Lani

“Then let me cuff you, baby,” he murmurs against your neck before his tongue glides across the skin, making the heat between your legs build as you continue to grind yourself back against him. “Let me take care of you.”

You were tempted. God, you were incredibly tempted. Steve was the most giving guy you had ever been with and he was incredibly good at it. He could have spent hours between your thighs and you would have happily let him. He loved the way you tasted, how you squeezed his head between your thighs when you were close, how your fingers gripped his hair as you mewled and writhed beneath him as he slipped two fingers inside of you while his tongue played with your clit.

But that’s not what you were in the mood for.

You hum as you continue to grind back against Steve, biting back a smile when his fingers dig into your skin, when his breath hitches as though he was holding back on more of those delicious moans of his.

“Sounds tempting,” you say finally before you cease your slow grinding against his crotch. Steve makes a soft noise of protest and it’s impossible to fight the smile that was spreading across your face.

You turn around to look at your boyfriend and you can see by his expression how much he wants you (if his hard cock that was now pressing against your thigh wasn’t already enough of a hint). His pupils were blown, lips parted and cheeks flushed pink. Fuck, he was gorgeous and just looking at him made you even wetter than you already were.

“Tempting?” Steve repeats, his fingers trailing up to ghost over the damp patch in your panties and watching as your lips part in pleasure. “Does that mean you want to—”

“No,” you say with a shake of your head and a small smile. Steve is quick to pull his hand from you but you grasp his wrist before he could go too far. “Do you trust me, Stevie?”

Steve blinks, brows furrowed in confusion for a moment before he nods. “Of course I do. Why do you—”

It’s then that it clicks for him and Steve’s eyes widen a little.

“Baby, you don’t—you don’t have to,” he tells you, his face beginning to burn an impressive shade of red. “You know I love taking care of you, you don’t need to—”

“—I know,” you interrupt him. “But I want to. Let me cuff you, baby.”

Steve’s reaction is instant. He lets out a strangled groan before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. You could have melted on the spot from the kiss alone. It was slow, sensual and sent hot waves of pleasure between your legs that made your knees feel weak. 

“I fucking love you,” Steve murmurs into the kiss, his hands grabbing greedily at your ass beneath your dress, fingers digging into the fat globes and groaning yet again. You feel him press himself even closer to you, feel every hard ridge of his cock against you now. It takes everything in you not to moan, not to beg for his fingers or his mouth. But the mental image of your mouth on him, of his whimpering and moaning beneath you is what keeps you focused.

You hum against his lips as your hands find home in his hair, fingers sliding through the chestnut locks and giving a gentle tug. The noise Steve lets out goes straight to your cunt. You could have dropped to your knees and taken his cock in your mouth right there in the kitchen. But you don’t—instead, you take advantage of his slightly parted lips and slide your tongue against his. 

Truthfully, you could have made out with him in your kitchen for hours. But Steve was so hard and you were so wet that you couldn’t possibly wait a moment longer.

When you pull away from Steve, a string of saliva connects your lips for a moment. Steve tries to chase your mouth, his hands grabbing your ass again but you smile at him before pressing your finger against his wet, spit slick lips.

“Not here,” you tell him, voice low, your eyes locked with his. “Bedroom.”

Steve groans again, ducking his head down to bury his face in the crook of your neck, lips finding skin almost instantly. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

Your face warms—the way it always does whenever Steve compliments you—and you have to force yourself to pull away from him before you lose all composure. 

“C’mon,” you say, holding out your hand for him to take. Steve looked as though he wanted nothing more than to ravish you right there in the kitchen but seemed to decide against it when he took your hand.

“Lead the way, baby.”

Steve’s hands were on you the entire time you were heading upstairs to your bedroom. He managed to unbutton your dress, leaving it to pool around your waist before you had even entered the room. His fingers were clumsily trying to unclasp your bra but you grab his hand before he could do so.

“But baby—”

He was whining already. The sound of his needy voice made your pussy clench around nothing but you try not to show it—despite the fact he could undoubtedly smell your arousal dripping from your panties.

“But nothing,” you say, turning around to face him as soon as you’re a foot away from the bed. “Now take off your damn clothes and lie back on the bed with your arms up.”

You watch as Steve’s lips part, as though he was in some kind of awe of you before his hands scramble in haste to peel off his shirt. You watch, transfixed—bottom lip between your teeth—as his chest was exposed and you see that smattering of dark hair that you wanted to bury your face in, see that soft tummy of his that you wanted to kiss every inch of, his happy trail that you wanted to trace with your tongue. And then his jeans came off and you saw his legs—those glorious thighs you wanted to drag your soaked cunt along until you saw stars.

His eyes study your reaction closely as he slips off his boxers next, which join the pile of his clothes somewhere near the bed. You were too focused on his cock to really notice. You hadn’t ever really thought cocks could be pretty until you saw Steve’s. His cock was long, stupidly thick with a slight upwards curve that seemed almost perfectly designed to hit every spot inside of you, veins that bulged along the shaft and a tip that was flushed red with want. The first time you had seen it, you had genuinely questioned whether it would even fit. But it did and you hadn’t been the same since. 

“Still wanna be in charge?” Steve asks you, sensing that you were somewhat distracted by his beautiful, beautiful cock.

You blink, pulling yourself together, before you look up at his face.

“Yeah,” you say thickly. “I’m sure. Lie down.”

Steve doesn’t question you again. He just does what you say and something about that makes a hot surge of arousal spread throughout your body. Something about watching your boyfriend—who by now would usually be fucking you with his tongue—laying down on your bed like you told him to gave you the confidence to walk over to pick up the handbag you had bought home from the bachelorette party. The fluffy pink handcuffs stick out obnoxiously against the contents of your bag and you pull them out, your hands shaking in excitement, or perhaps from nerves. You weren’t used to taking control like this and you weren’t quite sure you’d be very good at it but fuck, you were horny and your boyfrined was hot and willing and you wanted to try anyway.

“You got this, baby,” Steve tells you as you wrap the chain of the handcuffs around one of the headboard struts before you click the cuffs shut around both of his wrists.

“Is that okay?” You ask him because above all, you wanted to be sure he felt okay with this. That he trusted you to take care of him.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes out. “Perfect, baby.”

You weren’t quite sure what to do now your boyfriend was handcuffed to the headboard. He looked divine and the absolute trust he had in you to let you do this made your pussy ache. You could feel your slick begin to drip down your thigh and you were desperate for some friction. And so—that’s where you began.

Your dress pools at your feet as you shimmy out of it. Steve groans at the sight of you in just your panties and bra—not at all matching but he didn’t care—and you could hear the rattling of the cuffs as he tried to move his arms. The sound of his groan and the image of him so desperate to reach for you sent something hot to your core.

“Poor Stevie,” you coo at him teasingly as you bend down to take off your underwear. You hear as Steve groans again, no doubt catching sight of just how soaked your panties were. “You wanna touch me real bad, huh?”

“So fucking bad,” he groans out, another small tug at the cuffs as you sit down on the bed beside him. “Just wanna—”

You silence him by leaning him, your panties dangling from one finger as you smile down at him teasingly. “You wanna fuck me, right?” You ask him, lowering your panties until they brushed over his lips and feeling a rush of something hot pushed through you as his lips parted obediently. “Not yet.”

Steve moans as his lips seal around the damp patch in your panties and starts sucking. You watch, unbelievably turned on as your boyfriend moans at the taste of you through your underwear. 

“Good boy,” you tell him in a breathy voice.

The whimper that escaped Steve’s lips at those words was not what you had been expecting but it was everything you needed and more.

“Baby—please—”

You don’t give him what he wants—not yet anyway—but you do swing your leg over his hip to straddle him. Your soaked cunt was pulsing with need now, pressed right against his cock. You could feel his veins brush against your swollen, aching clit. All you wanted to do was sink down on his cock and ride him until you came so hard you momentarily forgot your own name. But you didn’t. 

Instead, you slowly began to drag your wetness over his now throbbing cock. 

“Shit—” Steve gasps, a loud rattle of the cuffs as he desperately tries to move his arms again. To touch you. To hold you. To guide your hips as they continue to move, dragging your drenched pussy over his cock and wetting his dick in a way that had him holding back even more whimpers. “—fuck, baby. Please—”

“Not yet,” you say again, your fingers sliding through the coarse hair over his chest as you let his cock slide between your folds briefly before pulling your hips up, making sure to smear some of your smear some of your slick over his happy trail, your body shuddering as the coarse hair brushes your sensitive bud.

The groan Steve lets out was so desparate—so whiny and needy—that it took every bit of will power you had to pull away from him.

“Where are you—”

But Steve didn't get to finish his sentence. Because he was cut off by the sound of his own loud moan as you manoeuvred yourself down his body. Your name falls from his lips as your hand wraps around the base of his cock. You stroke him once and the sound is lewd—wet from your slick and you watch as Steve bucks his hips up—shamelessly chasing for more as he lets out another whimper.

“You want my mouth, Stevie?” You ask him, leaning down so your lips ghost over the tip as your hand continues pumping him.

“Yes—god, I want it. Need your—”

“Where’s your manners?” You ask, twisting your wrist on the next stroke and smiling when Steve throws his head back against the pillow. The handcuffs continue to clatter as he keeps trying to move, wanting to hold the back of your head. To run his hands through your hair. To hold your hair back as you took him in your mouth.

“Baby, I—”

“—manners, Stevie.”

Stevie swallows, his lips were swollen and wet from where he had been trying (and failing) to bite back his moans. His eyes were wide with want, cheeks flushed and chest heaving. He looked fucking beautiful and you still couldn’t quite believe he was all yours.

“Please. Please, pretty girl. Want—need your mouth on me. Please.”

You don’t break eye contact with Steve as you give him what he so desperately wants. You don’t waste a second—your lips stretch obscenely around the red hot tip of his cock and Steve finds that he can’t look away from you. Not even for a second.

You can taste yourself on his cock and it makes you moan around him, the wetness mixing with your spit as you begin to bob your head, taking as much of him as you can while your hand pumps what your mouth couldn’t reach.

“Sh—shit, baby,” Steve moans out, cuffs jingling as his stomach tenses beneath your hands. His body shaking with how much he wanted to touch you. “Fuck—your mouth. S-So fucking good f’me, baby. Ah—Fuck—”

It’s messy—incredibly so—a mix of drool and your own slick run down your chin as you moan around him again. This time, the vibration from your moan causes Steve’s hips to jerk up and he hits the back of your throat. You gag, your eyes water but you don’t pull away. Don’t stop. Steve is moaning so loud but you could barely hear it as you focus on his cock in your mouth. You hollow out your cheeks, swirl your tongue over the thick ridge beneath, worshiping his cock like it was a damn altar.

And judging by the way he was rambling out nonsense, he was close. Incredibly so.

“Just like that—holy shit—always so fucking perfect f’me, baby. My perfect girl. My sweet fucking girlfriend who always takes my cock so well.”

The words have you clenching around nothing, sweet slick dripping down your thigh as you pull your mouth away from him with a wet pop.

Steve looks stricken at the loss of your mouth.

“Why’d you stop?” He asks, eyes wide and looks seconds away from begging as you sit up, wiping your hand on the back of your mouth.

You say nothing, just keeping your eyes locked with his as you press a kiss over his happy trail. Another peppered over a mole near his belly button, then another and another. You could have kissed every mole, every freckle that littered his body. But you could feel Steve still shaking beneath you and you couldn’t let him wait much longer. Your lips seal over one of his nipples, tongue flicking at the bud and Steve moans out your name, once again attempting to pull his wrists free from the cuffs.

“Baby—”

You pull away from teasing his nipple to look up at him and fuck—Steve Harrington was ruined—well and truly ruined. And it was perhaps the single greatest thing you had ever seen in your life. His cheeks were flushed, lips swollen and wet, his hazel eyes glassy and half lidded with an undeniable need shining in them. He wanted you—wanted you bad.

And you couldn’t take it anymore.

Your fingers fumble with the safety latch on one of the cuffs and the moment Steve’s left arm is free, he’s wrapping it around your waist and whimpering as his skin makes contact with yours.

“Baby—please—”

You don’t need to ask what he wants—you already know. 

The moment you sink down onto his cock is nothing short of bliss. You swear you see Steve’s eyes water in relief after having been at your mercy for the past fifteen minutes. You hadn’t ever heard him make so much noise before—a delicious mix of moans and whimpers leave his lips—and it was making your insides feel as though they were made from molten lava. You already feel him so deep in your gut that you’re sure he’s rearranging your insides but still, you needed more. And so, you began to move.

Your hips roll once, twice and it was enough to have Steve whimpering all over again.

“Ah—shit, baby. Sweet girl. Fuck—I fucking love you. S’much.”

The words cause your walls flutter around him, squeeze his cock as though trying to keep him there inside you forever. It has Steve twitching inside of you as you continue to lift your hips before slamming back down onto him. Steve was still restricted, only one arm able to wrap around you, one hand gripping your thigh as he began to meet your hips with his own desperate thrusts. It took barely any time for your moans to mix together as his cock kissed your cervix with every thrust.

“Shit—fuck—fucking squeezing me s’good, baby. I’m s’close.”

You keep rolling your hips, eyes watering every time Steve’s hips buck upwards. He was so desparate—so full of want for you that you couldn’t help but be right there with him. The coil in your stomach tightens and it’s as you glance down to watch where you’re joined to watch his thick cock disappearing into your heat over and over that you finally let go—and Steve is right there with you.

Your name falls from his lips as his steady rhythm falters. His cock throbs inside you a final time before you feel that familiar hot spread of warmth from his release. 

Your own orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, pulsing through every nerve in your body. It leaves you gasping for breath and clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you tethered to the world.

When you come back down to earth—a minute later, maybe more—you feel him. You feel him breathe against the skin of your neck and it makes you shudder. Steve smiles before his lips brush back over the sensitive skin there.

“Fuck—I love you so much,” he tells you so sweetly, so gently, it was almost as though you hadn’t been fucking like rabbits less than a few moments ago.

You hum, eyes fluttering shut. “I love you too, Stevie.”

He’s still inside of you and yet, neither of you move. You can feel how the mix of your releases is spreading, dripping down your thigh and onto his. Still—you don’t move. In fact, your eyes flutter shut again—

“Hey,” Steve murmurs, tapping your cheek and smiling at you when your eyes meet his. “I’m one handed here.”

Your eyes flicker over to the wrist that was still cuffed to the headboard and smile. “Maybe I’ll keep you here. Forever, longer if I can help it.”

Steve’s eyes flashed with something and you swear you felt him twitch inside of you. God, this man was relentless.

“I wouldn’t mind that. Not one bit.”

You roll your eyes before you look back at him, smiling a little.

“I love you too by the way,” you tell him, leaning in to press a sweet kiss to his lips. “More than you love me.”

Steve hums, smiling into the kiss as he slides his hand through your hair. “Not a chance.” He murmurs back before pulling away from your lips. “Now—get rid of those cuffs so I could touch you properly this time.”

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About learning exactly what you like. How deep to go, how slow to drag it out, when to snap his hips a little sharper to make you whine.

He loves telling you how beautiful you are. Loves feeling you clench when he asks if you can hear how wet you've gotten for him.

But even then… it’s not enough.

Because, see, his mind doesn’t stop there.

It starts to wander, fixate.

On the mess he’s making. On that slick, warm drag between you, the evidence of it everywhere—on his fingers, your thighs, soaked into the sheets beneath you.

On what that must look like.

On what you must look like.

On what you must taste like, fuck—

And once the thought takes hold, it doesn’t let go.

His head dips, rhythm faltering as his gaze drags down your body instead of staying locked on your face.

And then he’s sliding out, the sudden absence making your breath catch, that soft, wet sound of his cock slipping free from your pussy.  

He mumbles a breathless apology, a gentle hold on, baby, and before you can even process the loss, he’s kissing his way down your body, lips worshiping the swell of your lower stomach, the delicate arc of your hips. 

He doesn’t go far—never far—but he just needs to see.

Needs to check.

Needs to know what he did to you. To know what you look like after he’s spent hours making you his—round after round of slow, patient love-making, nothing short of worship—unraveling you piece by piece, then putting you back together the way he wants.

Warm, broad palms settle against your thighs, coaxing them apart.

His thumbs press into your skin, gentle but insistent when he spreads you open.

He just stares for a while, taking in the view like a man starved.

Tongue licking at the corner of his mouth, eyes gone dark at the sight of your swollen pussy; all puffy and fluttering around empty air, gaping from the way he’s stretched you open.   

You usually turn away from this kind of intimacy, still a little shy about being seen this closely—but in the rare moments he can get you like this, completely undone and unmoored, he knows he only has a brief moment to take it in, and he makes the most of it.

He can’t stop staring at that fucking gape, can’t help the low groan that slips past his lips when another line of your arousal trickles down and soaks into his sheets. 

“Shit, baby...”

And then he’s gone.

Once he starts, he doesn’t hold back.

Can’t, not when he’s down here. There’s always this moment—right before he presses that first, tender kiss to your pussy—where something in him splinters, and the version of him that survives doesn't hesitate.

He always gets a little too into it.

More than he should, probably. Past the point where it’s normal.   

It unsettles him, sometimes, how far his mind drifts when it’s just you and him inside it. Things he’d never say out loud, things that'd have his face going red if he lingered on them for too long. Everything he imagines doing to you—doing with you—if he ever let himself lean fully into the feeling.

He loses himself in that thought, same way he loses himself in your pussy. The scent of it, the wet, velvety heat that glides across his tongue as he slowly laps at your entrance. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, squeezes your hips, vision tunneling until everything else fades out, until even his own breathing stops feeling automatic—it breaks into quick, shallow bursts, and he pauses just long enough for the light dizziness to pass before he dives back in for another taste.

Gentle, always gentle at first, savoring your flavor, melting you on his tongue. Though it doesn’t take long for him to get a little carried away—how is he supposed to help it when start squirming underneath him like that, rolling your hips to try and chase his mouth?

“Yeah? Right here?” he murmurs, muffling a smile against your plush warmth, nosing into your clit. A soft laugh follows when your hips buck up into his face.

This is his favorite part—seeing you give in, letting go of the careful restraint you usually carry. He doesn't want you to hold back, never with him.

He moans into you, chasing the quick, erratic motion of your hips with his mouth, sucking at your swollen clit with a pressure that makes you gasp, thighs twitching against his ears.

And when you start to whine—when you start begging for him to come back to you, for him to fill you in a way only he can—he just huffs out a quiet laugh, breath warm against your pussy.

“I know, baby, I know,” he rubs his palm against your thigh, barely pulling his lips away to speak. “Just hang on a sec, okay? I just... just need to taste you—god, you’re so fucking perfect.”

He buries his nose into your mound, takes a deep breath like he’s running out of air, when really it’s just an excuse to linger a little longer. To press closer, inhale your scent in greedy, shuddering pulls, letting it sustain him until the next inevitable return.

When you finally tug at his hair, fingers clenched between sweat-damp strands, demanding kisses with quiet whimpers that make him ache for you all over again, he can’t resist.

How could he?

He lets you drag him back up, mouth parted, chest heaving. His whole face is flushed, nose and cheeks shining with your arousal.

And there's this quiet, adoring stillness in him when he looks at you like this, propped up on his elbows, eyes heavy with something he doesn’t try to hide.

Watching his girl, an angel if he’s ever seen one, glowing against his pillow like you're lit from within.

“Steve...” you whine softly, clutching at his shoulders. “Need you.”

“Yeah? You need me?” he pushes your hair back, thumb dragging lightly along your cheek. “Need me so bad, huh?”

He presses a tender kiss to your mouth—one pair of lips just as sweet and velvety as the other—as he slides back home, the warm, tight clutch of your pussy welcoming him inside.

And when he settles into you again, like he never really left, he lets a quiet sigh brush against your lips.

“Could stay here forever, baby,” he admits. "I love you."

He eases back into a familiar rhythm—slow, deep strokes, just the way you like them—his forehead resting against yours like he really could stay right here, suspended with you, for as long as you’d let him.

But it's his eyes that give him away, betraying him with the smallest glance downward.

He knows he won't be able to stay away for long.

He tracked every movement as if he didn’t want to forget them. There was something unreadable in his gaze, that others wouldn’t be able to read. But it held something heavy. Something dangerously close to possession. 

He wanted you. He wanted you so fucking bad. 

The way your body moved to the music so effortlessly. Like you weren't even trying. The way your legs wrapped around the pole. So controlled and strong. There was a confidence to you that he’s never seen before. And god- the way your hair moved. It shifts with each of your movements. It looked soft, even under the dim lights of the club. It was long and shiny, and he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like wrapped around his fist. 

You had him utterly enamored. 

It wasn’t just what you were doing. It was how you owned it. He’d been to plenty of strip clubs before. But he’s never felt whatever feeling had overcome him like this. Yeah– the other dancers were fine. But they weren’t you. 

Someone next to him hollered when you did that little upside trick again. It was loud and obnoxious. It made something snap inside him. 

His jaw tightened slightly. His fingers flexed around the glass just a little harder. Just enough for the ice to clink against the sides of the glass. Somehow not enough to shatter the entire thing. His eyes still stayed on you, but the anger behind them flickered just a bit. 

He didn’t like it. He didn’t like that someone else felt that they were entitled to react to you like that. Like whatever was happening up on that stage was meant for them. In his eyes, he was the only one in the room. You were dancing for him. 

The dance you were doing felt personal. Just for him. It didn’t feel like just any performance anymore. It felt like it was directed to him specifically now. Every slow turn on the pole, every sway of your hip, every time your hang dragged down the curves of your body. Then every time your gaze would drift over your shoulder. 

Right to him. That made him aware that you felt it too. 

His breath caught the first time you did it. But he didn’t look away. Then you did it again… and again. You’d hold it, long enough to keep his attention. Whether it was just your job or not, you had him completely hooked. 

You spun on the pole one more time before dropping to the floor. The energy changed for him instantly. You crawled your way towards him. Slowly, picking up the cash that laid on the floor around you. Mirroring his own, your eyes just stayed on only him. 

He didn’t move a muscle. 

His heart pounded against his ribs so hard they could’ve cracked.. He tried his best to nonchalantly palm at his pants to tame his hard on. He tried to play it off, especially with you coming closer. But the smirk on your face, proved to him that it wasn’t as clean as he hoped it would be. 

His jaw clenched. The muscle aching from the pressure. He let out a long exhale through his nose, his weak attempt to steady himself, looking for any sign of composure. But he was failing. Because you weren’t stopping. You were still coming toward him. 

Every inch you were closer, only made the tension brewing within him worse. His eyes dragged over you. Before he knew it, you were right there. Right in front of him. 

You lifted on your knees and ran your hands up your body. If it wasn’t before… the performance was definitely just for him now. His glass was now on the table, completely forgotten. His elbows were braced on his thighs, as it would ground him in some way. He leaned forward, as much as he could. As much at the gap of the stage and the chair he was in would let him get as close as possible to you. 

His hand mindlessly reached for the wad of cash that sat in his lap, bringing up a couple of bills to his lips. Holding them there between them. It made you smile. Something that isn’t usually allowed, thrilled you to be able to do it. 

Without hesitation, you lifted your finger motioning him to come closer. He lifted from his seat with just as much enthusiasm. Closing the space, you parted your own lips taking the other end of the money. So close, that your nose brushed his. 

He sucked in a breath, eyes closing from the contact. The first time they left you all night. He felt the bills slip from his mouth. When he opened his eyes again, you were stashing the cash in the cup of your bra. He couldn’t help himself, “Am I allowed to request a private dance?” His voice was smooth despite the feeling within.  You smiled in return, “I’ll see you in 10.”

not the happiest with this, but it's been on my mind for a while now.

His funeral was… nice. It was 5 weeks ago to the day.  Something that was arranged by Ward. Designed by Rose. Not a single touch of the man it was for. A show put on for Ward’s connection. A grieving father of a son he didn’t give a shit about behind the scenes. 

You missed him. It was almost unnatural the way your life seemed now. Everything now seemed out of place. Even brushing your teeth in the morning without his tall figure staring back at you in the mirror felt wrong. You never realized how much impact he had on you. The way you leaned onto each other. Everything without him just felt heavier.

Of all the things, you think you missed his laugh the most. Not the polite one. Not the one he’d give his friends when they thought they were being funny. The one he let out with no one else around. The one that starts in the chest but ends up with him doubled over clutching his stomach.

The silent moments swallowed you whole. The loud pricked at your skin like an invisible safety pin. There was no balance. You were either consumed by your own thoughts of him or you were drowned by everyone’s clear attempt to distract you. Conversations about nothing. Small talk to get your mind off your reality. 

It rarely ever worked. You didn't know how much longer you could take this. 

The cool droplets of rainy days brought no relief. Sunny days brought you no warmth. You felt it on the surface, but nothing could reach deep enough to calm the storm brewing inside of you. It felt like that comfort was something else for other people to feel. 

Speculation swirled around the island about what happened. Or what they think happened. He was the talk of the town even when he wasn’t there anymore.  Rumors were twisted– dramatized. Reshape in a way that either made him look like a hero or a villain. Questions on if you had anything to do with it. None of which were true. 

None explained the way he truly felt. 

He succumbed to the life he created for himself. Every choice he made finally caught up to him. It backed him into a corner he could no longer escape. Even if you were there, he felt nothing but alone. The voices in his head got louder by the day. The berating by Ward only grew more persistent. The drugs felt like they came in by the pound. 

In the end Rafe was alone. He was pushed to his end. By his own fears. He was so far gone that nothing you could do wouldve helped him. Despite everyone reducing him to rumors and tales of what they think happened. No one knows about the small moments kept just between the two of you. 

The ones that weren’t strong enough to keep him around. The ones that had more meaning than anything others could say. That only made it harder on you. 

Ward and Rose were kind enough to let you stay the nights where you just needed the feeling of being close to him. You knew that it was hard on them too. Even with their tough exterior. Even with how difficult they claimed him to be. Or the pressure Ward would put on him, and the blind eye Rose would turn. 

You can see the bags under his eyes, and the way Rose’s face doesn’t brighten up the way it used to. There’s an emptiness to the house now. One they all feel. His bike still sits untouched in the driveway. Your fingers graze it softly every time you walk up. 

You pass the family where you see Sarah and Wheezie sitting together on the couch. Sarah’s arm is wrapped around her sister and you can hear the faint sound of sniffles. You slow your steps as you take in the scene. Your heart breaks for the young girl. Sarah had her fair share of battles with her brother. But Wheezie was too naive to know what went on on the outside. 

She missed her brother and there was nothing to do to ease that pain. Sarah turned briefly, locking eyes with you. She gave you a small, understanding smile in return, making you do the same. 

Upstairs, his room was exactly how he had left it that morning. Now forever frozen as a time capsule of his life. His side of the bed is still messy. The sheets tossed over to the side. An indent still visible on his pillow. Something that should’ve already faded, but it was still there. You didn’t dare to mess with it.

In the closet, his clothes still smelled like him. That musky scent lingered still. Something familiar. It clung to everything. It wasn’t unique. It was a scent that anyone could wear but he could only pull off. His signature. Him.

Your fingers brushed over each item. Finding the navy blue hoodie he wore on one of your dates to the beach. You grabbed it off the hanger, pulling it on. The warmth of him wrapped around you as you held back the tears that threatened to fall. You wiped your eyes as you made your way back to his room. 

On his nightstand, a book laid haphazardly on his nightstand. A journal. One where he wrote all his thoughts down when he believed no one wanted to hear them. When the weight of the voices in his head became too loud. The only way for him to handle it was to get it all out. 

You took everything in one more time, like you’ve done so many times before. 

Nothing’s changed. 

Everything’s the same. 

All of his things will probably never be moved again.

Nothing in his room will ever serve a purpose. 

Every time you walked in you hoped it would be different. That in some sick instance he’d be waiting for you on the other side of the door. 

But it never did. He’d never be there again. 

You slid onto the side of the bed you claimed as yours. The sheets were cool to the touch. Mirroring the feeling inside of you. Not like before. With him. Shifting to your side, looking at the empty space beside you. The bed felt huge now. Not when you weren't pressed against him. Not without his arm around you protectively as you drifted into sleep. 

You could picture the way he looked so at peace when he slept. The slow rise and fall of his chest. Like the weight of the world didn’t rest achingly on his shoulders. He was so beautiful when he was asleep. No furrowed brows. No anger. Just peace. And now you were just alone. 

This was what life was now. 

Just quiet and alone.

an: inspired by a story on wattled - Far from Home by Bianca505298

dividers by @/strangergraphics