flooded with color as you stared him down. He knew very well your predilection for bluntness– being your best friend had helped him build an immunity. But every now and then, your straightforward mouth made him clam up. You didn’t seem to care when the things you said sounded almost… flirtatious. If he could even suggest such a thing. You? Flirt with him? Never. In his dreams, maybe.
“Stop looking at me like that,” you tilted your head, smiling softly. “What, is it so unbelievable someone could find your teeth cute?”
Clark felt a drip of saliva catch the back of his throat, and he coughed softly, flustered beyond his means. “I mean, a little. They’re not exactly straight– wait, cute?”
You shrugged, laughing softly. Your attention drew back to the television for a moment, where Fox Mulder was sticking his finger in some unknown substance on television while Dana Scully judged him from afar. A glimmer appeared in your eyes, and you recited in the best Mulder-voice you could muster: “I think it’s remotely plausible that someone might think your teeth are hot.”
Clark didn’t choke on spit this time. He just choked. “Huh?”
You rolled your eyes and shoved his shoulder, pointing at the television. “Oh, come on! That’s his line!”
“You’ve seen this show way more than I have, how am I supposed to remember?”
“In the first season, remember? When they’re talking about how the Lone Gunmen liked Scully, and he says that same thing to her? It was a famous clip! Seriously?”
Clark shook his head, offering you the same expression he did each time you mentioned a random factoid from some show he never cared enough to watch– two raised eyebrows and a playful purse of the lips, suggesting either a statement of You lost me or Only you would know that. It was almost as infuriating as it was cute.
“Not only is this show awesome, but I watch it because you are a stupid alien, and it gives me great advice on how to deal with you!”
“They never actually see the aliens on this show, dummy, and I’m not green with big eyes.”
“I’m just saying, it might do you some good to pay attention to–”
“Good lord! All I’m saying is I don’t remember the part you’re talking about!”
“You’ve definitely seen it before.”
“I’m sure I have. Now, going back–”
“Clark, there’s nothing wrong with your teeth!”
The farmboy chuckled and gave a different look now (an Are you serious?) and crossed his arms. “I never had braces. They’re all crooked. Like, they all tilt inward– it’s weird! I’ve always hated them.”
A tiny twinge tugged at your heartstrings. How could Clark Kent hate a thing about himself? Surely he knows who he is and what he looks like. The man has been your closest relationship for too long. All you saw when you looked at him was gorgeous.
“That’s so sad,” you frowned.
Clark laughed awkwardly and scooped up the popcorn bowl from the table, placing it in your lap. He picked at a few kernels. “It’s not supposed to be.”
“Yeah, but it is,” you angled closer again, and Clark had to stabilize the bowl before you capsized the contents all over the couch.
“Woah! Easy.”
“Your teeth are one of my favorite things about you. How could you hate them?”
Clark crunched cluelessly. “What, I’m supposed to magically cure an insecurity just because you like it?”
“Yes!” you ordered, brushing a piece of hair from your eyes.
“It doesn’t work like that and you know it. How many times have I told you that you’re pretty exactly as you are, but you still insist that you’re fat?”
A mauve tide rushed your cheeks, and you looked away. “That’s different.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes, it is,” you mumbled, putting the popcorn in his lap so you could tug your blanket higher.
A slow guilt began to bleed in Clark’s gut. He was just trying to make a point, but this was not the direction it was supposed to take. “Hey…”
“Your insecurity is like– it makes you special. Unique. Nobody else can smile like you can. It’s not like that for me. It doesn’t make me special, it makes me… unlikeable.”
Clark didn’t think twice about tossing the popcorn bowl back onto the table and inching closer, collecting your hands in his. The skin was rough from his farm chores. Lucky for your set of chubby fingers, he could still enclose his palms over them like a glove. “That’s not true, bunny. You’re not unlikable.”
“Well, I’ve never been asked out, so I think that makes me pretty unlikable.”
“You’ve never been asked out because I’m always looming behind you like a statue,” Clark chuckled, coaxing your gaze towards him again with a finger under your chin. “Guys aren’t really into potential girlfriends who come with a guard dog attached.”
Your cheeks burned as you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. “I never asked you to do that.”
“It’s not necessarily something I can help. I just… don’t like anybody for you. They’re all stupid. And mean.”
“Real mature,” your lips curled upwards a smidge.
“You know what I mean. Nobody deserves you,” he explained. “You knock every other girl out of the park. You know you do.”
Inside your chest, your heart was beating rapidly against your ribs. Sometimes you wondered if he knew how inescapable his clutches on you were. Not only was there no getting over him, but you had lost all will to. All you had ever known was what it felt like to be in love with Clark, and it didn’t help when he grew up to be the exact kind of guy you always dreamed he would. It was textbook torture, sitting here with his thoughtful hands stroking your wrist and his gleaming eyes boring into you like magical Kryptonian ice crystals. Stupid alien face– it was so fucking handsome.
You huffed softly, letting go of the reflexive breath that sucked your stomach in. It was an uncontrollable habit. You saw Clark smiling at you, and for all the embarrassment he made you feel, you chose to pick up the ball. Game on.
“I think your teeth are adorable,” you said. “Y’know, how sharp they are and the way they curve in like that. I love them.”
Clark blinked at you, trapped by the word love. Love, love, love, that was all his heart and ears and lungs and brain were hearing. Love, love, love, she loves my teeth, I love her.
His hands were still wrapped around your wrists, but you lifted one and smoothed a finger beneath his top row again. You mapped each ridge, collecting a bit of wetness as the pad grazed the thin edges. His breath was warm on your finger. It smelled like popcorn.
“Thanks,” you murmured.
“For what?”
“Saying those nice things about me.”
Clark nodded softly, smoothing his hand up your arm. He had no idea what he was doing. You could both be affectionate here and there, but not so decisively or slowly. Not so methodically. “They’re true things.”
“You really think I’m pretty?” You blurted. Well, not a blurt. A soft blurt. A low one. A bleat, maybe. Nervous as a sheep.
Clark did not think. He only nodded.
You brushed your finger over his chin, and with him so close, you could see the way a few of his lashes entwined with each other, clinging together in anticipation. You envied their job. You wish you could brush his eyes, keep them clean, shield them from the sun. They got to live on his face all day. What you wouldn’t give.
“You really like my teeth?” He asked.
You nodded, too, chewing the inside of your cheek. “I love your teeth. I love a lot of things about you.”
Clark could not help the compulsion. “Like what?”
You would’ve preferred to be more eloquent, but your mind was leaving you at the moment. Clark’s hand was now resting at your side, tucked between the soft rolls of your back and squeezing carefully, as if he was curious about the springiness of the flesh and had been wondering what it felt like for a while. So you rambled.
“Your hair. It sort of flips behind your ears, and I always found that cute. Your nose, too, when you get annoyed with me it flares. Sometimes when you smile really big your hairline moves up, that’s a good one– oh, and when I really piss you off, you kind of do this thing where you tilt your head like a dog hearing a whistle, and every time you do it I can't help but laugh because it’s just so funny! Like that one time we got burgers, and I swore I didn’t want a milkshake so you only got one, but then I begged for a sip and you wanted to kill me? You did it then, and I just wanted to kiss you, it was that cute.”
As you trailed off suddenly, hearing your words echoing back and flushing a medically concerning shade of red, Clark’s ears rang. He felt like he was stuffed full of cotton. I just wanted to kiss you, it was that cute. Love, love, love, love, love…
“Yeah?” was the best he could do. It was breathless and full of disbelief, but he at least said it aloud.
You winced a bit. “...Yes?”
Clark nodded slowly, and then a bit harshly, just trying to be sure he heard you right. He had just heard a few words that, in another universe, he would pay money to hear. No, in this universe. In any universe. He squeezed your side again, and when no response came to him, he just stared at you, brainless and lost.
You swallowed thickly and reached out again, figuring that if this was the final chance, you wanted to touch those teeth one last time. Your thumb tugged his bottom lip down and you poked your pointer on the tip of his lower canine. What was left of Clark’s dignity leaked out then, and he made the swift decision to kiss your knuckle. And then your wrist. And then your cheek, and your chin, until he was hovering over your mouth, breathing that popcorn breath against your tongue, which would have been disgusting were it not your very best friend Clark Kent who you had been having undisclosed dreams about since age eleven.
“I like a lot of things about you too, bunny.”
“Like what?” you whispered, not moving an inch.
“Like the way your nose twitches when you’re nervous. That's why I call you bunny, did I ever tell you that?”
Your eyebrow furrowed, and for a split second, you forgot what was actually happening in lieu of a new image. “It does?”
“Yeah. You just did it just now.”
“No I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did. I saw you.”
“I think I would know if I–”
Clark’s hand slipped under the hem of your t-shirt to feel the burning skin beneath, and the welcome touch had you shutting up in surprise. Your surrendering face exhibited the sign of a tiny little twitch on the right side of your nose, which Clark kissed instantly, as if pinning it down. “Right there.”
“That… isn’t fair,” you wheezed, heart hammering.
“What isn’t fair is that you’re not kissing me,” he whispered against your lips. “I’m waiting, you know.”
Part of you wanted to smack him for teasing at a time like this, but the rest of you was bubbling over with the overwhelming, all-consuming sense of victory. You met him in the space of an inch, pressing your lips to his open mouth, feeling for the very first time what it was like to kiss the love of your life.
Clark’s teeth were sharp and warm under your tongue. He hauled you into his lap and laughed as your eager hands roamed his face and neck, and it seemed that you tilted your head left to right without any penchant for rhythm or pace, simply smushing yourself against him in a desperate attempt to swallow him whole. He used said teeth to nip at your mouth, making you shiver, and you performed with absolutely zero decorum, swiping your tongue over his canines, tangling it with his own, sneaking your fingers into his hair to tug him closer and threaten suffocation. Every time he squeezed your hips or pressed his palms to your tummy, it spurred you further. It was the best kiss he’d ever had.
He didn’t give up until the action exhausted you. Having kissed yourself stupid until all you could manage was leaning your forehead against his and panting softly, you began nosing him like a kitten, pressing closer and closer into the hard lines of his body in some pseudo-hug disguised as a selfish need to feel him against you. He laughed sweetly and tucked his fingers into your hair, feeling the strands and tugging, scratching the curve of your cranium.
“If I told you how long I’ve wanted to kiss you, you might kill me,” he teased.
“Bet it's not as long as I’ve been waiting for you to come around.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, come around? I’ve been in love with you since we were kids!” He pulled back, giving you an incredulous look.
You grinned mischievously and kissed his lips again, much less ambitious this time. You distracted him with, “Bunny, huh? All because of my nose?”
Clark tossed you down on the couch and crawled over you with a big, toothy grin. “Well, that and your body. Bunnies are chubby.”
You flushed profusely. “Clark!”
“What? I love it. I love you.”
As he laid on top of you and began to kiss you into the mattress, you fought against the desire to give right in, hands curling behind his ears. “I was being serious, I’m really insecure about that…” But as he hitched your knee over his hip and sealed your lips shut with a series of hungry smooches and a pair of wandering hands, your protests lost their necessity.
As he made his way down the curve of your neck, he mumbled, “You like my teeth enough to let me bite you, bunny girl? Won’t hurt you… just a little bite, maybe…”
“Jesus Christ,” you squeaked. The word no suddenly dissipated into thin air, as foreign as a new language, and as ridiculous an answer as anything. “Yes.” Then, you added for good measure, “It won’t turn me into an alien, will it?”
Clark peeked up at you, joy painted all over his face. “You should be so lucky.”
summary: everything that happens between your mii and Leon’s mii on your island starts to happen irl… 👀
cw: uhhh nothing rlly its all fluff 🤷♀️ short and silly also not proofread
a/n: featuring things that have happened on my own island 😏 as you can see in the pictures above of my switch ☝️ with Kurtis Conner and Danny Gonzalez talking abt me on the left and Terri Joe falling in love with Weston Koury on the right. is my island goated or what
You haven’t put down your switch since you got the stupid game when it came out. The second you have free time, you’re opening up tomodachi life and seeing what your miis are doing. You even started bringing the damn thing to work and played it on your breaks.
That’s what you’re doing now, sitting in the break room with one of your coworkers on the age-old leather couch as she sits close to watch you play. Currently, you’re watching Dean Winchester try to confess his love for Fluttershy. He’s had a crush on her for what feels like months!
“No! Fluttershy just freaking fumbled… they would’ve been so cute,” you whine, watching as Dean falls to the ground with despair, a blue cloud of depression appearing around the mii after he was rejected. Millee, your friend, chuckles from beside you.
“I feel like she would…” she starts, but pauses as something catches her eye. Then she turns to you again, shaking you, clearly struck with an idea. “Oh my god, you should make Leon!”
Leon’s been your mini work crush since you started. The first time you met him, you fumbled over your words so bad, he gave you a genuine look of concern. Millee teases you about it all the time.
“Wait, you’re freaking smart. I can’t believe I haven’t done that already,” you giggle along with her, putting cheering Dean up to the side for now as you select the option to make a new mii.
The two of you spend like ten minutes making a character identical to Leon, debating on facial features. Once you get one that looks accurate enough, you add his traits and finish by placing his house right next to yours.
“Aw wait, he’s so cute,” you smile, petting the mii’s head and giving him an outfit. Millee makes a joke about drawing on his muscles with the creative features of the game and you laugh as you drag your freshly made Leon over to your own lookalike mii.
You watch eagerly as the two miis interact, then you get a “what’s going on with …?”. You and Millee pause your snickering as you watch the cutscene play out—Leon is speaking, and then it pans to your mii, who suddenly goes wide-eyed with pink cheeks. You just fell in love with Leon.
“What!” You exclaim as she says she thinks she’s in love with him. Millee can’t hold back her snickering as you look between her and the screen in shock. Turns out your mii is more accurate than you thought…
“What are you guys giggling about?”
The sudden voice snaps you out of your little bubble and you look up, not expecting to see… well, Leon. When the hell did he get here?
“Wh-what? Oh, uhm, we’re… playing a game,” you manage to get out with minor stuttering, suddenly not laughing at all. Millee, on the other hand, is barely keeping it in. Clearly amused, he approaches and glances down at your lap to see what you’re doing.
“The hell is that?” Stirring his coffee, he sits on your other side with an amused smile, much to your brain’s dismay and your heart’s pleasure. You look back down to see it’s still on the pink screen with your mii looking flustered, letting you choose whether or not she’ll have a crush on her new friend.
“It’s, uhm, a new game. Tomodachi life,” you say as you quickly allow your mii’s infatuation and immediately skip her lines and click away to another character before he can notice what you were doing. Millee’s still giggling beside you.
Leon leans in a little to watch you as you return to your earlier task of cheering Dean up. His brows furrow slightly as he watched you feed the mii and pet his head to make his sadness go down.
“So, what, they’re like your little pets?” He jokes, his eyes locking with yours briefly before returning to your switch. It’s odd, seeing you all professional in your pinstripe slacks and blouse while you’re playing some silly paradise game.
“Sure… something like that. You just, er, take care of them. And decorate your island,” you mumble shyly, shrugging. You don’t think you’ve ever been more embarrassed in your life. “Ah, look at the time! Should be getting back to work now.”
Millee barely contains herself as she watches you quickly shut off your switch and make a show of standing up and stretching. You say bye to Leon and she follows you out back to your desk where she teases you relentlessly.
Okay, the first time you brushed off as a coincidence, but this is just getting ridiculous. The closer your miis get on your island, the closer you get in real life.
One day you were playing, you hovered over your miis talking, and it said they were discussing the correlation between the pigeon pet between them and a rock album. Next day rolls around, you catch eye of a pigeon outside the window at work. Leon notices and comes up behind you, telling you the way its feathers stuck up on its head made it look like a rockstar. It was stupid. You blushed furiously.
Leon’s mii asks you to give him a new room when you’re playing on your break. When you pass by him later, he’s telling another coworker about how he finally got around to decorating his apartment since moving there months ago.
When your mii gets the hiccups, you drag Leon over to help her. What do you know, the next morning you try to keep your hiccups minimal at your desk, and when Leon pats you on the back, they go away!
When your miis finally become official friends while you’re playing in the morning before work, you don’t think anything of it. Stupid move on your part, because then you’re not prepared for when Leon calls you his friend to someone else at work.
And that’s only some of them. You don’t even like to talk about how you saw a cloud that looks like Leon, exactly like yourself in your game. This is so stupid. So. Freaking. Stupid.
“Millee, I swear, it’s driving me nuts. I almost wanna delete him off my island, but then he’d move away in real life!” You groan, on call with her while you sit in bed after a shower… playing tomodachi life. You’re trying to get Smiski and Saiki K to stop fighting.
Silence passes over the phone for a moment as you play your game and your friend does whatever she’s busy with tonight. Once your miis make up, you go to check on your other ones, and to your surprise, Leon has a pink bubble.
When you click on it to see what he’s thinking about, he tells you that he can’t get your mii off his mind. You giggle in surprise as you tell Millee about it, staring at the screen. Then you decide to tell him that “It must be love!”
The whole pink cutscene plays out. But you really brush it off this time, because why would Leon have a crush on you in real life? This is gonna be where all the weird shit ends. Now the two miis are crushing on each other, and you go on with taking care of your other residents.
The next day, Millee quietly watches both you and Leon. She doesn’t know if she believes you or not. Plus, she agrees with you—Leon doesn’t seem like the time to have any crushes at all.
So, imagine her surprise when she catches Leon watching you in the copy room. Whatever file he was looking for is momentarily forgotten as his eyes switch between your hands and your face.
At first it doesn’t quite click, but when he clears his throat and looks away with… blush on his cheeks? She definitely believes you now. Leon Kennedy totally has a crush on you!
The only problem is, you never notice. It’s obvious on your tomodachi island that you have a crush on each other, but you’re both much more subtle in reality. Millee just silently keeps track of it, lining up your island activities with what she sees.
Today, you sit in the break room, playing like usual. Currently putting off going back to work, you check on all your miis. “Nana you're supposed to move in with Hachi, not Twilight Sparkle,” you mumble, frustrated. Why can’t your miis ever do what you want them to?
You glance up as Millee sits next to you. You don’t say anything to each other as she watches you play, like always. Something catches your eye—Leon has another pink bubble.
“Uh oh,” you murmur jokingly, checking in to see what he wants. He tells you he’s ready to confess to your mii! You roll your eyes and go through with it, having him ask her out with a gift—a Sonny angel blind box. Millee, on the other hand, keeps note of that.
The both of you watch the scene okay out with giggles. Of course your mii accepted and the two are dating! It makes you a little happier than you’d like to admit. Then you go on with your day, thinking nothing of it.
After work, you talk with Millee in the parking lot, something you do when you get the chance to park close to each other. It’s casual, normal. At least until you spot Leon leaving work as well, and he’s… is he walking towards you? You share a look with your friend.
“Hey you two,” he says casually as he stops by you, and with the small smile he gives to you specifically, it doesn’t take long for your cheeks to turn pink. Millee takes a step back, as if to give you privacy—she knows what’s about to happen, and doesn’t waste any time pulling out her phone.
“Got any plans tonight?” Leon asks in this sweet voice, his voice a little softer than usual.
Your poor heart can’t handle this kind of treatment, thumping against your ribs as you shake your head. “No, just going home.”
He nods, and looks away for a moment. Then he pulls something out of his pocket and holds it out for you. “You like these weird baby things, don’t you? I got it for you.”
You blink, gaze shifting to the Sonny angel box in his hand, then his face, and back down. It hasn’t even connected in your head that this just happened on your tomodachi island.
“Really…? Thanks, Leon, you didn’t have to,” you say with a small smile, gratefully accepting the gift and turning it over in your hands. It’s the marine series, too, the one you’ve been wanting to get for a while.
“Well, comes at a price,” he says with this stupid cheeky smirk that makes your heart squeeze. You look up at him with an expectant look. “Now you have to go on a date with me.”
There’s a moment of silence between you. It feels like it’s been minutes—you’re stood there, frozen, completely surprised. Did he just ask you out? Did he just ask you out with a Sonny angel? Wait, did he just ask you out on a date?!
“I… uhm, yeah, I’d love to,” you barely manage to stammer out when you’ve regained coherency… for now. You lose it again later when you finally realize that he asked you the exact same way he did on your island.
Living the dream has a whole new meaning for you now.
a/n: so this was supposed to be WAY shorter guys I have no idea where that went wrong. anyway sorry if this is buns!! also i’m back from london so hopefully i can lock in and write like the 20 ideas i have written in my notes… expect from me soon!! ✌️
comments likes and reblogs always appreciated!! thanks for reading
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summary: Sean Hotchner was your high school ‘sweetheart’, however his older brother Aaron always insisted you were too smart for him. Years later you find yourself landing at the BAU, it doesn’t take long for you to realize maybe you had the wrong Hotchner all along…
word Count: 10.3K
warnings: BAU cases and the violence and creepiness that comes with them. squint when looking at Aaron’s career timeline in this lol
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The BAU was not known for being welcoming. It wasn’t always intentional, but it came with the skillset required for the job. They spent their days studying monsters, chasing killers, and delivering bad news. Which is why when everyone was called to the conference room first thing this morning, they were preparing for the worst.
Aaron waits until everyone sits down, he remains standing at the end of the table with a file in hand.
“We have a new agent joining the team.”
“Really?” Morgan asks, leaning back in his chair.
“A transfer.” Hotch confirms.
Prentiss looks up from her coffee, “A good transfer or a political transfer?”
“Good transfer.”
Hotch’s immediate and positive answer got everyone’s attention. He was the last person to willingly alter the team dynamic by throwing someone new in the mix. Hotch wasn’t one for compliments either. If he said someone was good, they were good.
“Who is it?” Reid asks.
Hotch opens a file and sets it down on the table. The room skimmed the highlights. Top of your class at Quantico, fluent in three languages, multiple commendations and a highly decorated agent. You’ve spent recent years a part of the counterterrorism task force and hostage negotiation before that.
Morgan whistles, “Okay.”
“She’s twenty-eight?” JJ asks.
“That’s annoying.” Emily sighs.
Rossi smirks, “She’s making the rest of you look lazy.”
The conference room opens and before anyone can continue, or hide the evidence of your career on the table, you walk in. Everyone glances up and Aaron forgets to breathe for a second. He simply stares. The woman in front of him looked different than the teenager he still had in his mind.
You looked more confident and polished. It looks dangerous. But your smile is exactly the same. It is still warm, bright, and familiar.
“Aaron!”
The entire room stills, hardly anyone called him Aaron. Morgan looks between the two of you and his jaw actually drops when Hotch smiles. An honest to God smile that the team hadn’t seen from him in months. Maybe years.
“Y/n.”
You break into a grin of your own.
“Aaron Hotchner!”
Hotch stands tall still, somehow the smile got bigger.
“I think the last time I saw you was your high school graduation.” Aaron admits quietly.
You roll your eyes and nod, you step forward and he gives you a careful hug. You turn back to face the team and two of them look like they could fall out of their chair.
“Wait,” Morgan holds up his hands, “you didn’t know he was gonna be here?”
“You know, they said it was his team but I didn’t really believe them.” You tease,
Aaron rolls his eyes, but he’s still looking at you fondly.
“Hold on,” Rossi points at Hotch, “you know how to smile?”
He shoots him a look, immediately dropping the grin which causes you to laugh.
“Oh, so that hasn’t changed?” You bite.
He does a poor job of trying to keep his smile to a minimum.
“Does he still do that thing where he stares at you until you feel guilty?” You ask.
“Every day.” Prentiss answers quickly.
Hotch sighs and the room erupts into laughter.
“You haven’t changed much.” Aaron comments, a lie.
“That’s rude.”
“You still talk too much.”
“Definitely rude, I’m so contacting HR.”
“Shut up.”
The teasing came naturally, it was effortless. The team watches it with way too much joy for nine in the morning. They had never seen Hotch interact with anyone like this. Ever.
Even Rossi looked surprised.
“So,” Rossi breaks in, “one of you explain.”
“I dated Sean in high school.”
“Sean Hotchner?” JJ clarifies and you nod.
“Little Hotch?” Garcia shrieks.
“All throughout high school.” Aaron shakes his head, a teasing smile still creasing his face.
“Aaron thought I was too smart for Sean.” You roll your eyes.
“Well, you did end up here.”
“Aaron!’ You scold, the big brother side coming out on rare display, “He was the scary one-”
“I wasn’t scary-” He defends.
“Oh, the stories I could tell-”
“Y/n.” He warns and your smile grows even wider.
It had been years, but you practically lived at the Hotchner house. You and Sean dated for years on and off in high school, it was never great but he was your first real boyfriend. Aaron was ten years older than the two of you so he wasn’t always around. You remember him studying for law school and then eventually bringing home case files but somehow he still had the time to help you with your college applications.
Back then he always seemed so impossibly grown up. Catching killers during the day, but still finding a way to come back home for a weekend every month to see his brother. But now you’re standing in the same room and you’re older than he was then. It feels familiar in a way you can’t place.
“You did well, Y/n.”
His words are simple but they mean a lot. You knew Aaron did not give out praise easily and you feel your smile soften.
“So did you.”
“So, are you going to introduce the rest of us?” Morgan asks, gesturing to the entire team at the table.
Everyone laughed and with burning red ears Aaron introduced the rest of the team. Everyone explained their current case load and the ones they are monitoring, everyone is on standby for a case if a call comes in.
Judging by the way the team kept staring at Aaron’s rare smile, you learned something very important. No one on the team knew the version of Aaron Hotchner you knew long ago. The one that laughed and teased. Somehow that made joining the BAU feel a little less intimidating.
-
Eventually everyone broke out into the bullpen, settling in at their desks and you follow Aaron to his office to finish up the last of the transfer paperwork.
You glance around his office while he gets everything in order. It’s exactly what you could’ve expected. Minimalist. Organized. Awards and accommodations lining his shelves as well as pictures of Jack. There’s still one picture of Jack and Haley, she’s wrapping him up in a tight hug. You step closer, your finger dancing over the edge of the frame. Aaron clears his throat behind you and you turn to face him.
You glance back at the picture frame briefly before focusing back on him, “I’m so sorry to hear about Haley.”
His expression remains calm, years have passed. Jack was older now and life had moved forward but it was clear that the pain would never disappear completely.
“I appreciate that.”
You open your mouth to speak and his expression shifts.
“How’s your father?” He changes the subject, handing you paperwork and turning back toward his desk. You groan and sit down in one of the chairs facing him.
“There he is.”
“What?”
“The classic Hotchner deflection.”
His mouth twitches. Barely, but you catch it clearly. Changing the subject to avoid being vulnerable was something both him and Sean were masters at.
“My dad is good.” You eventually offer, “Retired, but still finding a way to complain about everything.”
“That’s reassuring.” He smiles.
“He’s proud.”
“He should be.”
You smile, “Look at you giving out the compliments today.”
He rolls his eyes, focusing back on the paperwork in front of him.
“It was one compliment.”
“Two.”
“It was one-”
“Defintley two-”
“Red alert!” Garcia walks right into the office, teetering on her heels. She freezes looking between you and Hotch.
“Oh, were you guys having a moment?” She grins, her eyes shooting higher than the frames of her lime green glasses.
“No.” Aaron answers immediately.
“Absolutely.” You answer at the same time, saying anything to get Aaron riled up.
“Don’t get Garcia started, she’ll never drop it.” Aaron warning, pointing an accusatory finger at you.
You hold up your hands in mock defence, “Noted.”
Aaron can tell you don’t mean it one bit.
She squints her eyes looking between the two of you, “I knew it.”
“Garcia.” Hotch warns.
“Right. Horrible murder.”
The mood in the office shifted instantly. Aaron stands from his desk and reaches out to take the file from her hands.
“Montana.”
Aaron starts looking through the case file and images, everyone else in the bullpen looking in their direction catching the news.
“Three victims in twelve days. Rural county, the closest neighboring town is forty miles away.”
Aaron continues to scan the report, “Victimology?”
“Different ages and occupations without any obvious connection. They actually called us in because every four days someone goes missing, and that same day the previous missing person is found.”
Aaron closes the file, “Wheels up in thirty. Tell the rest of the team.”
Garcia nods rapidly and leaves the room as hurriedly as she had burst in.
“You’ve got a go bag?” He glances at you.
You give him an offended look, “Do you really need to ask?”
Thirty minutes later the team settles onto the jet. Garcia is coming with too, looking deeply unhappy to be there.
“I don’t belong in nature.” She huffs, crossing her arms and looking out the plane window.
“You’ll survive.” Morgan nudges her shoulder.
“Will I?”
The case photos appear on the screen, everyone has the file in front of them with the details.
“Let’s start.” Aaron announces. It’s weird having him as your superior and seeing him manage a team, but you know it’s what he was best at. He was bossing around Sean as soon as he could walk, you witnessed it first hand for years.
“Remote location suggests he’s comfortable with the area.” Rossi offers.
“Local hunter?” Morgan raises his brows.
“Maybe.”
“Most serial offenders operate within a comfort zone. Rural offenders generally hunt closer to home.” Reid vocalizes.
You study the map and something bothers your gut. Screaming at you to correct it.
“What if we’re looking at this backwards?”
Several heads turn toward you, Aaron watches silently.
“The bodies were recovered here,” You point out each spot on the map.
“So?” Morgan questions.
“What if that’s not where he hunts?”
Reid frowns, “The distance would be inefficient.”
“Unless efficiency isn’t the point,” The jet cabin goes quiet while you continue, “Everybody assumes remote offenders want privacy-”
“Which is statistically true.” Reid interrupts.
“Usually.”
You put a little more emphasis on the word when you say it and it makes him pause.
“What if he’s moving them intentionally?”
“Why?”
“Control.” Rossi answers, immediately catching onto what you’re theorizing.
“Exactly.” You smile, “These sites aren’t random.”
Aaron notices it, his eyes narrow.
“Water.”
Every body had been found near a water source. Streams, creeks, even a small river.
Reid leans forward, “Interesting.”
“Thank you.” You smirk.
“I’m not agreeing with you.” Reid argues.
“You will.”
Aaron hides a smile and Reid continues on unphased now. Aaron can remember you trying to debate him while you were in mock trial and he was a practicing prosecutor. You somehow held your own back then and it would appear that hasn’t changed now.
“If water is important to our unsub it could represent cleansing.”
“Or disposal.” Emily adds.
“Or symbolism.” JJ jumps in.
“Or all three.” You shrug. The debate continued back and forth between everyone for the rest of the flight. You held your ground every step of the way, but easily meshed with the group's ideas. It was exactly the way a group of experienced profilers should operate.
“She’s fitting in fast.” Rossi leans in toward Aaron to say it quietly. It goes unnoticed by everyone else, still exchanging ideas.
“Mhm.” Aaron doesn’t look up at the older man.
Aaron wasn’t surprised with your intelligence. You said it yourself, he knew you were too smart for Sean and he made that known back when the two of you were dating. He was still a little surprised with how well you were slipping into a rhythm with everyone. The challenge and the willingness to defend a theory without taking disagreement personally.
Outside the jet windows the vast Montana wilderness stretches below. Somewhere out there was someone dangerous, the case would be difficult but you felt certain of one thing. You were exactly where you were supposed to be.
-
Five days.
Five days in rural Montana and the team was no closer to catching the unsub than when you had first arrived. Everyone was exhausted, small town cases were surprisingly difficult. The sheriff’s office had become a second home to everyone, coffee cups littered every open spot on the table.
Morgan doesn’t hesitate in giving you a hard time, making you feel more welcomed than it should by annoying you. Prentiss demands embarrassing stories about Hotch and has invited you out for drinks whenever the team gets back. JJ seems genuinely relieved to have another woman in the field. Garcia adores you and wants details about everything early twenties Hotch. Reid was somehow fascinated by the fact that this was your third FBI specialty before thirty and enjoyed debating with you. Rossi found you entertaining, loving the new side of Aaron that you seem to bring out.
Dozens of interviews and countless hours in the field had turned up nothing. The unsub was still out there, and as of two days ago the fourth victim was found and he had someone new. Eighteen year old Madison Cooper was taken from a gas station, her car still waiting at the pump. Victim photos stare back at you from the board ahead, your brain replaying the past few days over and over.
The newest body was discovered mutilated by a shallow creek twenty miles from where she had disappeared. She was clean, no traces of DNA or anything else left behind. The pattern continued and no one could kick your water theory from the table.
“I’ve searched every registered hunter, fisherman, trapper, and landowner in a fifty mile radius.” Garcia reminds, still typing away rapidly at her keyboard.
Morgan sighs and runs a hand over his face.
“And?”
“Nothing.”
You continue to pace in front of the boards, unable to sit still any longer.
“Every fishing license and criminal record known in Montana state.” Garcia continues, “I’ve reached the stage where more people look suspicious than not.”
You turn away from the boards to face the team again.
Reid squints, “You’re smiling.”
“You’re about to disagree with me.”
“I am?”
“Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.” You grin.
He shakes his head.
Emily leans in closer to JJ, “She fits in way too well.”
“Yeah, she’s already annoying.” Morgan jokes, turning in his chair back and forth. His eyes jump over to you with mischief.
“Annoyed that I’m already right more often than you?” You smirk, “Get used to it.”
Hotch chuckles at the far end of the table and everyone notices. You look back to study the map again, thinking about all of the disappearances and the amount of time he’s with them.
You grab a marker, “The water.”
Morgan sighs, “You’ve been talking about the water for five days.”
You circle all of the locations where bodies have been recovered.
“Look.”
Everyone turns their attention onto you and the board.
“We’ve been assuming these were disposal sites-”
“They are.” Reid interrupts.
“Not just that.” You argue and the certainty in your voice makes the room go quiet, “I think these are the closest locations he can get to.”
Aaron frowns, “Explain.”
“What if he isn’t bringing them there because of convenience? It’s a necessity to him.”
Rossi picks up on what you’re saying before anyone else, “He needs the water?”
“Exactly, the bodies were cleaned and for whatever reason he doesn’t have access to do that privately.” You nod.
The room froze.
JJ blinks and crosses her arms, “Cleaned?”
“The forensic reports mention minimal trace evidence every time but we don’t have any idea what he used.”
Reid’s eyes widen, “He washed them in the water.”
The pieces start to click together for everyone.
“The water isn’t of the fantasy,” Emily discusses, “It’s part of the disposal.”
“Garcia, instead of looking for properties can you look for RV titles?” You ask.
“Oh yes I can!” She begins tying more rapidly, talking to herself as she filters out her search, “Oh my god. Joseph Dixon has an RV for his primary address and has lived in the area for the past thirty years. His wife drowned at the beginning of the year,” Garcia frowns, “He lost the house a few months after and has been in the RV ever since.”
Ten minutes later FBI SUVs tear down a dirt road with lights flashing. Garcia had found all of the RV campsites in town and eliminated the previously occupied locations, narrowing it down to one stream.
It was a remote site, surrounded by tall trees that creak and sway with the evening wind. You get out of the car and Aaron circles everyone together before approaching.
“Remember, Madison is likely still alive if he is still following his timeline.” Aaron looks between everyone with sharp focused eyes.
Everyone acknowledges him and moves to surround the RV with weapons drawn. Morgan breaches the front door and half the team floods inside behind him. The smell hits your nose immediately, strong with bleach and moisture.
Joseph is standing toward the back of the RV with Madison barely standing in his arms. He holds her up as a shield with a knife held to her throat.
“FBI!” Aaron shouts, “Drop the knife.”
The man looks wild and desperate which is never what you want to talk down.
“You don’t understand.” Joseph shouts back, tears starting to stream down his cheeks.
You could see the grief and obsession all over his face. The loss of his wife and then his house has created this delusion.
“They have to be clean.” He whispers, the room going still, “They have to be clean.”
You keep your voice calm, “Let her go.”
He shakes his head, “She isn’t ready.”
You step forward carefully, making sure not to block anyone’s line of fire.
“You couldn’t save her.” Your voice is soft, and more tears flood his vision, “And you think you’re saving them now, but you’re not.”
His expression breaks, just enough to lessen his hold. He closes his eyes briefly to wipe at the tears and Morgan moves instantly. The takedown happened in seconds and you have Madison before she can reach the ground. She was safe, and now the unsub was in custody.
A nightmare was finally over.
You help Madison over to the back of an ambulance and return to the team once EMTs start checking her out. Morgan puts Joseph in the back of the sheriff's car.
“Not bad.” Rossi calls out as you approach.
You smile tiredly, “High praise from the founder of the BAU.”
“You called the water on day one.” Reid has a confused look on his face.
“Of course I did.” You smirk, some energy returning to your eyes, “You guys are going to have to get used to it.”
Emily groans, “Oh god.”
Aaron just smiles, shaking his head and following you and everyone back to the SUVs. For the first time in nearly a week the entire team looked relieved. The case was closed and the victim was alive.
He finds himself watching you without being able to help it. You were a new agent to the team, but you were still a familiar face. You walked into the BAU less than a week ago and somehow it felt like you had been there for years. You look back and catch his eyes, when your eyes meet you smile. He smiles back and this time, no one on the team seemed surprised by it.
-
Four short months, and several cases later, you finally had become one of them. Not the new agent. Not the transfer. Not the girl who knew Hotch. You were just one of the team members of the BAU and it was impressive considering how difficult it was to truly earn your spot with them.
Aaron was impressed with it as well, but he wasn’t surprised. It was part of your skill. You were smart enough to challenge Reid without being intimidated. Confident enough to stand your ground with Rossi. Capable enough in the field that Morgan trusted you at his back without hesitation.
You make people laugh, and that was surprisingly valuable in a unit that spent most days facing humanity’s worst moments. You brought energy into rooms. Life. A little chaos. It was the kind that reminded everyone that there was still good in the world. Even Aaron. Especially Aaron.
Which is why everyone was becoming increasingly suspicious.
“Tell me I’m not crazy!” Morgan holds up his hands, looking around at everyone sat at their desks in the bullpen.
JJ doesn’t even look up from her paperwork.
“You’re going to need to be more specific.”
Emily leans against her desk, glancing back to where you and Aaron are standing in the conference room still talking after the morning meeting.
“The way Hotch looks at Y/n.”
JJ finally looks up and peeks back to where Emily is still looking.
“Oh.”
“Right?” Morgan claps.
“Definitely.” JJ nods.
Aaron was smiling as he was standing in front of you. Again. Not a full smile. Not the rare surprised laugh they occasionally managed to pull from him. Just a little crinkle around his eyes that wasn’t there before.
“I’ve been saying it for weeks.” Derek shakes his head.
Emily points at him dramatically, “Thank you!”
Reid finally looks up from his book, “I don’t understand.”
He looks up between everyone and they stare back at him.
“You don’t see it, Spence?” JJ asks.
He simply purses his lips and shrugs, Morgan looks horrified.
“Kid.”
“What?”
“They’ve got chemistry.”
“Who’s got chemistry?” Rossi asks, stepping out of his office and down the stairs to lean against the edge of Spencer’s desk. Derek points up in the direction of the conference room.
Reid shakes his head, “They’re just discussing victimology.”
“Exactly.” Emily nods, “When has Hotch ever looked that happy to do that?”
Reid studies him for a long moment before letting out a “Ohhh”.
Inside the conference room you and Aaron are surprisingly unaware of the curious eyes behind you. At least mostly unaware. You were aware of one thing.
Aaron.
It was becoming a problem that you didn’t know what to do about. Logistically it was ridiculous. Aaron was older. Significantly older. And he’s your boss. The Unit Chief. The man you have known since you were fifteen years old. The man whose younger brother you dated on and off for years. Every reason possible told you this was a terrible idea.
Somewhere between Montana and now you started to look forward to seeing him most days. You noticed little things about him you didn’t pay attention to or have the privilege of knowing before now.
The way he loosens his tie when he is tired. The way he pinches the bridge of his nose when he’s frustrated. The rare smile that appeared when Jack came up in conversation. The new smile that appeared when you were involved. This is dangerous territory.
So naturally, you’re ignoring it as much as possible, which is becoming harder and harder to do.
Aaron wasn’t doing any better. He knew every practical reason that told him no. Every professional instinct told him no. Every ethical concern told him no. And yet every time you walk into a room, it is getting harder and harder for him to hide.
You make him laugh and challenge him. You understand him in a way that very few people do. It wasn’t because you’re a profiler, it was because you knew him before. Before he was in the BAU. Before Haley died. Before Foyet. Before the walls.
You knew the version of Aaron Hotchner that existed before the grief and you somehow have a habit of bringing pieces of that man back.
“Sir.”
He looks over to see a panicked Garcia standing in the doorway with a tablet in hand.
“What is it?” His brows instantly drop together.
“Florida.” She simply answers, making a face.
“That’s bad.” You sigh.
He nods immediately, taking the tablet from her and looking through the case. He steps out of the conference room and stops at the rail.
“Everyone cancel your weekend plans,” He looks out over everyone in the bullpen, “Wheels up in thirty.”
A chorus of groans pass around the room. It was a Friday and everyone had looked forward to spending the weekend doing various things. It didn't take long for everyone to round up and grab their things. By the time the team reached the jet, it was already fueled and ready to go.
“Three women missing over the last month.” Garcia explains over the monitor, “All of them taken from touristy parts of Miami.”
Aaron skims the report in front of him, “Abductions?”
“Likely.”
“No bodies?” Reid questions, looking up toward the screen.
“Not yet.”
Nobody liked that answer.
“What about victimology?” You ask.
“Different ages, backgrounds, and occupations.” Garcia sighs, “I’m looking for other connections.”
You frown. No bodies and no obvious connections was a rough start. You look out toward the window where sunlight is streaming in. After a minute Aaron’s foot bumps yours and you look back over at the table and then up at him.
He nods back to the monitor and you roll your eyes before focusing on the case again. Somewhere in Florida an unsub was waiting for all of you.
-
The second the jet door opens, you are regretting today’s outfit choice.
“Oh, absolutely not.” You groan.
Morgan laughs, following you down the jet stairs, “You’ve been here for three seconds.”
The humidity hit like a physical force the second the air hit your face. You push your sunglasses onto your head to keep your hair away from your face.
“Who lives like this?”
“People who live in Florida.” Reid answers and you roll your eyes dramatically.
“Where are the cars?” Aaron asks, looking out over the tarmac where SUVs would typically be waiting.
“Oh god,” Morgan sighs, “She’s gonna melt.”
You bump his shoulder, but regret the physical contact. He practically sticks to you for a second. You unbutton the top button of your dress shirt and fan at your neck.
Aaron’s eyes automatically follow your hands, watching you pull at the collar of your blouse. The heat was already turning your cheeks a rosy shade of pink. A few loose strands of hair were blowing around, a sheen of sweat gathering from the humidity.
His gaze lingered, and for a second too long. You look over and catch him, immediately smirking.
“Hotch, you staring?” Morgan asks, it would seem he caught the moment as well.
He blinks, looking over at him.
“What?”
Morgan bursts out laughing and you shake your head, “That wasn’t even remotely convincing.”
Aaron adjusts his bag on his shoulder, “The heat seems to be affecting your judgment.”
“Interesting.” You nod, “It would seem I’m not the only one.”
Emily has to use her hand to cover her mouth in an attempt to hide her laugh. Morgan’s grin was outright dangerous. Aaron shoots everyone a look, landing on you last.
“Good talk.” You walk ahead, noticing the SUVs finally pulling up.
Twenty minutes later everyone arrives at the Miami police department. The local task force that had requested the BAU was already waiting. The case board covered an entire wall. Three women from three different tourist-heavy areas. No witnesses and no bodies.
You step closer to the board to get a better look at the pictures. The youngest victim was twenty-two, here on a college break. The oldest was thirty-four and was there as a travel blogger. It looked like the unsub was selecting his victims based on opportunity.
The conference room door opens, a detective walks in carrying a stack of files and copies for everyone. You look up and the detective looks to forget what he was doing. Aaron noticed the sudden falter in his steps. Detective Gabriel Martinez was in his mid-thirties, former military with a good record and a strong reputation. And apparently he was incapable of hiding his attention.
“Sorry,” He walks toward you, “Didn’t realize we'd be getting reinforcements.”
Morgan physically bit his lip and watches you smile politely at the detective.
“Agent Y/FN Y/LN.”
His smile widens, “A pleasure.”
Aaron suddenly found him significantly more annoying than he had thirty seconds ago.
You accept the file from him, “Catch us up?”
Martinez moved happily beside you, Aaron watched the entire interaction closely. The detective points out spots on the map and you nod thoughtfully. The two of you laugh about something and Aaron actually frowns.
Morgan glances over and sees it instantly. It was very entertaining, for nearly an hour. Everyone was still reviewing evidence and trying to get a baseline for the unsub. You spent the hour exchanging theories with Detective Martinez and trying to get a locals perspective, everything was purely professional.
“Hey, there’s a coffee cart downstairs...” The detective clears his throat. The team exchanges glances, darting between you and Hotch.
You look up from the file, “What?”
“Coffee?”
“Actually,” Hotch interrupts, “The briefing is in ten minutes, we need to prepare.”
You raise your brows at Hotch, surprised at him interjecting at this. He’s never opposed a quick coffee run on a case before.
The detective clears his throat again, “Right, I’ll just go. Would you like one?”
You eventually pull your eyes from Hotch to look back at Martinez, “I’d love one.”
The detective laughs before walking out of the room. You look back at Hotch, who is avoiding your gaze. You shake your head before turning back to the file in front of you. The entire team was watching Aaron and he was pretending not to notice. It was a poor strategy considering it was a team of profilers.
“Hey, Y/n,” Rossi asks, “Can you call Garcia and give her an update?”
You roll your eyes but stand up anyway, “Even though we’re only ten minutes away from the next briefing?”
You snatch your phone from the table and walk out of the room to call Garcia. The second you disappear out the door, Morgan strikes.
“You’re jealous!”
Aaron doesn’t even look up, “No.”
Rossi laughs loudly, “Aaron.”
“I’m not.”
Emily sighs, “Oh, you absolutely are.”
He finally sets down his file and looks up at everyone.
“Can you explain why you’ve spent the past hour glaring at him?” Rossi questions.
“I haven’t.”
Emily and JJ laugh, and even Reid looks skeptical. Aaron looks around the room and has no allies, none of them believe him for a second.
“Let’s review,” Morgan leans back in his chair, “You’ve been glaring, and you interrupted him twice.”
“Case-related.” He defends.
Derek shakes his head, “You corrected his profile.”
“He was wrong.”
Rossi’s smile widens, “Not entirely.”
Aaron sighs and now everyone else’s smile gets bigger. He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, somehow making it even funnier.
You walk back into the room and everyone immediately becomes professional again. You stop in your tracks and narrow your eyes. Aaron snaps up to look at you and your eyes scan everyone else.
You look at Aaron, and then Rossi, and then back to Aaron.
“Why do I feel like I just walked into something?”
Aaron immediately stands, “Let’s get back to work.”
“Right,” You straighten, “Can’t be late.”
-
The briefing wasn’t great, there still wasn’t a lot of information to go off of. By seven that evening, the case had officially worsened. A fourth woman had gone missing. Twenty-four years old and taken near the boardwalk in broad daylight.
The good news? Garcia was briefly able to ping her phone before it was ditched, it wasn’t enough to locate her but it was enough to paint a better picture of the unsub’s hunting ground. The bad news? That was all they got and the clock was ticking.
The conference room buzzes with tension, Garcia remains on speakerphone but she’s uncharacteristically quiet. Reid and JJ are comparing timelines between victims. Morgan and Prentiss just got back from getting witness statements. Detective Martinez is back at your side again while you review the maps. Aaron notices immediately, of course he does.
At this point, noticing you had become second nature to him.
“You know,” Martinez leans against the table casually, his eyes drinking you over, “I’ve been thinking.”
You don’t even look up, “Dangerous.”
He laughs.
“I’m serious.”
“That’s even more concerning.”
Martinez smiles, god he thought you were flirting. Everyone could see the reality, except for Martinez. You continue reviewing your work, not even paying him any attention. A missing woman had you very focused on the case at hand.
“We should compare notes after this.” He pauses, “Maybe over dinner.”
That finally caught your attention, you look up and he’s smiling confidently at you.
“A real dinner.”
There it was, any poor attempt at subtlety was gone. His offer was not professional or ambiguous and that made you sigh internally.
“That’s kind of you,” You say politely, “But no.”
A beat passes and Martinez blinks a few times.
“What?”
Your smile remains the same, “No, thank you.”
“Oh, are you seeing someone?” He questions, relief briefly settling on his face. You won’t let it last.
“No.”
Somewhere at the table behind you Hotch snorts and coughs in an attempt to cover it in the quiet conference room. Silence fills up the room after that and for a moment you thought that was the end of it. Then his expression changes, and it was the kind that women noticed immediately.
Martinez laughs, a short dismissive sound, “Seriously?”
Your smile instantly disappears.
“Seriously.” You say it slowly and nod as you do so.
The heads of your team members turned, now openly watching instead of pretending they weren’t watching this all unfold.
“Wow.” He shakes his head.
Your eyes narrow, “What does that mean?”
“Nothing.” He smiles bitterly, showing how hurt he really is and shakes his head again. It was clear it meant something, “I just figured all the smiling meant you were interested.”
The room freezes.
“Detective-”
“No, it’s fine.” His tone was far from fine, “Should’ve known.”
Aaron’s head snaps over and the temperature in the room seems to drop ten degrees. You recognize the look on his face instantly and know it’s not a good one.
Martinez wasn’t finished, “You BAU people come in acting like you’re better than everybody else anyway.”
Your jaw tightens, now you are genuinely annoyed.
“Maybe don’t act interested next time, save a guy some effort.”
The words had barely left his mouth when Aaron stood. The entire room felt the danger in the shift and Martinez’s confidence vanished instantly. He crosses the room toward him in quick strides, every profiler in the room gives up on working for the next few minutes.
“She said no.” Aaron stops directly in front of Martinez and he towers over him. His voice wasn’t raised, yet.
The detective swallows, “I wasn’t-”
“She said no.” Aaron repeats for emphasis, he remains calm and cold and it’s terrifying. Martinez glances around the room looking for support but doesn’t find sympathy in anyone.
Aaron takes a step closer, “If an FBI agent politely declines your invitation and your response is to insult her professionalism, that’s a reflection of you.”
Nobody moved a muscle. Garcia didn’t even utter a squeak.
Martinez’s face reddens, “I didn’t mean-”
“No, you did.” Aaron’s voice booms, “You implied she led you on because she treated you with basic professionalism courtesy.”
The detective looked like he wanted to disappear. You honestly weren’t sure you’ve ever seen someone fold so quickly and Aaron wasn’t done.
“You are a detective working an active investigation,” The conference room feels even smaller, “And if your ability to work with female colleagues depends on whether or not they agree to date you, you are in the wrong profession.”
Complete silence. This is Aaron Hotchner angry, which was a rare occurrence. It took a lot to actually make him mad.
“I apologize.” Martinez finally mutters.
“To her.”
The detective looks in your direction now, “I’m sorry.”
Aaron stares, “I think it’s a good idea for you to find a new case to work on.”
He nods and actually escapes the room, the door closes loudly behind him. Nobody spoke, took a breath, or even moved a muscle. Finally Aaron breaks his staredown with the door to look over at you, letting out a pant of adrenaline. Your arms are crossed over your chest and it’s clear that you’re still mad.
You look up at him and point toward the door, “Outside.”
“What?”
“Now.”
You walk out the door and know he follows, the gaze of every pair of eyes in the room watches the two of you go. You walk downstairs and right out the front door of the building to get some fresh air. The sound of downtown traffic breaks up the silence and the heat from the day is lessened now that the sun is down. The look on your face tells Aaron that this isn’t going to be fun.
“You shouldn’t have done that.”
His jaw tightens, “He was out of line.”
“He was.” You nod.
He looks confused, “Then why-”
“I can handle myself.” You interrupt with the real issue.
He sighs running a tired hand over his face, “I know.”
“Do you?”
“Y/n.”
“No.” You gesture upstairs toward the building behind you, “You didn’t even give me the chance back there.”
He looks away from you, dodging your eyes which told you everything. Your eyes narrow, reading him better than anyone else.
“Oh my god.”
“What?” He questions suddenly looking back and you laugh once in disbelief.
You take a step closer to him, “So that’s what that was?”
His expression becomes cautious but he lets you continue.
“So was that protective ‘older brother’ Aaron back there?”
He winces as the words leave your mouth.
“Or was that Unit Chief Hotch, defending my honor?”
You pause.
“Or was that the man who has been staring at me for months and pretending not to back in there?” You raise your brows to show how serious you’re being.
“Y/n.” He warns.
“You were jealous earlier.” You cross your arms over your chest again.
The air felt like it disappeared, his expression doesn’t change. You hold his gaze, waiting for him to admit what he knows you can see on his face.
“Y/n.”
“Aaron.”
“Y/n.” He repeated himself but now his tone is a warning, telling you to shut up and pretend this conversation never happened. Pleading with you. Neither of you can look away, you feel drawn closer somehow. Like two magnets fighting the inevitable. Eventually Aaron sighs and it’s a slow surrender, he’s tired of pretending. He relaxes, his head tilting slightly to the side as he melts a little.
“You’re right.”
Your heart skips a beat. Aaron looks down briefly before meeting your eyes again.
“I was jealous.”
The words land and you don’t even crack a joke.
“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” He continues quietly.
Your pulse quickens, “He wasn’t the first.”
“I know.”
“Then why now?”
Aaron laughs softly without any humor because he knew exactly why. This time he cared, far more than he should.
“You know why.”
Your breath catches and he notices.
“Say it.” You dare.
Aaron rubs a hand across his jaw, his eyes studying you openly. He knows once he puts it out there, he can’t take it back.
“I don’t know what to do about this.”
Your heart softens at the admission. The honesty surprised both of you
“Aaron…”
His eyes dart between yours, and he wishes he could hear you saying his name like that on a loop. For the first time since you joined the BAU, he didn’t have any walls up and he takes a step closer to you.
“I know every reason this is a bad idea,” He sighs, “My brother,”
You nod.
“I’m your supervisor.”
“True.”
“The age difference.”
“Yep.”
He sighs again, “And yet… I cannot bring myself to stop wanting you.”
You smile at him softly, “Will you just kiss me?”
Shock flashes across his face and now it’s his turn for his breath to catch, “That was your takeaway after all of that?”
Neither of you move to step away from each other.
“Is that a no?” You smirk, “Because if you-”
He doesn’t let you finish the sentence, cutting you off with his lips. His hand cups the side of your face and you let him deepen the kiss. You melt against his touch and welcome his tongue to explore your mouth. After a few seconds you hum, pulling back while remembering exactly where you are. Directly outside of the Miami PD with your entire team close by.
“I want you too.” You admit, you hadn’t really confirmed that earlier other than by asking for a kiss.
“Can we try and figure this out sometime after we get back from this case?” He asks, his hand still holding your face.
You nod immediately, leaning back in to steal another kiss and a quick peck. You take a step back from his hold, the two of you need to straighten back up again. Just in time too as Morgan bursts out the doors and jogs over to join you guys, “If the sexual tension is gone, we have a serial killer to catch.”
You roll your eyes, but you and Aaron follow him back into the police department anyway. Neither of you miss the smiles on each other’s faces before heading back inside. For the first time, neither of you was pretending anymore.
-
It's been a couple months since Miami and everything has changed. The team noticed it immediately, of course they did. They were profilers and noticing things was literally the job. You and Aaron were taking things slowly. Kind of.
It was a few dates after returning on the rare nights that the two of you got out of the office at a decent hour. The team tried to trip the two of you up, placing bets on who would crack first. Neither you nor Aaron had any idea one of Jack’s soccer games would destroy any last denials from the two of you.
Garcia and Morgan wanted to surprise Jack on their Saturday off, and it paid off tenfold when they saw you sitting on the bench passing out orange slices. Garcia nearly passed out when Aaron lean down to press a kiss to your cheek.
Things were going really well, even now that the team had been clued in on it for a week now. You would wait in his office after everyone left, it felt comfortable and steady. Aaron would tempt you into coming home with him rather than back to your apartment. It was becoming more frequent for the two of you, and you were loving every second.
“We’ve got a case.” Garcia walks into the bullpen, carrying on all the way into the conference room without stopping. Aaron walks out of his office and you automatically look up and catch him staring. You smirk and he immediately looks away, Morgan catches the entire exchange.
Everyone settles around the round table and Garcia connects her tablet to the bigger screen to display the crime scene photos.
“What do we know?” Aaron asks.
“New York City.” She clicks through the images and you wince instantly, “It’s bad.”
Bad was an understatement because the crime scene photos were brutal. Young women in their early twenties with extensive injuries completely mutilated and found in abandoned warehouses. The killer was deliberate, organized, and angry.
Emily frowns, “That’s overkill.”
“Extreme overkill.” Reid agrees.
Garcia swallows, “It gets worse.”
Nobody liked the sound of that.
“All of these have occurred in the last nine days.”
Six different victims were in the file, meaning there was rapid escalation. This unsub has no intention of slowing down.
-
The jet had just reached an altitude high enough to cruise, everyone is buried in the case file at this point. You sit next to Aaron, Reid and Rossi taking the spots across the table from the two of you.
“It feels personal, he’s got a serious hatred for women.” You comment.
“It does.” Reid agrees.
Morgan leans forward from the couch, “These women have to remind him of someone specific.”
“All of the victims had dark hair.” Emily notices.
The team continues to work, it isn’t a long flight. Rossi looks up from the file between you and Hotch.
“Hey,” Rossi starts, “Doesn’t Sean live in New York?”
Without thinking the answer came quickly from you, “Yeah, he does.”
Morgan smirks and leans in even closer, “The brother?”
You roll your eyes and nod before turning your focus on Aaron, “We should call him?”
Aaron looks up at you, a second of panic flashing across his face.
“See when he’s off work?”
He doesn’t say anything and the smile fades from your face.
“Aaron?”
He hesitates, “It’s been a few years since I’ve spoken to Sean.”
You stare at him, completely surprised and convinced you had misheard him. You knew they weren’t as close as they used to be, but you had no idea it was this severe.
“Years?”
The team exchanged looks and it was clear that everyone else was aware of this fact. Aaron hates how genuinely shocked you look.
You lean back angling yourself toward him, “You seriously haven’t talked?”
He remains silent.
“What happened?”
Everyone sits back quietly because this clearly has become more interesting than the case for the time being. The Hotchners had always been close. That was how you knew Aaron so well, he came back so frequently to see his brother even when he was busy with school and work. The two of them were close because of how distant they were with their parents, Aaron’s dad has never been someone they could look up to.
“He hasn’t seen Jack since he was three.” Aaron sighs, “I haven’t talked to him since he didn’t come to Haley’s funeral.”
“Oh.”
Silence envelops the entire jet.
Rossi breaks it, “Does he know?”
“Know what?” Aaron plays along obliviously.
Derek gives him a look, “Hotch.”
“No.” You answer simply, “We haven’t told him.”
Morgan grins and your eyes narrow.
“He doesn’t know?” Emily almost jumps up from her seat.
Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose briefly and you close your eyes for a few seconds.
“We haven’t-”
You can’t finish the sentence. There is absolutely no good way to finish that.
Morgan still looks delighted, “You haven’t told him.”
You look at Aaron.
Aaron looks at you.
“That’s going to be a fun call.” Rossi leans back in his chair.
You cover your face, “This is going to be terrible. This is worse than I thought it would be.”
You and Aaron always knew this was something that would have to be addressed, but both of you had written it off as a future issue. You knew it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation, but you didn’t know he and Sean weren’t even in communication.
“You could always do it later.” JJ offers.
“Yeah,” Derek claps, loving this way too much, “He could always find out on the Christmas card.”
You roll your eyes, “Such an ass.”
“Merry Christmas. Also, I’m dating your brother.”
The team breaks out in laughter, but it slows when Aaron’s glare levels the room. You knew it was something deeper that would keep them apart for so long. Something unresolved and painful, the teasing around the room faced away.
You hold his gaze, everyone else focuses on themselves again.
“We should call him.”
He looks at you, his face void of annoyance or defensiveness now. After a moment he nods and reaches out under the table to grab your hand and give it a squeeze.
“Together?” His expression is warming.
“Together.” You nod.
Unfortunately the heartfelt moment lasted about three seconds. Then Morgan spoke.
“Oh, this is serious serious.”
It wasn’t long before the New York skyline slowly appeared out the windows. You were confident that Derek’s rapid texting was updating Garcia back home on the recent revelations. Everyone now had a new mystery to obsess over.
-
The case has gone one for two more days after the team lands in the city. Three more bodies have been found, the unsub was still escalating. The profile had narrowed, the suspect pool was shrinking.
You called Sean the minute you landed, you forced Aaron to stand next to you on the tarmac so he couldn’t back out of it. The call itself was relatively easy, you and Sean have been in contact for years.
“Hey stranger.” He answered.
The conversation picked up like no time had passed, like it always did. By the end of the call, he agreed to dinner with the two of you without hesitation. The only problem was that he couldn’t get away from work for the next two nights.
Which gave Aaron days to dread the conversation that was to come.
Now the dreaded evening has arrived.
“Don’t forget your date.” Rossi chuckles, looking between you and Aaron.
Aaron doesn’t even look up from the evidence board, “Not a date.”
“Family dinner night.” Morgan corrects with a wicked grin.
“God, that’s even worse.” You groan.
Derek cuts you a look, “Coming from the girl dating brothers.”
“Shut up!” You smack his shoulder.
“I’ve been waiting for this all week!” Garcia cheers from the laptop.
You step closer to where Aaron is standing.
“If you say something about how long his hair is, you’ll sound just like your dad.” You threaten, knowing that will stop him more than anything else you could possibly say.
“Jesus.” He mutters under his breath.
“Sorry,” You look back at him and offer a small smile, “we just don’t need to start this off on the wrong foot.”
Aaron knows you’re right, this isn’t going to be an easy conversation. Sean was meeting the two of you at the precinct, you guys didn’t really have time to stray far in case anything developed in the case.
“Hello, hello!” Sean knocks on the open door and walks into the conference room.
A smile appears before you can stop it. He looks older than the last time you saw him, a little more tired, but unmistakably Sean.
“Y/n!’
He wraps you up in a big hug, the kind that’s reserved for people who you have known for a long time.
“Look at you!”
You laugh and Sean steps back.
“I can’t believe you’re on Aaron’s team, what are the odds?”
“What are the odds indeed.” Morgan says quietly enough for most of the room to miss it.
He shakes his eyes and his eyes finally land on his older brother. The smile on his face fades slightly, but not completely. Aaron steps forward and offers him a hand.
“Sean.”
The younger of the two nods and meets his firm handshake, “Aaron.”
The exchange was civil but definitely awkward. Apparently neither Hotchner knew how to communicate in the presence of the other. Sean starts to notice the group, the famous BAU he had seen briefly a couple times over the years.
“Morgan, right?” Sean reaches out to shake his hand.
“Yeah man, good to see you again.”
He exchanges polite conversation with everyone, making the rounds. You stand at Aaron’s side by the door, his eyes rake over your figure and you can tell he’s nervous. A rare side of Aaron. You give a reassuring nod and small smile to try and offer some comfort.
Sean clears his throat, the two of you snap up in his direction. His expression slowly changes the longer he stares at the two of you.
You straighten, “Ready?”
He doesn’t move, blinking a few times. The slow painful realization was becoming clear on his face as he looks between the two of you.
“No way.” He says weakly.
Prentiss covers her mouth to hide her reaction and JJ has to turn away. Aaron closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.
“Sean-” You try.
“No.”
He walks right past the two of you, straight out of the precinct. You and Aaron both follow behind all the way out onto the sidewalk.
“Sean.” Aaron calls after him several times.
He keeps walking.
“Are you kidding me?” He tosses over his shoulder, not slowing his stride.
“Sean, please.” You call, his steps falter for a second before he stops and turns around to face the two of you.
Twenty minutes later the three of you are sitting in a small Italian restaurant. The shock had not worn off at all and the table was quiet. Aaron looks exhausted and Sean looks like he would rather be anywhere else on the planet.
“This is unbelievable.” Sean shakes his head, breaking the silence that had been sitting with them since the waiter left, “Aaron, you’re dating my ex girlfriend?”
“From high school.” Aaron reminds defensively.
Sean points in his face, “Still.”
“It was over a decade ago.”
Morgan would’ve loved this. Aaron pinches the bridge of his nose and lets out a sigh.
“How long?”
You decide to answer, “A couple months now.”
“Since you joined the team?” His brows raise and you shake your head.
“Not right away.”
“Huh.” He reaches forward and takes a piece of bread that had been sitting in the center of the table the entire time. “And you’re both happy?”
You tilt your head, “That’s it?”
He shrugs, “What do you want me to say?”
“Aren’t you mad?”
Sean laughs, “Y/n.”
His expression softens and you and Aaron look at each other unsure and confused.
“We broke up a decade ago.” Hotch holds up his hands at Sean’s words, but he continues anyway, “We’ve been friends ever since. It’s a little weird, but I’m not mad.”
Aaron looks completely surprised.
“Aaron did tell you for years that you were too smart for me.” Sean reminds.
You snort loudly.
“I do, however, reserve the right to make fun of the two of you about this.”
“That’s fair.” Aaron cracks a small smile.
“Extensively.”
Aaron sighs, “There it is.”
For the first time all evening, the tension eased. The conversation shifted to lighter topics. Old stories and family memories dominated the meal. Work was part of it, but it didn’t last long since you had to step on Aaron’s foot to drop the judgement over his career path. Some time after the table was cleared and leftovers boxed up, Aaron and Sean started talking. Really talking.
Years of distance could never just disappear overnight, but it was a start. You noticed the way the two of them had both relaxed. They would never admit it to the other, but they missed each other.
Eventually Sean points at you, “You know she’s the one responsible for this?”
Sean is staring closely at his brother. Aaron would admit that this conversation wouldn’t be possible without you. After the years had passed, Sean missing core moments of Jack’s life, he never thought they could get back to this place.
Aaron nods, “I know.”
For a moment the younger Hotchner looks genuinely happy. It wasn’t about the relationship, or even the weirdness of it, but just being happy to see his brother smile again. He knew things had been rough, he wouldn’t deny either of you the happiness you clearly bring each other.
Sean raises a glass, “To questionable life choices.”
You laugh and Aaron groans.
For the first time in years, both Hotchner brothers laughed together.
-
You and Aaron take your time walking back to the hotel. The team let you both know that everyone was heading back to the hotel for the night, hoping fresh eyes tomorrow would help. For a few hours the two of you weren’t behavioral profilers. The warmth of the dinner had almost felt surreal considering how it had started.
It was a brother reconnecting with his family and two friends reuniting.
The elevator ride up was quiet in a comfortable way. You lean against his side as he watches the floor number flash as you climb higher.
“Tired?” You ask, looking up at him.
He huffs a laugh that even sounds tired, “Very.”
“Emotionally?” You tease.
He glances down, “Mostly.”
You smile and the elevator doors open. The two of you were only a few doors apart, standard BAU procedure. Separate rooms and separate spaces were the professional way. The two of you stop outside your door. Neither of you are eager to separate.
“Goodnight, Aaron.”
His expression softens, “Goodnight.”
He waits for you to get into the room and for the door to lock before walking down to his room. You immediately move toward the bathroom to take a shower and wash off the day. After the fact you reach into your bag and pull out one of Aaron’s old law school hoodies. It was something you were quick to claim the first time you came over to his place.
It was faded and comfortable. You saw him wear it a dozen times all those years ago.
You’re brushing your teeth when your phone lights up on the bathroom counter.
Aaron.
You smile instantly and answer the phone and put it on speaker.
“Miss me already?”
He pauses and it’s long enough you look down at the phone to see if the line is still connected.
“Yes.”
You freeze, toothbrush halfway to the sink.
“What?”
He sighs and you can practically see him rubbing a hand over his face.
“I’m aware how that sounds.”
You laugh, “Aaron.”
Another pause.
“I do. Miss you.”
Your smile was impossible to wipe off now. This was not the composed Unit Chief most people knew, this was the one you have been seeing for months. This is your boyfriend being the needy man he is. You move to your bed, taking your phone with you and sliding under the covers.
“I’m right down the hall.”
“Yes.”
“LIke twenty feet away.”
“I’m aware.” He passed out everyone’s keys, of course he’s aware.
You’re smiling so wide it’s starting to pull on your cheeks, “You know, you’re quite needy.”
He lets out a surprised laugh.
“You’re to blame for that.”
You laugh loudly, not expecting that.
“Sneak in then.”
The line goes quiet for a few seconds. You can practically see him debating it. It’s late enough now, few people on the team would even be up at this point. The two of you have not done this once since the relationship started.
“They’ll notice.” He eventually says.
“Not if you’re careful.”
He takes a few more seconds to debate.
“You make terrible suggestions.”
“Hey, you’re the one who called me all breathy saying ‘miss you’.”
He laughs suddenly and the sound brings another smile to your face.
“Twenty seconds.” He hangs up and the line goes dead.
Less than twenty seconds pass and there’s a quiet knock at the door. You chuckle to yourself and walk over to open the door.
“Aaron.” You smile.
He walks straight in, his arms wrapping around your waist. His lips find yours, pressing hard as he backs you up closer to the bed. He pulls back after a few more seconds pass, pressing a couple quick pecks after.
You smile and run a hand through his hair. You can see the weight of the last few days lessening.
“Hi.” He smiles.
His smiles weren’t rare anymore, they happened all the time now. You still appreciate seeing them every time. The two of you move to get under the covers, he doesn’t miss the hoodie you’ve managed to get ahold of. He’s confident this isn’t the only one you’ve got.
Aaron pulls you in against his chest and reaches out to turn off the lamp. The room goes dark, but you can still faintly see his outline in the moonlight.
He lets out a deep sigh after a few moments pass, holding you a little tighter.
“Rough day?” You ask, sensing the tension leaving. You trace your hands up and down his arms that are wrapped around you.
“Long day.” He pauses, “A good day.”
Your expression softens because you know exactly what he meant. The conversation and the relief afterward had been a lot to worry about. You could see that he was carrying it for days. Everything you had been worried about somehow worked out.
“You okay?”
“Better than okay.” He leans in closer to press a kiss behind your ear, “I was worried.”
“About Sean?”
You feel him nod behind you and squeeze his hand.
“He loves you.”
“I’m glad tonight happened.” He quietly admits.
“Me too.”
“I’m so glad you’re here.”
The words were simple but they meant everything.
“Me too.”
For the first time that Aaron could remember he felt completely at peace. Even if it was only for one night and the two of you would likely have to face another crime scene tomorrow. Tonight was all he needed. He has you in his arms and that’s enough.
-
an// a little one shot turned LONG one shot just as a mini break from the Hotch series i’ve been working on! so fun, i love dating brothers even tho it’s so so wrong lmao. the beauty of fiction, my loves! please let me know your thoughts, i’m dying to talk about this!
A wooden box tucked into the back of a closet, beneath old mission files and a winter coat Leon hasn't worn in years.
It isn't locked, which surprises you. He isn't secretive, but there are parts of him that always seem closed anyway.
You lift the lid and look inside. There is no order to it. No labels in the heap, no dates cataloguing anything. It's just...things.
A movie ticket.
A dried flower pressed between the pages of a notebook.
A receipt folded in half.
A photograph.
You pick it up. It's one you don't remember taking. Leon is sitting on the porch steps outside your old apartment, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sunlight caught in his hair. He's looking down at something you've said, smiling faintly. Not looking at the camera. Looking at you.
Your throat tightens.
Beneath it is a note. Four words in your handwriting.
Drive safe. Love you.
Nothing more. Nothing important.
Except apparently it was.
You keep digging through the box and realize it's a collection of things so small they should have been forgotten.
The paper wristband from a fair.
A grocery list.
A birthday card.
A drawing done in a child's unsteady hand.
It was like he was collecting proof of something, as though someone spent years gathering fragments of happiness before they could disappear. Or more likely, as though someone did not trust himself to remember.
You exhale slowly.
This isn't a memory box. It's a reliquary. A shrine built from ordinary things.
You don't hear Leon come in. You only feel his presence when he stops in the doorway.
You turn to him and hold up the note. The tiny scrap of paper. The one that took you all of five seconds to write.
"Leon."
His gaze falls to it. Something passes across his face and suddenly you understand that he knows exactly what is in this box.
Every item.
Every scrap.
Every faded photograph.
He could probably tell you where each one came from.
He probably knew the date, what the weather was like, what you were wearing, because apparently, he logged that information with almost religious zeal.
You have the strange feeling that he has opened this box on nights when sleep wouldn't come and sat alone in the dark with these remnants of a life he never expected to have.
"You kept all of this?"
His expression softens.
"'Course I did."
You stare at him and see him suddenly, not as the man you married, but as the man who has attended more funerals than birthdays, and the man who learned young that people can be there one day and gone the next, and the man who spent years believing happiness was something borrowed rather than owned.
Suddenly the box feels unbearably sacred because none of these things are valuable. At least, not to anyone else. The paper is yellowing. The photographs are fading. Most people would have thrown them away, but Leon kept them because they prove something.
That you were here.
That he was loved.
That something good stayed.
His eyes meet yours, and for the first time, you wonder if devotion has ever been a strong enough word for what Leon Kennedy feels. Devotion implies faith.
This feels more like reverence, like a man kneeling in the ruins of a church, carefully preserving the last evidence that God once lived there.
And, unbelievably, to him, that God was you.
A/N: I love to make Leon Kennedy hurt, just to let us comfort him. A bit of a sadist, one might say.
The second part will include comforting and will be sent out tonight in the Princess Correspondence at 8
hi jade <3 i miss hotch too :( i saw a tiktok earlier of a prank/trend where a couple was cuddling in bed at the guys place and suddenly the girl told his man that she wants to go home, and she sounded like kinda sad and quiet, and her man got SO worried and serious SO quick, and it was so sweet how he was so gentle and reassuring with her :( it really made me think of hotch (and clark ngl)
—Aaron’s soft-handed reaction to a prank makes you emotional. fem, 1k
It is not Aaron’s fault that he doesn’t use the internet, but it makes pulling pranks on him so easy it’s practically impossible to stop yourself.
He’s resting his chin atop your head as you read with your e-reader resting on his bicep, face to collar, his smell in your nose. The romance novel you’re reading is good, but it isn’t half as romantic as the man that’s holding you. Nobody is as gentle as your Aaron. You’re honestly not sure anyone else ever could be, and it’s your dumb luck that landed you in his arms, in his bed, with his nose in your hair and not a care in the world between either of you.
He takes a long, deep breath that is so obviously his way of smelling you, and his sigh after like he took a drag of a cigarette makes you melt. The words on your e-reader go blurry as your eyes flutter, content. And then you get your evil little idea and lay the reader flat on his arm. His arm is bigger than the reader is wide, which almost stops you from opening your mouth at all.
If you ask nicely, he’ll squeeze you.
But you really wanna mess with him, so you make yourself small. Let your spine go rigid, and let your profiler get the message.
He peers down at you in concern. “What’s wrong, baby?” he murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it.
“I want to go home,” you say, matching your tone to the very worst (which is to say, best) video, her voice sad and soft, like she was truly defeated. And it couldn’t break Aaron’s heart more to hear it, even if the scary FBI training means he doesn’t take your acting as entirely truthful.
“What?” he asks, shifting you in his arms, down his chest some so he can your face. He takes your face in his hand, his thumb rubbing up the line of your cheek. “You want to go home?”
“Yeah, I wanna go home.”
“Why, honey?” His voice is like gossamer, thin and silken. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter, hm?”
His eyebrows get that square pinch between them as he caresses your cheek. You falter in the face of his gentleness, which makes it all the more believable that there’s something wrong.
“Have I done something? Please don’t leave, I’d worry myself to death if you left me now.” His voice is familiar and warm, slow, forever mellifluous. You’ll never get sick of the way he talks—it’s one of the reasons you fell in love with him, how he could make anything at all sound like a love note. “What’s making you feel unsure? Tell me what’s going on in there.”
You know that Aaron’s gentle, but he’s gone so sweet so suddenly it has emotion brewing in you that you haven’t earned. You swallow a silly lump and try to smile. “It’s nothing,” you say.
Aaron slowly cards his hand behind your neck and encourages you into the curve of his neck, his second hand at the small of your back in a perfect fit. Warm and big, stretching over one of your most delicate parts.
“I don’t know what to think about it, honey. I don’t ever want you to feel like you’d rather be at home than with me. If you need space, you can have it. Of course you can have it, but I’m getting the feeling that that’s not what this is about. Do you trust that you can talk to me?”
You want to cuss, but your throat burns, and all you can force out is a reprimanding, “Aaron.”
“‘Cos I can fix anything.”
“I know that.”
“Yeah? So let me fix it for you, sweetheart.”
It is perhaps your greatest shame to be near tears in his arms as you plead with him to pretend you never said it. “I was just– I just wondered how you’d react, is all, there’s nothing wrong.” And Aaron doesn’t believe you, still soft as silk, so you tell him about the video you saw and he hums. You’re worried he’ll be rougher with you, then, because it’s not like you’ve earned his sympathy, but he rubs your back slowly and hums pensively, the smell of his skin under your nose.
“Something still doesn’t feel right, does it?” he asks in a murmur, unaware of the molten heat in your throat and stomach simultaneously. You couldn’t explain it to him if he did notice it. “Did you– was it a surprise, that I wanted you to stay and work things out with me? I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear, that I’d fix anything for you.”
It’s just—it borders being too much, too kind. It’s the ache of biting into something sweet with a bad tooth, how he’s gone this tender, how he hasn’t once pushed you off of his chest. It hits you how willing he is to spend endless minutes reassuring you over nothing, a scenario that you created, and how easily he reads your smallest emotions.
You’re downed by a video prank, and it’s all your fault.
Luckily, Aaron doesn’t seem to mind at all. He tips your head back with your ear against his shoulder, looking up at him from his chest all wide-eyed and in love as he leans down for a slow kiss. “Do you want to go home?” he asks quietly.
You shake your head, worried your voice will wobble and betray you if you speak, so Aaron leans down again to press another kiss to your mouth, this time very purposefully misaligned, so as to kiss right under your nose.
“What can I do to make you feel better?” he asks, like you haven’t just deregulated yourself by accident.
“I’m okay. Sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry.” He gives your back a good rub, like he’s waving his hand into your spine. “How’s that? Is that helping?”
“Little more,” you tell him. You don’t mention going home again.
He brings the blankets over your and strokes shapes into the small of your back, eventually finding the humour in things when you're spent on his chest, murmuring a loving, “So sweet,” into your crown.
summary: you've spent years convincing the bau that your love life is chaotic, casual, and completely detached—while quietly dying every time aaron hotchner looks at you. but when your dating profile attracts the wrong kind of attention and your unit chief is forced to look a little closer, it turns out there are very few things more dangerous than being profiled by the man you're hopelessly in love with.
notes: i've been a little conflicted about posting lately, but... it's my birthday, and i want aaron hotchner—so here you go! i've been working on this for a while and had a very very smart friend help me with the "profiling" parts (especially reid) so i hope y'all enjoy! i also really wanted to actually write the smut, but this fic hit the block limit so hard and fast it actually hurt. as always, please please let me know what you think!
warnings: swearing / cursing, blushing, italics, reader wears a skirt (and heels), reader has a cat, implied age gap, best friend!reid, some pretentious ranting, horny thoughts, likely incorrect behavioural and psychoanalytical information, likely incorrect technical information (sorry garcia), canon-typical themes (homicide, etc. referred to off page), stalker / stalking behaviour, ambiguous use of "online dating" (because i tried to keep it vaguely around s6/s7 era), kind of rushed ending? and... fade to black / implied sex (i’m so sorry) 18+ only still, mdni.
word count: 19001
MONDAY 9:25AM
Working for the FBI means having secrets is difficult. Working with the BAU makes it downright impossible.
Not because your colleagues are nosy—no, they’re just… perceptive. Which means if you want to keep something to yourself, you need to know how to manipulate their perception. Even if it doesn’t work on all of them—you glance at Reid, already seated at the round table with his nose buried in a book—at least it works on most of them.
At least, it works on Aaron Hotchner.
Your boss. Your unit chief. The man who absolutely cannot find out about your big, fat, massively inconvenient, deeply inappropriate crush on him.
Reid glances up from his book as you drop into the seat beside him. “You’re wearing a skirt.”
You cross your legs and lean back. “Excellent observation, Reid.”
“It’s impractical,” he says simply. “Especially with heels. Your centre of gravity shifts forward by almost fifteen degrees, which shortens your stride length and reduces balance recovery time. You’re significantly more likely to trip while running.”
You roll your eyes. “Good thing I’m not planning on fleeing the scene of a crime today.”
“Ignore boy genius, baby girl,” Morgan says as he steps into the room, heading straight for the espresso machine. “You look good.”
You flash him a grin. “See? Somebody appreciates me.”
Reid hums as he glances back down at his book. “Interesting how your clothing choices become statistically less practical in direct correlation to Hotch’s proximity.”
Your stomach flips. “Spence.”
He lifts one shoulder. “What? He’s not listening.”
You glance back at Morgan, whose eyes are glued to his phone, brow furrowed just slightly as he waits for the whirring coffee machine to fill his cup.
“That’s not the point, Spencer,” you mutter, turning back to him. “You need to—”
The conference room door swings open again and Hotch walks in—files tucked under one arm, the rest of the team trailing behind him.
“Morning,” he says, dropping the files on the table. “Hope everyone had a good weekend.”
Morgan snorts. “What weekend?”
“Yeah,” Prentiss mutters, dropping into the seat beside Reid. “I was here until five on Saturday finishing geographical profiles.”
“That’s because you alphabetise your paperwork,” you point out.
She gives you a look. “I enjoy being proficient.”
“Well,” you say lightly, leaning back in your chair “some of us managed to finish our paperwork on Friday and still have a very enjoyable weekend.”
Garcia gasps dramatically as she falls into the last empty chair, coffee in hand. “Ooh, look at you. Was there a man involved?”
You shrug one shoulder, biting back a smile. “I’m choosing to plead the fifth.”
Morgan points across the table. “That means yes.”
“Or,” Reid says without looking up from his book, “it means she enjoys making people speculate.”
“Aw, Spence,” you tease. “Don’t sound so bitter.”
He finally looks up from his book and fixes you with a look so flat it borders on threatening—because he knows what you’re doing. It’s what you always do. It’s how you manipulate their perception. How you keep your secret.
You perform.
You scroll through dating profiles, talk about men, brag about your weekends without ever being too specific. You flirt with almost everyone on the team—Reid more than the rest, because he’s your scapegoat... and your best friend.
He’s the only one who can see through the charade. Not because he’s emotionally perceptive, but because he did the math. He noticed the pattern. He realised very quickly that every time Hotch walks into a room or says your name, you react in a way that can only mean one thing:
Hotch is the secret you’re trying so hard to hide.
Because if you give a team of profilers an easy explanation—harmless flirting with a messy dating life and a weakness for attention—they won’t notice the way your entire body betrays you whenever your infuriatingly gorgeous boss gets too close.
Hotch clears his throat. “Well, lucky for all of you, it’s a quiet week.”
Reid shuts his book and sets it on the table.
“No active cases as of this morning,” Hotch continues. “Which means we’ll be catching up on consults, court reports, and the mountain of paperwork everyone’s apparently been neglecting.”
His eyes meet yours for the briefest second, and your pulse skitters.
“I’m bored already,” Morgan sighs, leaning back in his chair.
Hotch ignores him. “We’ve got two local consult requests from Fairfax County and a follow-up review from the Richardson case. Dave, I’ll need your notes finalised by this afternoon.”
Rossi nods once. “You’ll have them.”
“Garcia,” Hotch continues, “the Milwaukee office wants that digital forensic review by Wednesday.”
Garcia gasps softly, pressing a hand to her chest. “But I already colour-coded my entire week. That review wasn’t supposed to be due for another fortnight.”
Morgan blinks. “You colour-code your schedule?”
“Obviously,” Garcia says. “How else would I maintain my sparkling personality under crushing institutional pressure?”
Reid straightens. “Technically, organising information activates the same reward pathways as—”
“Don’t,” Prentiss says immediately.
Reid frowns slightly. “I was just going to say gambling.”
You snort softly before you can stop yourself, covering it quickly with your hand. Reid shoots you a look. Prentiss just shakes her head. And when your eyes finally flick back to the front of the room, Hotch is already watching you.
Not the team. You.
Your stomach twists.
That signature Hotchner scowl should not be as hot as it is. It shouldn’t make you cross your legs a little tighter or make your heart race the way it does. You should be used to that scowl by now. You’re on the receiving end of it often enough—whenever you crack a poorly timed joke or flirt a little too hard with Morgan.
Yet somehow, you still feel like you can’t breathe until his gaze finally shifts.
“Moving on,” he says evenly, “JJ will forward the consult details after the meeting.”
He spends the next thirty minutes briefing the team on consults and court appearances while you do your best to stay focused—but it’s hard. It’s hard because every time you look at him, your gaze drops to his mouth and your mind fills with all sorts of filthy ideas. Then he starts moving his hands as he explains something and you can’t help but wonder what they might feel like wrapped around your waist, your thighs, your throat.
His voice is a low rumble at the back of your mind, warm and firm, but you have no idea what he’s actually saying. All you can do is think about how that voice might sound, wrecked and rough, telling you how pretty you look when you—
“The briefing ended three minutes ago,” Reid says.
You blink hard. “What?”
He closes his notebook with a sigh. “The meeting’s over. You can stop internally monologuing now.”
You frown. “I’m not—”
He gives you a look.
“Ugh,” you groan. “You’re so annoying.”
You push up from your chair and walk out of the conference room without waiting for him, but you’re not surprised that he’s right behind you by the time you reach the bullpen. You drop down at your desk with another indignant huff, watching Reid do the same from the corner of your eye.
Everyone else is already settled at their desks—keyboards clicking, pens scribbling—and there’s a fresh stack of files next to your computer with a sticky note on top that reads: Fairfax files. Prioritize pages 12–18. – Hotch.
You want to laugh at the little sign-off, as if anyone else would have put these files on your desk. Your fingers trace over the note once before you peel it off and stick it to the bottom corner of your computer screen.
Reid snorts. “You know most people throw those away, right?”
You glance sideways at him. “I don’t want to forget the page numbers.”
He hums. “Sure.”
“You know,” you say, turning your chair to properly face him, “you’re being particularly judgemental today. What’s your problem?”
He stares at you for a moment, then glances back at the sticky note still attached to your monitor.
“I’m experiencing prolonged second-hand embarrassment,” he says plainly. “And repeated exposure tends to increase irritability.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well—you’re increasing my irritability.”
“Exactly,” he says, already turning back to his computer.
You glare at the side of his head for a long moment, searching for a comeback—but your mind is completely blank. So with another irritated sigh, you turn back to your own screen, scoot your chair into the desk a little harder than necessary, and settle in for what’s shaping up to be a very boring Monday.
The next two hours pass by in a blur of interview transcripts, witness statements, and crime scene photos. The Fairfax County PD files detail the death of a woman in her late thirties who accidentally overdosed in her Reston home early last week. No prior history of substance abuse, financial instability, or high-risk behaviour—until forty-eight hours before her death.
In just two days, she withdrew a large amount of money, missed work without explanation, visited several bars she’d never been to before, and bought herself thousands of dollars’ worth of expensive jewellery and lingerie.
To anyone else, it might look like some sort of breakdown—an impulsive spiral that led to the kind of recklessness you can’t come back from. But to you, the behaviour feels too... artificial. As if someone is trying to construct the narrative of a troubled woman—checking all the right boxes to give investigators an easy explanation for a tragic overdose.
Only there isn’t enough concrete evidence to support your instinct. No stalker. No ex. No clear unsub who could have orchestrated this kind of ruse to cover what might actually be homicide.
You sigh. “Reid.”
“Hm?”
“Tell me if I’m overthinking this.”
Reid pushes back from his desk and scoots across the narrow stretch of carpet between your workstations. He doesn’t stop until his chair bumps the side of your desk, causing your pen cup to topple over and spill across the files you’ve got carefully laid out.
“Oops,” he says absently, pushing the pens aside.
You roll your eyes and start gathering them while he scans the files.
“The behavioural shift feels manufactured,” you say, dropping the pens back into their cup. “But there’s enough legitimate stressors here that I can’t tell if I’m forcing a pattern because it’s too clean.”
Reid examines the highlighted timeline for another few seconds.
“You’re focusing too much on the existence of the stressors,” he says. “Stress explains escalation. It doesn’t explain inconsistency.”
You frown slightly.
“She suddenly becomes impulsive socially, financially, and sexually, but her organisational habits never change.” He taps the timeline. “She still pays bills early. Still meal preps. Still attends a dentist appointment two days before her death. Real behavioural deterioration isn’t usually selective.”
Your brows lift. “So, I’m right?”
Reid nods, leaning back in his chair. “You’re right.”
“What’s she right about?”
You nearly jump at the sound of Hotch’s voice—low and even, a little rough around the edges in that way that always makes your stomach tighten.
“She thinks the behavioural shift is staged,” Reid says. “And I agree.”
He scoots back slightly as Hotch leans in, one hand braced on the back of your chair while the other pulls the file closer so he can read it properly. His tie falls forward, brushing lightly against your thigh—and suddenly, you can’t breathe.
He’s close. Way too close. You can feel the heat of his breath on your skin. Smell the bitterness of coffee beneath his cologne. Hear the quiet creak of leather from his belt as he leans in further.
“It’s too compartmentalised,” Reid says, his voice more distant than it was just a second ago. “Real behavioural spirals usually bleed into every aspect of a person’s routine. Sleep disruption, missed payments, changes in grooming habits, social withdrawal—something.”
Hotch lifts his hand off the desk and presses his thumb to the tip of his tongue—then flips the page.
Your pulse jumps so hard it almost hurts. Heat crawls up the back of your neck. Your whole body feels too hot, your clothes suddenly too tight, the bullpen too small—but you can’t move. Not with Hotch’s hand still on the back of your chair.
“But this is curated,” Reid goes on, tapping the timeline with the end of his pen. “The impulsive behaviour escalates while the foundational routines stay completely intact, which suggests intentional narrative construction.”
Hotch turns his head just slightly, dark eyes finding yours. “You caught that?”
You clear your throat. “I just... thought the escalation pattern felt off.”
“Her behavioural analysis is spot on, actually,” Reid says. “I can’t find a flaw in it.”
Hotch hums quietly as his eyes move back over the file.
“Good girl,” he says absently.
Your entire nervous system short-circuits.
“Keep it up,” he adds, smoothing his tie as he straightens.
You don’t say anything as he turns and walks away. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.
Reid just sits there, hands folded in his lap as he watches Hotch disappear into his office before slowly turning back toward you.
“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “the age-gap preference is actually more interesting than the authority fixation.”
You finally blink. “What?”
“Because the authority thing makes perfect sense. High-pressure careers tend to reinforce attraction to competence, decisiveness, emotional restraint—especially in workplace environments where leadership qualities become psychologically linked with safety and stability over long periods of exposure.”
You frown. “What are you—”
“But the older man preference is statistically more complicated because you don’t actually display the attachment markers usually associated with paternal absence or instability.”
Your eyes go wide. “Spencer—”
“You have a healthy relationship with your father, no documented authority issues, and relatively secure interpersonal attachment patterns, which suggests the preference is less psychologically compensatory and more rooted in behavioural reinforcement.”
“Reid.”
“For example,” he goes on, ignoring you completely, “you spent your formative professional years surrounded almost exclusively by older men in positions of intellectual and behavioural authority. Gideon, Rossi, Hotch—which likely created a reinforcement pattern where emotional competence became unconsciously associated with attraction, arousal, and sexual interest.”
You freeze. “Reid, I swear to—”
“You don’t react this strongly to older men generally,” he continues. “You react strongly to Hotch because he’s emotionally controlled, professionally authoritative, intellectually intimidating, and—”
He pauses, tilting his head.
“Very obviously your type.”
You glance frantically around the bullpen, scanning the desks for the rest of your team.
Morgan has his headphones on, completely focused on whatever report he’s typing. JJ’s desk is empty, as usual—she’s probably with Garcia. And Prentiss is only halfway back from the kitchen, still stirring her fresh cup of coffee.
Your gaze cuts back to Reid. “You are so lucky no one heard that, Spencer.”
He shrugs. “Wouldn’t matter if they did.”
Your brows pull together. “What’s that mean?”
“You’re good at redirecting attention,” he says, slowly pushing his chair back toward his desk. “You’re less good at hiding physiological responses.”
Your hand flies up to your cheek, palm pressing flat against the burning skin.
“Whatever,” you mutter. “It’s warm in here.”
Reid glances around the bullpen. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”
“I hate you.”
“No you don’t.”
You shoot him one last glare before turning back toward your computer, aggressively waking up the monitor with your mouse.
You stay chained to your desk for the next few hours, finishing up the victimology report for the Fairfax files before taking them to Rossi for final review. Then you head out with JJ to grab a late lunch from the deli down the street, and when you get back, there’s a brand-new stack of files on your desk—only this time, with a tall takeaway cup of coffee set on top.
“Hotch got dragged into some last-minute Section Chief meeting across town,” Morgan says, pushing his headphones down. “Said he needs those cross-referenced before tomorrow morning.”
“Great,” you mutter, dropping into your chair.
Morgan chuckles softly as he pulls his headphones back up, turning back to his own pile of reports.
You grab the coffee from the top of the files and find a sticky note stuck beneath it—written quickly but still in his unmistakable handwriting: I owe you one. – Hotch.
Your stomach flips.
God. That’s pathetic.
You peel the note off and drop it into the top drawer of your desk, not wanting another psychoanalytic lecture from Reid if he were to spot that note stuck to your monitor.
The rest of the day passes the way every other caseless Monday afternoon does. JJ’s the first to head out—not long after five—taking advantage of the slow week to spend a little extra time with Henry. Rossi leaves about an hour later, announcing to the bullpen that he’s got a date with a bottle of wine and reruns of his favourite medical drama. Morgan manages to clear the files on his desk before seven, finally putting his headphones away before bidding the rest of the team farewell.
Prentiss and Reid linger until nearly nine, and only when the motion sensor lights blink out does Prentiss finally glance up, realising how late it is. She gathers her things and nudges Reid, who’s been firmly stuck in hyperfocus mode despite the rest of the world quietly slowing down around him.
“You coming?” he asks, adjusting the strap of his satchel.
You look up slowly, your brain buffering as it untangles itself from the files spread across your desk.
“Not yet,” you reply, blinking tiredly. “Hotch needs these by morning.”
Reid tilts his head. “Want me to wait?”
You wave a hand. “Nah, go ahead. I’ll get security to walk me to my car.”
“Alright,” he says, already turning away. “Just remember that positive reinforcement loses effectiveness when the subject becomes emotionally dependent on it.”
You glare at his back. “I’m reporting you to HR.”
“You’d have to explain the context,” he calls over his shoulder.
You roll your eyes as you turn back to the last file on your desk, taking a deep breath and flipping it open.
With the bullpen almost completely silent and the promise of sleep so close you can taste it, you manage to get through it in record time. You even give it a quick second pass to make sure you didn’t miss anything glaringly obvious in your tired state—but you’re used to working through sleep deprivation, and by ten p.m., you finally start packing up.
You organise the files back into a neat pile, then open the top drawer of your desk for Hotch’s note. You stick it to the top file and grab a pen, scribbling just below the words he wrote: Dangerous thing to promise me.
And, just as he did, you sign off with your name.
Then you gather the whole stack in your arms and cross the bullpen toward his office. Unlocked, as usual. You nudge the door open with your foot, warm lamplight casting an orange glow over the quiet space. It smells faintly like coffee and his cologne—enough to make your heart start racing the second you step inside.
You set the files neatly on his desk, trying not to linger on the quiet traces of him scattered throughout the room.
There’s still half a mug of cold coffee abandoned beside some paperwork, and the cashmere sweater he’d been wearing beneath his jacket this morning is draped haphazardly over the back of his chair. Quiet evidence of just how suddenly he’d been called away.
It makes you feel a little better knowing you really have helped him out.
You adjust the files until they’re perfectly straight, then take the sweater from the back of his chair and fold it neatly before setting it on the chest of drawers beside his desk. You hesitate for just a second before grabbing the mug of cold coffee and heading out of his office, straight for the break room. You empty it, wash it, dry it, then return to his office, placing it back on his desk exactly where you found it. Then you switch the lamp off on your way out, pulling the door most of the way shut behind you—the way it’d been before you stepped inside.
It doesn’t take long for you to gather your things, head down to security, and badge out. One of the guards escorts you to the parking garage, waiting until you’re safely inside your car with the engine running before he takes the elevator back up.
Once home, you quickly feed the yowling Leia—your cat, who’s very unimpressed by your late arrival—take a quick shower, change into your comfiest, threadbare sleep shirt, then crawl into bed with your laptop balanced on your knees. You know you should just try to get some sleep, but you’ve been ignoring a few personal messages and emails for a couple days now, and you know that if you don’t get to them soon, you’ll start to feel guilty.
You open your emails, reply to a couple, then pull up a new browser tab and type in the login address for the dating site Garcia set you up for. Not that you couldn’t have set up your own profile if you’d really wanted to.
No—this profile is just the unintentional byproduct of your ongoing attempt to redirect attention.
One slow Thursday evening in the bullpen, while you’d been loudly complaining about how impossible it was to meet men with a job like yours, Morgan had the brilliant idea of making you a dating profile. Garcia immediately lit up at the idea, pulling the site up on her computer while Reid launched into a rambling statistical analysis about the probability of finding genuine compatibility online.
Hotch hadn’t contributed to the conversation, but you’d known he was listening.
That had been the whole point. You always perform a little harder when Hotch can hear.
The site finally loads and you type in your credentials, waiting a few seconds for your profile to pop up.
Twelve notifications.
You click on the ‘messages’ tab and start scrolling. There are a few old conversations that fizzled out and you’ve long since decided not to reply to. There are a couple of messages from people you never intend on starting a conversation with. Then there are two new messages—ones you’d seen pop up on your phone but couldn’t be bothered to engage with over the weekend.
After all, you’re not actually looking to date anyone.
But one of the messages catches your eye.
DCRunner00: You seem like the kind of person who’s either very funny or very mean. I’m willing to risk it.
You snort, then type out a reply.
You: Unfortunately for you, those traits aren’t mutually exclusive.
Just as you hit enter, Leia leaps up onto the bed.
“Hey, sassy girl,” you coo, moving your laptop to reach for her.
Your fingers graze her soft coat, and she gives you an incredibly disapproving look.
You roll your eyes. “Alright. Sorry for loving you.”
You settle back against the pillows as she makes her way to the other side of the bed, curling up as far as she can possibly get from you.
Ping! Ping! Two more messages pop up.
DCRunner00: That’s probably the best possible answer you could’ve given.
DCRunner00: So what’s your worst personality trait? I feel like that’s more interesting than hobbies.
That answer comes a little too easily.
You: Workaholic. You?
DCRunner00: I get bored easily.
DCRunner00: Which usually means I either start running or annoying people for entertainment.
You: Sounds like a public safety issue.
DCRunner00: Depends who you ask.
DCRunner00: You should probably get some sleep, Workaholic. It’s late.
You glance over at Leia as she rolls onto her side, stretching her front legs, and only then do you realise you were actually smiling at your screen.
You shake your head, typing quickly.
You: Yeah, I should.
You: Night, Running Man.
Then you shut your laptop before he can send another message.
TUESDAY 9:50AM
“Morgan, you’re with me at district court this afternoon,” Hotch says, closing the file in front of him. “The defence attorney’s pushing back on the Richardson testimony, so we’ll need to review our timeline before the hearing.”
He’s wearing a grey suit today.
You can never think straight when he’s wearing a grey suit.
Morgan sighs dramatically. “Nothing says excitement like four hours in a courthouse basement.”
Hotch ignores him completely.
“JJ, I want the media requests filtered through Strauss’s office before lunch. Reid, finish the geographic overlays from the Fairfax case and send them to Rossi when you’re done.”
He glances once around the table.
“If anything urgent comes in, you’ll be notified. Otherwise, continue using this downtime to catch up on reports.”
Then he gathers the files into a neat stack and stands, turning toward the door.
The rest of the room starts moving slowly. Morgan mutters something to JJ about the court hearing, Prentiss turns to Reid, asking something about a case you don’t quite catch, and Garcia is already explaining something on her laptop to Rossi, who’s watching the screen with quiet concentration.
Which leaves you to shamelessly stare at your boss’ ass as he walks out of the room.
“You should probably blink.”
Your head snaps toward Reid, frown already forming. “I’ll blink when I want to blink.”
He presses his lips together to keep from laughing, and you know he’s fighting the urge to launch into some deeply unwanted psychoanalysis of your behaviour—but thankfully, the rest of the team is still too close for him to risk it.
Eventually, everyone starts filing out of the conference room and back into the bullpen. You end up being the last to leave, behind Reid and Garcia who are chatting animatedly about some new phone app they’re both obsessed with.
You’re just about to pass Hotch’s office door when—you hear your name.
You turn your head, and he gestures for you to come in.
Reid glances briefly over his shoulder, an irritatingly knowing look on his face as you turn and step into Hotch’s office.
You clear your throat, stopping a few feet from the desk. “Sir?”
“How late were you here last night?” he asks.
You lift a shoulder. “About ten.”
His jaw shifts as he leans back in his chair. “That’s late.”
“Morgan said you needed them done by the morning.”
“I didn’t mean first thing,” he says, smoothing the end of his tie. “You could’ve finished the rest before lunch.”
You blink. “Oh.”
His gaze holds yours for a second too long.
“You don’t need to stay late to impress me.”
Your eyes widen slightly before you force out a small, awkward laugh. “Oh—uh—good to know.”
He glances briefly at the navy-blue cashmere sweater still folded neatly on the chest of drawers.
“Still,” he says, lower this time. “I appreciated it. The files, and… everything else.”
Your breath catches softly in your throat.
“Anytime, sir,” you manage.
He nods once, then drops his gaze back to the paperwork on his desk.
You don’t need any more of a dismissal than that, so you turn quickly and step out, pulling the door shut behind you. He prefers it closed, even if he won’t admit it because he doesn’t want the team to think he’s shutting them out. He’s just more comfortable in private—it helps him focus.
By the time you get back to your desk, everyone else is already settled and working quietly. Not even Reid glances up or offers a teasing remark.
You drop into your chair and wriggle your mouse, grabbing your phone while you wait for the screen to wake up.
Two new messages from DCRunner00.
DCRunner00: Running Man?
DCRunner00: Great book. Slightly concerning nickname, though.
You can’t help yourself, so you type out a quick reply.
You: Better than ‘Workaholic’.
You: You read Stephen King?
“Hey, you busy?”
You glance over at Reid. “Aren’t we all?”
He tilts his head. “You’re on your phone.”
“I could be working.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Good,” he says, shuffling the files on his desk. “Hotch wants us to prep the full geographic and timeline package for the Fairfax files in case it turns into an active investigation.”
You sigh, already pushing back from your desk. “And by ‘us’ you mean...?”
“I could use your help.”
“Fine,” you mutter, setting your phone down.
He scoots over as you roll your chair toward his desk, settling in beside him. The files are all laid out, including your victimology report with Rossi’s few annotations. There are crime scene reports, autopsy summaries, witness statements, geographic overlays, and maps—everything needed to justify escalating the case into a full BAU investigation.
“Where do you want to start?”
“I’m trying to rebuild the geographic timeline digitally,” he says, “but half the field reports were logged out of sequence and now the movement patterns don’t align.”
You nod. “Okay, walk me through where it stops making sense.”
Three hours later, you feel like your eyeballs are bleeding. You’ve read the same witness statement at least twenty times now, but with every pass it only makes less sense. How could Annabelle Hutton possibly be placed in two different counties less than forty minutes apart?
“It’s physically impossible,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes.
Reid hums quietly beside you. “Not necessarily.”
You stare at him. “Care to elaborate?”
“Well, depending on traffic conditions, inaccurate timestamp reporting, and the reliability of eyewitness memory retention, there are at least four scenarios where the timeline could still technically work.”
You sigh, leaning back in your chair and staring up at the ceiling. “If you know so much, then why can’t you figure this out?”
He still doesn’t turn away from his screen. “I will. Eventually.”
You groan softly, dragging both hands down your face just as a familiar voice cuts through the quiet bullpen.
“No, listen to me carefully.”
Both you and Reid glance up automatically.
Hotch is walking slowly past the desks with his phone pressed to his ear, expression calm but impossibly stern in a way that immediately makes heat crawl beneath your skin.
“You don’t need to explain the problem again,” he says evenly. “You need to tell me how you’re fixing it.”
He pauses briefly beside Reid’s desk, listening.
“Then prioritise the transfer first,” he says. “If the paperwork isn’t filed before opposing counsel reviews discovery, the timeline becomes vulnerable and the entire testimony gets picked apart.”
He rests a hand on the partition between the desks, gaze fixed somewhere distant as he listens to the person on the other end.
“No,” he says after a moment, voice lower now. “I’m not asking you to stay late. I’m telling you this needs to be finished tonight.”
Your stomach flips.
This absolutely should not be as hot as it is.
“Good,” he says calmly into the phone, straightening again. “Call me when it’s done.”
Then he keeps walking, cutting through the bullpen before turning sharply toward his office.
You stare after him, the thought slipping out before you can stop it. “Do you think he talks you through it?”
“Probably,” Reid says, turning back to his screen. “High-control personalities usually prefer maintaining verbal direction in intimate situations because it reinforces predictability and compliance dynamics.”
You go still. You hadn’t actually expected an answer.
“Someone like Hotch would probably place a pretty high psychological value on responsiveness,” Reid continues. “The immediate compliance aspect reinforces authority, which means verbal direction would likely become part of the overall intimacy dynamic rather than just communication.”
Your face heats.
“Especially because he’s not impulsive enough to rely on unpredictability. He’d want constant awareness of how the other person is responding emotionally and physically, so talking them through things would help maintain control of the situation while also reinforcing trust.”
Oh my God.
“And honestly,” Reid goes on, “people with highly structured leadership personalities usually develop pretty strong positive associations with obedience because it confirms stability, attentiveness, emotional investment—” He pauses briefly. “Which means he’d probably find it disproportionately attractive when someone follows instructions immediately or responds well to praise because it validates both the authority dynamic and the emotional trust beneath it, so statistically speaking he’d—”
He stops.
Then slowly turns toward you.
“...I crossed a social boundary somewhere in there, didn’t I?”
You nod slowly, your voice coming out unnaturally high. “Just a couple.”
He sighs, dropping his chin slightly as he turns back to his screen.
You huff out a breathless laugh and lean back in your chair again. You need a minute to recover from that, because now you’re hot all over and the only thing you can think about is your boss hovering over you, praising you in that low, steady voice while his hand settles around your throat—
Fortunately, it doesn’t take Reid long to start rambling about geographic overlays again. You do your best to focus on what he’s saying, but after another hour of scrutinising the timeline inconsistencies, you decide you need an actual break.
You grab your phone and your jacket and head out of the office, sending a quick text to the team chat asking if anyone else would like a coffee from the cafe down the road. It’s a thousand times better than break room coffee.
When you step out of the elevator on the ground floor, you bring up your messages with DCRunner00. You’re not sure why, because normally you only check your profile when you feel like you need to keep up the act, but something about this guy keeps making you want to reply.
DCRunner00: I’ve read a few.
DCRunner00: What does a workaholic do for fun?
You type your reply as you step out of the building.
You: Work, mostly.
You: And sleep.
By the time you return to the office with a tray of four coffees, you have two new messages—but you can’t reply to them until you set the tray down at your desk.
“Thanks, pretty girl,” Morgan says as he takes one, flashing you a grin.
You smile back. “Anything for you, gorgeous.”
Then you pull your phone out of your pocket and bring up the message thread.
DCRunner00: What’s your schedule even like?
DCRunner00: You strike me as an “answers emails at midnight” type of person.
You: Nah. That’s my boss.
You: My schedule is chaos, though.
“Thanks,” Reid says as he takes his coffee, leaving only two.
You set your phone down and take the last two coffees out of the tray, leaving one at your desk before taking the other to Hotch’s office. You can see through the window that he’s not on the phone—for once—so you knock twice on the slightly ajar door before stepping inside.
He glances up, his brows pulling together slightly. “I didn’t ask for coffee.”
“I know,” you say quickly. “But it’s almost three, and you always need another coffee around three, and I figured you probably didn’t answer the team message because you still feel bad about me staying so late last night, which you shouldn’t, by the way.”
He straightens, brows drawing tighter.
“And I know you’ve got court with Morgan this afternoon, and you’re going to try to leave early, but someone’s definitely going to call at the last second and derail that plan, so you’ll only have enough time to get to the courthouse—not enough time to stop for coffee.”
You set the cup down in front of him.
“So,” you tilt your head, “coffee.”
He leans back in his chair, studying you for a second.
“That’s some pretty solid profiling, Agent.”
Your face heats instantly.
“Well,” you say, backing slowly toward the door, “maybe now you owe me two.”
The corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly, but it’s enough for the butterflies in your stomach to explode. You can’t help but grin as you turn away, slipping quickly out the door before your lungs forget how to work entirely.
You spend the rest of the day at Reid’s desk, finishing the case package for the Fairfax files and complaining about unreliable witnesses. Hotch and Morgan head off to court just after three, announcing to the rest of the team that they won’t be back. JJ is the first to head home again around five, followed by Prentiss, then Rossi—then you and Reid finally decide to call it a day just after six.
Which is also when you finally check your messages again.
DCRunner00: Chaos how?
You type a quick reply while you wait for your car’s AC to warm up.
You: Long hours.
You: Weird hours.
You: And a deeply unhealthy relationship with caffeine.
Then you tuck your phone away and head out of the parking garage.
Leia is already yowling by the time you step through your apartment door. She’s always hungry, even though she has an automatic feeder for dry food—but apparently that isn’t good enough. She prefers the wet stuff.
You quickly peel open a packet of fishy-smelling chicken jelly sludge and drop it into her bowl before washing your hands and moving into your bedroom. You flip the ensuite light on and start the shower, pulling your phone out of your pocket while you wait for the water to warm.
DCRunner00: Ah. So you’re one of those people.
You: Rude.
He replies almost immediately.
DCRunner00: Accurate, though?
You: Unfortunately.
You drop your phone on the bed and start undressing.
Ping!
DCRunner00: What do you actually do?
You hesitate. It’s not like you can just say you’re in the FBI. Contrary to what some people might think, real FBI agents can’t just go around bragging about their highly classified work status. It’s dangerous.
You: Mostly admin.
You: Governmental stuff.
You toss your phone back onto the bed and turn into the steamy ensuite. You shower quickly, dry off, run product through your damp hair, then pull on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants before heading back out into the kitchen.
You’re not in the mood to cook tonight, so you grab a protein bar out of the cupboard and start boiling the kettle while you check your phone for what feels like the hundredth time.
DCRunner00: Sounds boring.
DCRunner00: Do you get days off, though?
You drop a teabag into your mug before typing out a reply.
You: Sort of.
You: But if my boss calls, I answer.
He replies instantly again.
DCRunner00: I’m starting to think you secretly enjoy being overworked.
You: I think I’d get bored otherwise.
You pour the boiling water into your mug and watch his next reply pop up.
DCRunner00: That sounds suspiciously unhealthy.
You: Probably.
What about you? What do you do?
You tuck your phone into your pocket, then grab your tea and protein bar and head to the couch. There’s nothing you’re really interested in watching—since you don’t usually have the time to keep up with any shows—so you turn on the nightly news before grabbing your laptop and pulling up a new browser.
He’s already replied by the time you log in.
DCRunner00: Run.
DCRunner00: Read.
DCRunner00: Annoy people professionally.
You: That sounds made up.
You open your protein bar.
DCRunner00: It mostly is.
DCRunner00: So your boss actually calls you outside work hours?
You hesitate at the sudden redirection. Most men on dating apps prefer talking about themselves. Their jobs, hobbies, gym routines, childhood dogs—whatever makes them seem interesting—but this guy seems far more interested in observing than being observed.
You type out a vague response.
You: Sometimes.
You: Occupational hazard, I guess.
DCRunner00: And you always answer?
You: Pretty much.
You: He’d only call if it mattered.
His next reply takes almost two minutes to come through.
DCRunner00: Hm.
DCRunner00: I’m starting to think your boss gets more attention than I do.
You almost choke on your tea.
That’s... weird.
Maybe you have mentioned your boss a little more than strictly necessary, but he’s the one asking all the questions about your job. It’s a little hard not to mention your boss when your life practically revolves around him—in more ways than you care to admit.
You: Jealous already, Running Man?
DCRunner00: Should I be?
You sit up straighter, suddenly a little nauseous.
You: I think you’re spending too much time talking to strangers online.
DCRunner00: Maybe.
DCRunner00: You still replied, though.
“Okay,” you say, startling Leia who was half-asleep on the other end of the couch. “That’s enough.”
You: I’m going to sleep.
You: Try not to spiral while I’m gone.
His last message pops up just before you shut your laptop.
DCRunner00: No promises.
WEDNESDAY 8:10AM
“Come on,” you mutter, mashing the elevator button for the doors to close.
You’re a whole thirty minutes earlier than usual this morning. You didn’t even make a coffee in your travel mug before running out the door. You just woke up, brushed your teeth, checked your messages—and decided you needed to talk to Garcia immediately.
“Hey—woah.” Reid steps out of your way as you rush into the bullpen. “You’re early.”
You drop your bag on your desk and quickly shrug off your jacket.
“Is Garcia in yet?”
He frowns slightly. “I think so. Why?”
You pull your laptop out of your bag.
“I just—I need her.”
You’re already walking away before he can press any further, moving back through the bullpen with your laptop hugged against your chest. You’re just about to round the corner toward the elevators when—
“Hey—” Hotch stops short just as you nearly run into him. “Slow down. You alright?”
His hand is hovering near your waist—not quite touching, but close enough for you to feel its warmth.
You blink up at him. “Sorry. Yeah. Uh—totally fine. Just going to see Garcia about... a case.”
His brows pull together slightly.
“Alright, well, Garcia’s not going anywhere,” he says evenly. “Take a breath.”
You nod slowly, already stepping around him.
“Right,” you mutter. “Breathing. Got it. Sorry, sir.”
You can almost swear you see the corner of his mouth lift—but then the elevator dings behind you, and you have to hurry to slip through the doors before they slide shut.
It feels like an eternity before they finally open again, but once they do you practically sprint down the hall to Garcia’s lair and burst through the door without warning.
She startles so hard she nearly drops her coffee. “Sweet mother of encryption, knock first!”
“Sorry,” you say, breathless. “I need you.”
“Well, obviously,” she mutters, checking her shirt for any spills. “I’m the backbone of this entire operation.”
You drop down into the spare chair and open your laptop, setting it on her desk.
“You cannot judge me for what I’m about to show you.”
She glances up, brows lifting. “Oh. So this is serious?”
You grimace. “I don’t know.”
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Slightly less reassuring than I was hoping for. Tell me what’s happened.”
You take a deep breath, then let it out in a rush.
“You remember the dating profile you set up for me?”
She nods.
“Alright, so, I won’t lie, I haven’t really met anyone on there yet, but I check the messages occasionally. When I’ve got time, you know? And I don’t have a whole lot of ongoing conversations, but this one guy sent me something that was kind of funny, so I responded, and the conversation was pretty normal for the most part. I couldn’t reply all that quickly, but he didn’t seem to mind.”
You shift awkwardly, scooting your chair closer to her desk.
“Nothing really felt out of place until—well, he wouldn’t talk about himself much, which is strange because most people on dating apps are usually more interested in presenting themselves than gathering information. He kept asking questions about my job, actually. Not that my job is on my profile, but he was really curious about my schedule, or—I guess—lack of schedule.”
You wince.
“So now that I think about it, that was probably the second sign something might be off. Or maybe he just wanted to meet up, I don’t know.”
You hesitate.
“But then he sent me this message at like... two a.m.”
She squints at the screen.
DCRunner00: Bet you answer your boss faster than you answer anyone else.
“Mmm. Nope. Don’t love that,” she says, shaking her head. “That is not a normal amount of emotional investment for a stranger.”
You sink back in your chair. “That’s what I thought.”
She starts scrolling back through the messages.
“Have you told Hotch?”
“Nope.”
She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “You answered way too fast for that to be a normal response.”
“Because the answer is no,” you say firmly, leaning forward again.
“Mm-hm.” She keeps scrolling. “Okay, well... technically this could still be nothing. He could just be some lonely basement cryptid with Wi-Fi and poor social skills.”
You groan, dragging both hands over your face.
“You do mention Hotch kind of a lot.”
Your head snaps up. “He’s my boss.”
Garcia gives you a long look.
“Okay,” she says slowly. “Sure.”
“Garcia.”
“I’m just saying, if a man talked about a woman this much online, we’d all be making faces.”
You point at the screen. “Focus.”
“Right. Yes. Creepy internet man. Sorry.”
Her expression settles into something more focused as she turns back toward her array of monitors.
“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. Don’t block him yet.”
You sigh. “I don’t love that idea.”
“Neither do I, babycakes, but if he’s routing through the website normally, I might be able to pull connection data if we keep him talking long enough.”
You frown. “In English?”
She gives you another look. “Timestamps, login patterns, regional pings, possible VPN usage, device signatures if he slips up—basic digital stalking fun.”
“Oh, of course,” you say sarcastically. “Normal stuff.”
“For me, it is normal.” She points toward the laptop. “Now reply to him. Something casual. I want to see if he responds immediately again.”
Your fingers hover over the keys for a second before you type out your reply.
You: I thought I told you not to spiral.
He replies so fast that even Garcia flinches.
DCRunner00: Relax. It was a joke.
DCRunner00: Mostly.
She stares at the screen. “Okay, I officially don’t like him.”
You lean back in your chair again, nausea twisting low in your gut. “I feel sick.”
Garcia’s expression softens slightly. “Maybe you should tell—”
“No.”
She sighs quietly. “Okay. Fine. Can you keep replying from your phone?”
You nod.
“Good. Don’t overdo it, just enough to keep him engaged.” Her fingers start flying across the keyboard. “I’ll work my magic down here and call you if I find anything.”
You push yourself out of the chair, clutching your phone a little tighter.
“You’re the best, Pen.”
“I know.” She waves a hand without looking away from her screens. “Now go pretend to be emotionally stable upstairs.”
By the time you get back to your desk, almost everyone is already in the conference room ready for the morning briefing. You drop your phone beside your keyboard—too anxious to have it with you during the meeting—then quickly unpack your things and grab a notebook before making your way up.
Reid nods at you from his usual seat, gesturing to the empty one beside him.
“Hey,” you mutter as you drop down next to him.
His brows pull together. “Everything alright?”
You nod. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll explain later.”
Hotch keeps the morning briefing quick. He goes over yesterday’s court hearing, outlines the Fairfax briefing package in case it escalates into an active investigation, then gets JJ to run through the highest priority consultation requests.
You spend most of it toying with a loose thread on the cuff of your blouse. You’re pretty sure it’s the first briefing in years where you haven’t spent at least part of it staring at Hotch instead of your notes—and when the room finally relaxes and everyone starts to filter out, Reid turns to you.
“Okay, now I’m concerned,” he says.
You glance at him. “Why?”
“You didn’t look at Hotch once during that entire meeting.”
You roll your eyes. “Spence—”
“Something must be seriously wrong.”
You let out a long exhale, glancing briefly around the almost empty room. Only Morgan and Rossi are left, halfway to the door, deep in discussion about something that happened at the court hearing yesterday afternoon.
“Okay,” you say quietly, turning back to Reid. “I’m having some... trouble, I guess, with a guy.”
His brows shoot up. “A guy—”
“Online,” you add quickly.
He tilts his head. “I’m confused again.”
You sigh. “Remember that dating profile Garcia set up for me?”
“You mean the profile you allowed Garcia to create as part of your increasingly unsustainable performative dating strategy?”
You glare at him. “Yes. That one.”
“Then yes, I remember it very clearly.”
“Well,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I had this guy message me a couple days ago. It was normal at first but now it’s gotten... weird. So, I’m getting Garcia to look into it.”
His forehead creases. “Have you told—”
“No.”
“Maybe you should—”
“I said no.”
“Alright.” He raises both hands in surrender. “Okay. I’m dropping it. It’s just…”
You narrow your eyes at him.
“Well, statistically speaking, the majority of uncomfortable online interactions don’t escalate into actual stalking behaviour. Most people displaying premature emotional fixation online are socially isolated rather than violent.”
You lift a brow, waiting for the punchline.
“However,” he adds, “cyberstalking offenders also tend to develop parasocial attachments disproportionately quickly because the perceived emotional intimacy bypasses a lot of normal social barriers, which means escalation patterns can become highly personalised in a very short period of time.”
You stare at him.
“In cases where the fixation becomes grievance-oriented, the offender is usually highly organised rather than impulsive, so the behaviour tends to be significantly more deliberate and psychologically targeted.”
He pauses, frowning faintly.
“That was supposed to be reassuring.”
“…Thanks, Reid,” you mutter, turning away from him slowly. “Now I feel so much better.”
When you get back to your desk, you decide it’s time to reply again. You grab your phone and bring up the messages, taking a minute to think about what to type—knowing Garcia will be seeing the conversation too.
You type out the only mildly casual response you can think of.
You: You’re weird.
He replies just as fast as usual.
DCRunner00: You disappear a lot.
You: Workaholic, remember.
You: I told you my schedule was chaos.
You’re about to turn your phone over on your desk when a different notification pops up—from Garcia.
Garcia: If this is your version of flirting, baby girl, I think I just figured out why you’re still single.
You snort softly, typing out a quick reply.
You: Trust me, that’s not the reason.
Garcia: So there IS a reason?
You: Shh. I’m working.
Garcia: Boo!
You huff another quiet laugh as you turn your phone over, nudging it toward the edge of your desk in the hopes that you might be able to focus on work rather than creepy internet man for at least a few hours.
It doesn’t work.
Barely half an hour later, you lift your phone to check for another notification—but there’s nothing there. You pull up the message thread again and scroll up, checking the timestamps to see if he’s ever gone quiet on you before—but he hasn’t. Not really. So you type another message.
You: You went quiet. Should I be concerned?
It’s a calculated move. If he’s paying attention to response patterns—and at this point you’re pretty sure he is—then following up first helps maintain the illusion that nothing has changed. No sudden distance. No obvious discomfort. No reason for him to think you’re pulling away.
If he is dangerous, the last thing you want is for him to feel rejected.
An hour later, Rossi drops a legal pad onto your desk, asking you to take another look at a witness timeline that doesn’t feel right—which keeps you occupied for a good forty-five minutes. Then Morgan leans over the partition between your desks, asking if you can translate Reid into English. That takes up another hour of your day, and by the time you grab your first afternoon coffee, you’ve got three notifications.
One is a missed call from Garcia. The other two are from creepy internet man.
DCRunner00: Depends. Are you worried about me?
DCRunner00: Blue looks good on you, by the way.
Your stomach drops. “Oh my God.”
You immediately call Garcia back.
She answers on half a ring. “Are you wearing blue?”
“You saw me this morning.”
“I can’t remember,” she says. “Are you?”
You drag a hand through your hair. “Yes.”
“Holy shit,” she whispers. “You’ve got to tell—”
“No.”
“Are you insane?”
“Maybe, but—” You squeeze your eyes shut for a second. “Okay, just—hear me out. Blue is a statistically safe guess. It’s a neutral professional colour with high frequency in workplace attire, especially in government buildings.”
Garcia goes quiet for a second.
“And does this unsub know you work in a government building?”
“Don’t call him that,” you snap. “And—well, kind of. I didn’t tell him exactly, but I said... government adjacent.”
“I swear to God,” she mutters, “if I have to identify your body next week, I’m going to kill you.”
You press your free hand against your forehead.
“You won’t,” you say firmly. “Alright? We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
Garcia scoffs loudly.
“Seriously,” you insist. “It could still be nothing. A weird coincidence, maybe an awkward guy with boundary issues and too much free time. We deal with actual predators every day. I can handle a few creepy messages.”
The line goes quiet again—then she sighs.
“Why are you so against telling Hotch?”
“Because I don’t want to bother him,” you say quickly. “We’ve got a quiet week, he finally seems slightly less stressed, and I don’t want to cause a whole fuss over something that might turn out to be nothing.”
She sighs again, louder this time. “Fine. I won’t go to Hotch.”
Your shoulders sag. “Thank you.”
“On one condition,” she adds. “I’m sleeping over tonight.”
You nearly choke. “What?”
“Non-negotiable.”
“Penelope, that’s insane.”
“No,” Garcia says firmly, “what’s insane is you trying to casually explain away potential stalking behaviour while actively refusing to inform your unit chief.”
“He is not stalking me,” you protest, keeping your voice low.
“Mm-hm.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“And yet,” Garcia says, “if you die, I become morally complicit because I knew about creepy internet man and failed to intervene.”
You frown. “…Morally complicit?”
“Accessory to murder-adjacent,” she corrects. “And my guilty conscience requires eight hours of sleep minimum, so congratulations. We’re having a slumber party.”
You let out a long sigh. “Okay. Fine.”
She hums, satisfied.
“I need to reply to him again.”
“Well, don’t ask me,” she mutters. “You’re the one who’s apparently fluent in creepy internet freak.”
You laugh despite yourself. “Thanks, Pen.”
“Mm-hm. And just so we’re clear, tonight we are watching wholesome romantic comedies and eating enough sugar to kill a Victorian child.”
“I was actually thinking psychological thriller marathon.”
“Absolutely not.”
You smile faintly, leaning back in your chair. “Fine. Romantic comedies it is.”
“Good,” Garcia says firmly. “Now hang up before I change my mind and march upstairs to Hotch’s office myself.”
You roll your eyes as you hang up, then open the message thread again. You don’t have to think too hard about what to type. You don’t want to escalate or accuse him, but you need him to stay engaged. You want him to explain himself to see how he reframes the behaviour.
You: Lucky guess.
The next few hours slip by in a strange blur of routine tasks and fragmented conversations.
At about three o’clock, Prentiss drops a file on your desk and asks if you can double-check a victim timeline while she’s stuck on the phone with Chicago. Then Rossi calls you into his office to sanity-check a profile theory he’s working through out loud—which means fifteen minutes of listening to him argue with himself while you sit there trying not to focus on Hotch’s voice through the wall.
When you finally get back to your desk, Reid spends twenty minutes walking you through a probability model nobody asked for but everyone somehow ends up listening to anyway. He only stops when Hotch appears, carrying a stack of files from the Richardson case he wants Morgan to look over before he signs them off—and for the first time in God knows how long, you don’t stare shamelessly at his ass as he walks out of the bullpen.
By six p.m., JJ and Rossi are gone, Prentiss is helping Morgan with the Richardson files, and Reid is building a tiny tower out of paperclips while he reads over a file Rossi dropped on his desk before he left.
At exactly six-fifteen, your desk phone rings.
“Hello?”
“Pack your things, baby girl. Your government-issued sleepover is about to begin.”
You snort softly. “Alright. I’ll see you soon.”
You hang up the phone and start clearing your desk, organising paperwork into piles and packing away stationery while you wait for your computer to shut down.
“See who soon?” Reid asks.
You glance at him. “Garcia.”
He tilts his head.
“She’s staying over tonight.”
His brows lift. “Because of your stalk—”
“Girl’s night,” you interrupt, eyes widening. “That’s all.”
His gaze narrows. “Should I be worried?”
You scoff. “About me? Never.”
You slide your arms into your jacket then finally pick up your phone, finding two new notifications from creepy internet man waiting for you.
“Really?” Reid asks, turning his chair to face you. “Because you’ve spent most of the day staring at your phone like it’s a bomb, you spent most of Rossi’s profile discussion peeling the label off your water bottle instead of contributing, and you reorganised the same stack of paperwork three separate times.”
You pause mid-motion.
“Also,” he continues, “you usually correct Morgan when he misquotes case statistics and today you let him do it twice, which honestly might be the most concerning—”
“Okay!” you cut in quickly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Good talk. Love the observational skills. Bye.”
He doesn’t say anything else as you walk away, murmuring goodbyes to Morgan and Prentiss as you pass, but you can still feel him watching you. You’re just about to press the button for the elevator when—
“Agent.”
You stop automatically, turning to find Hotch with a file tucked under one arm and that signature frown etched between his brows. Only this time it isn’t frustrated or disapproving—it’s curious.
You force a small smile. “Sir.”
His eyes move over your face briefly. “You alright?”
You nod once. “Of course.”
He takes a step forward, his voice dropping lower. “You sure?”
Your breath catches.
He’s close now. Too close. You have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. You can smell his cologne, feel his warmth, count the beauty marks dotted across his cheek.
“You’ve seemed distracted today,” he says.
You swallow hard. “Uh—no. No. Sorry, I just—I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
His brows draw a little tighter, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else—press harder, maybe—but then seems to think better of it.
“Alright,” he murmurs. “Get some rest tonight.”
Then he nods once and steps back, his jaw tightening for just a second before he turns away.
You don’t move immediately. You can’t. Your mind is reeling, your pulse is still hammering, and your breath is caught somewhere between your ribs while your lungs try to remember how to work.
“Hello?” Garcia calls from behind you. “I cannot hold these doors forever, babycakes.”
You shake your head. “Shit. Sorry.”
You turn and hurry into the elevator, slipping in beside her just before the doors slide shut.
For a moment, neither of you says anything.
Then—
“So, that thing you said earlier about there being a reason you’re still single…”
You shut your eyes. “Penelope.”
“I’m just saying,” she continues lightly, “unless I hallucinated whatever just happened in that hallway, I’m starting to develop theories.”
You ignore her, watching the numbers on the elevator slowly descend like counting down the days you have before the entire team figures out your secret. Because if this guy really is a creep, if you do have to tell Hotch, then it’s only a matter of time before the BAU are dissecting your dating life and realising what a ruse it really is.
And you know better than anyone that once these profilers start looking too closely at something, they rarely stop until they’ve pulled it apart completely.
The second you step through the door to your apartment, Garcia rushes past you to sweep the place. Leia startles almost immediately, running from the couch to your bedroom while Garcia complains about the fact that Leia is the only cat she’s ever met that doesn’t like her.
“Leia hates everyone,” you tell her, kicking your shoes off by the door. “Even me.”
Garcia just rolls her eyes, continuing from room to room to check the window locks and balcony doors.
Once she’s satisfied that everything is secure, she sets her laptop up on your kitchen counter and starts running a program that looks like hieroglyphics to you.
“Have you seen his latest messages?” she asks.
You shake your head, setting your phone on the counter. “No.”
She opens your laptop and logs into the dating site—because apparently she knows your password now.
DCRunner00: Maybe.
DCRunner00: Or maybe you’re just easier to read than you think.
You type out the first response you can think of, not wanting to seem like you’re overanalysing this.
You: Or maybe I’m just not trying so hard to be mysterious.
Garcia then spends the next ten minutes trying to explain her process to you in terms that almost make sense. So far she’s managed to narrow him down to a general region through login patterns and routing behaviour, but she still can’t lock onto a direct IP address. Not because she can’t—apparently that part would actually be pretty easy—but because doing it properly would mean running requests through systems that leave a trail. And right now, this definitely isn’t an official investigation.
“The second I start pulling the fun federal strings,” Garcia says, typing furiously, “there’s paperwork, access logs, oversight, and approximately twelve thousand ways for this to become a whole thing.”
You lean against the counter. “We don’t want that.”
“Not yet.” Her expression sharpens slightly. “Also, if creepy internet man is more sophisticated than he seems, there’s always a chance he’s monitoring for targeted tracing attempts. If he realises someone’s looking too closely at him before we know who he is, he could disappear completely.”
Your stomach twists. “Or escalate.”
You spend the next couple of hours keeping creepy internet man engaged while Garcia rambles tech jargon that makes less sense the longer the night wears on. At some point, you order pizza, then you migrate to the couch, and eventually you both end up sitting through the credits of Two Weeks Notice while waiting for one last reply in the hopes that he might finally answer something about himself.
DCRunner00: Refreshing
DCRunner00: Most people hide too much.
You: Depends what they’re trying to hide.
DCRunner00: What are you trying to hide?
You: Besides the fact that I’m exhausted? Nothing.
DCRunner00: You seem distracted tonight.
You: Long day.
DCRunner00: I noticed.
You: How was yours?
You wait until almost midnight before finally deciding to call it a night.
Garcia checks all the windows and doors again while you brush your teeth and change into pyjamas. When you step back out of your bedroom to say goodnight, Garcia is trying her hardest to lure Leia onto the couch with her, but Leia is very stubbornly curled up beneath the TV unit.
“Night, Pen,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Thanks again... for everything.”
“Night, gorgeous,” she calls, peering over the back of the couch. “Wake me up if you hear literally anything suspicious. Or if Leia finally decides it’s my time.”
You laugh softly, blinking slowly as you turn back into your room and fall face first into bed.
THURSDAY 6:45AM
You’re not sure whether to be relieved or concerned when you wake up to no new messages from creepy internet man. He hasn’t gone quiet for this long before—but if he is just a normal, slightly awkward guy with boundary issues and an internet connection, well... it’s not that hard to believe he might just be sleeping.
Garcia is already up making coffee by the time you step out of your room, trying to bribe Leia out from under the couch with a tube of tuna paste.
The second she sees you, she jumps up and launches into another long-winded explanation about login activity and movement patterns across different access points. Apparently, creepy internet man logged in from three different geographical locations over the course of a few hours last night—which is normal, right? That means he was out doing normal human things, not just lurking in his mother’s basement, stalking women online.
Garcia isn’t entirely convinced that him moving locations is enough to get him off the hook as the BAU’s next unsub, but it at least shuts her up until you’re both back at the office.
“Hey,” Reid says as soon as you walk into the bullpen. “You haven’t been murdered.”
You frown slightly. “Good morning to you too, Spence.”
Morgan glances up from the file on his desk. “Uh—why are we getting murdered?”
Reid gestures vaguely in your direction. “Because she’s potentially being cyberstalked by a—”
“Oh, wow, look at the time,” you interrupt, glaring at Reid. “Wouldn’t it be such a shame if we all started minding our own business right about now.”
Prentiss turns in her chair, brows raised. “Cyberstalked?”
“Nobody is cyberstalking anybody,” you say as you drop into your chair. “And nobody’s getting murdered—but great start to the morning, everyone. Love the energy. Now leave me alone.”
Morgan chuckles quietly. “Damn. Thought you said you got laid last weekend.”
Your hands slip off the desk as you try to pull yourself closer.
“Technically,” Reid says, “she only implied it by refusing to answer Garcia’s question during Monday morning’s briefing.”
“Ah.” Morgan leans back in his chair. “I knew this was a drought issue.”
You scowl at him. “A drought issue?”
“Statistically speaking,” Reid adds, “people experiencing prolonged romantic or sexual dissatisfaction often display lower frustration tolerance and increased agitation in familiar social environments.”
Morgan looks at him. “Man, just say she needs to get laid.”
“Oh my God,” you snap. “I do not need to get laid. I am having a completely normal amount of sex already, thank you very much—and frankly I think it’s deeply inappropriate that you’re all this invested in whether or not I’m orgasming regularly.”
Reid tilts his head. “You’re having sex?”
Morgan’s brows shoot up, Prentiss chokes on her coffee, and you open your mouth to fire back at him when—
Someone clears their throat behind you.
Heat crawls violently up your neck—but you don’t turn around. You can’t.
“Briefing room. Five minutes,” Hotch says, his voice dangerously even. “JJ’s got an update on the custodial interview with Wallace.”
Morgan presses a fist against his mouth, trying—and failing—to smother the strangled sound of laughter.
Very slowly, you turn in your chair.
Hotch is standing at the edge of the bullpen with a coffee in one hand and a file in the other. His expression is almost perfectly composed, but there’s something dangerous lurking beneath it—something suspiciously close to amusement in the tightness of his mouth.
“Be right there, sir,” you blurt, lifting two fingers to your forehead in the most ill-timed attempt at a salute the FBI has ever seen.
Hotch just looks at you, the muscle in his jaw jumping once before he turns away.
You want to die.
The second his office door clicks shut behind him, Morgan drops his fist and smacks his palm flat against the desk with a choked laugh.
“Oh, you are never recovering from that,” Prentiss mutters, smirking behind her coffee cup.
Morgan leans back in his chair, grinning. “Baby girl, that was painful to watch.”
You drop your head into your hands.
“You somehow escalated the situation at every possible opportunity,” Reid says thoughtfully.
“I hate you all,” you mumble into your palms.
You spend the next half hour with your nose buried in your notebook, avoiding eye contact with the entire team while JJ explains the month-long back-and-forth that it took to finally get approval for the Wallace interview.
Apparently, the prison is limiting the interview to a single hour and reserving the right to terminate it early if the inmate becomes uncooperative—which Rossi thinks is less about policy and more about Wallace trying to dictate the terms of the interaction.
It’s not ideal, especially considering you were the one who convinced Hotch to push for the interview before Wallace is transferred to death row. His case was one of the first you ever studied during the BAU training programme, and there isn’t much you wouldn’t give to pick the sociopath’s brains. One hour with him feels dangerously short—that is, assuming Hotch actually picks you to be in the interview with him.
“We don’t have enough time to waste managing personalities in the room,” Hotch says, gathering the files in front of him. “I’ll decide on a second agent and send out the interview schedule later today.”
Chairs start scraping back almost immediately, files and notebooks snapping shut as everyone gathers their things and starts filtering out of the room—but you don’t move. You stay firmly planted in your seat, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of your cheek while you debate whether to follow Hotch into his office and ask to be part of the interview. You don’t even have to be asking the questions, you just want to be there. You were the one pushing for it in the first place.
But then your brain very helpfully reminds you that Aaron Hotchner heard you say the word orgasming less than an hour ago and suddenly, being on death row yourself feels infinitely preferable to making eye contact with your unit chief.
“You alright?” Reid asks, lingering beside you.
You sigh heavily, finally closing your notebook. “Yep. Just thinking about how I’ll probably have to fake my own death and change my name after this morning.”
He shrugs. “Hotch probably isn’t even thinking about it anymore.”
You glance up at him hopefully.
“Morgan definitely is, though.”
You roll your eyes, letting out another resigned sigh as you stand up and follow him out of the briefing room.
The rest of the morning manages to pass without incident. You stay chained to your desk, reviewing reports and processing any files that come your way while very deliberately not glancing up any time Hotch steps out of his office. At around eleven, Morgan and JJ head out to the cafe down the street and come back with coffees for the whole team. Then there’s a printer jam that gives the rest of the office a rare glimpse at just how angry Emily Prentiss can get when frustrated.
It isn’t until just before midday that you finally get up to go to the bathroom, and when you return to your desk, there’s one new notification in your inbox.
From: Aaron Hotchner
Subject: Wallace Interview
You’re with me next Thursday. We leave at 0700.
Your stomach flips.
“Wow,” Reid says, suddenly standing right beside your desk. “He picked you pretty quickly.”
You shoot him a warning look. “Spence.”
“I’m just saying, he usually deliberates longer.”
You glance back at the screen, rereading the first five words that make your pulse skip a little faster.
“You and Hotch do work unusually well together in confined conversational environments,” Reid adds.
You turn back to him, frowning.
He tilts his head. “That sounded more suggestive than I intended.”
You open your mouth to tell him how deeply unhelpful he’s being when your phone buzzes twice against your desk—like it does several times a day, but something about it feels different this time. Wrong.
You reach for it slowly, your stomach twisting tighter as you turn it over.
Two new notifications from creepy internet man. The first since last night.
You open the message thread—and your stomach drops.
DCRunner00: [Image attachment]
DCRunner00: Did you and your friend have fun last night?
The image is of your apartment building. It’s grainy, slightly crooked, clearly taken from somewhere across the street—but your living room windows are unmistakable. Warm light glowing through the glass. The blurred silhouette of someone inside.
Ice floods your bloodstream.
You stop breathing.
“Is that... your apartment?” Reid asks, leaning over your shoulder.
You don’t answer him. You can’t.
The bullpen dissolves into white noise around you.
Until—
“I’m done!” Garcia’s voice cuts through the static. “I can’t do this anymore!”
She’s marching right toward you, your laptop—that she’d still been monitoring—tucked under one arm.
Reid gasps. “Wait. Is that—”
Morgan straightens in his chair. “What’s happening?”
“Hotch’s office,” Garcia says, her expression dangerously stern as she stops beside your desk. “Now.”
You nod slowly, your shoes almost slipping against the carpet as you push your chair back. Reid steps aside just enough to let you stand, but before he can get too far, you reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist, silently dragging him with you as you follow Garcia back through the bullpen.
Hotch glances up the second Garcia pushes open his office door.
“What’s going on?”
His tone is calm, automatic, already slipping into that low, calculated cadence he uses when he’s trying to talk someone down from the ledge. His gaze moves from her to you—and something in his expression shifts. Hardens. That muscle in his jaw ticking just once before he turns back to Garcia.
“What happened?” he asks, sharper now.
Garcia crosses the room quickly, opening your laptop and sitting it on his desk while you hover uselessly in the doorway with Reid still caught in your grip.
Hotch glances at the screen, his eyes flicking through the messages.
Then he looks back up—right at you—and something unreadable settles across his face. Something dangerous.
“Who sent this?”
Garcia spends the next five minutes explaining the entire situation at hyper speed while you just... stand there, leaning slightly against Reid like the whole world has tilted on its axis.
It’s funny how you can spend years building a career around finding bad people. Thinking like them. Predicting them. Profiling them. But the moment something happens to you—something real—that’s when all the theory suddenly stops feeling theoretical. And maybe it’s because you know exactly what people like this are capable of, or how quickly situations like this can escalate once someone decides they’re emotionally invested in you.
Or maybe it’s just the horrifying realisation that some part of you knew where this was heading all along. And you still didn’t do anything about it until now. Not until you put yourself—and your friend—in danger.
“Get everyone in the briefing room,” Hotch says the second Garcia finishes. “Now.”
Garcia nods once before slipping back out the door, and only then do you finally let go of Reid’s wrist—making a mental note to apologise later for the excessive physical contact.
Hotch’s eyes drop down briefly, following the movement almost automatically. Something tightens in his expression for half a second before his attention snaps back to the laptop still open in front of him.
“Reid,” he says. “Print the entire message history and document everything. Full timeline, screenshots, attachments—all of it. I want copies ready for the team in ten.”
You swallow hard. “The—the entire message history?”
“Yes,” Hotch says simply. “Every message.”
Could this day get any worse?
Fifteen minutes later, you’re back in the briefing room with the entire team flipping through printed copies of your dating profile and messages. It almost feels like an out-of-body experience. Like one of those mortifying dreams where you watch everything unfold from above without any real ability to stop it.
“Okay,” Prentiss says. “Where do we start?”
“Victimology,” Morgan answers immediately—then he glances at you. “Sorry, baby girl.”
You wave him off. “Reid’s been profiling me all week. Go for it.”
There’s a quiet ripple of laughter around the table, but Hotch barely blinks. He’s sitting on the opposite side, between Prentiss and JJ, with his arms folded tightly across his chest and gaze fixed on the copies spread out in front of him like he’s trying very hard not to look directly at you.
“We need to be careful building a victimology this early,” he says evenly. “Especially considering how well we know the victim. Personal familiarity creates bias.”
Reid tilts his head. “Normally, yes. But stalking crimes are often highly individualised.” He starts flipping through the printed messages as he talks. “Statistically speaking, stalking victims are usually targeted for a very specific reason. The motivation is generally rooted in either resentment, fixation, revenge, or romantic obsession.”
You grimace. “Fantastic.”
“Most victims also know their stalkers,” Reid continues. “Approximately seventy-five percent of stalking cases involve some form of prior relationship or perceived emotional connection.”
“Okay,” JJ says carefully, looking toward you. “Is there anyone you can think of who might hold a grudge against you? Someone you arrested, rejected, testified against—anything like that?”
You snort quietly. “Does every criminal I’ve ever interviewed count?”
The room goes still for half a second.
“Wait,” Prentiss says, sitting forward slightly. “Actually, that makes sense.”
Hotch’s eyes flick up as Prentiss pushes one of the printouts into the middle of the table, tapping the page.
“This escalation happened fast. Less than a week. That’s not somebody slowly building emotional trust from scratch—that’s somebody who already came into this interaction emotionally invested.”
“Or angry,” Morgan adds.
“Exactly,” Prentiss says. “He doesn’t lash out until she has Garcia over. That’s jealousy. Possessiveness.”
You sink lower in your chair.
“And he starts reacting every time she brings up her boss,” Rossi says, flipping through the printouts. “That’s territorial behaviour. He’s fixating on a prominent male figure in her life.”
“Not the only one fixating on him,” Reid murmurs beside you.
You elbow him immediately.
“Ow.”
Hotch glances up sharply. “Something to add, Reid?”
Reid straightens. “Uh—no. No, I think Rossi covered it.”
Hotch’s eyes narrow slightly, like he knows there’s something he’s missing, but he lets it go.
“Garcia,” he says instead, “tell me you found something useful.”
“Oh, I found things,” Garcia says immediately, the rapid clacking of her keyboard echoing loudly through the conference room speaker. “Deeply unsettling things. Our creepy little internet goblin has been very busy.”
Prentiss frowns slightly, mouthing ‘internet goblin’ across the table to JJ.
“Okay, so—profile was created nine days ago using a burner email and a VPN bouncing between three different states, which normally would make me want to set my computer on fire, but our boy got sloppy.”
Hotch leans forward slightly. “How sloppy?”
“Sloppy enough that one login pinged off a public Wi-Fi network less than six blocks from her apartment last night,” she says. “And before anybody asks, yes, I’m already pulling traffic cams.”
Hotch nods once, already shifting into command mode.
“Morgan, Prentiss—start canvassing within a ten-block radius of her apartment. Garcia will feed you anything useful from the traffic cams. JJ, coordinate with local PD and see if there’ve been any complaints of suspicious activity in the area. Peeping, prowlers, stalking complaints—anything that fits this escalation pattern. Rossi, start pulling names from old cases. Anybody with a history of fixation, stalking behaviour, or inappropriate attachment to investigators. Garcia, keep digging and keep me posted.”
Everyone starts moving immediately, papers shuffling and chairs scraping back as the room shifts into motion.
“I want to help,” you say suddenly. “This is my mess, let me fix it.”
“You can help,” he says evenly, “by going home, locking your doors, and staying there until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”
You open your mouth to argue.
“I mean it,” he adds, voice low.
“I’ll take her,” Reid offers immediately.
“No,” Hotch says, gathering the printouts into one neat pile. “You go with Morgan and Prentiss.”
Then his eyes flick up, meeting yours.
“I’m taking her home.”
The next hour is one of the strangest of your life.
Hotch tells you to take your laptop back down to Garcia, who’s already in full FBI investigation mode—her screens covered in maps, metadata, CCTV stills, and enlarged screenshots of your own dating profile staring back at you in horrifying definition. When you finally make it back to your desk, Rossi spends twenty straight minutes walking you through every violent offender you’ve interviewed in the last three years, forcing you to revisit dozens of interactions you’d long since filed away as routine.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, Morgan drops a schematic of your apartment building onto your desk and starts questioning you about entrances, exits, blind spots, and security cameras while Reid quietly replaces the coffee you forgot existed an hour ago. It isn’t until Morgan leaves and JJ immediately takes his place beside you that you realise nobody has let you out of their sight for more than a few minutes at a time.
Then, finally, Hotch steps out of his office—files in one hand and his go-bag in the other, like he fully intends on staying the night if necessary.
“Ready?” he asks, stopping beside your desk.
You stare at the go-bag for one long, deeply horrified second.
“Yep,” you manage, voice tight as you slowly push out of your chair.
Hotch drives. You don’t even try to argue. You just sit in the passenger seat with your knees pressed together and your heart beating out of your chest. It’s not like you haven’t been in the car with him before. You have, plenty of times. This just feels... different.
Neither of you speak until he cuts the engine in the parking garage of your building, and you have to try very hard not to dwell on the fact that he hadn’t asked for directions the whole way here.
“Wait,” he mutters before climbing out of the car.
He grabs his bag from the back, then moves around the car and opens your door.
It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to unbuckle your seatbelt—your hands are shaking and your pulse is still pounding hard enough to make you dizzy—but once you finally do, you slip out of the car and lead him toward the fire stairs.
He never leaves more than a foot of distance between you. Never checks his phone. Never glances down. He stays glued to your side like a real protection detail. And thanks to your avid and wildly inappropriate imagination, you’ve already mentally written an entire bodyguard romance plot starring Aaron Hotchner and yours truly by the time you finally reach your apartment door.
“I—uh—wasn’t really expecting company,” you say as you push the door open. “Sorry.”
The second you step inside, Leia leaps off the couch with a loud, rumbling trill—probably wondering why you’re home before dark for the first time in years.
Hotch pauses, his brow furrowing slightly. “You have a cat.”
You glance back at him as you kick your shoes off and nudge them out of the way. “Is that really the most surprising thing you’ve learned about me today?”
He watches Leia for another second before glancing back at you. “It’s unexpected.”
You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skips when he quietly toes off his shoes beside the door without even asking. Like he already expects to stay awhile.
Leia chirrups again as she pads through the living room toward you, no doubt about to demand an early dinner—until she catches sight of Hotch and abruptly stops short. Her ears flicker, her tail waving from side to side as she assesses the new man in her apartment.
Hotch crouches slightly, holding one hand out toward her.
“Oh, she doesn’t really like people,” you say quickly. “So don’t take it personally if she—”
Leia immediately walks straight up to him. She sniffs his hand once before pressing directly into his palm with a loud purr rumbling through her entire body.
Your eyes go wide.
Traitor.
Hotch’s mouth twitches faintly as Leia leans harder into his hand.
Oh my God. Are you jealous of your cat right now?
He gives Leia one final scratch behind the ears before straightening, the softness in his expression fading almost immediately as he slips back into work mode. He scans the apartment briefly before setting the files down on your tiny dining table and shrugging his jacket off, draping it over the back of a chair.
You stand there for a second longer than you probably should, watching him move through your apartment with the same calm focus he brings to crime scenes and briefing rooms and interrogation tables. He checks the windows, the balcony doors, glances briefly—thank God—into your bedroom, then double-checks the locks on the front door.
The whole thing feels weirdly surreal. You’ve imagined Aaron Hotchner inside your apartment a thousand times in a thousand different ways—just not like this. And nothing you imagined could have possibly prepared you for the reality of it. The way everything feels so much smaller. Warmer. More exposed.
Every object in every room suddenly feels mortifyingly personal.
If he lingers long enough in your kitchen, he’s going to notice the unusually empty trash can and realise you survive almost entirely on caffeine and convenience. If he looks too closely at your bookshelf, he’s going to find an unhealthy collection of romance novels with more trigger warnings than plot points. And if he looks into your bedroom again and turns his head just a little more to the right, he’s going to see your vibrator sitting on the nightstand—and then you’ll actually have to fake your own death.
Because you’ve spent years carefully curating a version of yourself that keeps people from looking too closely. Flirty. Casual. Detached enough to joke about bad dates and hookups and sex without anybody ever realising that none of it means anything. It’s easier that way. Easier to let everyone assume your attention is scattered in every direction instead of fixed very specifically on the one person you absolutely cannot have.
But this?
This feels dangerously close to being found out.
The next couple of hours pass in strange, uneven waves of normalcy and low-grade psychological torture.
Hotch sits at your tiny dining table without complaint, dwarfing it as he hunches over files and asks careful questions about your routines, your neighbours, and whether anyone in the building has seemed overly interested in you recently. His phone rings a lot, which isn’t unusual, and every time he answers it you spend almost the entire conversation staring unashamed at the way his shirt pulls tight across his back when he reaches for another printout.
Which is wildly inappropriate considering the circumstances, but you can’t really help it. You’re strung out, on edge, and, as Morgan so helpfully pointed out this morning, severely under-fucked.
And Leia, unfortunately—but not unsurprisingly—remains no help whatsoever.
By seven o’clock she’s fully abandoned you in favour of draping herself across Hotch’s lap while he reviews new data from Garcia, completely oblivious to the fact that you haven’t been able to breathe normally since he walked through the door.
“Are you hungry?” you ask eventually, moving back into the kitchen as if you have anything in there to offer.
Hotch glances up from his laptop, one hand resting absently against Leia’s back while she purrs in his lap.
“I’m fine.”
You lean a hip against the kitchen counter, folding your arms tightly across your chest. “Any updates?”
He glances back down at his screen. “Garcia narrowed the traffic footage down to three vehicles that stayed in the area longer than they should have—Morgan and Prentiss are running the plates now. And Rossi’s pulling relatives connected to your previous cases. Family members who attended trials, sentencing hearings, interviews. Anyone who might’ve had access to your name outside the official reports.”
You nod slowly, silence settling again for a moment before you exhale sharply.
“Are you sure sitting here doing absolutely nothing is really the best use of me right now?”
His eyes flick back up, that signature Hotchner scowl set between his brows.
“You think this is nothing?”
His voice stays calm, but there’s something firmer underneath it now.
“You’ve spent the last four days being threatened, surveilled, and followed by someone we still haven’t identified,” he says. “Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid are out chasing leads because somebody targeted you. Rossi’s pulling case files because somebody targeted you. Garcia’s been at her desk for six straight hours because somebody targeted you.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“My job right now is making sure nothing happens to you,” he says quietly. “Let me do that.”
Your breath catches, something warm and uncomfortably familiar twisting in your chest as Aaron Hotchner just sits there watching you like he hasn’t said anything unusual at all.
Which, to him, maybe he hasn’t.
He’s just doing his job. Looking out for his team. He’s not here because he wants to be. He’s here because someone threatened one of his agents.
That’s all.
You clear your throat, pushing away from the counter before the silence stretches too long. “I’m—uh—I’m just going to shower quickly. If that’s alright.”
He nods once. “Want me to clear the—”
“No,” you say immediately. “God, no. No. It’s fine. Totally fine.”
His brows pull together slightly, confusion flickering briefly across his face before you turn and hurry into your bedroom, shutting the door a little harder than necessary behind you.
Then you take the longest shower known to mankind. You stand beneath the scalding spray for at least ten minutes before even touching anything. Then you scrub, exfoliate, shave, condition, rinse twice, and stand there for just a little longer before finally gathering the courage to step out. All the while trying desperately not to think about the fact that your unit chief is only two thin walls away while you’re dripping wet and completely naked.
You rummage through your dresser until you find an oversized sweater that isn’t totally threadbare and a clean pair of pyjama shorts. Technically, they’re just striped flannel pants you cut into shorts, but at least they’re not as short as the rest of your pyjama collection that definitely needs replacing.
If only you actually had time for things like shopping... and emotional stability.
“No, wait for Morgan before you approach,” Hotch says as you step quietly back into the living room, phone pressed against his ear while he paces slowly beside the dining table. “If the registration’s fake, I don’t want you making contact until we know exactly who’s inside.”
He pauses, expression sharpening slightly.
“Alright. Keep me updated.”
He lowers the phone slowly before looking over at you for the first time since you re-emerged—and for half a second, he visibly loses his train of thought. It’s only tiny. Barely there. Just a brief pause before his expression shutters back into place.
“Garcia tracked one of the vehicles from the traffic footage to a motel outside Arlington,” he says, glancing back down at the files scattered across the table. “The driver’s been masking his activity through multiple VPNs, so she couldn’t pull a clean trace from the motel Wi-Fi, but only one room in the motel was actively using the network.”
Your stomach tightens.
“The name on the reservation was fake,” he continues, “but the room was paid for using a credit card belonging to Daniel Mercer.”
The name hits you immediately.
“Ethan Mercer’s brother,” you say quietly.
Hotch nods. “Rossi confirmed it about twenty minutes ago. Morgan and Prentiss are waiting for local PD before they move in.”
You nod slowly, your pulse fluttering anxiously in your throat as you move toward the kitchen. Not because you actually need anything in there, but because standing still feels almost impossible right now.
“Ethan barely spoke during the trial,” you murmur, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter. “I don’t think I ever even met his brother.”
“You wouldn’t need to,” Hotch says, already gathering the files into a neat pile. “People build attachments to investigators without ever interacting directly. Especially when they’re looking for someone to blame.”
Your skin prickles. “You really think it’s him?”
“It fits,” Hotch replies evenly. “Established emotional investment, personal motive, no prior record. Which explains the inconsistency. The escalation without follow-through. The long gaps between contact attempts. He knows enough to be cautious, but not enough to stay controlled.”
He straightens, turning back toward you—and for the briefest second, his eyes drop to your bare legs before snapping back up to your face almost immediately.
He clears his throat. “This probably isn’t something he’s done before. But his brother has.”
The apartment falls quiet again after that. Hotch returns to collecting files while you stare absently toward the dark balcony doors, your pulse still refusing to settle beneath your skin.
“Well,” you mutter eventually, gripping the edge of the counter to hoist yourself up. “On the bright side, I still think I’ve dated worse.”
The joke leaves your lips lightly enough, the same way they always do—easy, detached, halfway between genuine and ironic so nobody ever pauses long enough to look too closely.
Except this time Hotch does pause.
“Why do you do that?”
You frown. “Do what?”
“Deflect.” He straightens again, one hand still holding a stack of printouts. “Every time something gets too serious, you make a joke. Or you flirt. Or you say something just inappropriate enough to throw people off balance.”
You lift a shoulder. “Maybe I’m just charming.”
“No.” His eyes narrow slightly, brows pulling together. “No, because it changes depending on the situation.”
Your pulse stutters.
“With Morgan it’s competitive,” he continues, setting the papers back on the table. “You tease him because he pushes back and it keeps conversations superficial. Garcia gets exaggerated stories because she responds emotionally instead of analytically. Half the things you say to Reid are specifically designed to make him flustered enough to stop examining what you actually mean.”
“Wow,” you murmur, shifting your weight against the countertop. “Starting to feel a little attacked here.”
But Hotch doesn’t seem to hear you.
“The dating profile doesn’t fit,” he says, almost to himself. “Neither does the apartment.”
Your stomach twists as his gaze moves briefly across the room. The bookshelves. The carefully organised clutter. Leia now curled up asleep on the couch.
“You project someone impulsive. Social. Sexually confident. But nothing in here supports that.” His eyes flick back toward you again. “You live like someone who protects their space carefully. Even the cat.”
“Leave Leia out of this.”
“She doesn’t like strangers.”
“She likes you.”
The words slip out too quickly, and something in his expression shifts.
“You keep people at a distance,” he continues slowly, close enough now that you can hear the quiet rasp beneath his voice. “Even the team. You let people think they know you because it keeps them from looking closer.” He hesitates, brow furrowing. “Except Reid.”
Your fingers tighten instinctively around the edge of the counter.
“You trust him,” Hotch says. “Not just socially. Behaviourally. You anchor yourself to him when you’re stressed. Physical proximity. Eye contact. Redirecting conversations through him.” He pauses, watching you carefully now. “And earlier you said he’d been profiling you all week.”
Oh God.
“Which means Reid already noticed the pattern.”
He goes quiet for a moment, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly as he looks back over the last few months—years—in real time. You can practically see it happening behind his eyes. Every interaction. Every joke. Every look you thought you’d hidden quickly enough.
“You track me.”
The words come quieter now. Less certain. Like he’s still realising them.
“You know my routines,” he continues slowly. “You anticipate questions before I ask them. You look up when you hear my office door open even when you can’t see me.” He steps closer again. “You know when I need coffee before I do. You watch my reactions before anyone else in the room.”
Your breath stutters.
And Hotch notices immediately.
His expression shifts slightly as his eyes flick across your face, your posture, your hands still locked around the edge of the counter hard enough that your knuckles have gone pale beneath the kitchen lights.
“Your breathing changes when I get too close to you,” he says quietly.
He takes another slow step forward, close enough now that you have to tilt your head back slightly to keep looking at him.
“You stop fidgeting,” he continues. “You go completely still.” His gaze drops briefly to your hands before lifting again. “Like you’re afraid movement alone is going to give you away.”
Your heart is beating so hard now you’re half-convinced he can hear it.
“You lose verbal fluency,” he says, voice lower now. “You trip over words you normally wouldn’t. Your pupils dilate. Your heart rate increases. And every single time I get close to noticing it—”
His eyes lock onto yours.
“You redirect.”
You can barely breathe now.
He’s standing right in front of you, close enough that the heat rolling off him sinks straight into your skin, close enough that one more step would put him between your knees where you’re perched on the counter.
And somehow the worst part is that he still sounds calm. Thoughtful. Like Aaron Hotchner is profiling you with the same careful focus he’d bring to an unsub—except this time the thing he’s slowly uncovering is the fact that you’ve been hopelessly in love with him this entire time.
You swallow hard, your gaze catching just briefly on his mouth before you drag it back up to his eyes, pulse hammering so hard you can barely think straight.
“Figured it out yet, Agent Hotchner?” you ask softly.
He goes still for half a second, something unreadable flickering across his face as his eyes drop to your mouth before lifting back to your eyes again.
The apartment suddenly feels oppressively quiet.
His throat shifts slightly.
And then—
His phone rings.
He steps back immediately, his expression shuttering back into something careful and unreadable.
“Hotchner,” he says, pressing his phone against his ear.
You don’t hear much after that. Not really. You recognise Morgan’s muffled voice, but you can’t quite hear what he’s saying. Not while Hotch slowly paces your living room. You catch fragments of the conversation. Questions. Short answers. The low, steady cadence of his voice slipping effortlessly back into work mode while your own nervous system continues actively collapsing in on itself.
Because holy fuck.
Holy fuck.
What the hell just happened?
“They got him.”
Your head snaps up. “They what?”
Hotch moves back to the dining table and starts gathering his things.
“It was him. Daniel Mercer,” he says. “Morgan and Prentiss found him in the motel room with multiple burner phones, printed screenshots from the dating profile, and enough surveillance material to establish intent.”
“Oh.”
“Local PD recovered notebooks too,” he continues. “Names, schedules, work addresses. Everyone connected to Ethan Mercer’s conviction. Judges, prosecutors, witnesses. You were first because you were the arresting agent.”
A cold shiver slips down your spine.
“Garcia also confirmed the motel Wi-Fi matched the same VPN chain used to access the dating profile,” Hotch adds. “Once Mercer realised the Bureau was involved, the direct contact stopped. After that he shifted to surveillance. Morgan said the room was covered in trial material. Photos. Notes. Newspaper clippings. He’d been building the grievance for months.”
He pauses, then looks at you.
“But they got him.”
“Good,” you say quietly.
Hotch nods once before turning back to the dining table, slipping his laptop into his bag with careful efficiency before gathering every file and printout into one neat pile.
“Local PD will hold Mercer overnight until federal transport clears,” he says, sliding the papers into his bag. “Garcia’s already started coordinating with the U.S. Attorney’s Office. You’ll need to give an additional statement tomorrow regarding the dating profile.”
You nod. “Okay.”
Hotch reaches for his jacket, draping it over one arm.
“There’ll still be additional officers patrolling the area tonight,” he says. “And if you don’t want to be alone, I can have Reid or Garcia stay here.”
“I’ll be fine,” you mutter, glancing down at the kitchen tiles. “You can stop babysitting me now.”
Hotch stills.
Then slowly, deliberately, sets his jacket on the table.
“Babysitting?” he repeats.
“You know what I mean.”
He steps toward you, brows drawn. “I don’t think I do.”
“You solved the case,” you mutter, heat crawling up the back of your neck. “You profiled me. Thoroughly. So congratulations, I guess. You figured out the whole sad little secret, the weird avoidance issues, the entire personality disorder cocktail—” You let out a short, humourless laugh. “You can go back to pretending none of this ever happened now.”
He closes the distance between you before you even fully realise he’s moving, stopping directly in front of the counter again. Exactly where he’d been when you asked him if he’d figured it out. Close enough that you can feel his warmth. Close enough that you can see the day-old shadow of stubble lining his jaw.
“You’re being deliberately provocative now because you’re embarrassed,” he says. “But embarrassment isn’t actually your primary response here.”
His gaze drops to your mouth again, and your pulse stumbles.
“If it was,” he adds quietly, “you wouldn’t still be looking at me like that.”
Your breath catches in your throat.
You want to say something. Anything. Another joke. Another deflection. Something sharp enough to cut through the tension in the air and stop him looking at you like this. Exposing you like this.
But you can’t.
All you can do is stare at him. At the steady intensity in his eyes. At the way his tie has loosened slightly over the course of the night. At the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the white shirt you’ve spent an embarrassing number of years picturing on your bedroom floor.
You swallow hard, and he notices. Of course he does.
Something shifts in his expression then. Something softer. Less guarded.
His hand comes up beneath your jaw, his thumb pressing gently into your chin as he pulls you closer. You fall forward without hesitation, and he leans in, dark eyes still searching yours as if he isn’t entirely sure he has permission yet.
Then he kisses you.
It’s not rushed. Not messy. If anything, the first press of his mouth against yours feels almost unbearably controlled, like he’s still holding himself back even now.
But the restraint doesn’t last long.
Your hand catches his tie, tugging him closer, and something rough slips from the back of his throat as he steps in, his hips slotting between your thighs. His hand slides from your jaw into your hair, fingers tightening just enough to tilt your head back exactly as far as he wants it.
Your lips part against his with a broken sound, and he deepens it slowly, his tongue moving against yours like he has all the time in the world. Tasting you. Learning you. Mapping every small sound and ragged exhale with the same focused intensity he brings to everything—and somehow that’s what undoes you the most. Not urgency. Attention.
His breath mingles with yours, hot and uneven, and when his teeth catch your bottom lip it’s deliberate, measured—a sharp little spark shooting straight through your spine. Your hips roll toward him without permission, and his answering groan rumbles through his chest, vibrating beneath your palm and making you ache everywhere you’ve been starving for him.
Then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly again. His hand still tangled in your hair. Thumb dragging once across your jaw. His eyes move over your face with the same intensity he uses in every debrief, every case, every crisis, except right now you are the thing he’s making sure of.
Like he needs to be absolutely certain this is real.
“Aaron—”
“Bedroom,” he says immediately, voice low and rough enough to send heat crashing straight through you. “Now.”
FRIDAY 6:15AM
Your alarm blares somewhere beside the bed, startling you awake hard enough that your heart immediately starts pounding. You reach for it blindly, determined to silence it before it wakes—
Oh God.
The second your hand hits the snooze button, you freeze.
Your heart is beating faster now, your pulse thrumming in your throat as you turn slowly—so slowly—toward the other side of the bed, where Aaron fucking Hotchner stirs sleepily.
Your stomach swoops.
You slept with your boss last night.
With a shallow, shaky breath, you carefully start to move. His arm is heavy at your waist, but you manage to slip out from underneath it without fully waking him. You shove the covers off and shiver at the sudden exposure, leaning over the side of the bed to find your discarded sweater. You pull it over your head before quietly padding toward the ensuite, refusing to glance back at your very hot, very naked unit chief still tangled in your sheets.
You only just make it around the other side of the bed before something tugs at the back of your sweater. You stop, glancing back to find Hotch half-awake, eyes half-lidded with one hand caught at the hem of your sweater.
“Do you really get up this early?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.
“Yeah,” you murmur. “Most days.”
His brows pull together slightly. “Why?”
You let out a small, breathless laugh. “Because my boss is kind of a hard ass about punctuality.”
Something that almost resembles amusement flickers across his face.
“Sounds like a terrible boss,” he murmurs.
Then he tugs on your sweater again—hard enough this time that you let out a startled laugh as you stumble backward onto the mattress and into him. He catches you easily, one arm wrapping around your waist before you can even fully recover, pulling you back against the warmth of his chest.
“Yeah,” you murmur, laughing softly as his mouth brushes beneath your ear. “He’s awful. Very demanding.”
He hums, breath warm against your skin.
“He’s really hot, though,” you add, smiling despite yourself. “So I like having time to put in a little effort, you know? Hope he notices.”
“Oh, he notices.”
Your stomach flips. “Really?”
“Mhm.”
His arm tightens around your waist. “He notices the skirts.”
Heat floods your face. “Aaron—”
“He notices the tights.” His mouth brushes against the nape of your neck. “The ones with the seam up the back.”
“Oh my God.”
You try to turn your face into the pillow, but he just holds you tighter, pressing his lips firm against your neck.
“And the red bra,” he murmurs.
Your breath catches.
“Noticed that so much I had to wait until everyone left the conference room before I could get up.”
You let out a strangled sound, squirming in his arms, but it’s no use. His chest vibrates against your back, something suspiciously close to laughter.
“My washing machine broke that week,” you whine. “It wasn’t my fault.”
“Mm, sure.”
You twist around immediately. “I’m not lying.”
The corner of his mouth twitches, like he doesn’t quite believe you, but before you can protest again—he kisses you. Warm, slow, sleep-soft. His mouth moves against yours almost lazily, his hand tightening slightly at your waist when a pathetic little whimper slips out before you can stop it.
“Careful,” you murmur, breathless against his mouth. “Don’t want to be late.”
You feel his lips curve.
“Good thing I’m the boss.”
10:35AM
You made it to work well on time. Even after three orgasms, a shower, and an awkward attempt at a ‘What Now?’ conversation—that ended in the aforementioned third orgasm. Because fortunately for your rapidly fraying nervous system, Hotch hadn’t even hesitated when you’d finally asked what happens next. In fact, he’d answered a little too quickly.
The first thing he’d asked was whether you’d be comfortable keeping things quiet for a while. Not because he’s worried about the team finding out—he trusts them. Trusts you. The concern is Strauss, and the Bureau, and keeping you in the BAU while he figures out exactly how much trouble the two of you have just created for yourselves. At some point he’d even started muttering about reporting structures and supervisory chains, half-thinking out loud while pulling on his tie. Something about possibly moving your reporting line over to Rossi. Something else about needing to review the Bureau’s fraternisation policies before making any moves.
That was when you kissed him—effectively, and very quickly, kicking off round three.
Because he’d clearly been thinking about this for a while, which means Aaron Hotchner has been noticing a lot more than just short skirts and inappropriately coloured underwear. It means that the second he decided to kiss you in your apartment last night, he’d already known exactly what he was getting himself into.
“Alright, gorgeous,” Morgan says, startling you as he raps a knuckle against your desk. “They’ll be ready for you downstairs in ten.”
You glance up at him, brows drawn—and it takes an embarrassingly long second for you to figure out what he’s talking about.
“Oh.” You blink. “Right. Yeah, I’ll head down soon. Thanks.”
Prentiss looks over from her desk. “You gonna be okay?”
You lift a shoulder. “Sure. What’s another case report?”
Morgan frowns, dropping into his chair. “It’s not exactly every day you’re the victim, baby girl.”
“Yeah, but nothing really happened.”
Morgan and Prentiss both stare at you.
“Because of the team,” you add quickly. “You guys caught him before he actually did anything. So... you know, nothing bad happened.” You plaster on a smile that feels reasonably convincing. “Thanks for that, by the way.”
Prentiss narrows her eyes, but before she can say anything else, Reid appears.
“You’re in a remarkably good mood for someone who was being actively cyberstalked twelve hours ago,” he says, stirring his second coffee of the day.
You turn back to your screen, trying to ignore the heat creeping into your cheeks. “Maybe I just have a newfound appreciation for life.”
Reid studies you for a moment, clearly unconvinced—but he doesn’t push. He just moves slowly back toward his desk, setting his coffee down with unnecessary care while the rest of the team turn away, finally deciding to mind their own business.
You force your attention back to the report in front of you, determined to at least look productive for the next ten minutes—when a familiar voice cuts through your concentration.
“Rossi’s taking Wallace with you next week,” Hotch says, setting the file down on your desk.
You blink up at him. “I thought you were leading the interview.”
“I was.”
Something in his expression tightens briefly before he lowers his voice.
“Wallace has a long history of using sex, intimidation, and emotional targeting to destabilise people during interviews,” he says. “Especially women.”
You frown. “Hotch, I—”
“And if he says something to you in that room,” he continues evenly, “or looks at you the wrong way, I need to know the agent sitting beside you is still capable of thinking objectively.”
Your stomach flips as his eyes meet yours—steady, intense, devastatingly honest.
“Right now,” he says quietly, “I’m not sure that’s me.”
Then he’s gone. Moving through the bullpen back toward his office like he hasn’t just set your pulse racing and your head spinning. You watch after him for a moment before shaking your head, glancing back at your computer screen as if you’d been focused on it at all in the first place.
“…Huh.”
You turn toward the sound and find Reid staring at you again. Not rudely. Just watching with the same focused curiosity he’d been wearing since your suspiciously cheerful comment about cyberstalking.
“Yo Dean!” Tucker called to the front of the group making Dean turn to his attention, “Isn’t that your girl?” He asks as they pass over the bridge. A full glass wall allowing them all to see down onto the rink. He looks over immediately.
The guys all slowed, gathering by the glass to watch.
Dean knew you were training this afternoon after their session, you’d told him that maybe you’d see him there as he pressed a kiss to your lips before leaving you this morning.
And there you were, skating alone beneath the bright arena lights. Your coach stood by the boards, his arms crossed and no doubt barking instruction to you. Dean had met him a couple of times, each time equally as terrifying.
That man can yell.
Your blades carved elegant arcs across the ice, every movement precise and controlled. The way you made it look so effortless had the hockey team watching in a bit of a trance as you spun. Soon enough you were picking up speed, arms stretching out as you prepared for a jump.
“Damn,” Logan muttered. “How does she make that look so easy?”
Dean smiled because you really were incredible, but as he looked, really looked at you, his smile faded a little.
While everyone else saw a talented figure skater, which you absolutely were there was no doubt about it, but what Dean was able to see was the tension your body was holding. Your shoulders tight, jaw was locked.
There was a tiny crease between your eyebrows.
You were frustrated and if Dean had learnt anything about you in the months you’d been together now, he knew you were emotional and super dedicated to your sport, but frustration wasn’t an emotion you dealt with well. He folded his arms and watched the next move with concentration.
You were gaining speed fast, your knees bending in preparation and then you launched into the air and for a split second you seemed weightless, suspended beneath the white lights with a Hozier song echoing around you.
It’s a routine you’d been working on for months, jumps you’ve pulled off before, timing not too complicated. But recently it just wasn’t working how you needed it to.
So as you came down to land something wasn’t quite right.
The second your blade touched the ice, Dean knew what was coming.
His stomach dropped as your foot slipped, your body twisting and with a loud thud - hit the ice. Your hip took the brunt of it as the sound echoed through the arena, sharp and sickening and even through the glass and with the noise being muffled Dean winced.
You hit the ice hard.
“Jesus.” Garrett muttered and on the ice for a moment you just sat there.
Dean was holding his breath. From where he stood, he could see you, shoulders rising and falling harshly. Not injured but definitely simmering.
Just still, scarily so.
And then you growled slamming your hand against the ice and ripping off your skates, right there in the middle of the rink.
Dean sighed, a knot tightening in his chest.
Yep. That’s a bad day.
He was moving for the stairs before he could think better of it, the boys not too far behind him. You both made it to the corridor leading to the changing rooms at the same time.
The boys all shifted aside when your stride didn’t falter at the sight of at least seven hockey guys. Though if they hadn’t of moved they reckon she had the strength to push them out of her way.
Dean however, stepped forward. Hand reached out to wrap gently around your wrist that you yank out of his grip so harshly one of the boys let out a low whistle.
“Baby, that was a nasty fall are you-“ you cut Dean off by storming right past him. “…okay?” He trailed off just watching as the ladies changing room door slam shut behind you.
“Ooft.” Logan said patting him on the shoulder after a second of silence. “Good luck with that one bud.” He told Dean before the boys snickered and dispersed.
He lingered behind figuring he’d feel better being here when you come out, and maybe you’ll feel better for seeing him too once you’ve cooled off.
He was an athlete too, he understood to frustrations that come with not winning or not getting it right. Sure he was a little hurt you brushed him off but he’ll get over it.
When you did finally leave the changing room he looked up from his spot on the bench and took you in. Your eyes were still bright with frustration, cheeks flushed from exertion and embarrassment. But also a little sadness creeping in around the edges.
Your shoulders fell when you saw him, relief, upset, he wasn’t sure yet.
“M’sorry.” You tell him mumbling and looking down at your boots. “I was a bitch earlier in front of your friends.” You add as your hand clutches at the strap of your tote bag. You still hadn’t really looked at him.
“Hey, look at me baby.” He coaxes standing up and stepping towards you carefully.
“I don’t want to.” You whisper, voice wobbling so he ducks his head quickly trying to reach your eyes.
“Yeah you do.” He tells you gently nodding and when your eyes do meet his they well up with tears.
“I really am sorry, I know I’m a lot sometimes. I struggle handling my emotions.” You confess with a sniffle but before you can think about it too much Dean is pulling you into his chest.
“You’re fine.” He says into your hair, one of his hand was holding your head on his chest, the other rubbing up and down your back softly.
“I didn’t mean to be mean to you.” Your voice is muffled against his sweater and he knew you meant it.
Because for everyone else you’re this strict, hard working, insanely smart, ice queen. But for him, you’re soft, you’re all gentle tones and silky skin. And he loves that he’s the one you chose to show all that to, he’s honoured actually, that at some point you thought he was worth opening up to and he doesn’t take that for granted.
“It’s okay baby, you’re hot when you’re mean.” He says mostly honestly but he grins when it makes you laugh against him.
Pulling away you go up onto your tiptoes and tilt up your chin, you still aren’t tall enough to reach him so he leans down and kisses your lips.
Your hands come up to his jaw to try and hold him there but he hisses pulling away from you.
“Your fingers are freezing!” He scolds grabbing them in his hands and rubbing them together, rolling your eyes you try and tug them free.
“Dean they’re fine!” You argue getting them out of his grip, the two of you now walking to the exit.
There’s a minute or two of silence, you can see Dean’s car parked in its usual spot, yours a bit further back.
“Your shoulder okay?” He asks suddenly and you roll it back once he’s taken your bag and thrown it over his own shoulder.
“Yeah it’s fine.” You tell him both ignoring the click that was audible enough that he raised his eyebrow.
“I think you should come home with me, I’ll make it all better for you.” He says, voice low and teasing as his arms wind around your waist from behind now.
“Oh really?” You ask with a smile, and letting your head lull to the side so his lips can find the skin under your jaw.
“Mhm I have loads of good ideas on how, first being a shower.” He starts listing, another kiss pressed into your neck. “Preferably together, actually that’s mandatory.” He adds making you giggle.
“Sounds legit.” You sigh happily melting into him finally feeling yourself relax.
“I promise you’ll feel good.” You whack him away before he can get too carried away but you follow him to his car anyway.
And when you settle into the passenger seat, the red on your cheeks isn’t from frustration or embarrassment, it’s from excitement you’re trying to dull down, contentment that’s settling deep into your bones as you watch Dean start the car.
If Dean can promise you anything tonight it’s that he’ll make you feel better.
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Summary: Your ex invites you to his wedding. Showing up alone would only prove him right all those years ago, but he deserves a kick in the brass cojones. Leon's nothing if not an enabler.
WC: 6k
CW: fake dating, established friendship as coworkers, nicknames, no use of y/n, no mention of ages, fluff, bad fish puns, mild angst/comfort, first kiss (real), happy ending
The mission is finally over. You know this because your desk is a fucking mess.
Printouts and clippings and folders lay thick enough to suffocate, and you’re still receiving tidbits and snippets that need to be sorted and distributed. You’ve lost your breakfast bar under the same newspaper, twice, in two different locations as you shuffle and juggle and group and discard.
The discard needs to be happening faster. Your waste bin is the cleanest thing in your cubicle.
Your finger traces under a line of text on page #3 of relevant dossier #7, transcribing it into your report one-handed, eyes intent on your computer screen. You’ve got earbuds in with box-fan white noise cranked to drown out the office phones and low-grade chatter from surrounding cubes. You’re already running your brain in ten different directions, working on your report while compiling documentation to share with the field agents for their reports, and they keep pinging your IM, hounding you for updates. You wish you could set your status to something more abrasive than “🔴 Do Not Disturb”.
On the one hand, you understand how the quick turnaround on mission reports means a direct tap into memory while it’s still fresh, but on the other – you’re all fucking exhausted, some of you are injured, and this feels a little bit like friendly fire. Especially when you’re the intelligence agent and your field operatives are all tugging on your metaphorical shirt hem, whining for your attention.
Something brushes your ear and you slap at it, whipping your head around. Of course you’d have a fly buzzing around your cubicle, now, too.
It’s not a fly. Leon Kennedy just took out one of your earbuds.
You clutch at your chest, the shock of finding an entire person standing behind you making your skin feel like it teleported 1cm to the left without you.
“You weren’t hearing me,” he says by way of an apology. You snatch the earbud back.
“That’s the POINT.”
“You said that info was on a thumb drive?”
“I said it will be,” you say, frazzled. “I’ve got like twenty balls in the air right now, Leon. Don’t break my concentration.”
“Can I help with anything?”
“Respect the status,” you snap, referring to the Do Not Disturb designation that he had bypassed by showing up in person.
Your tone echoes back in your ears and you shut your eyes, sighing and rubbing at a spot on your forehead. You can feel a monumental headache building, but that’s no reason to be nasty. Leon’s under the same tight deadlines.
“Sorry.”
“I get it,” he says, picking up the empty wrapper from your breakfast bar and transferring it to your trash can. There’s a deep scratch on his arm, gummy and raw, held shut with butterfly closures.
“I’ll have it ready by EOD,” you say, pronouncing the acronym like it’s a word. Ee-odd. It’s an olive branch poking up through the hellfire: an inside joke between the two of you. The corner of his mouth stretches into that half-smile.
“Roger, Earworm.”
The bastard thinks it’s a funny nickname: always the voice in my ear. And it is funny, because it was never mean-spirited. Some of the other field operatives get borderline malicious with their interpersonal nicknames.
You toss a balled-up paper at him; he twists and it bounces off his hip.
“So fuck off, Toothskin.”
When you’d first thrown that one back at him you’d won one of his genuine laughs, the kind you only got when you really surprised him. Always making it by the skin of your teeth.
A trainee had said once that your nicknames sounded mean, that they made you sound like unhygienic trolls or rotted goblins. They’d suggested something like Angel and Lucky instead, because it was sentimentally the same thing and positivity would strengthen your team dynamic.
Three guesses if they’d ever completed the program.
You’d never told Leon about that lunch room conversation. You didn’t need to watch him die laughing.
In your cubicle, his smile stretches a little wider, then he glances at his watch. Cursing under his breath, he leaves at an urgent clip. You’re already facing your computer again with your stolen earbud crammed back in.
The silent ticking of the clock remains deafening.
You love the sounds of coming home after a long day, but tonight it all sounds especially serene.
The thump of your shoes, kicked off carelessly in the foyer.
The shf of stiff fabric shed from your tired body, the blissful whisper of well-worn, downy-soft pajamas slipping over your skin.
The delicate clink of a wineglass; the full-throated cascade of a generous pour.
You take a heavy sip and lean against your kitchen island, closing your eyes and releasing a long breath. God. Trapped at your desk all day and then six hundred interceptions when you were finally allowed to leave? You felt like a fucking running back making a mad dash for the endzone. The night air had never tasted so sweet, once you'd finally made it through the doors.
Your oven makes a series of quiet clicks, coming back up to temperature. Even if dinner’s just thawed leftovers, again, you’d set yourself up for something fresh, too, because you fucking deserve it. You’re already starting to smell it. You take another sip of wine and smile.
And then you remember. It strikes you like a horrible bolt of lightning.
At the same time, your phone starts ringing on the countertop.
Incoming Call
Toothskin
“Fuck!”
You want to throw your wineglass. How the fuck did you forget?
> Answer
“Fuck, Leon, I’m so sorry, I completely fucked it–“
“Hey, whoa,” he says, but you’re still talking.
"It’s in my fucking bag, I was on my way to drop it off and I got–“
He says your name; you barely hear it.
“Fuck! I can’t believe I just fucking walked out– I’ll come drop it off, okay? I can– I’ll just … shit, the fucking oven–"
"HEY," he says, raising his voice. "I’m already in the car. What’s your location?"
When Leon knocks at your door, you swing it open and then hurry back into the house like a reverse doorbell-ditch. He blinks, hand still raised in a frozen knock.
“Just come in!” You shout over the beeping of the kitchen timer.
Leon steps inside and closes the door softly behind himself, looking around.
You hadn’t turned on any lights in the front hall; the kitchen sits as a literal light at the end of the tunnel. Leon clocks your tumbled shoes under your hanging coats, the splay of your keys on the side table where you’d tossed them. Ready to be fucking done with the day.
Despite the dark, the front hall is cozy. Your coats hold whispers of your perfume. There’s a hint of clean laundry and an undercurrent of something more complex, almost earthy; the house smells lived in. By you.
It also, overwhelmingly, smells like fresh bread.
You’re setting the steaming, crackling loaf on a cooling rack and slapping the oven gloves off of your hands when Leon wanders into the light of your kitchen.
"I didn’t know you baked,” he says, eyes on the dark golden crust, split open where you’d scored the dough.
"Not really mission-critical information," you say, and pull open your work bag that you’ve hauled onto the kitchen island. Digging around, you find the thumb drive, but it’s tumbled into the bottom next to another thumb drive that looks identical.
Neither are labeled.
"Of fucking course," you mutter, pulling out your laptop with jerky, frustrated motions. It clacks against the countertop; you stab the power button to boot it up. “What’s ten more hours, right?”
Leon doesn’t respond. He’s assessing: you, first and foremost, strung out and self-disparaging; the kitchen, dishes in the sink, scattered messes all over; the fridge door, covered in novelty magnets and a dry-erase calendar; the corkboard on the wall.
His attention snags.
Among photos and receipts and postcards (two are from him, brought back from some vibrantly unpleasant mission locations, as a joke), incongruously, there’s a large champagne-gold envelope with a broken wax seal, clearly torn open with some violence.
It’s stabbed into the corkboard with a paring knife.
You toss one of the thumb drives back into your bag and shove the correct one towards Leon across the kitchen island.
"Bingo," you say, then catch what he’s looking at. He gestures to it.
“Jury duty?”
You know he clocks your dark expression before you 180 into something that matches his jesting tone.
“Yeah the circuit court jumped on the discounted stationary when Party City closed.”
“You hate weddings that much?”
“It’s my fucking ex,” you say venomously, picking up your wine glass. “I almost have half a mind to show up just to congratulate him on the brass cojones. Maybe give him a swift kick in them.”
“Sounds like you should.”
“He’d get too much satisfaction from my missing plus-one,” you mutter. “Like aw, your job couldn’t make it tonight? Dickknuckle,” you add under your breath.
Leon’s watching you, a faint crease between his brows.
“What?”
“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he starts, and your brow creases. “Do you want a plus-one?”
You chuff a laugh, but he doesn’t smile, so you drop yours.
“What, like you know a guy?”
“No. Like I am a guy.”
Your eyebrows lift.
“You want to attend my ex’s wedding.”
“If it means mission success in the swift-kick department, sure,” he says. You narrow your eyes.
“You don’t even know the guy.”
He glances at the stabbed envelope on the corkboard. The blade is lodged; you'd used some force.
“I trust your judgement.”
You cross your arms, searching for a teasing twinkle in his eye, a telltale twitch of his mouth, but he’s just gazing back at you levelly.
“You’re serious,” you realize.
“Always am.”
“Please,” you scoff, but you uncross your arms and reach for your bread knife, throwing him a sidelong glance. Considering. “I’ll think about it.”
He picks up the thumb drive, tosses it in the air and catches it.
“Do that,” he says. “I’ll let myself out.”
“Wait,” you call after him, and he backs up to lean through the kitchen doorway. Wordlessly, you hold out a thick, steaming slice of the fresh bread. “For the trouble.”
He takes it.
He’s halfway to the front door when you hear him groan loud, almost obscene.
“Fuck that’s good.”
The front door closes.
His voice echoes in your ears for a while. Your cheeks are only pink from the heat of the kitchen; you turn and shut the oven off.
Earworm The mission, should you choose to accept it:
A photo loads into the text thread and Leon taps it open.
It’s the wedding invite. There’s a narrow slit bisecting the date, the same width as a paring knife blade.
He skims the details.
Mid-July. Out of state. Outdoors, in a nature preserve. Strictly formal, but no black or white dress.
He eyes the font, the thick textured paper with raw, ripped edges, the embossed leaf detailing.
It’s a vegan menu, isn’t it, he texts back.
Earworm Pescetarian
He snorts. Another text drops in from you.
Earworm You can plant the invite. Grows forget-me-nots
Of course it does.
Earworm Thought about wearing white but they might have me shot
There’s strength in numbers.
Earworm Enabler
Is this not Operation Rock The Boat?
Earworm Can’t rock it if we’re kicked out. Game plan is malicious compliance
… you’re putting me in a dress, aren’t you.
Earworm Hmm. Tempting.
There’s a fucking chandelier in the fitting room.
Under the sparkling, crystalline light, surrounded by three floor-to-ceiling mirrors, you take in your chosen battle dress from every angle.
“Yeah, that’ll do it,” you say out loud.
“You’re done already?” Leon’s voice is muffled, closed in another cubicle across the wide, thin carpet.
“It’s a slip dress,” you call back. “Not many fastenings to tangle with.”
It’s an avocado green slip dress, silky and alluring, with thin shoulder straps and a scoopy cowl neck. It’s definitely your shade. It highlights your freckles and your eyes; it shows off your arms, your collarbones, your neck. What it doesn’t reveal, it hints at, like a prize behind a curtain.
You turn again to admire the back. It’s a lot of cake to be bringing to someone else’s wedding, but he invited it.
You step out into the main space. There are more chandeliers overhead and a mirrored sort of apse at the end of the carpeted runway.
You can hear clothing rustling behind the door of the fitting room directly across from you.
“Sure you can manage all those buttons?”
The door opens and Leon’s there, looking down to fix the lay of his lapels.
“Not quite my kryptonite, but thank–“
He looks up and forgets what he's saying. Forgets where he's going, too. He stands frozen outside his fitting room, just staring at you.
That’s okay; you’re staring at him, too.
The last time you’d seen him in a suit, you were behind a desk watching a grainy, quarter-screen, black-and-white camera feed. That had had very little impact.
This? This has impact. It’s punched your stomach into a somersault.
This suit is camel-brown, the dress shirt a pastel green. The cut of the suit accentuates his broad shoulders, his tight waist; the pants make his legs look longer. The shirt brings out the green in his grey eyes, makes his skin – his lips – look a little pinker.
You were already well aware of how handsome he is, in a rugged, untouchable, dangerous Special Agent sort of way. But he’s standing here in the suit that you picked to compliment your dress and you can’t remember anyone looking more fucking attractive ever in your entire life.
And the way he always carries himself with that self-assuredness, like nothing could ever bowl him over?
He’s staring at you, and he’s looking a little bowled over.
The moment is gone just as quickly as it arrived. He pushes his hand through his hair and the unflappable Leon is back.
“Don’t you clean up nice.”
You shut your mouth with a click.
“Speak for yourself,” you say, heading for the mirrors at the end of the runway. He follows you, standing just behind your shoulder.
The two of you are a fucking one-two knockout. You look so good together, you can’t face it for more than a few blinding seconds before your chest starts feeling tight.
You sit down heavily on one of the velvet chairs between fitting room doors and manage not to put your head in your hands. Leon looks down at himself, smoothing a hand over the buttons of his suit.
“You don’t like it.”
"No, it’s fucking perfect," you bite out.
"What’s wrong?"
"This whole thing is ridiculous. I’m being ridiculous." You're short on breath. You can feel panic rising, tight bands around your lungs. You do put your head in your hands, clutching at your hair to stop the tremble in your fingers.
"Hey," he says, crouching down in front of you. "Where’s this coming from?"
"Why am I dragging you into this? I don’t care about him or what he thinks! I don’t care!"
"I volunteered," Leon reminds you.
"Why?"
He does the facial equivalent of a shrug.
"No bioweapons? Open bar? You tell me.”
You unclench your fists from your hair and sit back to look at him, your head against the wall. He meets your gaze, calm and even.
He’s so fucking beautiful. You can’t let on about the gymnastics routine your stomach’s doing.
“If his brother's there, don't rule out bioweapons,” you say.
“Mm. BO?”
You shake your head. “GI.”
“Noted. Book of matches for a quick escape.”
You close your eyes, huffing a little laugh through your nose.
“We’re not locked into anything,” he tells you quietly. “You’re calling the shots.”
“Mm,” you acknowledge, and take a deep breath. “Just another mission.”
“With free dinner.”
Something lands on your knee and you open your eyes; it’s Leon’s hand, palm-up. A question. An offering.
You give him a pained look.
“It’s pescetarian.”
“Could be a red herring.”
Your gaze goes wooden. He raises his eyebrows, innocent.
“Ugh, I hate you,” you say, but clap your hand into his waiting palm. He hauls you to your feet. And he’s not done.
"A bait-and-switch?"
"Stop," you groan, shoving him towards his fitting room.
"A shell game.”
"Ignoring you!" The door to your fitting room shuts and you start wriggling out of the dress.
You almost rip it when Leon yells FISH from across the way and you fall into helpless laughter.
Toothskin Have you checked the registry?
I’m liking the 200-year-old sourdough starter
Toothskin Old yeast… what milestone anniversary is that?
200th. Keep up
And then the day arrives.
Leon puts the Porsche in park and you both sit back, observing the battlefield.
The nature preserve vista stretches vast beyond the front bumper, all dappled sunlight and swaying greens with scatters of bright, energetic color. The sky is a vibrant blue and dotted with cotton-puff clouds, the birds are singing, and there’s enough of a breeze to prevent stagnant air without upsetting meticulous hairstyles. It’s a perfect day in a gorgeous setting.
You’re clutching the invite, unawares, and the heat and moisture from your hands has warped the textured paper. Leon glances down and gently tugs it from your grasp.
“Talk to me.”
“I’m just… trying to remember the last time I saw him.”
“On the Save the Date.”
“Heard him, then. I’m trying to remember what he said to me.”
“Do you think he remembers?”
“No.”
“Blank slate, then,” Leon says, glancing in the rearview. Guests are meandering towards the gap in the low, rustic wooden fence, trickling into the sanctuary. “What are your boundaries?”
“What?”
“As your date. We covered our story; what’s your stance on PDA?”
“Oh.” You wave it off. “I don’t expect you to do anything.”
He scoffs, incredulous. “We’re at a wedding, as a couple, and you look like that,” he says, indicating your whole look with a pointed raise of his eyebrows. “You want people to think you’re dating a eunuch?”
You stare at him like you’re going to fire something back, but there’s nothing in the chamber. He’s disarmed you. Maybe fried your circuitry a little.
“Here,” he prompts, and holds his hand out over the gear shift. “Do you like holding hands with a partner?”
You can’t be this flustered. He’s just gathering intel for the undercover operation. This is tactical.
You take his hand, feigning nothing but mild agreement while your traitorous pulse picks up.
“Sure, it’s fine.”
He adjusts, lacing your fingers together, watching your face.
“Still fine?”
“Still fine.” His palm is warm and rough, callouses at the base of every finger from intensive strength training. His thumb lightly strokes your hand.
“If I touch your back?”
You tamp down a shiver, keeping your voice neutral.
“Fine, from the waist up.”
“Your hair?”
“Why my hair?”
He gently frees his hand, brushes his fingers over your ear like he’s fixing a windblown lock.
“Okay, yeah, that’s fine.”
He traces his thumb from your temple down to your jaw, delineating the side of your face.
“Is this okay to kiss?”
Despite the car still running and the AC blowing, your skin is hot and buzzing and you’re feeling that tight panic start to threaten your lungs again. It’s too close and intimate in here. You swat his hand away.
“Look, I know you’re good at reading a room, okay? So I’ll trust you. Just don’t fucking grope me in front of the bride’s grandma and I think we’ll be fine.”
“Killjoy.”
You sharpen on him. He just blinks at you owlishly, unthreatened.
You poke him in the side, where you know he’s sensitive. He clamps his arm down and jerks away.
“Alright, roger! No show for grandma!”
It pokes you back, right in the funny bone. You collapse into laughter, forehead pressed into his shoulder, and the bands around your chest loosen.
When you recover, he’s still smiling quietly, smug. You give him a shove, then double check your makeup in the visor mirror.
“Alright, let’s go, before all the worst seats are taken.”
The ceremony is gorgeous.
The altar stands under the strong, reaching branches of an ancient oak, in a serene forest clearing bordered by flickering tea lights in pristine mason jars. The bride looks Barbie-perfect in her flawless bright white dress, and the groom – your ex – is practically glowing himself. She’s probably got him on a juice detox, yoga regimen and seventeen-step skincare routine. But it’s working.
They look beautiful together, and hopelessly in love.
Your hands have knotted in your lap and your jaw is clenched tight.
You’re not jealous.
Well. You’re not jealous of her for who she’s marrying. You might be jealous of… everything else.
Something touches your wrist. It’s Leon, and just the warmth of his fingers on your skin dissolves your acidity.
Your hands unknot as Leon slips his fingers in with yours, his palm a warm and comfortable weight. You hook your free hand loose at his elbow, hugging his arm, and he leans in to press a kiss to your temple, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You lean into it.
At the end of the ceremony, the freshly-minted husband and wife make a bottleneck that guests have to pass through on their way to the reception tent. You’re in line, wondering when ‘congratulations’ will stop sounding like a real word.
There are only seven people in line ahead of you. You’re breathing even, because you’re not anxious. You’re fine.
“Should I tell him he’s got a seed in his hair?” Leon’s speaking low right next to your ear, his eyes on the man in front of you in line. You refocus; it’s the type of seed that travels on the wind with a bit of fluff, like a dandelion. The guy’s hair is dark enough that it’s not hard to spot.
You turn your head to speak in Leon’s ear.
“No. Ten he’ll never notice.”
He smirks.
“Fifteen his wife won’t, either.”
Five people ahead of you.
“Bad bet, she’s hardly looked at him since they stood up. Twenty it’s a random stranger that tells him.”
“Bad bet, you’re a random stranger,” he says, his breath tickling your ear.
Three people ahead of you. You’re biting back a smile.
“Damn.”
Leon’s hand hasn’t left your waist.
“You came!”
Your ex lights up when he sees you next in line, and you’re even more surprised when he goes in for the hug. Leon feels you move towards it on rote and lets you go; the hug is light and short-lived. Your ex’s frame seems smaller than you remember, but maybe that’s because you’ve had Leon glued to your hip. He’s taller than your ex, maybe all in the swoop of his bronze hair, but he’s definitely… bigger.
“God, you look incredible,” your ex is saying, but there’s no depth or heat to it. It sounds just like it would if you were two former friends that hadn’t seen each other in almost a decade, and that hits you… strangely. You were lovers, for fuck’s sake, you were together for more than three years! Why did he invite you here if it wasn’t to gloat? To rub all this in your face? You hadn’t separated on good terms, but there isn’t a shred of animosity you’re getting from him right now. He truly just seems happy to see you.
And, annoyingly, that comes as a relief even while it stumbles you. It’s like you were holding the end of a wire at tension only to find it wasn’t attached to anything. You can’t help but feel a little childish about it, but in your defense, the wedding invite completely out of the blue? That was a crazy thoughtless move. How many other exes had been invited today, and how many had shown? How many other invites were still stabbed into a corkboard somewhere?
So maybe you’ve stretched your legs for nothing. His cojones aren’t brass, he’s just kinda dumb. And you know what? Good for him.
You return to Leon’s bubble and his hand is right back at your waist, casually possessive. You wind your arm around his back while you enthuse – and it is genuine – how stunning and happy the bride and groom look together. Your ex pulls his new wife close and kisses the side of her face, then gestures to Leon.
“And who’s your lucky gentleman?”
Leon lets you introduce him – you're calling the shots – shaking hands before settling in against you again, and you can feel his attention’s on you. You can see them seeing something on his face and you look up at him.
Your tummy backflips.
His eyes are so soft and fond, looking between yours. There’s a shade of something that looks like pride, too, and you wonder if he can feel that the fight’s left your body.
He kisses your forehead, then offers the bride and groom another congrats and beautiful ceremony and we’ll see you inside, opening your exit. You walk out together from the shade of the forest, into the July sun, and the light breeze greets you smelling sweet and hot and floral.
When you’re out of earshot, he speaks.
“What’s our sitrep?”
You sigh, defeated.
“You wanna go, don’t you.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You signed on for violence.”
“Maybe at first.” The two of you have to break to walk apart on an uneven stretch of path, so he takes your hand instead. “We leave now, what’re the optics?”
“A shellfish allergy.”
“Weak,” he heckles. He’s right. Leaving now would look suspicious.
You tug his hand, grimly indicating the reception tent when he meets your gaze.
“That’s the hot zone. Last chance to run.”
He rolls his shoulders, cracks his neck, tightens the lace of your fingers together.
“I don’t give up that easy.”
“How did you two meet?”
Of course, as soon as the seat beside Leon vacates one ass, this one drops into it. You remember her from Thanksgivings and Christmases with your ex’s family, and here she is again with that ominous glint in her eye, wine glass already in hand. You grip Leon’s thigh under the table in warning.
“Hi, Auntie.”
“Hello, dear. You’re looking so well," she says, scrunching her nose condescendingly. "So how’d you dupe this one?”
Leon straightens from his casual lean, facing her better while resting his arm over the back of your chair.
“Aren’t we charming.”
Wine Aunt sets her chin in her hand, one eyebrow cocked as she looks Leon up and down, indiscreet. He’d abandoned his suit jacket a while ago, sleeves rolled up his arms, tie stuffed into his pocket so he could unbutton his collar a little. He does look fucking delicious, but you want to scoop out her slimy eyes for ogling him like that.
“Mmm. Certainly,” she purrs at him. So she’s forfeited her tongue, now, too.
You see Leon give her a subtly disgusted up-down in return before he turns his full attention to you instead.
“Met you at work,” he says to you, and you’re obsessed with the way he’s effectively answering Wine Aunt while also cutting her out of the conversation. He glances up at your hair, brushes it back from your forehead. “It was just your voice at first, lots of phone calls. And then I got to meet you.”
Your tummy’s not just fluttering, it’s kicking you. He’s too good at sounding like this, warm and fond and genuine. It’s starting to pinch behind your ribs.
It’s just a show. You’re playing in it, too.
Wine Aunt’s bringing her glass to her lips, muttering something like isn’t that sweet, expression fully soured. You can see she’s turned away, scanning the tables for her next victim, and your quiet smile at Leon grows a sharpened edge of victory. Then she leaves without another word and you have to bite back a full grin.
“Did she really just try to come on to me?”
“She’s notorious.”
“Mm. I thought about saying we met at an AA meeting, but she wouldn't know anything about that.”
Your eyes sparkle with dark delight. “Leon Kennedy. You are here for violence.”
You both jump when the speakers give a sudden feedback screech, the DJ raising his arm in apology before checking the microphone again. He announces it’s time for the speeches, and Leon exchanges a harrowed glance with you before grabbing both your empty drinks glasses.
“Same again?”
“Stronger.”
You haven’t been to a single wedding where the speeches didn’t set your teeth on edge.
Tonight might be the worst yet. You’re glad, at least, that there’s a literal spotlight somewhere else in the tent, leaving your table in heavy shadow. Both you and Leon look like you're on trial awaiting a heavy verdict rather than listening to weepy, heartfelt sentiments and weak jokes that rarely land.
Your fingers draw aimless lines up and down your drink glass, smearing through the condensation. Your eyes are on Leon’s back; he’s hunched forward, elbows on the table.
You listen to different iterations of the same gist, hear the same buzzwords, over and over.
Proud. Deserve. Love. Peace. Safety. Long life. Happiness. Together.
They all land like darts, piercing you.
Halfway through the father of the bride’s speech, Leon gets up, unreadable. He sets his hand on your back and leans down, his voice low and even.
“I’ll be right back.”
It’s calm, casual. Normal.
The giveaway is when his whiskey goes with him, and the direction he heads.
Not for the bathroom. Not for the bar.
The exit.
The reception tent is set up next to a huge, beautifully manicured garden courtyard, all high shrubs and fragrant bushes and bursting clusters of flowers lining stone paths that stretch and curve and cross over each other, a loose labyrinth. In the middle of it all stands a large stone fountain, its cascade a gentle burble rather than a showy spray, its wide pool full of blooming lilypads and the white and orange flicker of koi fish. Above it is a massive circular pergola, a slat-wooded ring dripping with cafe lights and vining flowers like a great wild halo.
The loudspeakers in the tent become just a shapeless thrum once you’re past the first wall of shrubs, and the summer chorus of crickets and frogs work to drown it out entirely. The sun’s almost down; fireflies are flashing and flickering in the dense foliage as you navigate the paths, heading for the sound of water.
And that’s exactly where you find him.
Leon’s sitting on the edge of the stone pool, head down, whiskey glass hanging from loose fingers. For a moment you just stand quietly and watch him breathe.
“Hey.”
He looks up; straightens and clears his throat, casually sipping at his drink.
“Hey,” he echoes.
“You don’t have to do that,” you tell him, moving in closer. His eyes reflect the cafe lights like little stars as he looks up to meet your approach. There’s a subtle tightness to his expression, a shadow lurking, but if you didn’t know him like you do, you’d never recognize it. He’s too well trained.
“Do what?”
“Hide.”
He doesn’t deny it. He lowers his gaze and downs the last of his drink.
“You’re missing the speeches,” he says instead.
“Chad has the microphone."
He huffs a humorless laugh through his nose. A breeze meanders through the gardens, stirring through his hair. Not really thinking about it, you trace one finger lightly across his forehead, back over his ear, his hair falling softly back into place. He meets your eyes but your gaze is distant.
The both of you have sacrificed so much, willingly or otherwise, for your line of work. That’s why it’s not you at the sweetheart table tonight, and why it probably never will be. You’ve learned how to ignore the empty spaces, to close them off within yourselves so you can keep moving forward, because you can both see the bigger picture and your places within it.
What you do creates space for happy endings, fights to maintain that space. Tries, every day, to broaden it.
You know you’ve both long given up on the idea that the fight will ever be over. After two decades, it’s inescapable: there will always be something lurking in the shadows, growing in labs, lying in wait. The only way this will end for you is in death; as long as you’re alive, you have to keep going. That’s your lifelong commitment.
You can train yourself to endure the emptiness all you want. It’s still fucking lonely.
But if today has proven anything to you, it’s that you’re not alone. For once, you’re not by yourself behind a desk in some dark safehouse while Leon's out who-knows-where, running with Death on his heels. For the first time, he’s here, he’s right in front of you, you can touch him, comfort him the way you’ve always wished you could, hearing him breathe brokenly down the comms on particularly difficult missions.
And what missions weren’t difficult?
“Thank you for being here,” you tell him quietly, distantly. You card his hair back over his ear, still busy in your own head, just liking how it feels. His hair is soft, and his strands of silver look like threads of gold in the warm, soft lighting.
His hand, resting on his own thigh, brushes your leg through the silky fall of your skirt. You’re standing between his legs at the edge of a bubbling fountain, playing with his hair while fireflies dance in the fragrant summer air around you.
Your fingers hesitate, starting to curl like a dying vine near his temple as the awareness sets in. But before you can draw your hand away, he dips his head to brush your fingers against his hair again.
Don’t go.
His eyes close and his head sways back when you comb both of your hands into his hair, nails scratching lightly along his scalp. His hands are settled on your legs now, just leaning there, still rested on his own thighs. His shoulders are loose, tension drained, and his lips are parted.
It’s such a show of trust that it almost overwhelms you. Not only are you blocking sightlines but his head is in your hands, and despite the nooks and shadows of the courtyard all around you, he's got his eyes closed. This is more surrendered than you’ve ever seen him.
You know he’s lethal, body honed not just to handle weapons, but into a weapon itself. He can snap a spine with the heel of his palm. He can crush a skull with his foot, send a body absolutely sailing with the strength of his legs.
But he’s also been one of the kindest, gentlest people you know. He cracks stupid jokes when he knows you’re wound up, but only after checking in with you. He looks at you with such adoration. He touches you with respect and care.
Is all of it really just for the role?
His lashes are a thick, dark sweep over the tops of his cheeks. You run your thumb over his eyebrow, lightly down the bridge of his nose, and he opens his eyes. You can see the green in his irises as he studies you; the dark halo of blue that rings them.
“I like this better," he tells you.
"What?"
He touches his ear, miming an earpiece, then sets his hands on your hips, light. Easily moved or brushed away. You do neither.
Your heart thumps a little faster. This touch is not waist-up.
This isn’t the role.
You lean down, speaking directly against the shell of his ear.
“Don't get used to it, Kennedy.”
You’ve barely finished saying his name before he’s turned his head and caught your lips in a kiss.
You draw back a little, startled, your lips buzzing. His eyes are half-lidded looking up at you, unapologetic.
“No one’s watching,” you check.
“I know.” He looks down at your lips.
Your hands skim his jaw, his stubble rasping against your skin.
“This was never about aiding in my revenge, was it.”
He shakes his head. His thumbs are stroking your hipbones through the silk of your dress.
"I just wanted this," he admits.
Suspended within the summer song of crickets and frogs, under whispering leaves and beside softly burbling water, you lean down and kiss him. His hands slide up to your waist, mouth so tender on yours, kissing you back while the fireflies wink and dance around you.
You’re not alone.
On AO3
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It’s late and he’s in the kitchen. Back to you, fridge doors open before him, the cool light making the shadows of the dark room much more dramatic.
Perfect.
You creep behind him, careful, so careful, to avoid even the slightest crunch or stick of your foot to tile.
He’s still browsing, still completely unaware. You see the chance and you take it, jumping behind him and using both hands to grip his sides with a playful yell.
Not even a flinch. All he does is glance at you over a shoulder, smirking. “You breathe so loud.”
He closes the fridge, snack in hand, and leaves you in the dark, defeated.
—
He’s in the shower. You know he’ll see your shadowed outline through the curtain if he’s looking. So, you wait.
You hear the squirt of shampoo, the foaming lather as he runs it through his hair. You’re in, moving quickly, ripping the curtain back with a scream.
Arms still up, fingers in his hair, he just looks at you, brow arched, grossly unimpressed.
Your sigh is heavy, eyes rolling. “Oh come on. How?”
He hums and flicks soap at you. “Better luck next time.”
—
He’s out grabbing ingredients for dinner. You’ve got it down this time.
You hear the front door click open from the depths of the coat closet, shuffling as he kicks off his boots, the crinkle of the paper bags full of groceries as he sets them down. The smooth leather of his jacket protests as he slips it off.
You tense, ready, waiting.
The closet door creaks, then you’re the one screeching as he grabs you, lifting you easily into his arms. He digs his fingers into your ribs and you’re squirming, laughing, already breathless as he targets the spots he knows you can’t bear a single touch without crumbling.
You swat him off, begging, and he lets up. His hands unite under your ass to hold you up as you straddle him, arms around his neck.
“Thought I had you that time.”
A sly smile and he’s giving one of your firm cheeks a pinch. “I felt so bad, I almost let you have that one.”
You’re both laughing again as he carries you toward the bedroom, groceries abandoned in the entryway.
