belle

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plot-Under sunlit docks and city rooftops, Belle navigates unspoken emotions, risky choices, and the kind of moments that could change everything—if she lets them.

warnings- angst if you squint, mentions of alcohol, sexual tension

wc- 5.1k

final notes - chapter 8 omg im squealing. sorry for putting you all through angst last chapter, hope this makes up for it <3 This is part 8 of my ruin me gently series. I highly reccommend reading 1-7 before this one.

The kitchen smells like slightly burnt toast. Belle walks in quietly, hair still messy from sleep, hoodie tugged over her too-tight tank top. She doesn’t expect JJ to be there—but he is already making coffee.

She blinks, surprised.

He doesn’t look up right away. Just pour a second mug and set it on the counter without saying anything. Slides it toward her.

Finally: 

“You got plans today?”

Belle hesitates, head in her phone. “No. Why?”

JJ grabs his keys. Shrugs.

“Thought we could hit the docks. Or the shops. Whatever. Just you and me.”

Her throat tightens. “You don’t have to do that.”

He meets her eyes—still bruised with tension, but there’s something else there. Tired apology. Brotherly instinct.

“Yeah, I do.”

*** ~~~ ***

Belle recognizes the sound of the waves before they even park. When JJ tells her to “get in the damn Twinkie,” she doesn’t argue, even though her stomach flips when she realizes where they’re going.

The marina.

It’s quieter now. Boats sway lazily in the tide, the sun shining bright, casting everything in that light that should feel peaceful.

But it doesn’t.

Belle doesn’t sit right away. She stands at the edge of the dock, arms folded tightly across her chest. JJ slumps down beside her, tossing a pebble into the water like it's a ritual.

The last time she was here…

The memory hits fast.

“I think about kissing you all the time.” he admitted, voice hoarse. “And then I talk myself out of it. Every. Time.”

“Why?” she breathed, her voice barely audible.

“Because once I do, there’s no going back.”

Her hand moved first. Not to grab him or pull him in—but just to touch, fingers skimming the back of his hand. “Maybe I don’t want to go back.”

That’s what broke him.

In a breath, his hand closed around hers, his other slipping up to her cheek as he leaned in, slow like he still didn’t fully believe this was happening. Their foreheads touched for a second, eyes closed, like they were both trying to catch their breath before taking the leap.

And then he kissed her.

Soft at first, like he was still asking permission. Then deeper—full of everything he’d been holding back. She melted into it, her hand finding his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his linen shirt like she’d been waiting just to anchor herself to him.

The kiss broke for a second, and he pressed his forehead against hers, breathing her in like he needed her to stay grounded.

“I don’t want to stop,” he murmured on her lips.

“Then don’t,” she whispered back, and pulled him in again—closer this time.

That night feels like a lifetime ago—and also like it never left. Like part of it’s still trapped in the salt air.

She sinks down beside JJ, silence thick between them.

Neither of them speaks for a long time. It’s not angry anymore, just... cautious. A truce hanging in the humidity.

JJ breaks first. “You scared me, y’know. After The Wreck.”

Belle doesn’t look at him. Her voice is small. “You were pissed.”

He shrugs. “Course I was. You disappeared.”

“I needed to.”

Another pebble plunks into the water.

“I get too protective. I know I do,” JJ mutters. “I’m working on it.”

Belle presses her lips together. “I’m working on not running.”

JJ laughs, short and real. “Yeah, well. That makes two of us.”

There’s a beat. Then: “M’Sorry B,” he says. “Me too J. Just don’t get too soft on me.” she replies, light nudging his shoulder with hers. 

They lean into each other, hesitant but real. His arm wraps around her shoulder. She rests her head against his for just a moment. And for the first time in a while, Belle breathes a little deeper.

But the moment doesn’t last.

“Awww.”

The hug breaks instantly.

A boat engine whines as it pulls into the dock nearby, obnoxiously loud. Belle turns, stomach twisting before she even sees them.

Topper. Kelce. Ruthie. Olivia. Loud, tan, and smirking like they own the damn world.

“Look at the Maybank siblings having their little hallmark moment,” Topper calls out, stepping off the boat with a beer in hand. “You guys gonna cry together now or later?”

Kelce whoops. “This is better than TV.”

JJ rolls his eyes and mutters under his breath, “Fucking great.”

Ruthie leans against the railing, twirling a brown strand around her finger.  “Aw. Daddy issues bringing you two closer again?”

Olivia’s eyes are on Belle. Calculated. Cold. She’s already got her phone out, thumb hovering over the screen.

Belle stiffens. Her stomach sinks, nausea climbing up her throat. That stupid picture. That threat.

JJ doesn’t notice. Yet.

But Belle’s already standing, fists clenched.

“Don’t,” she says, low and warning.

JJ knew about the kiss. But if he saw the photo. The way Rafe’s hand skimmed at Belle’s shorts.

Olivia grins. “Just admiring the sibling bond. So... precious.”

JJ gets to his feet, stepping in front of Belle before she can do anything she’ll regret. “You all seriously have nothing better to do than harass people who don’t give a shit about you?”

Topper laughs. “You’re on our dock, JJ.”

JJ moves forward—but Belle yanks him back.

“JJ. Let it go.”

He glares at Topper one last time before turning to Belle. She’s already grabbed the snack bag, jaw tight, eyes avoiding Olivia.

“I’m done,” Belle mutters. “Let’s just go.”

“Fine,” he mutters, stepping back.

*** ~~~ *** 

Belle sat cross-legged on a random rooftop, the salty breeze tangling through her hair as city lights blinked awake below. She scrolled through her phone, trying to focus on anything but the ache twisting inside her chest.

Her thumb froze mid-swipe.

Olivia has just posted an Instagram story.

The image was unmistakable—Rafe and Olivia, close and laughing like they belonged in each other’s worlds. Arms slung over shoulders, carefree smiles—the kind of moment Belle had never gotten with Rafe.

She swallowed hard. This had to be recent. The photo looked fresh—no throwback tags, no captions hinting otherwise.

Her heart sank deeper.

She stared at the screen, seconds dragging by, disbelief and anger knotting tighter inside her.

Shaking off the weight, Belle snapped a photo of the night skyline—the glow of distant street lamps bleeding softly into the darkness, casting long shadows over the cityscape. The wind tugged gently at her loose hair as she typed a caption and posted it to her story:

Some things don’t need a spotlight.

She put her phone down, heart pounding a little too fast, waiting. She knew Olivia was out there watching. Probably smiling.

*** ~~~ *** 

Rafe sat in the driver’s seat of his car, the engine off but the city’s noise humming faintly around him. His thumb hovered over his phone screen, the glow illuminating the tense set of his jaw.

Olivia’s story popped up first—Rafe and Olivia, smiling like they shared some secret world only they knew. But the memory hit him like a cold splash: that photo was months old. Maybe even from last summer. Definitely not recent.

He knew Olivia was stirring the pot—baiting Belle, testing waters he didn’t want to get dragged into.

His fingers clenched around the phone, knuckles whitening.

Then Belle’s story appeared—a stark contrast. A dark photo of the skyline, quiet and raw, with the caption: Some things don’t need a spotlight.

Rafe’s breath caught.

That caption was for him. For all of this. The tension, the lies, the silence.

He wanted to reach out. To tell her the photo wasn’t what it seemed. To tell her Olivia was playing a game.

But the words stuck.

He knew where Belle took that photo and texting felt like a half-measure.

A band-aid on a wound that needed stitching.

He locked the phone, shoved it into his pocket, and started the engine.

If he was going to fix this, it wouldn’t be through a screen.

He needed to face her. To clear the air. To fight for whatever was left between them.

And he knew, deep down, it wasn’t going to be easy.

*** ~~~ ***

The city sprawled beneath Belle like a glittering secret. The wind tugged at her hair, and she scrolled through her phone again, trying to steady the pounding in her chest.

A sudden shadow fell across the rooftop. She looked up.

Rafe stood there like he belonged—hands shoved in the pockets of his worn jacket, jaw sharp under the hazy glow of a nearby streetlamp. His eyes scanned the skyline before they landed on her.

“You pick the strangest places to sulk,” he said casually.

Belle didn’t flinch, didn’t even look at him for long.  “Not sulking. Just… thinking.”

Rafe raised a brow. “About what? How to be less infuriating?”

She tilted her head, finally meeting his gaze. “Something like that.”

“You know,” he mused, “this rooftop used to be a hideout for my dumbass middle school crew. We thought we were spies.”

Belle gave a light snort. “Figures. Born and raised in Kooklandia, playing pretend.”

“Guilty,” he smirked, a beat passes. “You still do it too. Only your pretend game’s more subtle.”

She gave him a side glance. “You think I’m pretending?”

“I think that caption you posted—‘some things don’t need a spotlight’—was real artsy for someone who doesn't want anything to do with me.”

Belle’s lips twitched, but she kept her voice level. “It’s still true.”

“Sure,” he said. “Subtle. Real subtle.”

She hesitated, then looked back down at her phone.  “Olivia posted that picture of you two. Looked recent.”

Rafe went quiet. The wind pulled at his hoodie, but he didn’t move. His jaw tightened. “Old photo. She's trying to get to you.”

“Worked.”

Her voice came out smaller than she intended. Honest, raw.

He sat down next to her, close but not touching. His voice dropped. “I was gonna tell you. Just… I’d rather tell you in person.”

“Timing always your problem?” she muttered.

“That and my personality,” he replied dryly.

Belle couldn’t help it—she laughed, just a breathy sound in her throat, then turned serious again. 

 “You looked cozy in that photo.”

Rafe turned his head, looking her dead in the eye.  “Heard looked cozy with JJ on the dock.”

She blinked, caught off guard, then huffed.  “He’s my brother.”

He shrugged, pretending nonchalance but failing.  “She’s not you.”

That hung in the air like smoke.

Belle toyed with a chipped corner of her phone case. “So… we’re doing this again?”

He tilted his head. “Doing what?”

“This thing. Where you show up, say something frustratingly sincere, and then I storm off again before I can decide if I hate you or want—”

She stopped herself.

Rafe leaned in a little, eyes sharp but quiet. “Want what?”

Instead, she nudged him with her shoulder, breaking the spell with just enough humor to keep her from unraveling.

“You’re lucky I’m letting you sit up here. I could’ve pushed you off.”

He grinned, eyes flickering over her face like he was trying to memorize it. “Yeah. But you didn’t.”

They sat in the hush between cars honking and wind blowing and hearts hammering.

Belle let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Then, slowly, she leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Rafe didn’t move at first. Then—just barely—he tilted his head against hers.

“You’re stupid,” she mumbled. “I hate you.”

He let out a breath of a laugh, “I know,” he said, and then added, with that cocky little smirk she hated liking so much— “And you don’t kiss people you hate, Belle.”

That earned him a real laugh. Quiet at first, then bubbling up and catching her off guard—light and breathless and genuine.

She sat up just enough to look at him. “You’re still an idiot.”

He grinned, lazy and smug. “Maybe. But you leaned on me.”

“Don’t ruin it, kook.” She rolled her eyes, but her head stayed right where it was.

*** ~~~ ***

Belle lay flat on her bed, one arm flung over her eyes, the night still humming beneath her ribs. Her phone buzzed beside her.

Rafe: You make it home without pushing anyone off a rooftop?

She smirked, thumbs flying.

Belle: Only barely. You were tempting. Don’t make it a habit.

Rafe: No promises. Are you going to that party tonight?

Belle stared at the screen. The one Kie was dragging her to? She hadn't even wanted to go… until now.

Belle: Yeah. You?

A pause. Then:

Rafe: Wasn't going. Now I am.

She bit her lip, warmth blooming under her skin.

Belle: Stalker behavior.

Rafe: Admit it. You’d miss me if I didn’t show.

She didn’t respond right away. Her stomach fluttered in that traitorous way it always did with him—like her body knew what her head refused to admit.

Belle: I’d survive.

Rafe: You’d be miserable.

She rolled her eyes, a smile she couldn’t stop curving on her lips.

Belle: You’re lucky I like watching you make a fool of yourself in public. See you there, Kook.

Rafe: Wouldn’t miss it, Pogue.

It wasn’t completely resolved. Not really.  There were still things unsaid, things that made her chest twist when she thought too long. She’d told herself to keep her distance. To be smart. To remember who he was.

But here she was. Smiling at her phone like an idiot. Getting that stupid giddy feeling in her stomach just knowing he was coming. For her.

She tried to shake it off.

“Belle,” Kiara called, waving a curling iron. “Are you even listening?”

The bathroom was loud—music thumping, steam rising, Sarah’s voice overlapping with Cleo’s as they debated outfits. But Belle barely registered it.

Belle blinked and looked up, smoothing her expression. “Sorry. Zoning out.”

Sarah grinned. “You gonna talk to that guy who’s been trying to flirt with you again?”

Belle shrugged, noncommittal. “Maybe. He’s predictable.”

Kiara laughed. “God forbid.”

Cleo threw an arm around Belle’s shoulder. “Then tonight’s for the girls. Free drinks and bad decisions only.”

Belle smiled faintly, but her eyes flicked back to her phone.

*** ~~~ ***

Topper was lying on Rafe’s bed, flipping a lighter open and closed, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.

“You don’t have to go, you know,” he said lazily. “It’s a Pogue-heavy crowd. JJ’ll probably start something just by breathing.”

Rafe tugged on a black t-shirt, rolled his shoulders. “I’m not going for JJ.”

Topper sat up, clocking the way Rafe checked his reflection in the mirror. Adjusted a chain. Smoothed his hair. He narrowed his eyes.

“You’re not going for Olivia either.”

Rafe didn’t answer. Just grabbed his keys and wallet, jaw tight.

Topper tilted his head. “So who’s got you risking a brawl and your reputation tonight?”

Rafe paused in the doorway.

“Does it matter?” he muttered.

Topper’s eyes flicked with interest. “It does if she’s a Pogue.”

Rafe looked back at him then, expression unreadable but heavy.

“She’s nobody,” he said. “Just someone I might want to see.”

Then he left.

Topper whistled under his breath, following a beat later. “This better be worth it, man.”

*** ~~~ ***

The music was already shaking the windows when the Pogues pulled up in John B’s van. The sky was dark, the air thick with salt and summer heat. Belle sat wedged between Kiara and Pope in the backseat, her phone buzzing quietly in her lap. A text from him.

Rafe: You here yet?

She didn’t answer.

The van jolted to a stop and doors flung open. John B hopped out first, hair a mess, already grinning like trouble. Pope followed, arms crossed but showing up anyway. Kiara pulled Belle out with her, linking their arms like it was just another carefree night. Just more drinks and drama and dumb boys.

But JJ lingered.

He touched Belle’s arm before she could walk up the path. “Hey.”

She turned, forcing a soft smile. “Yeah?”

He scratched the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at her. “I know I overstepped the other night. I do. But I meant it.”

Belle’s heart dropped a little, even though she saw it coming.

JJ finally looked at her, eyes steady. “He’s dangerous, Belle. I don’t wanna see him near you.”

Her throat went tight. She hated lying to JJ—more than anyone. Hated the way her stomach twisted with guilt and something hotter, sharper, whenever Rafe's name came up.

But she just said, “I can handle myself.”

JJ didn’t look convinced.

“I know you can,” he said after a beat. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Are you two coming or are we having an intervention out here?” Cleo called out at the pair. 

Belle blinked, the moment scattering like glass.

JJ took a breath and shoved his hands into his pockets, nodding toward the house. “Come on.”

She followed him, but the heaviness of his words stayed wrapped around her ribs, even as the music swallowed them whole.

Her phone buzzed again.

She didn’t check it right away, didn’t have to. Her fingers already knew the name, the rhythm of the vibration.

Another message from him.

Rafe: Upstairs bathroom. Five minutes.

Rafe: Just to talk.

Bullshit. And yet—her pulse skipped anyway.

The house was packed — all open doors and bass-thumping chaos. Lights flashing like warnings. Someone had strung cheap gold streamers over the kitchen doorway, and drinks were already spilling across the counter.

The Pogues stuck together at first — like always — slipping through the crowd with a kind of worn-down ease. Cleo danced with a red cup in hand, John B and Sarah immediately disappearing toward the backyard. JJ lingered near Belle’s side, his hand brushing her elbow in that overprotective way he always did when things felt tense.

She tried not to look like she was searching for someone.

Rafe saw her before she saw him.

He was leaning against the stair railing upstairs, nursing a drink like it bored him — but his eyes never left her. Not once.

Just then, Pope waved JJ over from across the room, gesturing urgently toward a group near the hallway bathroom. He hesitated, then looked at Belle. “You good?”

“I’m not gonna die in a kitchen, JJ,” she said, dry.

He shot her a look — half amused, half warning — then finally turned. “Be right back.”

As soon as he disappeared into the crowd, she exhaled — and looked up.

Rafe was already watching her.

He came down the stairs slow, deliberate, all that stormy confidence wrapped up in a clean tight shirt and bad intentions. Their eyes locked. A little too long.

By the time she met him by the fridge, her heartbeat was already ticking up.

“Where’s your gold-digging Kook girlfriend tonight?” she asked, cool but pointed.

“Sick,” he said. A lie. Too easy.

Belle arched a brow. “Sick of you?”

He smirked, leaning in slightly. “You jealous?”

“I think you like it when I am.”

“I think you’d hate admitting it if you were.”

Her breath caught.

But before she could answer, a voice cut through the music — JJ again, calling her name from down the hall.

Belle tensed, the moment cracking at the edges. Rafe leaned in, close enough to feel the heat of his breath by her ear.

“You gonna make me wait?” he asked lowly. Not a dare. A promise.

Her lips barely moved. “Two minutes.”

He was gone before she could blink.

*** ~~~ ***

The door clicked shut behind her.

Rafe leaned against the counter, jaw tight, eyes darker than usual. He didn’t speak at first — just looked at her like she was something forbidden he couldn’t stop reaching for.

“I shouldn’t be here,” Belle said, her voice barely a whisper.

“I know.”

He stepped forward.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “And I will.”

Her breath caught — like her whole body paused just to decide. But she didn’t say it. Because she didn’t want to.

Rafe kissed her like he’d been waiting all night — all week — to do it. His hands found her waist. Her fingers threaded into his hair. Months of tension snapped into something wild and undeniable. His mouth trailed her neck, her jaw, the edge of her lips again.

“I thought we were just talking,” she breathed against his mouth.

He smirked, brushing his thumb over the corner of her lips.

“I am talking.”

It was messy. Hungry. The kind of kiss that felt like a secret begging to be kept.

He lifted her onto the counter like it was muscle memory — like they'd been here before, belonged like this.

They didn’t hear the voices at first.

A crash outside the door. Laughter. Someone twisting the knob.

“Shit—” Belle gasped.

Rafe moved fast. He scooped her off the counter, her legs still around his waist, and ducked behind the shower curtain just as the door burst open.

Topper’s voice: “Bro, I told you she was eye-fucking you.”

Kelce cackled behind him. “She was not, you freak. I’m gonna piss real quick.”

“You don’t need my help?” Topper teased, clearly and extremely drunk.

“Shut up.”

Rafe’s hand found her hip — firm, grounding.

His other hand slipped gently over her mouth.

Not rough. Not mean. Just... quiet.

Her eyes locked with his in the dark. Her breath hitched — suspended between panic and pleasure.

Then his fingers slipped lower.

A slow, deliberate touch.

His lips brushed the shell of her ear.

“You like this,” he whispered. “Almost being caught?”

Her body was already trembling from the rush. From his mouth on her neck. From the way his fingers were dragging slow, dangerous circles against the inside of her thigh, like he wanted to get caught.

“I can feel your heart racing,” Rafe whispered, lips brushing her jaw.

“Please,” she whispered, voice low and sharp. “You’d die without attention.”

His hand slid higher up her thigh, daring again. “And you’d die if someone else had my attention.”

She rolled her eyes, but it stung because it was half-true. “You sound like a teen boy who thinks finger-fucking counts as foreplay.”

He leaned in, breathing hot air onto her neck. “You sound like a girl who’s about to let me do it anyway.”

Her breath caught, just for a second. Just long enough for him to grin.

But she recovered fast.

“Try me,” she whispered, teeth grazing his ear. “See how fast I leave you — hard and alone.”

Rafe’s hand stilled. His mouth twitched. “You’d be thinking about it all night,” 

“Maybe,” she whispered, brushing her hips against his just enough to make his jaw clench. “But at least I’d still be in control.”

He kissed her then — harder than before, all teeth and heat and frustration. It didn’t feel careful anymore. It felt like the dam broke.

But then—

“Kelce?” Topper knocked twice on the door. “Bro, you throwing up or fucking?”

Belle’s fingers dug into Rafe’s shoulders. He grinned.

“Don’t,” she mouthed, barely breathing.

He didn’t listen. Of course not. One slow stroke of his finger up her inner thigh—almost there.

She bit her lip so hard it might bruise.

Rafe’s mouth placed an open mouthed kiss on her collarbone.

Her glare could’ve set him on fire.

He leaned in, voice just under the bass. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll make them hear how good I can make you feel.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Not when her eyes said fuck you and don’t stop in the same breath.

Kelce groaned outside. “Ugh, this whole bathroom smells like sweat and mistakes.”

The room cleared.

They waited.

The door slammed shut. Footsteps retreated. Someone shouted about shots from down the hall — then silence.

But Belle didn’t move. Neither did Rafe.

She was still straddling him, backs of her thighs flush against porcelain, her breath hot against his cheek, her hands twisted in the collar of his shirt like she hadn’t realized she was holding on that tight.

His grip on her waist never loosened. If anything, it tightened — a wordless don’t move yet.

“You’re a prick,” she whispered, almost too quiet to hear. Almost like it wasn’t the truth anymore.

Rafe’s mouth curled near her ear. “Don’t act like you hate me now, Belle. Your body’s telling a different story.”

She glared at him, but her legs didn’t move. Her pulse still throbbed under his hands. “You’re delusional.”

“You’re still straddling me.”

“And you’re still hard.”

That shut him up for a second.

Then, softly — cocky, dangerous — “Say the word and I’ll fix it.”

Her fingers tightened in his shirt.

“Don’t tempt me,” she whispered, brushing her hips forward just enough to make his breath stutter. “I might decide to break you just to prove I can.”

Rafe’s eyes darkened. “You’re gonna be the one breaking if you keep doing that.”

“Try me.”

And just like that, he kissed her again — hotter, messier, hungrier — like every second they'd held back came crashing forward all at once.

*** ~~~ ***

The bathroom door clicked shut behind Rafe like a gun cocking. Music crashed into his ears again—too loud, too chaotic. He blinked against the flashing lights as Rafe stepped out, casual and composed like nothing had just happened.

Like he hadn’t just had her straddling him, breathless and biting.

Belle stayed a few minutes after him, fixing her hair quickly, lips tingling from how he’d kissed her—like he was starving. Like he knew she’d pull away eventually and wanted to ruin her first.

She caught her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her neck was flushed, lips slightly swollen. Shit.

She swept her fingers over her collarbone, then turned to walk out—

—and froze.

Topper was leaning against the hallway wall, a red cup in one hand and a knowing smirk on his face. His brows lifted as Rafe approached, cool and smug.

“Enjoy your little field trip?” Topper asked. “Was starting to think you got lost.”

Rafe didn’t miss a beat. “If I did, it was worth it.”

Belle shoved past them both without a word as she reentered the main room. The last thing she needed was Topper fucking Thornton adding fuel to a fire she barely had under control.

But then—

“Belle!” Kiara’s voice cut through the crowd, warm and unsuspecting. “Where’ve you been? We were about to hit the pool!”

Belle blinked. Right. The party. The Pogues. The friends who didn’t know.

She plucked a drink off the counter and smiled like her heart wasn’t pounding. “You know me. Wandering.”

Kiara grinned and looped an arm around her. “You missed JJ and Cleo roasting those two Kooks on the patio. Come on.”

Belle followed her out, but her eyes kept straying back—to the hallway, to the shadows, to the boy who tasted like danger and adrenaline and who was now leaning against the wall, watching her like he just claimed her. Maybe he did. 

*** ~~~ *** 

The Pogues spilled out into the backyard where string lights flickered like fireflies above the pool. Music thumped from a speaker someone had dragged outside, and a few people were already stripped down to swimwear, taking turns flipping into the water like it was the Fourth of July.

Belle plopped down on a lounge chair, drink in hand, tugging her hair off her neck.

“I’m not drunk enough for this,” she muttered.

“That sounds like a you problem,” Cleo grinned, handing her another cup.

From across the patio, Cody appeared. Shirtless, tanned like he did nothing but surf and flirt for a living, the guy strutted up with two drinks and a smile that screamed I think I’m hot shit.

“I brought backup,” he said, holding out a drink. “You looked like you were fading.”

Belle gave him a slow once-over. “So you thought sugar and cheap tequila would save me?”

Cody chuckled like she was flirting. “It couldn’t hurt.”

She took the drink anyway—if only to avoid the questions that would follow if she didn’t. “See? Predictable,” she muttered to Cleo under her breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” She leaned back in the chair, letting him sit beside her. “So what are you doing out here? Don’t you usually cling to the keg like it owes you drug money?”

“Ouch,” he grinned. “You wound me.”

“Don’t tempt me.”

He leaned closer, elbow planted on the armrest beside her. “I was just thinking… we’ve been circling for a while, huh?”

She glanced at him, skeptical. “Circling?”

“You, me. I flirt, you pretend not to like it. But you don’t tell me to fuck off either.”

Belle smirked, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “Maybe I like knowing you’ll try again.”

Cody raised a brow, encouraged. “So what’s the move, then?”

From across the yard, Rafe watched.

Leaning against the back railing, drink forgotten in his hand, posture deceptively relaxed—but his jaw was tight. His gaze locked on Cody’s hand, now edging dangerously close to Belle’s leg.

He didn’t like it. At all.

“I think chemistry’s worth exploring,” Cody offered.

Belle finally looked down at his hand. “Careful,” she said softly.

He leaned in further, misreading her tone. “Careful’s boring.”

She stood up so abruptly the chair scraped the concrete. “Then you’ll hate me.”

She turned and walked straight past Rafe without even glancing at him.

But her hand—barely, purposefully—brushed his.

Rafe didn’t flinch. Didn’t follow. Didn’t move.

Just brought his drink up to his mouth to hide the grin that tugged at his lips.

*** ~~~ ***

“Okay, who gave Cody the courage?” Kiara asked as Belle rejoined the group inside the Twinkie, her drink untouched, expression unreadable.

“Seriously,” Sarah said, closing the door. “He was laying it on thicker than that onion dip.”

Belle shrugged as she plopped down on the bench seat beside Sarah, reaching for a chip. “He’s persistent. I’ll give him that.”

“Persistent like the urge to scratch a mosquito bite,” Cleo added, and the girls laughed.

JJ climbed in last, dripping pool water everywhere, a towel draped over his shoulders. “Okay, someone tell me that wasn’t Cody pulling his best smolder next to Belle.”

“Oh, it was,” Kiara said, grinning. “He even did the lean.”

“The lean?” John B asked through a mouthful of popcorn.

“You know,” Cleo said, tilting sideways in her seat with a dramatic eye squint, “the I-watch-too-many-episodes-of-Love-Island-and-think-I’m-a-bombshell lean.”

Sarah snorted. “She looked like she was five seconds from jabbing him with the cocktail umbrella.”

Belle groaned, trying to state her case. “I was being civil.”

“You were,” Kiara giggled. “He should be happy he still has all of his teeth and some dignity left.”

But Belle’s eyes flicked—quick and instinctive—toward the Twinkie window. The porch light still glowed across the yard, casting shadows over the empty chairs and water-slicked deck.

Rafe was gone.

She blinked, looked away.

plot - Belle’s secret is starting to unravel. After a fight at The Wreck, tensions boil over, and people are starting to ask questions she’s not ready to answer. There’s only so long she can pretend nothing’s changed—especially when everything has.

warnings - heavy angst, curse words, alcohol use.

wc - 3.7k

final notes - i fear i was struck by the fanfic curse. BUT we're back baby!! this is part seven of my ruin me gently series so make sure you're caught up!! heavy angst but i promise i will make it up to you next chapter <3 enjoy divas

taglist: @rafeobx

“You want to tell me why the fuck Rafe Cameron knows you?”  JJ’s voice sliced through the night air.

The door to The Wreck opened behind them. A glance over JJ’s shoulder caught John B nudging Pope, Cleo, and Kie inside, giving them space. Sarah lingered at the door, hesitant, but finally followed.

The door thudded closed.

“What he meant by, ‘You think you can just pretend like it didn’t happen?’ Huh, Belle?”

“Lower your voice.”

“No. Answer the question.”

His words hit her like a fist.

“You really think you get to do that after everything?” she shot back, accusatory.

“After what?”

She laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and cold. “You disappear for entire nights, start fights like it’s a sport, and you think I owe you full disclosure on who talks to me?”

JJ stepped closer, chest heaving like he was barely holding himself together. “Don’t lie to me, Belle. Don’t you dare. I’m sick of being shut out. Lied to. What the hell is going on?”

Deadly silence fell between them.

“I’m your brother,” he said. “And I’m not stupid. Something’s going on.”

She clenched her jaw. “Nothing’s going on.”

He flinched, barely, but didn’t back down. “He’s dangerous. You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“No, you don’t know what you’re doing. You don’t even see me.” Her voice cracked under the weight of it, then came back stronger. “I’m not your baby sister anymore, JJ. You don’t get to control who I talk to. Who I—"

JJ’s mouth fell open. “Did you sleep with him?”

“No! JJ, what the fu—”

“Did. You. Kiss. Him?”

Belle’s lips parted. She hesitated—only for a second. But that was all it took.

JJ’s expression shattered. “Oh my God.”

“I made a choice, JJ. You don’t get to act like I burned the world down just because you didn’t see it coming.”

“You didn’t just go behind my back—you went behind all of us. Everything we’ve been through. Everything we stand for.”

Belle stepped in, shoulder to shoulder. “No. I went behind you. And maybe you deserved it.”

That stopped him cold.

“What do you think Sarah thinks, Belle?” he bit out. “That’s her brother.”

The silence between them was volcanic—trembling and hot, about to burst.

Then came footsteps. Gravel crunching.

“Hey—JJ. Belle.” Sarah’s voice sliced the tension, her face pale as she stepped into view. “Whatever this is, it’s loud enough for people to hear inside. You might want to—cool it.”

JJ dragged a hand through his hair, shoulders tight, like the air was too thick to breathe and everything inside him was on the verge of breaking.

Belle stayed rooted. Her fists clenched, jaw set. 

“Go ahead,” she said quietly. “Tell them all. Let the Pogues hate me. At least then I won’t have to keep pretending.”

~~~~~~~~~ 

Belle didn’t go home.

She couldn’t. The weight of their words still throbbed in her chest — the looks from the Pogues, JJ’s stormy glare.

So she walked. Away from The Wreck, the parking lot, the fading noises behind her.

The night air was cool and still, the only sound was the soft crunch of gravel underfoot.

A few blocks down the quiet street, a familiar figure caught up with her.

“Hey,” Pope said, falling into step beside her.

Belle gave a tired smile, not quite ready to say anything.

“You okay?” he asked, glancing over.

She shrugged, kicking at a pebble.

“Not exactly the night I planned,” she muttered.

Pope nodded like he understood more than she was saying.

“You know JJ,” he started.

“He’s well—”

“JJ,” Belle cut him off, a smirk tugging at her lips.

“Exactly.” He chuckled.

They walked in companionable silence for a moment, the night folding around them like a quiet truce.

Belle sighed, voice low. “I don’t want to go home. Not tonight.”

Pope glanced at her, then offered, “You can crash at mine. I’ll be your alibi.”

She laughed softly, the tension easing just a little.

“Thanks, Pope,” she said, her voice softer than before.

“Anytime, Belle.”

He shot her a grin. “But fair warning — my couch is basically a rock covered in old sweatshirts.”

Belle rolled her eyes playfully. “Sounds like paradise.”

“And if JJ asks?” Pope raised an eyebrow.

She pulled out her phone, thumb hovering over the keyboard. “I’m thinking something like…”

She typed: Crashing at Pope’s tonight. Don’t wait up. And no, I’m not sorry.

She showed him, and Pope laughed. “That’s perfect. Honest, and just the right amount of that signature Maybank attitude.”

“Someone’s gotta keep him on his toes,” Belle said with a smirk.

They kept walking, the night stretching quietly around them — the weight of the day still there, but somehow a little lighter.

~~~~~~~~~

The road ahead was a ribbon of darkness, lit only by the dull yellow spill of his headlights cutting through the thick night fog. The hum of the BMW’s engine thrummed beneath his fingers, steady and unchanging — the only thing anchoring Rafe as his thoughts crashed over him like a relentless tide.

Belle.

Her voice echoed sharp in his mind. Her eyes—those fierce, guarded eyes—haunted every blink. That stubborn tilt of her jaw when she said she couldn’t do this, like she was already trying to build walls between them.

He slammed a fist against the steering wheel, breath coming out ragged and tight. God, he hated how much he wanted her. How badly he needed her in a way that didn’t make sense.

He wasn’t built for this— For opening up, For being vulnerable.

He slowed as the road curved sharply, fog rolling in cold air that brushed against his cheek through the cracked window. The ache inside him tightened. 

He picked up his phone impulsively. Rafe’s thumb hovered over the screen, the message unfinished in his mind.

“Belle. I don’t want to lose you.”

He stared at the words, then locked the phone without sending it.

Maybe some things were too real to say out loud.

He wasn’t heading home. Not yet.

He turned down her street without thinking.

The porch light at the Maybanks’ place was off. It looked like no one was home. He killed the engine halfway down the block and sat there. Windows cracked. Night air creeping in.

He thought about getting out. Walking up. Apologizing. Saying…something. But what?

“You didn’t deserve that.” “I didn’t mean it.” “I want us more than I’m willing to admit.”

He clenched his jaw and leaned back in the seat, staring at her dark window.

A dog barked in the distance. A screen door slammed from the house next door. Rafe started the engine again and drove off without ever getting out.

~~~~~~~~~

JJ squinted into the morning sun, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he opened the front door. He stopped short.

Rafe Cameron stood at the bottom of the porch steps, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, like he wasn’t entirely sure why he was there.

JJ blinked. Then laughed once, bitter.

“What the fuck are you doing here, Kook?”

Rafe didn’t flinch.

“I just want to talk to Belle. Two minutes.”

JJ shook his head slowly.

“You Kooks are stupider than I thought.”

“More stupid, but—”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Rafe exhaled sharply. “Is she here or not?”

JJ’s expression turned colder.

“No, Rafe. She’s not here.” JJ took a step forward, jaw tight.

“She hasn’t been home for a few days. Thanks to you.”

Rafe went still.

“What?”

“She left. Just like that. Packed up and disappeared after what happened at The Wreck.”

JJ’s voice dropped, the words sharp as glass.

“You think you’re just some dumb mistake she regrets? Nah. You’re the fucking reason she hasn’t come home.”

Silence stretched between them, hot and brittle.

Rafe opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, quietly:

“Is she okay?”

JJ didn’t answer right away. Then:

“She’s Belle. She’ll survive. But next time you think about showing up here, don’t.”

Rafe lingered one beat longer. Then turned and walked back to his car without another word.

~~~~~~~~~

Belle sat curled up on the edge of the guest bed, knees tucked into her chest, damp hair braided down one shoulder. The duffel she brought with her still sat at the foot of the bed — unzipped, clothes half-folded like she hadn’t made up her mind whether she was staying or not.

She’d barely left the room the past couple of days, claiming headaches, too much sun, needing space. Sarah hadn’t pried—not really. She just left snacks outside the door and texted her from two rooms away, like they were fifteen again, hiding from their parents’ arguments.

This morning, though, Belle had finally come downstairs.

Sarah slid a bowl of cereal across the counter. “It’s not much, but... Cheerios cure most things.”

Belle gave a half-smile. “Except the apocalypse I caused.”

“Okay, a few things,” Sarah said, propping herself on the island. “But like, for the record? You didn’t cause anything. JJ’s just—JJ. And whatever happened, you obviously needed a place to breathe.”

Belle’s eyes dropped to her cereal. She hadn’t touched it. Her spoon made lazy circles in the milk.

Sarah hesitated, watching her. “Can I ask you something?”

Belle didn’t look up. “Sure.”

“That night… outside The Wreck. When Rafe said he knew you. What did he mean by that?”

Belle froze, fingers tightening around the spoon. “Nothing,” she said too fast. “I mean—he doesn’t. Not really. I used to see him around when JJ and I were younger. That’s all.”

Sarah tilted her head, unconvinced. “He said it like it meant something.”

Belle gave a shrug that didn’t reach her eyes. “It didn’t.”

Before Sarah could press further, the crunch of tires over gravel cut through the still morning. Belle flinched. Her head snapped toward the kitchen window, and her stomach dropped.

Rafe’s blacked-out BMW was pulling up the drive.

“It’s Rafe.”

“What the hell is he doing here?” Belle whispered, already pushing back from the counter.

Sarah didn’t hesitate. “Upstairs. Go. I’ll cover you.”

Belle took off without another word, bare feet quiet on the tile. She didn’t even close the guest room door behind her—just ducked inside, threw her bag under the bed, and dove into the narrow closet, heart pounding like it wanted to rip through her ribs.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Then a knock. Sarah wiped the concern off her face and opened the door to her brother.

Rafe stood on the porch in yesterday’s clothes, keys swinging from one hand. He looked tired. Or hungover. Or both.

By the time Sarah opened the door, Rafe was halfway up the porch, hands in his pockets, face unreadable.

She crossed her arms. “What do you want?”

“Didn’t know I needed an appointment to stop by my own house.”

“Didn’t realize you were still calling it that.”

Rafe’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t rise to the bait. “Look… I just came to grab some stuff from my room.”

Sarah didn’t move, still blocking the doorway. “Right.”

He met her eyes. “Is that a problem?”

She hesitated. “No. Just—don’t make a mess.”

But instead of turning right toward his room, he paused. He looked left. Toward the guest room.

Sarah’s blood ran cold. “What are you doing?”

“I thought I heard something.”

“You didn’t.”

He opened the door anyway.

The room was still, mostly tidy—except for the hoodie draped over the back of the chair.

Belle’s hoodie.

It was unmistakably hers. Navy blue, frayed at the cuffs, a faded sticker still stuck to the sleeve.

Rafe stared at it. “Who’s staying here?”

Sarah stepped into the doorway behind him, heart thudding. “Just Cleo,” she said quickly. “She crashed after a shift. Left that, I guess.”

Rafe didn’t move. He stared at her like he could see right through the lie, but he didn’t call her on it.

Then he said it. Soft. Barely audible.

“Is Belle here?”

Sarah met his eyes, cool and steady. “Why would she be?”

He stared at her for a beat longer. Then shook his head like he was brushing it off. “Forget it.”

“Probably should,” Sarah said, stepping back so he’d get the hell out.

Rafe looked at her, long and quiet.

Then he left.

Upstairs, in the pitch-dark closet, Belle squeezed her eyes shut, trying to keep her breath silent. The air was hot, stale, and suffocating. She could still hear his voice downstairs, like a ghost.

She’d left the hoodie out.

He saw it.

The soft click of the front door closing sent a shiver down Belle’s spine. She stayed curled inside the dark closet, every muscle tense, heart hammering like a drum.

After a long beat, Sarah’s voice whispered from just outside the door, careful and low.

“You okay?”

Belle swallowed hard, then slid the closet door open just enough to peek out. She crossed the room and sank beside Sarah, the mattress dipping under their shared weight.

Silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but heavy.

Finally, Sarah exhaled softly. “I didn’t want to ask too much before. But... you don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

Belle looked over, eyes glinting in the low light. “I know.”

“I actually have a PhD in dealing with drama. Specifically brother drama so…” Sarah trailed off with a playful smile.

Belle hesitated, then added with a crooked smile, “Thanks for having my back. Even when I’m a mess.”

Sarah smiled back, warm and real. “Always.”

Belle rested her head on Sarah’s shoulder, the small moment of peace on a fragile island in the storm.

~~~~~~~~~

Belle was restocking tees and balls in the tiny golf shop nestled right on the edge of the course. The sun was warm, the sky a perfect blue, and she found herself giggling at something a coworker just said—a little bubble of peace in the middle of a crazy week.

The door chimed softly, and Belle glanced up. Her smile immediately faltered.

Rafe Cameron stepped in, moving like he owned the place—even if he didn’t. The memory of his blacked-out BMW idled in her mind’s eye, making her pulse quicken just a bit. She caught herself staring a little longer than she should.

He strode up to the counter, casually flipping his golf glove off with a flick of his wrist. “Just this,” he said, sliding a couple of golf balls toward the cashier.

Her coworker, Theresa nodded. Rafe was already reaching for his wallet.

“I’ve got it, Theresa,” Belle said, stepping forward and switching places with her coworker without breaking eye contact with Rafe.

She crossed her arms, trying to sound unimpressed but failing. “What’re you doing here?”

He gave that signature half-smile—one that never quite reached his eyes. “Just golfing. With my client.”

Belle arched a brow. “Client, huh? Since when do you care about anyone but yourself?”

His smile twitched, but his eyes sharpened. “Since when do you care about anything but what you can’t have?”

Their eyes locked for a beat. The air around them thickened, charged with everything neither of them said.

He leaned against the counter, lowering his voice. “I’m hitting the first tee soon. You can come out and watch. Or don’t. Your choice.”

Belle shot back, “Your ego doesn’t need the boost.”

Belle busied herself with a row of golf tees but couldn’t stop sneaking glances at him through the large front window. He moved with that effortless confidence, tossing a ball lightly between his hands, waiting.

Her coworker leaned in, voice low and teasing. “Dude, he’s so cute, right? Too bad he’s an entitled Cameron.”

Belle rolled her eyes, the heat rising in her cheeks betraying her. “Yeah, well, cute’s not exactly the word I’d use.”

Her gaze snapped back to Rafe, who now looked up, catching her watching him. His eyes narrowed just a little, challenging her silently. His lips curved into a smug smirk.

The shop felt smaller suddenly, the sounds of distant golf carts and chirping birds fading under the tension that crackled between them.

Later that evening, Belle shoved open the staff door behind the pro shop, the golden hour light washing over the parking lot. Her shift had been long, full of annoying old men with worse attitudes than swings, and the last thing she needed was—

“Leaving without saying goodbye?”

His voice cut through the air like a blade.

Rafe.

She stopped short, spine stiffening. He was leaning against the hood of his BMW, arms crossed, one foot propped against the bumper like he’d been waiting for her. Like he knew she’d have to walk past him to get to her car.

Belle didn’t bother hiding her groan. “You seriously lurking in parking lots now? What, are you bored or just pathetic?”

Rafe pushed off the car with infuriating ease, slow steps closing the distance between them. “Just wanted to make sure you didn’t cry about our little moment back there.”

She scoffed, walking faster. “Please. I forgot you existed ten minutes after you left.”

“Yeah?” he called out, voice amused. “Then why were you staring at me through the window like some lovesick intern?”

Belle whipped around. “I was watching to make sure you didn’t steal anything.”

He laughed. Laughed.

It grated against her already fraying nerves. “God, you’re a dick.”

“And you’ve got a real mouth on you when JJ’s not around to run interference.”

That one landed — hard.

She stepped forward now, chest nearly brushing his. “Don’t bring my brother into this. You don’t get to talk about him. You don’t get to talk about me.”

Rafe’s expression shifted—still smug, but something darker stirred under the surface. “Funny how you act like you hate me but get real defensive when I’m close.”

“You are close. Back up,” Belle snapped, but her voice cracked a little at the end.

He didn’t back up. Instead, his eyes flicked down to her lips for the briefest moment before meeting her glare again. “What’s the deal with you, anyway? You gonna keep pretending there’s nothing here? That night on the dock, at the party, when we kis—”

“Shut up,” she said sharply, pulse racing.

“I don’t regret it,” he said lowly, suddenly more serious. “But I regret how I handled it.”

Belle blinked, thrown off for just a second. “Oh, so now you’re the sensitive one?”

“I’m saying I shouldn’t have let it go down like it did at The Wreck. But don’t confuse that with me feeling sorry.”

“You humiliated me,” she said, her voice quieter now, but no less sharp. 

“You ran,” he bit back. “You always run.”

“Because you never stop chasing until you win, Rafe. And I’m not some game you get to beat.”

Silence stretched between them, brittle and buzzing with tension. They stood too close, breathing the same tight air.

Finally, she stepped back. “Stay the hell away from me.”

He didn’t respond, just watched her walk past him toward her car, jaw clenched, eyes shadowed.

But as she opened the door and climbed in, her hands trembled against the steering wheel.

And Rafe?

He didn’t move — but his smirk had vanished, replaced with something far more dangerous.

Something determined.

~~~~~~~~~

The front door creaked open.

Belle stepped inside The Chateau. The air was thick with humidity and silence. No music, no yelling, just the faint hum of the fridge and the distant chirp of crickets outside.

She shut the door behind her gently, like slamming it would set something off.

JJ was already sitting on the couch, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. A discarded beer bottle sat on the table in front of him. The TV was on but muted—some surf doc playing scenes of perfect waves no one was watching.

Belle hovered by the door, unsure.

“I thought you were staying at Sarah’s,” he said, voice low and sharp without looking at her.

Belle crossed her arms, defensive before she even spoke. “Changed my mind.”

JJ snorted, bitter. “Must be nice.”

She blinked, tired. “Can we not do this right now?”

JJ finally looked at her, eyes rimmed red and jaw tight. “Right. Because now that I know, you want to pretend it doesn’t matter.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.” He leaned back, throwing his arm across the couch like he was physically restraining himself. “You kissed him. You lied to me.”

Belle took a breath, then another. “You’re my brother, not my parole officer.”

JJ stood abruptly. “You think that makes this better? You think saying that means I’m just gonna back off and let you ruin your life?”

“Oh my god,” she snapped, stepping forward. “You don’t get to lecture me about ruining anything when you’ve been blowing yourself up for years. You think fighting, running, drinking—you think that’s not self-destruction?”

He looked away.

“I made a mistake,” she continued, voice quieter but still edged with steel. “And maybe I’m still making it. But it’s mine. Not yours.”

JJ shook his head, like he couldn’t recognize her. “You’ve changed.”

“Yeah. I have. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

Silence stretched between them, sharp and painful.

Finally, JJ sat back down, eyes back on the muted screen. “You staying here tonight or what?”

Belle stood there, throat tight. “Yeah.”

He nodded once. “Fine.”

Belle doesn’t speak. Just takes a breath, careful and quiet, and moves toward the hallway. Her footsteps are muffled by the old wood floors she grew up on—familiar but heavy now.

As she disappears into the hallway, JJ hears it. 

JJ knows she’s crying. She knows he heard. Neither of them says a word.

She closes the door to her room gently behind her.

She exhales—shaky and raw—and presses her back to it. Her arms cross over her stomach like she’s trying to hold herself together. Her eyes burn. Her throat’s tight. Her whole body feels like it’s echoing with things she couldn’t say.

Her phone buzzes.

She pulls it from her hoodie pocket.

A text from Rafe.

Rafe: Are you home? I’m sorry.

Belle stares at the screen for a long moment. The light from it washes over her face, catching the damp shimmer on her cheeks.Her thumb hovered over the screen. Then she deleted the message. No reply. No closure.

She drops her phone on the bed and crawls in after it, curling onto her side, facing the wall.

In the living room, JJ still doesn’t move. But his jaw’s tight. And his eyes sting too.

Edit: it’s outttt <3

hi and i’m glad you’re enjoying the series! i updated the link so it should work fine on the master list! here’s the link if it’s still being weird. thank you for pointing it out! <3

plot - A stolen moment at a party turns into a ticking time bomb when a photo of Rafe and Belle surfaces in the wrong hands.

warnings - angst, curse words, & alcohol

wc - 4.3k

final notes - hi icon!! this is chapter 6 of the ruin me gently series. it took a little longer bc i wanted to get the angst just right :P enjoy!

The air by the dock was thick with the weight of what just happened. But it didn’t feel wrong — not like she thought it would. Her heart hammered louder than the waves crashing beneath the dock. She could feel Rafe’s breath on her cheek, taste the salt in the air, smell the faded cologne still clinging between them.

Belle Maybank had just kissed Rafe Cameron.

And she didn’t feel bad about it.

She didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

For a moment, everything stopped — the world, the noise, even her own doubts — and it was just Rafe and her, for what felt like the first time.She wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. Her breath caught as she looked up at him, her throat tightened, eyes wide, pulse racing.

Then he smiled — the kind of barely-there smile that sent a wave of heat straight through her.

"You don’t have to go," he whispered, his voice low and almost gentle, the tension from moments before melting into something else entirely.

All the feelings rushed back — guilt heaviest among them. Belle froze, her skin burning under the weight of his words.

She should have stayed, but everything in her screamed to retreat, to pull away before she gave in to whatever this was. "I... I should," she murmured, her voice shaky, but it wasn’t because she didn’t want to. It was because she did.

Her feet moved before her brain could catch up. She stood, taking a shaky step back, the heat of his kiss still burning on her lips.She glanced at him one last time, and for a second, she swore she saw something flicker behind his eyes — the same thing she felt.

Unspoken. Unacknowledged. But there.

"See you around," she whispered, already hating herself for how small her voice sounded. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but with every step away from him, the ache only grew louder.

Still, she couldn't bring herself to stop. The night was still too young. And something in the way he looked at her — like he was waiting for her to come back — made her want to run straight back into his arms.

But for now, all she could do was walk away — keeping that kiss tucked beneath her ribs, hidden where nobody could see.

And she hated how badly she wanted more.

How delicious Rafe Cameron tasted.

────────── ✦ ─────────

It had been a few days since Belle had since Rafe–not because she was avoiding him. Because she just hadn’t been on that side of the island. 

The fire crackled low, painting everything in shades of gold and ash at the Boneyard. Around it, the crowd of the party had thinned — pockets of people laughing too loud, someone wrestling over a bottle of tequila near a truck bed.

Belle lingered near the outskirts, tucked between Kiara and Sarah, pretending to listen as they debated something about paddleboards and the next surf trip.

Her thoughts kept drifting, though, and her gaze kept drifting across the flames. 

Rafe.

Standing with the Kooks, beer in hand, laughing at something Topper said. But his eyes were locked on her. The same look he'd given her on the dock.

A familiar heat crawled up Belle’s neck, and before she could stop herself, a small smirk tugged at her mouth.

Rafe’s lips curved, just barely — a private, razor-thin smile no one else would notice — and he took a slow sip of his drink.

Belle ripped her gaze away before anyone could follow the invisible string between them. She tossed her empty cup into the sand, brushing her hands on her shorts.

“I’m gonna walk a bit. Get some air,” she said lightly, nudging Sarah’s arm.

“You good?” Sarah asked, raising a brow.

Belle nodded, her chest tight. "Just need a minute. Cool off by the ocean."

Kiara grinned. "If you get eaten by a shark, I’m not saving you."

Belle rolled her eyes playfully. "Duly noted."

Her heart was pounding harder than it had all night as she slipped into the darkness, not daring to glance back.

She didn’t need to. She knew he would follow.

The air cooled against her flushed skin.

And then — footsteps behind her.

She didn’t turn. Didn't need to.

"You always leave parties early?" Rafe’s voice drawled low, tugging at the base of her spine.

Belle smiled without meaning to, still facing the water. "Only if they’re boring."

He chuckled, rough and wrecked. When she finally turned, she bumped into him — he was right there. His hands slid onto her hips, pulling her close as his eyes raked over her, heat radiating off him.

He smiled, cocking his head. “Maybe you were hoping I’d follow you.”

Belle raised an eyebrow, her pulse quickening. "Oh, don’t flatter yourself, Rafe."

He was close enough now that she could see the sharp cut of his jaw in the moonlight, smell the beer on his breath, the salt in his hair.

Neither of them moved for a heartbeat.

"Sweetheart," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, "if I was flattering myself, we'd still be back there."

Then, as if it was inevitable, he reached for her — his hand sliding to her jaw, tilting her face up — and kissed her.

It wasn’t careful. It started sweet, but it didn’t stay that way for long.

It was months of tension snapping all at once. Messy and passionate, desperate and real.

Belle made a soft moan against his mouth, grabbing the back of his neck to pull him in even closer. Rafe groaned low in his chest, backing her gently against the cool stone of the rocks, bracketing her in like he could somehow shield her from everything — from everyone.

When they broke apart, Belle was breathless, grinning despite herself.

"You’re dangerous," she whispered.

Rafe grinned, tilting his forehead to hers. "Only if you kiss me like that again."

Belle laughed under her breath, her smile softening. "No promises."

She pulled him in again — softer this time, less urgency, more wonder — like she still couldn’t believe this was real.

He slid a hand by the hem of her shorts as she swatted his hand away playfully.

“Save it for next time,” she teased, smirking.

Rafe exhaled slowly, his lips grazing her ear as he whispered, “You have no idea what you do to me, Belle Maybank.”

Neither of them noticed the pair of eyes watching from the shadows.

Olivia, half-hidden behind a slab of driftwood, arms folded tight across her chest, mouth twisted into a sharp, cruel smile. She didn’t need to see much.

She'd seen enough.

Enough to snap a photo.

Enough to go forward with her plan.

The sound of the ocean still rang in Belle’s ears, but she stepped back, brushing sand from her shorts, trying to steady her breathing.

Rafe caught her attention gently before she could fully turn away.

"Belle."

She looked up at him, the moonlight catching the ocean flecks in his eyes.

"You’re trouble, you know that?"

Belle smirked, cocking a brow. "You’re one to talk."

He didn’t say anything else — just tugged her hand up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist like he couldn’t help himself.

The spot burned even after he let go.

Belle backed away slowly, never quite turning her back on him, her grin not quite fading.

When she finally disappeared around the rocks, she didn’t have to check to know he was still standing there, watching her go.

She found herself wandering back toward the fire, weaving through the thinning crowd with an empty cup in her hand, just for something to do. The buzz of the party was low and lazy now, everyone sunburnt and half-drunk, the night tipping into something that felt private when she returned to Kiara and Sarah.

Noticing their drinks were near empty too, she suggested they grab more drinks.

When she reached the drink table, eyes scanning for anything that didn’t taste like lighter fluid and heavy regret, she barely registered the figure that moved beside her — until a warm hand brushed against hers.

Her heart leapt into her throat.

Rafe.

Pretending to grab a bottle, casual, effortless — but close enough that the heat of him curled around her skin.

“Still taste you on my lips.” He whispered close, by the shell of her ear, softly yet seductively.

Belle’s fingers fumbled the plastic cup in her hand, almost dropping it.

By the time she whipped her head toward him, Rafe was already stepping away, beer dangling from his fingers, sliding back into the pocket of Kooks by the fire like he hadn’t just set her entire body on fire.

Belle pressed the cool rim of her empty cup to her lips, trying to hide her flushed smile.

Nobody noticed.

Nobody but her.

She only stayed a little longer. Everybody had left anyway.

She left too — mentally. Her mind was still with him.

On the docks.

Under the moonlight. Sharing their first kiss all over again.

────────── ✦ ─────────

“Hey, B!” JJ yelled to wake Belle up.

She groaned in response, wanting to be enveloped by sleep again.

“We’re going to get more surf wax and sunscreen from the surf shop, you coming?”

She sighed. “Yeah, yeah, one sec.”

The sharp ding of the bell over the door sounded as Belle pushed into the Kildare Surf Co., the salty breeze following her inside.

JJ trailed after her, tossing a playful arm around her shoulders. "You’re lucky I even invited you to come," he teased. "I had important shit to do today."

Belle smirked, ducking out from under his arm. "Oh yeah? Like what? Shotgunning beers with John B?"

"Exactly," JJ grinned like he was proud.

“If you’re lonely, just say that,” Belle said with a smirk, laughing under her breath as she headed to the back aisle where the wax and fins were. JJ peeled off toward the front, already distracted by a shiny new set of trucks for his board.

The shop smelled like sunscreen, wax, and ocean air. Comforting. Normal.

Belle let herself relax a little as she browsed — until she caught a flash of black hair out of the corner of her eye.

She froze.

Olivia.

Strolling between the aisles like she had all the time in the world.

Belle’s stomach flipped. She turned sharply, pretending to study a rack of rash guards.

Too late.

"Hey, Belle," Olivia purred, voice dripping with false sweetness as she peeked over the shelf dividing the two. "Fancy seeing you here."

Belle forced a tight, fake smile.

JJ’s laugh carried from the front of the store — talking to the cashier about a fin set.

Belle’s heart slammed against her ribs.

"You're really good at hiding it," Olivia said, voice low enough no one else could hear. She leaned in closer, her perfume cloying. "But not good enough."

“What do you mean?” Belle’s mouth went dry, they both knew what Olivia meant.

“If you want to play dumb, I could show you and your brother right now.” Olivia smiled maliciously.

Belle looked at JJ, checking out. He was almost done, putting his items in his bag.

“I have proof,” Olivia said, voice low.

Belle forced herself to keep her eyes on the rash guards, but her grip tightened.

“You’re bluffing.”

Olivia walked around the shelf, and shoved her phone into Belle’s face.

And there it was.

There it was — Rafe’s mouth on hers, caught mid-kiss. His hand frozen in time, half-slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts.

All color drained from Belle’s face, and Olivia regained her smile. It didn’t reach her eyes, but it was all teeth.

"You’ve got a choice, Maybank," she whispered. "End it. Or I end it for you."

And with that, Olivia breezed away — all sunshine and sweetness — just as JJ turned down the aisle, oblivious.

"Yo, Belle! You ready?" he called.

Belle plastered on a smile she didn’t feel and shoved the sick, twisting feeling deep down.

"Yeah," she croaked, grabbing the nearest board wax without even looking.

She followed JJ out into the bright sun, the weight of Olivia’s threat suffocating her.

The little bell over the surf shop door jingled as they stepped out into the afternoon sun, JJ tossing his new fins in the air and catching them lazily.

“What’re you thinking about? You’re looking all moody over there.” JJ said playfully, pushing her to the car.

“Oh, nothing,” Belle sighed dramatically. “Just how badly you’re going to wipe out this Saturday.”

“Yeah,” JJ said. “You’d know about wiping out. You looked like a fish out of water last week.” JJ mocked.

“Shut up, asshole!” She giggled, chasing JJ to his truck.

JJ reached for the truck door, shaking his head and smiling. "Keep talking that shit. See what happens."

Belle smiled back at him, her heart slamming against her ribs like it wanted out. She breathed in. Out. Like nothing was wrong.

────────── ✦ ─────────

The steering wheel creaked under Rafe’s grip as he took another sharp turn down the marsh roads, the BMW’s headlights slicing through the fog.

He needed to think. Usually driving would fix all of his problems. But of course it wouldn’t with her. 

Where the fuck was she?

He hadn’t heard from Belle in almost twenty-four hours.

No texts. No calls.

Nothing.

It wasn’t like her. Not after that night — not after the way she kissed him, touched him, looked at him like he was something more than the mess everyone said he was.

The memory twisted in his gut like a knife.

The sound of her angelic voice, the way her fingers tugged at the back of his shirt — all of it burned behind his eyes.

Rafe slammed the heel of his hand against the dashboard while sitting at a light.

"Fuck," he yelled.

He needed a drink.

Something to shut it off. Shut her out.

The Wreck was the nearest place open this late, the parking lot half-filled with the usual Kooks and stragglers looking to kill brain cells on a weeknight.

Rafe didn’t care.

He needed to feel something that wasn’t this sick, clawing need for her.

He killed the engine, grabbed his lighter, and shoved the door open.

The second he stepped inside, the smell of cheap beer and salt hit him — and then something else.

Something sharper.

Something familiar.

Rafe froze.

Because across the deck, under the flickering fairy lights and cheap neon, stood Belle Maybank.

Laughing at something John B said amongst the rest of the pogues.

Her hair messy from the breeze, her mouth — that mouth — curved into a smile Rafe had no part of.

The blood drained from his head and roared in his ears.

And just like that, the spiraling stopped.

It wasn't gone — it was worse.

It focused.

On her.

Without thinking, Rafe shoved through the crowd, cigarette still tucked between his fingers, hoodie pulled low over his face.

His chest burned with something brutal and ugly — a sick mix of need, betrayal, and fury.

She was really gonna pretend like he didn’t exist?

Not a chance.

He called her phone immediately in hopes she’d abandon the group so he could talk to her. 

When her phone lit up – Rafe Cameron

Belle froze. She looked at the screen, really looked at it. And shoved it back in her pocket, a sad expression falling on her face.

“You good?” Kiara asked.

“Uh, yeah just,” she paused. “Lacy, my friend, we got in a fight so” her voice trailed off.

“Aw, I’m sorry that sucks.”

“Yeah,” She smiled downward. “Hey, I’ll be back, yeah?”

“Bring us drinks when you come back Belle!” Sarah yelled happily unaware.

“Yes!” John B quickly–and drunkely agreed, landing his eyes on Belle.

Belle slipped into the bathroom and stared at her reflection.

When did she become this liar? This traitor? Kissing a kook who's way out of her league? Did she seriously think Rafe and her were ever going to work?

Tears started to form in her waterline and one trailed down her cheek before she wiped it. She took a deep breath before leaving the bathroom. 

A hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her against the wall, hidden from the rest of the restaurant.

Rafe’s breath came out in quick bursts as he pressed her against the wall. He didn’t wait for her to say anything. He couldn’t — he was drowning in the sudden rush of emotions, and there was no way out except through her. His fingers tightened around her wrist, not hurting, but enough to keep her close.

“Why’re you ignoring me?” he said, his voice low, rough — almost like a growl. “Why’re you shutting me out?”

Belle’s eyes flickered between his, her chest heaving as she tried to stay calm. But all she felt was the heat of his touch, the weight of the words that had been hanging between them, too heavy to say aloud. “I’m not—”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, his face inches from hers. “You didn’t answer, Belle. I called you. I needed to know where you were–if you were okay. What the hell is going on with you?” 

His eyes narrowed, trying desperately to understand what she was trying to say.

The tension between them was so thick, it was suffocating. She didn’t know what to say, what to do. “Rafe, I’m... I was with the Pogues. I—”

His eyes softened, the anger calming beneath the surface, mixing with something darker. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

The question hit her like a slap to the face. “Because I didn’t know what to say to you!” Her voice cracked on the last word, betraying the vulnerability she’d been hiding so carefully.

For a moment, Rafe’s anger faltered, his grip on her wrist loosening just a fraction as his eyes softened — but only for a second. “I can’t do this–not like this. I can’t just pretend like nothing happened.”

A silence fell between them but was swiftly broken by Rafe’s “I let you in.” His voice cracked with emotion when he claimed it. 

“I know,” Belle bit her lip, teary eyed. She exhaled a deep breath. “But I-”

A beat passed.

“I can’t.”

“Well you can’t pretend like nothing happened!” 

“I’m not!” Belle yelled in a whisper tone. 

The words hung in the air between them, and for a brief moment, the fight drained out of Belle. She looked up at him, seeing the pain behind his eyes, the same pain she’d been trying to ignore.

He leaned in to kiss her, like it would take both of their pain away. Prove something to her and himself, that despite their differences they could be together. Be something.

But Belle pulled away before he could get any closer, putting a hand on his chest. “We can’t keep doing this,” she said, breathless. “It’s too much. We’re... not supposed to be this close.”

She could feel his heart break as her hand was still resting on his chest.

“Face it,” she started. “I’m a pogue. You’re a kook. We don’t mix. Oil and water.” She chokes on her own words as she says them. Her heart was breaking by each syllable she spit out.

“Is that how you feel? Really?” She could tell it hurt him somewhere deep—although he maintained a cool armor. 

 She nodded.

“After our kiss. After the party. After the first time you spent at my house and the morning after.” He stated. “I’m not stupid, Belle. I know you feel something for me.Because I feel the same way-” He said, almost pleading.

 He almost finished before being interrupted by Belle’s: “I can’t anymore.” She shrugged, on the verge of tears. She wiped them away before she went to the bar to grab drinks for the Pogues. She put on a fake smile that her friends know all too well at this point. 

Leaving him stranded, alone by the bathroom. Wondering where the hell Belle Maybank went. And how could he get her back?

Rafe stood there for a long moment, back pressed against the cool wall, trying to breathe through the hollow ache spreading through his chest.

The roar of the Wreck blurred around him — the clatter of pool cues, drunken laughter, Sarah's shriek as John B spilled a drink — but all he could see was her.

Belle.

Laughing, smiling, weaving through the crowd like nothing happened. Like he was nothing.

Like he hadn’t kissed her like his life depended on it.

Like she hadn’t kissed him back.

Rafe’s fist were balled so tight it hurt.

He watched as she leaned over the bar, calling the bartender’s name with a tilt of her head and that easy, careless smile — the same one that used to be just for him.

Not anymore.

He hated it.

Hated how she could pretend.

Hated how she could walk away.

His fingers twitched at his side, still itching with the memory of her skin against his. He needed to do something — anything — before he lost his mind.

Rafe pulled the hoodie tighter over his head, sinking deeper into the shadows.

He needed a plan.

If Belle thought she could just cut him out, pretend it never happened — she was wrong.

Dead wrong.

Because he wasn’t done with her.

Not even close.

He lit a cigarette with shaking hands, eyes never leaving her figure across the room.

She’s mine, he thought viciously.

Whether she wanted to admit it or not.

“Okay, I’m pretty much tapped out," John B confessed, slumping against the sticky top of their table.

The rest of the Pogues nodded along, their laughter lazy and loose from too many rounds.

"Yeah, it’s getting late," Sarah agreed, stretching her arms overhead. "Let’s get outta here."

“Wait, guys — I could do one more round!” JJ said eagerly, already waving at the bartender.

The Pogues groaned in unison.

“You’re relentless," Kiara said, shaking her head with a grin.

Belle pushed off her stool, slinging an arm around JJ’s shoulders. "I’ll do one more with you, Jayj."

"Leave it to the Maybanks," Pope joked, earning a soft elbow from Cleo as she bumped into his side.

The others filed out with promises to meet back at the Chateau, while Belle and JJ stayed behind to toss back another couple shots.

The tequila burned in Belle’s throat, but the warmth that spread through her chest was almost comforting — almost enough to drown out the buzzing anxiety she hadn’t been able to shake all night.

By the time they stumbled out the door, laughing about something stupid JJ had said, Belle froze.

The others weren’t alone.

John B, Sarah, Kiara, Cleo, and Pope were already halfway across the parking lot — but they weren’t just walking to the Twinkie.

They were talking–to him.

Rafe stood there, his hoodie sleeves pushed up, revealing bruised knuckles.

He was calm — too calm — and he wasn’t looking at any of them.

His gaze snapped straight to Belle the second she stepped outside.

The laughter died on her lips, it was replaced with shock, and fear.

JJ stiffened beside her, his hand automatically dropping to rest on her lower back like he was bracing for a fight.

"Shit," Belle whispered.

"Stay behind me," JJ muttered without missing a beat.

As they approached, Belle could see everybody–including JJ were tense. 

“What the fuck is he doing here?” JJ yelled.

“JJ maybe-”

“No Belle! What the fuck is this Kook doing on our side of the island?” JJ said, quickly escalating his anger along with Rafe’s.

“You gonna act like you don’t know me, Belle?” Rafe said, leaning his head to meet her eyes. 

She looked at him but no words escaped her lips. He raised his eyebrows awaiting a response.

“Go to the car, Belle.” JJ commanded.

“What?”

“Go.”

“JJ don’t.” She pleaded.

“Rafe’s eyes still locked on Belle — ignoring everyone else.

"You didn’t answer me," Rafe said, voice cutting through the cool night. "You think you can just... pretend like it didn’t happen?"

"Back the fuck off," JJ growled. He was practically vibrating with anger now. "She doesn't owe you shit."

"And you do?" Rafe shot back, his own voice rising. "You think you’re the fucking hero here, Maybank? King of the Pogues? That’s sad.”

He took a step forward.

JJ matched it instantly.

Chest to chest, practically daring each other.

Belle’s pulse was racing. 

“Do you got a problem, Rafe?” JJ said, sizing him up.

“Yeah, a few.” Rafe replied with a cruel look in his eyes. The soft, vulnerable Rafe she was with a few nights ago had been covered up by a hard, icy exterior. 

"Stop." she snapped, stepping in between both of them. SHe pushed her hands on both of their chest not only to ground them but separate more space between the two boys.

JJ’s jaw was clenched so hard she thought he might break a tooth.

Rafe was breathing hard, shoulders stiff, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t trust himself.

"You really think you can protect her?" Rafe said, squinting his eyes as his voice became low and bitter. "You don't even know what you're protecting her from."

"Shut the fuck up." JJ hissed, drawing out every word.

Rafe’s eyes flicked down to Belle’s hand on his chest.

For a moment — just a moment — something cracked across his face.

The anger slipped, and all that was left was hurt.

He took a step back.

"See you around, Belle," His voice was low. Almost gentle. And it hurt worse than if he’d screamed at her.

Then he turned, disappearing into the night without another word.

plot - You’ve spent weeks planning the perfect party, hoping that Mattheo Riddle will finally notice you. When he shows up, everything turns raw and real in a dark Hogwarts corridor.

characters - mattheo riddle x reader

warnings - cursing, smut, & mentions of alcohol.

wc - 1.1k

final notes - hii, i tried this as a challenge to push myself as i've been in a brain block lately. everything in bold letters are lyrics from the song "party 4 u" by charli xcx.

"I only threw this party for you," you thought to yourself. You tried to convince yourself it was for fun. For you. The truth was, you’d spent weeks planning this, every detail meant to catch his eye.

The Hogwarts Dungeon was alive with pulsing lights, the sound of music, laughter, and firewhisky — yet none of it mattered. You’d picked every song with him in mind, spent hours getting ready, just hoping he’d notice.

But Mattheo Riddle only played by his own rules.

He showed up when he wanted, and now, he was nowhere to be found.

“Fuck it,” you muttered, tossing back another shot, trying to swallow the disappointment.

"Hey, Y/N, great party!" Cedric’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts.

"Thanks, Cedric." You smiled, placing a hand on his arm, but it felt off. He was cute, but just a little too soft for you.

When he asked you to dance, you agreed, a distraction from the gnawing emptiness. But as the night wore on, so did the distance between you and Cedric.

That’s when you saw him.

The crowd parted like it had been waiting for him, and suddenly the music, the noise, it all seemed to fade. Mattheo stood in the doorway, smirking like he knew you were watching. You felt exposed.

"Hope you walk in the party," you thought, daring him to come closer.

When he finally did, his gaze never left yours, and the room felt like it had closed in on the two of you.

“Didn’t realize you threw this party to fuck Cedric Diggory,” Mattheo’s voice was low, but the challenge in it made your pulse spike.

Your body stiffened at his words, but it didn’t matter. The air between you crackled with tension, an unspoken battle of wills. His hand brushed the small of your back, and it sent a jolt through you.

"Is this what you wanted, princess?" His voice was a low murmur against your ear, his lips brushing the skin of your neck.

You met his gaze, not backing down. You didn’t need to explain yourself.

"You know that I’ve been waiting for you." The words slipped out before you could stop them, more real than you wanted them to be.

Mattheo’s lips curled into a smile, as if savoring the truth you’d just admitted. "Then why’d you waste your time with Diggory?" His fingers grazed your side, sending a shiver down your spine.

The space between you two was gone in an instant, his body pushing against yours, as if he owned every inch of the room.

“If you saw my tears, would you touch me?” You caught yourself before the desperation could take over. It was more than a challenge, it was a plea, a wish you knew you shouldn’t make.

He laughed softly, brushing your lips with his thumb. “If you think I’m going to answer that, princess…” His smirk returned. “You’re out of your mind.”

You didn’t need him to say it. The words were already burning between you, unspoken, but undeniable.

His lips crashed onto yours with an urgency that sent your pulse racing, the heat between you both building with every kiss. The firewhisky was nothing compared to the blaze that ignited when he touched you. You could barely think, just feel — feel the tension, the hunger, the need.

“You know you want this,” he murmured between kisses, his hand sliding down your back.

You knew he was right. You always had. But this time, you didn’t pull away.

He pulled you into his arms, guiding you toward a quiet corner, the world outside fading to nothing. All that mattered was him.

“Come to my party?” The words were out before you even realized they’d slipped from your lips. It was more than an invitation. It was a challenge, a surrender.

Mattheo’s smirk faltered, but he didn’t hesitate. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of everything you’d been trying to ignore. "I'm sure."

With a soft growl, he pulled you closer, his lips claiming yours once more. And in that moment, the party wasn’t about the music or the crowd. It was just the two of you, raw and real.

And that truth, right then, was enough.

And that’s when he guided you away from the party, into a secret corridor very few students knew about. 

The world outside fades into nothingness as Mattheo presses you against the wall, his lips crashing onto yours with an urgency that leaves you breathless. His hands move quickly, sliding under your skirt, gripping your thighs to pull you up against him as he straddles you against the wall.

You don’t waste any time. Your hands move to the waistband of his trousers, pulling at the fabric, your fingers fumbling in your haste. Mattheo growls against your lips, his breath hot and ragged.

"Impatient, aren’t we?" he murmurs, a clear smirk is on his face but his hands are already pulling your panties to the side, his fingers teasing at your entrance, making your legs tremble.

You bite back a moan, arching into him, desperate for more. "I want you," you whisper, unable to keep the desperation from your voice.

His lips curl into a wicked smile as he shifts, positioning himself between your legs. "Then take me, Y/N" he growls, his hands gripping your hips as he guides himself into you in one smooth thrust.

The burn of him filling you up makes you gasp, your head spinning making you throw your head onto his shoulder. You don’t think, you just feel—the roughness, the speed, the hunger in his every movement. His hips snap against yours, his pace relentless as you claw at his back, nails scraping at his skin.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters, his voice low and raspy in your ear. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his gaze dark and predatory. "You’ve been begging for this, haven’t you?"

You can only nod,  barely being able to admit “I only threw this party for you.” your body trembling as he drives into you harder, faster. The pressure builds, the heat coiling tighter and tighter, until you’re teetering on the edge.

His hand slips between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and rubbing in slow, deliberate circles, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you.

"Mattheo, please—" you beg, your voice trembling.

With a growl, he gives one last, punishing thrust that has you shattering, your body convulsing as you come undone around him. The world spins, and for a moment, it's just the two of you—raw, wild, and untamed.

He follows soon after, he releases in you. You feel his hot, desperate pulses, and as he holds you close, both of you breathless and tangled in each other, it’s impossible to deny the need that’s been burning between you all night.

"Stay with me," he mutters, pressing a kiss to your forehead as you try to catch your breath.

You nod, the unspoken promise of more hanging between you.

taglist:

plot - You and Harry are finally in a good place after your late-night rendezvous, but one Slytherin isn’t too happy about it. He’ll do anything to get you back — even if it means making you hate him for it.

characters - harry potter x reader & draco malfoy x reader

warnings - possessiveness, smut, curse words, and slight voyuerism.

wc - 4.7k

final notes -this may be my favorite chapter of this mini series!! make sure you've read the first two part so you're up to date!

Y/N stumbled into the common room, heart still racing, cheeks flushed. You made a beeline toward the table near the window, hoping to slide in unnoticed.

Too late.

“Well, well,” Pansy drawled from her throne-like perch on the couch, a smirk curling on her lips. “Look who finally decided to show up.”

You straightened, feigning casual. “You know me. Always fashionably late.”

Pansy cocked an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Mhm. And I suppose the freshly-fucked flush is just a new makeup trend? Should I expect a tutorial later?”

You shot her a look, though the corner of your mouth betrayed you with a twitch. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to hex you.”

“Oh, I’m quaking,” she said, placing a hand over her heart with mock fear.

Normally, you’d hex anyone who talked to you like that. But that’s how you and pansy’s relationship was. Friendly banter that may have crossed the line one too many times, but you never took it too heart. Neither did she. 

 Her eyes sparkled. “But seriously. Spill. Or do I have to start guessing?”

“I’m not telling you, Pans,” you said, already sliding into your seat and flipping open your book like that would end the conversation.

“Oh, so it was a very specific distraction,” she teased, voice sing-song. “Maybe with a certain icy, sharp-jawed, emotionally unavailable Slytherin?”

You rolled your eyes, fixing your gaze anywhere but on her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Pansy leaned in, her chin resting on her hand as she grinned. “Oh, come on. I’m just trying to figure out who’s been getting all your attention lately. I haven’t seen you this flushed since—wait. Draco?”

You shook your head silently, lips pursed.

“Harry?” she whispered, eyes going wide with scandalous delight.

Your heart stuttered, and despite your best efforts, a smirk slipped onto your face. A soft, traitorous pink bloomed across your cheeks.

Pansy gasped like her name had been pulled to participate in the Triwizard Tournament. “Y/N! I swear, O.W.L.s are easier to decipher than your love life!”

You groaned, dropping your head into your hands with a laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m ridiculous? You’re the one sneaking back into the common room at sunrise with Potter’s name written all over your face.” She made sure to whisper ‘Potter.’

“We are not talking about this.” A faint rose tint was  still creeping up on your cheeks.

“Fine, fine,” she said, grabbing her textbook with exaggerated disappointment. “So what are we supposed to be studying again? Other than your ability to sneak around without getting caught?”

You threw a quill at her.

She ducked it with a grin.

༄｡°⋆⸜☀︎⸝⋆༄｡°༄｡°⋆⸜☀︎⸝⋆༄｡°༄｡°⋆⸜☀︎⸝⋆༄｡°

You were sitting at your desk, scribbling something in your notebook before your first class of the day. 

Naturally, the knock came—right as the door swung open to reveal none other than Draco Lucius Malfoy.

Not that you were ready for whatever he was about to bring.

You didn’t even bother looking up. “Don’t you have someone else to terrorize?” you muttered, colder than you meant. “Go bother them.”

“I’m done with polite conversation, princess,” he said, his voice edged like a blade as he stepped into the room.

You felt him behind you—his presence heavy, electric. Draco Malfoy didn’t need to raise his voice to be terrifying. The tension clung to the air like fog.

You finally looked up, sighing, eyes meeting his storm-gray stare. “Then why are you here, Malfoy?”

He stepped closer. His shoes clicked against the stone with unnerving finality. “Don’t think you can hide behind those little emotional walls forever,” he sneered. “It’s obvious to anyone with half a brain you’re running from something—or someone.”

You swiveled to face him fully. “I’m not hiding from anyone. Especially not you,” you said, arms crossing in defiance.

Draco leaned against the wall, gaze sharp, smirk sharper. “Oh yeah?” he scoffed, “Funny way of showing it. Last I checked, you weren’t so fond of the poor-little-victim routine—but here you are, acting like the world owes you something.”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s nothing new for you.” His tone dripped venom as he pushed off the wall, getting closer. “You walk around like everyone’s out to get you. And Potter—bloody saint that he is—plays hero the moment anyone so much as looks at you wrong.”

You swallowed, hard—but lifted your chin anyway. “You think I need saving? That’s rich coming from you, hurling insults to hide your own insecurities.”

He scoffed again, like the very idea left a sour taste in his mouth. “It’s always the same with you two, isn’t it? He wants to be your knight in shining armor, and you let him.”

You shot to your feet. “That’s not how it is,” you snapped. “You don’t know anything about me or Harry. So maybe shut your mouth before you make things worse.”

Draco's eyes darkened as he stepped closer. “Oh, believe me, Y/N,” he said coldly, “I know more than you think. You love it, don’t you? The attention. The chaos. Playing the poor, tragic girl while Potter swoops in to save the day.” His lips curled. “And you eat. it. up.”

A sick burn twisted in your chest. “So what? You just came here to tear me down?”

Before you could blink, Draco was inches from you. He reached out, fingers curling under your chin, forcing your gaze up to his. The touch was firm—too deliberate—and sent a jolt through you.

You flinched back slightly, but he leaned in, voice a breath against your ear. “You don’t fool me, Y/N. I see it. That anger. That need. You want someone to fix it. You want me to fix it.”

“No. You’re wrong,” you breathed. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

His lips hovered close. “I’m offering you what you’ve been craving.”

Your pulse fluttered—fast and treacherous. This was wrong. You knew it. And yet you couldn’t look away.

“What would Potter think if he saw us like this, princess?”

“Don’t do this to me,” you whispered, voice cracking. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”

He paused. For a second, you saw something flicker in his eyes—something real. But then the mask slid back into place, and he stepped away.

“This is pathetic,” he said with ice in his tone. “For you.”

Your breath caught. “You think you can just play me like that?” you choked.

Draco turned, already halfway to the door. “I think you’ll be fine,” he tossed over his shoulder, “as long as you keep pretending you’re in control of this little game.”

The door slammed.

You stood frozen, trembling, his words burning in your ears. You hated him for what he’d said—for how easily he’d gotten under your skin.

But the worst part?

You wanted him even more.

And that terrified you.

You were going to make him pay for that. And you knew exactly how.

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You came into the DADA classroom just before the bell, eyes scanning for a free seat on one of the benches. There was an open seat beside Draco—his gaze already fixed on you, heavy and unreadable.

You didn’t even pause.

With a slight turn of your head and a smile that didn’t reach your eyes, you crossed the room and slid in next to Theo instead. His brows lifted in surprise, but he smirked and leaned in like it was nothing.

“Studying in the library later?” you asked loud enough for the table behind to hear. Harry glanced over, already watching.

“Yeah,” he replied, slow and warm. 

“Might join you.” You winked at Harry.

“Brilliant.”

You didn’t look back, but you felt it—the sharp sting of Draco’s stare burning into the back of your neck.

Good.

The library was quiet, the kind of quiet that only happened after dinner—when even the usual gossipers were too drained to whisper. You sat in the far corner, parchment spread in front of you but barely touched. 

Your mind was still looping Draco’s voice in your head like a curse. Your stomach twisted at your ‘almost kiss.’ this morning. 

It wasn’t that you almost kissed, it’s the fact a part of you wanted to.

Then, like a breath of fresh air, Harry appeared behind you.

“Hey,” he said softly, dropping a kiss to the top of your head. “Didn’t think I’d find you in one piece after DADA. Snape was staring daggers at you today”

You smiled without looking up. “Survived. Barely. Thought I’d actually try this new thing called studying.” You said the word like it was foreign to you. 

​​Mm, sounds fake,” Harry declared, pulling out the chair beside you and leaning in just a bit too close. “Or maybe you just wanted to look hot pretending to study so I’d show up and be distracted.”

You turned to him, eyes narrowing. “Is that your idea of flirting?”

He smirked. “Is it working?”

“Unfortunately,” you muttered.

Harry reached over, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering against your cheek.“I like this look on you.”

You smiled. “What look?”

He gestured at the books. “All scholarly and serious. Kind of hot.”

You rolled your eyes, though your cheeks burned. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm, and you’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

“I am not flustered,” you said quickly, a little too quickly.

Harry’s gaze dropped to your lips, his own parting just slightly. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Not since—”

“I know,” you whispered.

“Now I know you’re flustered, darling.” You playfully pushed his shoulder. 

You stared at him, the space between you crackling—too much unsaid, too much felt. 

Harry’s smile faded into something softer, something heavier. “You know I’d never hurt you, right?”

You swallowed, throat tight. “I know. It’s not you I’m worried about.”

His fingers brushed yours under the table. “Then stop thinking about anyone else. Just for tonight.”

You looked down at your parchment. “Easier said than done.”

Harry’s voice dropped, low and careful. “What did he say to you?”

You froze. You didn’t have to ask who he was.

“Nothing important,” you lied.

Harry tilted his head, eyes searching yours. “Liar.”

You exhaled shakily. “He just… likes to remind me I’m a terrible decision. Frequently.”

Harry leaned closer, gently guiding your face to look at his. So close your noses brushed, meeting your gaze. “You’re my decision. Let him choke on that.” He gently kissed you, it felt more reassuring than sensual. It quickly deepened—months of tension unraveling as your fingers found the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. His hand slid along your exposed thigh, his breath catching as you shifted onto his lap.

Y/N took a shaky breath, not sure whether you wanted to kiss him or curse him for playing with you like this. "I should be studying," you said in between kisses, but your voice lacked conviction.

"Who needs studying when you've got me?" Harry chuckled, eyes sparkling with promise.

“We can’t here though,” you said. “S’too public.”

Both you and Harry’s eyes flickered to a row of bookshelves, specifically one near the restricted section. Where nobody was allowed to go. 

As for Malfoy? His thoughts were getting the worst of him. He was in the common room. Pacing.

“Dude just go see her.” Mattheo said, clearly annoyed at Draco’s demeanor.

“I can’t. It’s…more complicated than that.”

Blaise just chuckles at the comedy of it all. A teenage love story between the leader of Slytherin and the Slytherin princess, and yet Draco’s losing to Harry, the chosen one. 

“Amused, Blaise?”

After a few more minutes, Draco finally works up the courage to go see you. He walks to the library–fast.

He searches both floors quickly. You’re not at any of the tables.

He tries the aisles adorned with books and as he moves a book slightly to the right on the shelf, that’s when he sees it.

You.

 Potter. 

Soft moans, hands curled in hair, your body arched, Harry’s hand sliding beneath your shirt.

He’s frozen. It’s raw, humiliating, devastatingly real. He was too late. Again.

Harry thrusts into you at a steady pace, whispering some dirty secrets in your ear.

You open your eyes just in time, to meet Draco’s gaze.

You moan louder and into Harry’s ear while you stare Draco down, before casting the Silencio charm around the area.

And Draco watches as you finish.

“Enjoy your moment, Potter. It won’t last long.” Draco whispers, only to himself.

As you close your eyes and Harry’s thrusts get sloppier and messier.

You open your eyes.

He’s gone. That made a satisfied smirk tug at your lips. 

"That was... amazing.” He hesitates, considering the weight of his next words. “But just so you know, I’m not just here for the fun of it. You’ve become so much more to me than that, Y/N."

You turned your head to meet Harry’s eyes and gave him a long, gentle kiss. A reassuring one, one that meant you felt the same. 

You really liked how things were going with Harry, and you were not going to let Draco mess that up under any circumstance. 

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The stadium was packed with students buzzing with excitement for the upcoming Quidditch match. Y/N stood by the edge of the pitch, your heart thumping in your chest as you adjusted the green and white scarf around your neck, watching the teams warm up. Gryffindor was already preparing, broomsticks in hand, ready for the game to begin.

You smiled as Harry caught your eye from across the field, his eyes lighting up the second he spotted you. He made his way toward you, slowing down his pace as he got closer. The closer he got, the more your pulse quickened. It was like the world had narrowed down to just you and him.

“Hey,” he greeted you, a smile on his lips, his voice just above a whisper as he stepped in front of you. “You ready to cheer me on?”

“I don’t know,” you replied, her voice teasing. “You’re going against my house today. What would Mattheo think?”

“I don’t care about that git.”

“Me neither.” You smiled as you planted a sweet kiss on his lips. 

You took a step closer, feeling the warmth radiating off him, the closeness of his presence igniting a thousand sparks in your chest. “Good luck, Harry. You’ve got this.”

Harry grinned, his gaze softening as he pulled you in for a quick, fleeting kiss—just a brush of his lips against your own. It was intimate, and meant for only you two.

When you pulled away, Harry’s eyes stayed on yours for a beat longer. “I’ll see you in the stands, yeah?” He winked, a mischievous grin curling his lips.

“Oh, and Y/N?” You turned around at his request.

“Do I get lucky if I get the winning shot?” He said smiling, clearly joking on the exterior, but on the interior he was definitely not.

You shrugged, giggling as you left him on the field and going to find your seat on the Slytherin stands. 

Meanwhile on the pitch, both teams were lining up, ready to begin. The crowd’s cheers were deafening, the atmosphere electric with anticipation. Harry was in position, his broom steady beneath him, waiting for the match to start.

Draco Malfoy, in his Slytherin robes, stood a few paces away from Harry, his eyes narrowing slightly as he approached. The two were facing each other at the center of the field, their brooms hovering, eyes locked in a silent battle.

Draco’s lips curled into a smirk as he tilted his head. “Well, Potter, you certainly know how to get a girl’s attention.” His voice was low, his tone was mocking. 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed as his anger sparked, but before he could retort, Draco added, “Oh, don’t worry. I saw everything. The library was quite... interesting. Y/N seemed to enjoy herself, didn’t she? Funny how she knew exactly what was going on while it was happening.”

“What do you mean, Malfoy?” 

The words hung in the air like a heavy weight, suffocating Harry’s ability to react. His mind spun, trying to process what Draco was implying. A cold, uncomfortable realization spread through him.

“You’re lying,” Harry ground out through clenched teeth, his grip tightening around his broom handle.

“Lying?” Draco’s smirk deepened, and his eyes glinted with satisfaction. “I’m not the one you should be worried about, Potter. You should be asking yourself why Y/N didn’t bother hiding it from me. She wanted me to know. Wanted me to watch it.”

Harry froze, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead as the words sank in. Betrayal. Anger. Confusion. They all mixed in his chest, making his heart race. How much did Y/N know? Was it possible that you had played him all along?

“Don’t speak about her like that.” Harry’s voice was dangerously quiet, his jaw tight as he tried to keep the rage from overtaking him.

“Oh, I know you’re angry, Potter,” Draco teased, taking a step closer. “Don’t be too upset with her, though. After all, she’s been quite the good little secret keeper.” He winked at Harry.

The whistle blew, signaling the start of the game, but Harry couldn’t take his eyes off Draco, the words cutting deeper than he cared to admit. Before he could do or say anything else, Draco gave a final, cold look and turned to join his team, his words lingering in the air like poison.

Harry was left standing there, feeling frozen in place, a storm brewing inside him. His chest tightened, and all he could think about was Y/N and whether you’d really kept the truth from him.

The air was thick with anticipation as the game reached its final stretch. The Golden Snitch fluttered somewhere in the distance, barely visible against the afternoon sky, but Harry couldn’t focus on it—not fully.

His mind kept drifting back to Draco’s words, his voice still echoing in Harry’s ears. "After all, she’s been quite the good little secret keeper."

It wasn’t even the implication of Draco's words that bothered him—it was the way he had said them. There was a coldness in Draco’s voice, something Harry couldn’t quite place, that gnawed at him. He tried to shake it off, pushing it to the back of his mind, but every turn of his broom seemed to make it worse.

His eyes scanned the pitch, still not fully registering the game around him. He swerved to dodge a Bludger, but instead of focusing on the danger, Harry found himself staring down at the Slytherin stands, searching for any sign of you.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, there it was: the Snitch. It flickered in the air, catching the light.

"Focus," he told himself, forcing himself to zoom in on the fluttering gold.

It darted just out of his reach as he closed the gap, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to narrow down to that tiny ball. He leaned forward, heart racing, as his fingers barely brushed against it.

And then, in a final burst of speed, Harry shot forward, stretching his hand out with everything he had. He caught the Snitch in his grip, feeling the flutter of its wings against his skin as the stadium erupted into a thunderous roar.

"YES!" Harry shouted, lifting the Snitch triumphantly above his head as he soared toward the ground, a wild grin spreading across his face.

His teammates were already cheering, but Harry’s mind was still reeling from the conversation that had distracted him during the game. As he touched down, everyone else faded into the background, and he found himself scanning the stands once more. He needed to see if you knew what Draco was implying.

But just before he could even step off his broom, Draco’s voice sliced through the noise, smooth and mocking.

"Funny what people do when no one's watching," Draco drawled, standing just outside the pitch, his eyes gleaming as they locked with Harry's.

Just then, you lock eyes with Draco when you run out on the pitch to celebrate with Harry. 

Draco smirked, his voice cutting through the air with deliberate cruelty. "But I’m sure she knew exactly what was going on."

“Good catch, Potter.” Is all you heard Draco say, as he pat Harry on the back walking away. Not before he sent a wink your way.

Harry froze, his heart skipping a beat. The words hit harder than any Bludger, but they weren’t about the game—they were about Y/N.

Harry’s stomach twisted as Draco’s words settled in. His mind flashed to the library, to that stolen moment, and the sharp pang of doubt hit him like a physical blow. He tried to shake it off, but the damage was done. His jaw clenched, his fists tightening involuntarily.

“Hey! Great job!” you called out, your voice ringing with joy as you rushed onto the pitch to meet him.

You threw your arms around him, pressing your lips to his in a quick, celebratory kiss. “You were amazing out there.”

Harry didn’t immediately respond. His jaw was clenched, and his gaze was fixed on the spot where Draco had stood just moments ago. His eyes narrowed in frustration, the joy from the victory quickly fading from his expression.

"Hey, focus on me for a second," you said gently, bringing his attention back to you.

His lips found yours again, this time deeper, a mixture of relief and joy. You kissed him back, the euphoria of the win washing over both of you.

“I think I might be the happiest person here,” Harry murmured against your lips, his voice low and full of emotion, his grip on you tightening.

“I’m right there with you,” you whispered, smiling into the kiss.

As you both pulled away, Harry looked around at the cheering crowd, the sounds of celebration filling the air. He laughed softly, shaking his head. “I can’t believe we did it. After all the madness, we won.”

“Of course we did,” you teased, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “You’re the best Seeker at Hogwarts.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” he smiled, his eyes sparkling with that playful glint you adored.

And for that brief moment, everything was perfect. The world felt like it was at your feet, and nothing could ruin the happiness you shared. No words from Draco, no doubts creeping into Harry’s mind—just the two of you, basking in the warmth of the victory, together.

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The door to Harry's dorm clicked shut behind you, the soft lock echoing in the stillness of the room.

Harry stood there, chest still heaving from the rush of the game. But the thrill of the win had faded. Something heavier had taken its place.

Draco’s words circled in his mind. The library. You. Again and again.

“Y/N,” he started, voice quieter than usual, weighed down by everything unsaid. “About what Draco said today...”

You froze. Your smile faltered just slightly—but it was enough. Harry noticed.

Your eyes flicked to the floor before meeting his. Tension crackled between you like static.

“I—” you began, but trailed off as Harry stepped toward you.

“Did you know he was watching us in the library?”

Blunt. Cutting.

Your gaze dropped again, fingers fidgeting with your sleeve.

Harry took a breath, trying to steady himself.

“I need to know, Y/N. Did you... did you know?”

Softer now, but there was a strain in his voice. Desperate for the truth.

You parted your lips to answer, but Harry pressed forward, eyes dark.

“Because if you did... if you let him watch, and you didn’t stop it—why?”

He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

Still silent, you finally met his gaze. Something unreadable passed through your eyes. Then, slowly, you stepped closer and reached for his hands.

“You know Draco. He says things like that just to get under your skin.” You paused. “Did he say it before or after the game?”

“Both.”

“See?” you tried, offering a small smile. “He wanted to throw you off. Don’t let him win.”

Your hands slid up his chest. You bit your bottom lip.

The lie hung in the air, heavy between you. But Harry didn’t call you on it—not yet.

He nodded slowly, even as doubt still churned inside him.

“I just...” he breathed, his voice brushing your lips, “I need to know you’re here. That you’re really here, Y/N.”

“Harry...” You looked up at him, doe-eyed and soft. “I don’t care about Draco. He’s just trying to mess with you.”

Your hands rose to his neck, pulling him closer.

“Let me prove to you I’m here.”

The words were sweet and seductive, wrapping around him like a spell.

His breath caught.

“I need to know that this—”

But your kiss silenced him.

It started slow. Tender. Then deeper. Hungrier. And when he pulled back, breathless, still unsure, you coaxed him toward the bed.

“I’m right here,” you whispered, fingers brushing his jaw. “With you.”

You smirked, and Harry nodded, the voice of doubt growing quieter—though not silent.

He let you lower him onto the bed. Let you undo his waistband. Let himself get lost.

Your gaze didn’t leave his, steady and deliberate. Daring.

His breath hitched when your mouth wrapped around him.

Everything else—Draco, the lie, the unease—fell away.

Right as he reached his edge, the words nearly slipped out.

 “I love y—”

But he stopped himself. Not yet. Instead, a moan escaped, and he let go completely.

“You’re doing so well,” he rasped, fingers tight in your hair.

He came undone, his gasp sharp and broken as you took everything. Swallowed. Didn’t look away.

“Merlin,” he breathed. “You’re... unreal.”

You smirked, licking the corner of your lips, then kissed his thigh and rose to meet him again.

Harry pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“I needed that,” he murmured against your skin. “Needed you.”

You only hummed, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Another lie tucked safely behind your lips.

Harry helped you undress, each motion slower now. Quieter. More tender.

Neither of you wanted to end the moment just yet.

In the candle-lit bathroom, steam curled into the air. The tub was warm and full, a gentle contrast to the whirlwind of emotions earlier.

You stepped in first, then helped Harry settle in beside you. His sigh was soft, content.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered as he traced light shapes on your arm.

You leaned your head against his chest. “Me too. It’s nice.”

He held you close, heart beating steady against your back. The water lapped around you both. Everything felt safe.

But even as you melted into the quiet, Draco’s words returned.

The lie. The library. The truth you didn’t share.

You’d said you didn’t care about Draco.

But that wasn’t completely true.

You’d felt the way he looked at you.

Felt yourself hesitate when he almost kissed you.

Felt the way your skin responded when he touched you.

You hadn’t told Harry that.

Hadn’t told him Draco had seen. Had watched. And you hadn’t stopped it.

And now, in the warmth of this moment, the weight of that secret pressed against your chest.

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” Harry murmured.

“I am too,” you replied—your voice was steady, but your heart wasn’t.

Time slipped by as the water cooled, the world slowing around you. Harry’s touch, his presence—it felt like home.

But beneath that comfort, the thread of a lie tugged softly, waiting to unravel.

Eventually, you dried off and returned to his dorm. Your uniform was still there.

“Sleep here?” Harry asked, already crawling into bed.

You smiled, heart lightened by the sight of him: messy hair, flushed cheeks, sleepy grin.

You nodded and crawled in beside him.

“Just this once,” he teased. “Or every night. Your call.”

Harry wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close.

Even in his arms, the lie stayed.

A ghost between you.

Just as you were drifting off, his voice broke the quiet.

“Don’t go anywhere, yeah?”

You squeezed his hand, holding him tighter.

But the truth sat just beneath the surface, silent and sharp.

plot - Belle makes it home after a devastatingly good party—only to get a late-night visitor she wasn’t expecting.

tropes - enemies to lovers, angst, and kook x pogue

wc - 4.5k

warnings - blood, car accident, & curse words.

final notes - if you've read all the parts of the 'ruin me gently' and made it this far-you're going to LOVE the ending icon. im not even gonna lie i listened to sports car by tate mcrae and it possessed me to write this chapter. enjoy love! <3

Belle just stood there.

Rafe had left her — vulnerable and alone — like none of it mattered.

After everything that had just happened. The echo of his footsteps long gone beneath the pulse of party music. The cold creeped in slowly, wind brushed her damp cheeks, making her close her eyes and take a breath.

He didn’t even look back.

Not once.

A door opened behind her, then shut. Soft footsteps padded through the grass, crunching twigs and crushed beer cans.

“Belle?” Sarah’s voice, gentle but cautious. “You okay?”

Belle didn’t answer.

Sarah stepped into view, arms crossed over herself like she wasn’t sure what kind of storm she was walking into. “C’mon,” she said finally, in a lighter tone. “Let’s get out of here.” She held her hand out to guide Belle through the party.

The car ride was quiet. Sarah didn’t push, didn’t ask, just let the music play low on the speakers. Belle stared out the window, eyes glazed, nails digging crescents into her bare skin.

He hadn’t looked back.

I always end up holding the weight of him, she thought, while he walked away like none of it meant anything.

By the time Sarah pulled into the Maybank’s driveway, Belle was already a mess—a barely contained one.

“You’re sure you're okay? You can always talk to me, Belle. You know this.” Sarah said, looking at Belle with emphatic eyes.

“I know. Thanks, it was fun, for the most part.” Belle hugged Sarah and got out.

As soon as Sarah’s car was out of sight, something broke inside her like a dam.

She let out a guttural, frustrated sound—part sob, part scream—and grabbed the first thing she saw: an empty flower pot by the porch. It shattered against the wall in an explosion of clay.

The porch light flipped on with a sharp click.

JJ burst through the door, shirt wrinkled, hair sticking up. His voice cut through the night.

“Belle?! What the hell—”

Then he saw her.

She grabbed a lawn chair, and threw it as far as she could.

“Belle!” JJ exclaimed.

Then she stopped—just for a moment—like she’d run out of steam.

Her makeup melted down her face, mascara streaking. Her hair was a mess, and she was practically dry heaving.

Without hesitation, JJ crossed the yard in three big steps and wrapped her up in a hug so tight she nearly collapsed into him.

He didn’t ask questions.

Didn’t scold her.

Just held her.

“I got you, B,” he murmured, voice rough in her hair. “I got you, alright?”

Her fists clung to his hoodie like a lifeline, covered in splashes of mud, and for once, she let herself fall apart. She just wanted to stay there, sobbing in her big brother’s arms forever.

It was the first time she let out an emotion in a while.

Ruthie and Olivia belittling her, the Kooks at the beach, the guy coming onto her and Rafe.

Rafe fucking Cameron.

She couldn’t take it anymore.

JJ just kept repeating “I've got you, you’re okay.” and “It’s me, JJ. You’re safe, B.”

They sank to the porch together, JJ sitting back against the railing with her crumpled in his lap like she was six years old again after scraping her knees.

But this time, the cuts were invisible—and healing them would take a hell of a lot longer.

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Belle laid in bed, hair still damp from the shower, her body wrapped in the comfort of one of JJ’s old shirts. Her limbs felt heavy, sore. The room was dim, lit only by the warm glow of her salt lamp. The low hum of the ceiling fan filled the silence.

A soft knock, then the door cracked open.

“Hey, you okay?” JJ asked gently.

People thought he was just a goofball, but when it mattered, he was the best big brother she could ask for.

“Yeah,” she said, barely above a whisper. “I’m okay.”

He poked his head in just enough for her to see the worry in his eyes, even behind the soft grin. “You scared the hell outta me, B.”

“I know,” she said, managing a small smile. “I’m so sorry, Jayj.”

“Don’t be.” He paused, tapping his fingers once on the doorframe. “I’m here. Whatever it is, whenever it is.”

“Thanks. I just think…” She trailed off, all the feelings from the past few weeks rushing back.

JJ sensed it. “You don’t have to tell me now. Just get some sleep, yeah?”

She nodded.

“Good, ‘cause you look like shit,” he teased.

She cracked a smile. “Love you too.”

The room was quiet again.

She laid her head down just as her phone lit up.

Unknown number: Are you okay?

Belle: Who’s this?

Rafe: it’s rafe. got tired of dming on insta. just wanted to check if you're good.

She stared at the screen, breath catching.

A thousand replies surged to the surface—some angry, some aching, some desperate for more.

Belle: Why didn’t you say something?

Deleted it.

Belle: You left me.

Deleted that, too.

She didn’t type again.

Rafe moved through the Maybanks’ yard, guided only by the glow of his phone flashlight.

He’d been a few houses down, watching for thirty minutes. Waiting for a reply for ten.

The broken flower pot caught his eye immediately—shattered pieces scattered like a warning. Then, the bent lawn chair.

Something had happened.

He couldn’t tell which window was hers, so he knocked on the one closest to the back of the house and hoped.

Belle heard it—a soft thud against the glass. It wasn’t a cop. Wasn’t JJ.

It was careful.

Her breath hitched.

Rafe.

Standing by her window, hands shoved in his hoodie like he didn’t know what to do with them. He looked up, locking eyes with her like he’d felt her watching.

He mouthed, Are you okay?

She was so tired she almost didn’t answer. Just stared.

He was always so terribly handsome.

Rafe exhaled like it hurt and began to turn away, ready to respect her silence even if it gutted him.

Belle opened the window.

Just a crack.

He looked up again.

“…Why are you here?” she whispered, brushing her hair from her face as the wind whipped it around.

Rafe stepped closer, voice low. “Because you didn’t answer.”

Belle bit the inside of her cheek. “Maybe I didn’t want to.”

“I figured.” His jaw tensed. “But I had to make sure.”

Silence stretched, broken only by crickets and frogs near the lake.

“I saw the pot,” he added softly. “I know what it looks like when you’ve hit your limit. We’re the same that way.”

She swallowed hard.

“No kidding,” she whispered.

She should’ve shut the window. Told him to leave. Told him he made her feel like nothing.

Instead, she sighed and opened it wider. “Come in.”

He didn’t hesitate. His shoes barely made a sound on the wood floor.

Belle rubbed her arms. “You always show up like this? Middle of the night?”

“Only when I can’t sleep,” he said, voice rough. “Only when I’m worried.”

That cracked something in her.

“You okay?” he asked, finally meeting her eyes. No smugness, no front. Just genuine concern.

“I’m fine,” she said too fast.

“You’re lying.”

She looked away. “I just… didn’t expect it. That guy. The way he—” She clenched her jaw. “I hate that I froze. I always think I’ll say the right thing, push back, but—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s not your fault he was a dick.”

She looked up. “Why’d you do it?”

“I already told you. Didn’t like the way he touched you.” He shrugged, like it meant nothing.

But his eyes dropped to the floor. “I don’t like the idea of anyone hurting you. Even if you hate me. Even if I’m the last person you’d run to.”

“Then why do you keep doing it?”

His voice softened, hesitant. “I don’t know how not to care about you, Belle Maybank.”

Her hand reached out on instinct, brushing the sleeve of his hoodie.

“You didn’t have to come here.”

“I know,” he said. “But I wanted to.”

The silence between them felt different now—warm. Charged.

Her eyes met his. “You gonna get me in trouble for sneaking you in?”

Rafe smirked. “You ask a lot of questions.” Then added with a low chuckle, “Pretty sure that ship sailed.”

The moment softened—but neither moved.

No kiss.

No hug.

Just quiet. And everything unsaid screaming in the air.

Rafe stood inches away. Close enough to feel everything—breath, heat, tension. His gaze flicked to her lips.

She didn’t pull away.

Her hand still rested on his sleeve. His reached up, slow and unsure, brushing a strand of damp hair behind her ear.

“Belle…” he whispered, her name a tether.

Her breath caught. “Yes?”

She felt his breath on her mouth. If he leaned in, just an inch—

Knock knock knock.

They froze.

Belle’s eyes widened.

“Hey, B?” JJ’s voice, muffled but close. “You still awake? I brought you some tea—don’t ask, I’m trying to be wholesome or whatever.”

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

Rafe looked at the window, then at her.

“Go,” she said.

He didn’t argue. Moved fast and quiet, crouching low beneath the window.

Belle yanked the covers up, tossed on an oversized sweatshirt, just as JJ cracked the door.

He blinked. “You look like you just committed a crime.”

“I was literally sleeping,” she rasped, voice scratchy.

He handed her a chipped mug. “Just trying to be nice. I know tonight sucked.”

“Thanks,” she murmured, shoulders dropping.

JJ lingered, glanced toward the open window.

“Window?”

“I needed air.” The lie was easy.

“Right. Just don’t forget to close it. We don’t live in a Disney movie.”

She followed him to the door, shut it once he walked off.

“Drink the damn tea,” he called out.

Belle counted to ten before going to the window.

Rafe crouched beneath it, waiting. Like this wasn’t his first time sneaking around.

“Nice save.”

Belle rolled her eyes but smiled. “I hate you.”

He smirked, warm and dark. “We both know that’s not true.”

She leaned her arms on the sill, watching him fade into the night.

And even though they hadn’t kissed, her heart raced like they had.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

The air is electric—engines revving, headlights slicing through the crowd as dusk settles over the Outer Banks. It's a secret event, only spread by word of mouth, where Kooks and Pogues come to prove something. Pride. Power. Recklessness.

Belle arrived with the pogues, in her jeans and a tank top, with a bandana. She’s eager to see how tonight goes.

John B was racing with an extremely old Ford Mustang he inherited from Big John.

“Dude that thing is so old it sat next to Jesus in third grade.” JJ joked. “Look it’s beat up dude.” JJ pointed at a dent on the hood.

“It’s got character!” John B defended.

JJ was confident he’d win, with his Nissan 350Z that he claimed ‘works fine after pope modded it.’ It did not sound fine though.

“Your exhaust sounds like a dying cat!” Kelce yelled.

“At least my tires don’t look like I stole them off a shopping cart!” JJ quipped back.

Just then, Belle spots Rafe from across the meet. He’s leaning on the hood of his chosen car, a black BMW M4 competition. It was tinted out, sleek looking, and blacked out around the rims. The license plate said “KOOKK1NG.”

Rafe looks at her, meeting her eyes. He smirks at her, most likely reflecting at the events from last night. She smiles back, then looks away.

“What was that?” Cleo asked.

“Hmm? Oh nothing.”

“Rafe just smiled at you.”

Belle ignored the last statement, and conveniently she was saved by the announcer’s voice.

“All drivers need to line up in five minutes.”

Belle and Sarah grabbed the essentials–snacks, a couple beers.

Olivia stood flanked by Ruthie and a few other Kook girls, all in cropped tops and lip gloss, looking like they were dressed for a photoshoot instead of a dirt-and-oil-fueled car meet.

“Didn’t know this was a Pogue party,” Ruthie sneered, eyeing Belle up and down.

“Didn’t know you got invited,” Sarah snapped back, unbothered.

Belle smirked looking down, but Olivia’s eyes narrowed before flicking over Belle’s shoulder—to where Rafe was still watching.

Her gaze sharpened. She leaned in with a fake laugh, brushing imaginary lint off Belle’s shoulder. “Careful who you look at, babe. Kooks bite.”

Belle’s smile didn’t fade, but her eyes darkened just enough for Olivia to catch it. In reality her stomach had tightened. The air between them crackled.

“Come on,” Sarah said, oblivious to the undercurrent, tugging Belle’s arm. “Let’s grab a spot before the engines start.”

Before she could say anything back, the announcer cut in again. “Racers, final call to the line! You miss your mark, you’re out!”

But she felt it—his stare, hot on her skin like sunburn.

And when she finally sat down with the others, cracking open a beer, she couldn't help but glance through the crowd.

Rafe was no longer looking at Belle, he was looking at Olivia.

And he wasn’t happy.

The last of the daylight faded as the drivers rolled up to the dirt strip-turned-raceway. Engines beasts, headlights flashing across the gathered crowd.

John B revved the Mustang, the old engine sputtering in protest. He slapped the dashboard with a grin. “She’s got one more good run in her.”

JJ pulled up beside him, window down, a matching bandana tied around his head like a pirate. “Let’s hope she doesn’t need a walker by the finish line.”

John B flipped him off with a laugh.

Further down the lineup, Rafe slid into his BMW, calm as ever. The black M4 purred under his touch, the lights from the crowd bouncing off its polished paint like water. His jaw clenched as he looked ahead—but every so often, his eyes drifted toward Belle.

She was sitting on the hood of the Twinkie with Sarah, Kie, and Cleo, drink in hand, pretending not to notice.

Pretending.

“Yo Rafe,” Topper shouted, leaning against his own souped-up Jeep Wrangler with aftermarket tires. “You better not blow out that overpriced toy trying to keep up.”

“Keep up?” Rafe tilted his head lazily. “I’m lapping you before you shift out of second.”

Kelce was on the sidelines hyping the race up, filming on his phone, narrating like it was the Daytona 500.

JJ looked over at Rafe’s BMW, engine popping obnoxiously. “Ready to get your ass handed to you by a Pogue?”

Rafe didn’t look at him. Just revved the engine—low, controlled, powerful.

It was a threat.

Belle held her breath.

“Ready…” A pause. “Set…”

Tires spun, engines screamed. “GO!”

Dirt flew, smoke curled. The cars launched forward like bullets from a chamber.

JJ peeled off fast, drifting wide, taunting the kooks as he surged ahead.

John B trailed close behind, visibly wrestling with the Mustang’s steering. “C’mon girl.”

Topper’s Jeep was bulkier but faster than expected, trying to muscle into second. Rafe? He didn’t start out first.

He let them go ahead.

Then shifted.

With a growl and a sudden burst of speed, the M4 surged forward like a predator, smooth and surgical. He flew past Topper, then crept on JJ’s bumper.

“Shit!” JJ shouted, slamming into a turn harder than he should’ve.

Belle jumped up from her seat on the hood of the Twinkie. “He’s gonna wipe out!”

“JJ doesn’t wipe out,” Sarah muttered, unconvinced.

JJ tried to hold it—but his back tire clipped the loose edge of a dirt mound. The car spun.

That’s when it happened.

Rafe swerved to avoid him. He cleared JJ’s mess but hit a rut—one wheel lifting just enough to lose control. The M4 slammed down hard, skidding into the side embankment.

The crowd gasped.

The announcer’s voice cracked over the mic. “We got a collision!”

Belle was already off the hood, sprinting toward the dust cloud without thinking.

“Belle!” Kiara called after her as well as Cleo and Sarah.

But Belle didn’t stop.

She had to be sure he was okay.

Rafe had kicked open the driver’s side door, dazed but somehow managed to get on his feet. He stumbled out, wiping blood from a cut just above his brow.

Belle crashed into him before all the smoke cleared, her heart pounding in her chest as she took in the sight of him, blood trickling down his face.

“Jesus, Rafe!”

He blinked, startled. “You—you ran out here?”

“You think I’m gonna just sit back and watch you crash?”

They stared at each other. His hand found her elbow. Hers found the side of his face.

Neither of them said it.

But they both felt it.

And from behind the crowd, Sarah watched. JJ stood beside her, his arms crossed, dust in his hair, eyes narrowed.

“Did she just—” “Yeah.” Neither of them said the word. But they both knew what they saw.

Belle's hands were on his face before either of them could think.

“Rafe,” she whispered, brushing away dirt and blood with her thumbs. “You okay?”

He winced, but it wasn’t from the cut. “You shouldn’t have run out here.” He looked away from her, wondering if Sarah or JJ had noticed yet.

They had.

“You shouldn’t have crashed.”

They were so close now. His breath mixed with hers, hearts racing, adrenaline pumping, jaw clenched like he was holding something back. His hand lingered on her waist, grounding himself. Her fingertips grazed his temple. It was too much and not enough all at once.

“I thought you—” she started, but the sound of heels clicking against gravel cut through the air like a blade.

Olivia appeared from the dust, slow-clapping, her heels clicking like a timer counting down to something bigger. Her voice was sugary sweet with venom as she crooned, “Wow, what a rescue mission.”

Belle froze.

Olivia walked past Belle, ignoring her entirely now as she walked up to Rafe. “Poor baby,” she cooed, reaching out to touch his face. “You really let some trash distract you, huh?”

Rafe’s hand shot up—not to take hers, but to shove her wrist away.

Olivia blinked, stunned.

“B, let’s go.” JJ said, yanking Belle’s arm. Hard.

She hesitated, eyes flicking to Rafe one more time. He was watching her again—like he’d only ever been watching her.

Nothing else in that moment mattered.

Not the cut above his eyebrow.

Not his bloody lip.

Just the look in his eyes.

"What the hell was that?!" JJ snapped, fury in his voice.

Belle blinked, dust still clinging to her lashes. Her chest rose and fell in shallow gasps.

“He crashed, JJ!” she finally shouted.

"Since when do you care about Kooks?" His words, sharp and accusatory like daggers.

"I don’t!" she shouted, her voice breaking. "But someone got hurt, am I not allowed to check on them?"

"Not if that someone is Rafe. Not him, Belle, never him."

"Fine!" Belle snapped back, the hurt of it all crashing into her chest.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

Belle needed a breather, from JJ being irritated with her for helping Rafe.

And so she found herself out on a path near the beach, walking and trying to clear her head. It’s the kind of solitude she needs after the tension with JJ and the growing emotional pull toward Rafe.

He was a kook to JJ but so much more than that to her.

“Belle?” She looks up at the outside bar to see Rafe and some random kooks she can’t remember the names of.

“Yeah?” She replies, drained of energy. She can’t handle any more confrontation today. She needs comfort, and the provider? The salt air, the crashing waves, and the view of a late night summer on the beach.

“What’re you doing? It’s 9 PM.” His tone teasing, but deep down he was concerned.

“Going on a walk.” She half smiled. And glanced back toward her path, then back to Rafe.

He needs to go with her. He doesn’t know what pulls him in that moment but he turned to his friends, still chatting away about the race. “Hey, I’ll uh, be back in a few.” They nod, clearly too tipsy to care.

He fell into step beside her as she kept walking, the rhythm of their footsteps syncing almost naturally. The air felt different with him near, and despite the cool breeze, Belle felt warm. It wasn’t just the moonlight or the soft sound of the waves lapping against the shore—there was something else, something that had been building between them for days.

They walked in silence for a while, the only sounds the distant chatter of Rafe’s friends and the occasional creak of the dock beneath their feet. But neither of them seemed to mind. There was a strange peace in the quiet, as though they didn’t need to fill the space with words.

Eventually, Rafe broke the silence. “You know, I didn’t think I’d find you out here tonight.”

Belle glanced at him, noticing the way his gaze lingered on her, like he couldn’t quite figure her out, but was undeniably drawn to her anyway. She tried to force a light smile. “I didn’t think you’d be here either.”

He nodded, his expression softening. “Yeah. Well, I’m glad I found you.”

Belle stopped walking then, her feet coming to a halt at the end of the dock where the water stretched out in front of them, dark and endless. She didn’t know why she stopped—maybe it was the weight of his words, or the way the night air suddenly felt thicker between them. She could feel the tension rising, the undeniable pull she had been fighting for so long.

Rafe stopped beside her, and for a moment, they just stood there, the silence heavy but not uncomfortable. His presence felt so close now, and she felt a strange mix of nerves and anticipation, like she was standing on the edge of something she couldn’t take back.

“So,” she started to sit down on the dock, her voice a little quieter than she intended. “How are you? After the crash, I mean.”

Rafe paused for a second, his fingers brushing against the weathered wood of the dock as he sat down beside her, his gaze distant. For a moment, it seemed like he was weighing how much of himself to reveal. He let out a slow breath, running a hand through his buzzcut, his eyes following the gentle roll of the waves in the distance.

“I’m… fine,” he said, his voice guarded, though something in his eyes gave him away. “It shook me up more than I thought it would. I’ve been through worse, but… that one stayed with me.”

Belle didn’t say anything right away, her heart heavy as she processed his words. Rafe didn’t talk about his past much—hell, he rarely let anyone in. But, something about the air tonight felt…different.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Belle said softly, she gave him an even softer look.

He glanced at her then, his eyes hazy, a flicker of something unspoken passing between them. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, still joking like they were back in the Tannyhill kitchen. “You’d miss me?”

She swallowed, unsure of how to respond, but the words came anyway, like they were always there just beneath the surface. “Yeah. I would. More than I’m probably willing to admit.” She smiled and leaned over with her hands on the edge of the dock, bumping her shoulder into his lightly.

The energy shifted to a lighthearted moment to something more intimate.

She let her gaze drop for a second—to his mouth, to the hand resting between them on the dock, fingers just inches from hers. Her breath caught, and she didn’t even try to pretend it was from the sea breeze.

“You always walk alone at night?” he asked quietly inches away from her face, just not looking yet, breaking the silence but not the intensity.

“Only when I need to be alone.” she murmured.

“And now?” His voice was softer now, almost hesitant. He looked at her, eyes searching.

“Now I don’t want to be alone.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Belle…”

There was weight in his voice, something conflicted. She looked at him again, really looked—saw the way he was trying to hold himself back, jaw clenched like the restraint physically hurt.

Whatever he was about to say, he swallowed it. Looking straight ahead—like avoiding it might make the moment pass.—like avoiding it might make the weight of the upcoming moment disappear. The glow of the dock lights caught on the scar above his brow, from the race. Before she could second-guess it, Belle reached up and brushed the strands aside with her fingers, gently tracing the scar.

Rafe stilled.

Her fingertips lingered for a breath too long. “Does it hurt?”

“Not the scar,” he murmured.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she whispered. “I just… want to be near you.”

“That’s the problem.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, exhaling like it hurt to say it. “I’m trying not to want that. But I do. All the time.”

Belle’s heart thudded. “Then don’t pretend like you don’t.”

“I’m not good for you,” he said, shaking his head. “I mess up everything I get close to.”

“You didn’t mess me up,” she said softly. “You make everything more complicated, yeah. But you also make it feel like I matter.”

He blinked at her, and something cracked. He looked at her like she was something dangerous, something sacred. His hand hovered near hers but didn’t touch it—like he was still waiting for a sign, still debating whether he was allowed to have this.

“I think about kissing you all the time,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “And then I talk myself out of it. Every. time.”

“Why?” she breathed, her voice barely audible.

“Because once I do, there’s no going back.”

Her hand moved first. Not to grab him or pull him in—but just to touch, fingers skimming the back of his hand. “Maybe I don’t want to go back.”

That’s what broke him.

In a breath, his hand closed around hers, his other slipping up to her cheek as he leaned in, slow like he still didn’t fully believe this was happening. Their foreheads touched for a second, eyes closed, like they were both trying to catch their breath before taking the leap.

And then he kissed her.

Soft at first, like he was still asking permission. Then deeper—full of everything he’d been holding back. She melted into it, her hand finding his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his linen shirt like she’d been waiting just to anchor herself to him.

The kiss broke for a second, and he pressed his forehead against hers, breathing her in like he needed her to stay grounded.

“I don’t want to stop,” he murmured on her lips.

“Then don’t,” she whispered back, and pulled him in again—closer this time.

plot - you never expected Harry to kiss you—and now he's avoiding you. Draco’s been distant too, but the tension between you both is impossible to ignore. Trapped between two men who won’t make a move, you're left wanting more.

characters - harry potter x reader & draco malfoy x reader

warnings - possessiveness, smut, curse words, mentions of alcohol, and angst.

wc - 4.8k

final notes - because 'taste' got so much love i decided to make a part two & turn this into a mini series!! if you love this, i may or may not be working on part 3 ;) enjoy!

Draco hasn’t spoken to you in weeks. No teasing, no walking to class together—just silence. Cold and sharp, like his hair.

Harry, when he does see you, pretends like he doesn't. Dodging you in halls, looking away when you meet his eyeline.

And it’s not like Harry didn’t have feelings for you—he did. He made that clear. You were his. He knew it.

He wanted you. Claimed you. Like that would be enough.

But maybe Draco was right.

Because his ‘Gryffindor guilt’ did creep in.

He found you at the Astronomy tower, where you always go to relax and think about things…alone.

The wind had picked up, ruffling the ends of your hair, your robes pulled tight around you. You didn’t flinch when he stepped closer. Didn’t look at him.

“Draco hasn’t spoken to me in weeks, Harry.”

Silence followed, but he didn’t leave.

You sighed, hugging your arms around yourself tighter.

“I thought you might come here,” he finally said, his voice soft.

He stepped closer, cautious. “I didn’t mean to ignore you. I just…”

“You just what?” you asked, cutting him off but still not facing him. “Felt bad? Wanted to keep things simple by acting like it never happened?”

“I thought maybe… maybe it was better for you that way.”

You let out a sharp laugh—cold and humorless. “Don’t pretend you were thinking of me. If you were, you wouldn’t have disappeared after getting everything you wanted.”

“I was nothing to you but a dirty little secret, wasn’t I?” You look up at Harry, he’s now standing a few inches behind you. “You were sacred to me.”

“Y/N that’s not–”

“I lost him because of you,” you added. “Draco. My best friend. I don’t even know what he saw. Maybe nothing. Maybe it was just… obvious.”

He looked pained, torn, like someone had split him down the middle. “I think about you all the time.”

“I can tell, you avoid me in the hallways and sit as far away as possible in class.”

“Not in that way. I worry about you.”

“Then why don’t you do something about it?”

That caught him off guard. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

You shook your head, stepping past him, your shoulder brushing his just enough to sting. “Forget it. Draco was right.”

“Draco was right about what?”

“Your guilt would creep in as soon as you had me.”

You walked away, leaving him speechless.

You didn’t even make it back to the Slytherin common room.

You found him leaning against the wall near the Prefects' Bathroom—tie loose, hair tousled, expression unreadable, like he’d been waiting for something and convinced himself it wasn’t you.

“Thought you were avoiding me,” you said, not quite biting but far from sweet.

Draco didn’t move. “I was.”

“So what’re you doing here then?”

A beat. Two.

“I don’t know,” he said, but the lie tasted sour.

You exhaled, tension radiating through your shoulders. “You don’t look at me. You don’t talk to me. It’s like I’m invisible.”

“I don’t need to,” he said, sharper now. “I saw how you looked at him. How you ran after him that day in the courtyard.” He paused, his voice sharper with these next words.

“How you declared he was better than me.”

“So that’s it? You’re just going to ignore me for the next few years until we leave Hogwarts? Or do you plan forever?”

‘What was I supposed to do, Y/L/N?!” He met your gaze, raised his voice, “Beg for you? Get on my knees and pray to Merlin you pick me over Potter?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

Another step. You were close now—too close for comfort, not close enough to satisfy the ache.

“You think I didn’t want to fight for you?” Draco asked, lowly. “I did. But I knew I’d already lost.”

You hated the way your throat tightened. The way your body still leaned toward him. “You can’t lose, if the game’s not over.”

Silence.

Then—softly, like it hurt to say it—“I still want you.”

And then his hands were on your waist, and your fingers were in his shirt, and his mouth was on yours with so much anger it made your knees weak.

He kissed you like he was trying to erase him from your memory—like he needed proof that you hadn’t stopped wanting him either.

It wasn’t soft or sweet like Potter’s.

It was desperate, like he’d been longing for this moment.

Clothes pulled at, backs slammed into stone walls, hands roaming like they couldn’t get enough.

“You’re not as innocent as you seem.”

“Good, I’m done pretending.”

You gasped into his mouth as his lips trailed down you, and he gripped your hips like he was afraid you’d run into Harry’s arms again. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging, like you had many times before.

“Tell me you want this. Me.”

Then he froze. His hands stopped where they were as his mouth travelled, leaving a kiss by your ear before confessing “I’m not him. And I won’t let you pretend I am, Y/N.”

And just like that—the spell broke.

Because the truth was: you didn’t want this. Not really.

You just wanted to forget someone else.

You didn’t want Draco at that moment. And you both knew it.

You stood there speechless. Frozen.

Draco’s hands were still on your waist, but the fire in his eyes had dimmed. Something unreadable flickered across his face.

“I won’t be your distraction, princess”

The words were soft, but they struck like a slap.

“I won’t be your second choice,” he said. “Not even for a moment.”

Your heart cracked wide open and at the same time your stomach dropped.

And just like that, he turned and walked away.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

You didn’t go back to the dorms.

You were mortified that Draco had told the rest of your friend group–Enzo, Mattheo. Afraid they’d look at you differently.

As a girl who didn’t know who she wanted.

Because as you looked in the mirror, mascara smudged. Shirt half-buttoned. Collar slightly wrinkled from where Draco’s hands had gripped you.

You looked exactly like someone who didn’t know what they wanted.

You splashed water on your face, but it didn’t help. Nothing helped.

You tried not to think about the way Draco’s voice broke when he said he cared.

How Harry avoided you all week, and the one time he talks to you, it just got worse.

You had wanted comfort but you ended up even more hollow.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

It was a new day. Thank Merlin for that. You went to find Pansy. Somebody you confided in constantly as one of the only sane slytherin girls in your year.

That’s when you heard her talking to someone. About you.

“She was with Malfoy last night,” Pansy drawled to Daphne, her voice sharp with amusement. “Figures she'd move on from Potter. Can’t say he could even handle her.”

You froze, heart thudding in your chest. They hadn’t seen you yet, but the words felt like a slap in the face.

Daphne giggled. “Poor Golden Boy. Bet he’s brooding in some broom cupboard.”

You turned on your heel before they could notice, suddenly breathless. It wasn’t just the gossip that stung—it was the fact that Harry might believe it.

Because maybe it wasn’t completely untrue.

Later that day, Harry found himself pacing near the Great Hall, a gnawing feeling twisting in his gut. He didn’t want to ask what he already feared, but of course, that’s when Draco appeared.

Their eyes locked like magnets. Tension crackled between them.

“She used you, Potter,” Draco said, his tone sharp. “You gave her guilt, and I gave her an escape.”

Harry’s jaw clenched, but his voice shook. “Don’t pretend like you care.”

“Oh, I do,” Draco snapped. “I cared enough not to keep her when I knew she was still thinking about you.”

Harry stared, something twisting deep in his chest.

“You want her?” Draco leaned in, voice low and dangerous. “Then act like it, Potter. Because she deserves better than this cowardly, disappearing version of you.”

And with that, Draco turned on his heel and left Harry standing there, mouth dry, chest hollow, mind reeling.

After the conversation, Harry had planned to go to the Black Lake to meet Ron and confess everything off his chest without Hermione’s judgement.

He knows he’s made a mess of things.

And there you were, Y/N Y/L/N. Your knees tucked to your chest, clearly shaken, clearly crying.

He didn’t approach you yet.

He just watched.

And for the first time in weeks, the pain twisted in his chest.

That’s when you turned around, eyes locking with his—empty, hollow, like you were already saying goodbye.

And that’s when he walked away.

Left you there.

Alone.

Because he knew that if he stepped toward you now, he’d only destroy whatever fragile bridge remained between you two.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

It was the biggest party of the year. Every house crammed into the common room, but it was mostly the 5th, 6th, and 7th years that were allowed. The air was thick with firewhisky fumes, green lanterns casting eerie glows. The music pulsed through the walls, drowning out the chaos of people either making out or passed out cold.

Y/N was dressed to kill in a tight, dark Slytherin-green dress that clung to every curve, the slit running up one leg daring anyone to look. A silver snake necklace gleamed at your neck, the perfect touch of sly, sensual power.

Draco was smug. Smirking. Loving every minute you were not looking at Harry.

“You’re trouble, you know that?”

“Good. I’m tired of being a good girl.”

Draco downs another shot, his eyes flicking to Potter across the room—watching, brooding, his jaw tight with jealousy. The sight seems to ignite something in Draco. He leans in, whispering in your ear, grabbing your hand, and pulling you toward his room without a second thought.

The door slams shut behind you, and Draco’s hands are on you, pressing you against it. His lips are hot and demanding on yours—every inch of him hungry, urgent.

His hands thread through your hair, tugging you closer, his lips trailing down your neck, marking, claiming.

Y/N gasps when he bites down, leaving a claiming hickey just below your jaw.

“Still thinking about him?” he whispers against your skin, smug.

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

“Make me.”

He doesn’t have to tell you twice.

You shoved him onto the bed, a dark sensual look in your eyes. He gets on top of you, he loves being in control. His hands travelled under your dress, your fingers yanking his belt. It’s reckless. Loud.

You tilt your head back as his mouth moves lower, the sensation of his lips on your skin almost too good to bear—

“Harry…” you moan, the name slipping out, soft and breathless, before you can stop it.

Silence.

Draco freezes. Your eyes snap open.

Fuck.

“What?” Draco’s voice drops, colder than you’ve ever heard it, venom lacing every syllable.

“Wait—I didn’t mean—”

“No. You did. I knew it.” grabbing his shirt, storming out.

“Draco, please…” You whisper, your voice cracking as you watch him storm out, the door slamming behind him with a finality that sends a chill down your spine.

He’s left you there, still drunk, dress on the floor. Alone, the alcohol still spinning your head as your dress lies discarded on the floor.

And the hickey burns like a brand, a reminder of what you lost—and what you can never undo.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

The hall is buzzing with its usual morning chatter—clinks of silverware, flapping owls overhead—but there’s a different kind of tension today.

You stumble in late, sunglasses on, hair in a messy bun with flyaways everywhere, still nursing a hangover. You slide into a seat by the wall between Blaise and Pansy at the Slytherin table, trying to ignore the stares and whispers. Your throat still burns from firewhisky, and your neck is incredibly sore.

“Well, well,” Pansy purrs, sipping pumpkin juice, “did you have fun last night, princess?”

You grunt. “Don’t start.”

Mattheo smirks, clearly enjoying this. “A bit late for that, don’t you think? Word around here is you and Draco went missing for quite a while.”

Y/N freezes mid-bite.

“What?”

“Don’t act surprised.” Enzo’s eyes glitter. “Apparently, you two were seen sneaking off to the dungeons. His dorm, no less. And now there’s a very obvious mark on your neck…” Shit.

You lift your collar, feeling a wave of embarrassment coming over you.

Across the hall, at the Gryffindor table, Harry is silent. Fork clenched in his hand. Ron is mid-chew, oblivious. Hermione shoots Harry a concerned glance.

“Harry… are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“You’re crushing your eggs.”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are locked on you.

You feel the stare before you see it.

It burns, your eyes flick up.

Harry. Jaw tense. Hands curled. Green eyes blazing like floo powder.

Blaise leans in, his voice low and teasing.

“Also heard you moaned someone else’s name. Bet Draco really liked that, huh?”

You kick him under the table. Hard. The force of it making him grunt.

“Shut. Up.”

Harry doesn’t look away. You don’t either.

It’s a standoff.

You refuse to look away.

Refuse to submit.

Everyone else fades.

And in that split second, it’s clear: He knows.

The same fiery tension that reminds you of the events right after you moaned Harry’s name. You were on a random balcony–one without any students drinking or getting frisky.

You don't have to look to know it was him.

“I didn’t think you’d follow me,” you confessed quietly.

“You always run,” Draco replied, leaning against the wall beside you. “You run, and I chase. It's getting old.”

A long pause.

His voice is low when he speaks, but it cuts like a blade. “How long are you going to pretend it didn’t happen?”

You stiffened. “Nothing happened.”

“Oh?” Draco turns to face you fully, his eyes sharp. “So I imagined you moaning Potter’s name while I had my lips on your neck?”

You go still. Your mouth opens slightly, but no sound comes out.

Your breath catches. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” he says, voice sharp. “What’s not fair is me falling for someone who looks at me and sees a stand-in for Potter.”

A beat passes between you two.

“Fucking hell, Y/N.”

“I was drunk.” You replied quickly.

“You weren’t the night you had sex with him.” That hit like a gut punch. “You weren’t drunk when you ran after him in that corridor. Or when you defended him to me. And you sure as shit weren’t drunk when you came crawling into my bed last night.”

You flinched. “Draco—”

“What is this?” he demands, gesturing between them. “Because I thought I knew. I thought I meant something to you. But you—you just wanted a distraction.”

Your eyes fill with salty tears. “That’s not true. You can’t be mad at me for being confused, Draco.”

Tears prick your eyes, but you refuse to cry. Not in front of him. Not like this.

“No, but I can and do get mad at the fact that I was only a replacement. I wanted–still want you, Y/N.”

You didn’t know what broke first.

The silence or Malfoy’s heart.

And then, softer: “I would’ve given you anything. You know that, right?”

You choke on a breath, nodding.

“I know.” You say, barely audible.

He takes a shaky step back. “Then why does it always come back to him?”

You’re shaking now, a tear rolls down your eyes but don’t answer.

“I hope he fucks you like you need, since I could never do that.”

When he leaves, you're already crying—quietly, furiously.

The feelings overwhelm you right now, as you sit on a bench in the hallway. You don’t want to cry in front of anyone. The rumors would go crazy–even Rita Skeeter would try to get a quote from you at this point. So when you walk by a specific wall, the Room of Requirement reveals itself. And you go in.

Safe.

Empty.

The door slams shut behind you, cutting off the sounds of the entire school. Your chest heaves with each breath as you backs up against the door, hands trembling slightly. Draco’s words still echo in your mind— But now you’re here–alone, mind a whirlwind of hurt and anger, and the heat of the argument still burning in your veins.

The room has changed since you were here last, walls draped in velvet shadows, low lighting from floating candles, books stacked in messy towers, a shattered mirror in the corner.

You froze the second you heard footsteps—someone’s already here.

He came around a corner, startled, a worn leather-bound book in hand. His expression darkened instantly.

“Y/N.”

“Don’t start with me Potter.”

Too late. He scoffs, “Don’t tell me you ran straight here from Malfoy’s bed.”

“Shut up.” The words hit harder than expected. Your eyes snap to him. “You don’t get to talk about things you don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly,” he retorts, taking a step forward. “Saw the hickey. Heard the rumors. Was he not enough? Had to crawl back to me?”

The silence is thick, charged with something neither of you can ignore.

Harry stared at you like he was trying to burn holes through you. And you hated how good he looked like that—jaw tense, fists clenched at his sides, chest rising like he was holding back from saying something unforgivable.

He stalked closer, heat radiating off him like a curse. “So that’s what you do now?” he murmured, voice low and lethal. “Drink yourself stupid, let him put his hands on you, and pretend it’s me?”

A breath hitched in your throat.

He leaned in, lips brushing your ear. “Tell me—when he kissed your neck, did you imagine it was my mouth?”

His hand caught your jaw, tilting your face to his.

“You’re still thinking about me, aren’t you?” he murmurs. “Even when you’re with him, it’s me you're aching for.”

He chuckled darkly, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. “Why are you shaking, darling? Nervous?”

“I’m not—”

“Liar.” His voice was all teeth now, his other hand slipping to your waist, anchoring you in place. “You wanted me to see it, didn’t you? The hickey. The little show you put on in the great hall this morning.”

That did it.

You shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge.“You think I like the fact that I can’t stop thinking about you?”

His jaw flexed, and something wild flickered in his eyes. “My tongue still remembers the way you taste.” He raised his thumb up to your mouth, rubbing it around your lips.

You sucked in a breath, lips parting, but he didn’t let you speak. Not yet.

“Go on then,” he said, voice low and venomous. “Keep pretending you don’t want this. That you don’t want me.”

“You’re not that special.” You scoffed, looking away.

“No?” he drawled, taking a dangerous step closer, until your back met cold stone. “Then why are your pupils blown wide right now?”

“Maybe you should stop thinking everything revolves around you.”

He leaned in, brushing his mouth beside your ear. “Maybe you should stop pretending you’re not dying for me to touch you.”

He was right. You were unravelling by the second. But he couldn’t know that.

Your jaw locked, fury rising. “I hate you.”

He took a slow step closer. “No, love. You hate that I know what you like. You hate that he couldn’t give it to you.”

Your back hit the door hard. His body just inches from yours now, heat suffocating, rage twisting into want.

“He didn’t touch me like that.”

“No,” Harry whispered. “Because he’s not me. This isn’t about Malfoy to me, Y/N. Or pride. Or winning.”

The Room shifted around them, pulsing with tension. A mirror bloomed from the shadows, tall and wide, its surface glinting with dark magic.

He tilted your chin toward it. “Look at yourself. All flustered, desperate.”

“You’re imagining things.”

His voice was like sin and smoke. “Can’t hide it, can you?” he whispered, his eyes flicking down to where your chest pressed against him.

“The way your body’s reacting—your breath has quickened, your skin’s flushed.” He takes his hand and moves a stray hair out of your face. “And you’re leaning into me like your body’s already decided for you.”

Your breath hitched, the pulse between your legs a steady thrum.

“Still pretending you don’t want this?” he asked, lips brushing your own—close enough to taste but not close enough to take. “Go on then. Lie to my face.”

“You’re such a fucking prick,” you spat, voice shaking—not with fear, but need.

His smirk dragged slowly across your jaw. “And yet… you haven’t told me to stop.” His voice was a rasp, rough and filled with desire.

You swallowed hard, not trusting yourself to speak.

He took your hand, softly, guiding you to the mirror.

He stood behind you, his chest brushing your back. One hand came to rest on your hip, his thumb tracing small, deliberate circles on your skin. His breath was warm against your ear as he leaned down to speak.

“You see that?” His voice was rough, dripping with sex. “That’s you wanting me. Wanting this. Wanting everything I’m going to give you.”

His hands slid to your thighs, coaxing your legs apart just enough to let his body fit even tighter against yours. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, fighting back the desire, but the way his hands were moving, the way his lips were on your neck, was too much.

You wanted this—him.

“You’ve been pretending,” he whispered against your neck, his voice rough with control. “Pretending you don’t want me. But you do. I can see it in your eyes.” He breathed against your neck, his breath warm.

“Tell me,” he demanded, voice like velvet and steel.

“I want it,” you finally admitted, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I want you.”

The words hung between you, a silent agreement, before Harry’s lips claimed you in a passionate, hungry kiss. His mouth moved against yours with a force, pulling you closer by the neck. You made quick work of your clothes.

“How do you want me, love?”

Without breaking the kiss, you guided him to a nearby couch and let him sit down, getting on top of him.

“Ever since that day I have stopped thinking about you–your body, how you feel, how you taste.” He confessed in a low growl, and he took you off his lap.

Before you could even respond he was on his feet, his hands were on your jaw, tilting your head back just enough to make you vulnerable, exposed, anything but innocent. He stepped back slightly, but only to better admire you—his eyes dark and calculating.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low, dangerous.

“See what you’ve done to me?” he growled, voice rough, his thumb tracing your lower lip. “See what you’re making me do?” His hands moved to your shoulders, laying you down onto the couch as he leaned over you, face mere inches from your own.

He gripped the back of your neck, his thumb pressing against your throat in a possessive hold. "Don’t look away," he ordered, as he faced you over the arm of the chair looking at the mirror, ready to take him.

“I want you to watch,” He said, looking at you in the mirror. “I want you to see exactly how you feel under me. How badly you want this.”

He made quick work of his clothes—shedding layers until he was bare above you, muscles rippling, jaw tight with restraint. And then he was lining himself up, rubbing the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your entrance.

“Beg,” he whispers, knowing he has all the power.

Your pride was paper-thin now.

“Please,” you breathed.

And with that, he thrust into you in one slow, devastating motion. Filling you. Stretching you. Claiming you.

Getting rid of every single mark Draco Malfoy has ever laid on you.

You cried out, nails digging into the couch, head falling forward against the couch.

“Look,” he groaned, voice barely hanging on, grabbing you by your hair. “Look at how fucking perfect you take me.”

He forced your eyes to the mirror. And there it was—his body pressed to yours, the roll of his hips, the flush in your skin. You’d never looked so wrecked. So wanted.

He set a brutal rhythm—deep, deliberate strokes that pushed you right to the edge again. His hand slid between you, thumb circling your clit in time with every thrust, every curse he spat into your neck.

“You feel that?” he grunted. “That’s what Malfoy could never give you.”

“Harry—” you whimpered, nails raking down the couch.

He grinned, teeth grazing your jaw. “That’s right, love. Say my name. Say it when you cum.”

You did. Loud. Raw. Back arching as he sent you spiraling again, your orgasm crashing into you like a wave.

He wasn’t far behind—his thrusts growing sloppier, breath ragged, muscles tightening until he came with a groan that sounded like it was torn from his soul, spilling into you as his hips finally stilled.

For a long moment, the room was silent, saved for your heavy breathing.

Harry leaned over, brushing his fingers through your hair with a smug little grin.

“You okay? Still breathing? Still gorgeous?”

He kissed your cheek.

You groaned. “I have to go, I have to go meet Pansy in like five minutes.” You paused. “I can find an excuse though.” You said out loud to yourself.

“Go ahead, sneak off.” His voice was still husky, and sweet.

“But just know I’m never going to stop thinking about the way you sounded.”

He paused.

“Or looked. Or tasted. Or—okay, I’ll shut up.”

You laughed, and he grinned.

Eventually, he shifted, careful not to pull away completely, and reached for the throw blanket crumpled at the edge of the couch. He tucked it over both of you, his hand still brushing yours underneath.

You felt his lips press softly to your temple. No teasing. No smirk. Just that.

You blinked up at him, hazy. “You’ve never kissed me like that before.”

He swallowed, his jaw working for a second like he was trying to choose the right words. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

Your heart fluttered traitorously, as you got up to put your clothes that were scattered across the room.

“Harry…”

You looked down at him, green eyes a little softer now. “I meant what I said. That this—” he gestured between you “—isn’t just about Malfoy. Or winning. Or proving anything.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him. The cocky armor was still there in flashes, but underneath it—he looked scared. Like he wasn’t sure what this meant either. Like maybe you weren’t the only one who’d been hiding behind games.

Your lips found his, sealing one last kiss. It wasn’t rushed or messy like before. It wasn’t desperate. It was slow, lingering. A maybe. A maybe-this-could-be-something-more.

When you pulled back, his eyes were still closed for a beat too long, like he didn’t want it to end.

“I really do have to go,” you whispered, fingers brushing over his collarbone as you stood.

Harry groaned, head falling back against the couch cushion. “Blimey, you can’t walk out like that,” he said, a grin tugging at his mouth as his eyes finally opened. “People will think I hexed you.”

You glanced down at yourself—shirt halfway buttoned, hair a total wreck, your neck marked in places that would be very hard to explain in the Slytherin common room.

You huffed a laugh. “They’ll probably assume it was Malfoy.”

His head whipped around to glare at you, eyes narrowed. “Don’t even joke about that. I’ll fight him.”

“Please don’t,” you teased, grabbing your skirt from the back of the armchair. “You’d ruin that pretty face,” you said as you grabbed his jaw gently. “And I like it exactly the way it is.”

Harry stood up then, clearly sore but trying not to show it, and helped you with the zipper at the back of your skirt, his fingers lingering a moment too long.

“You know,” he said, voice dropping again as he stepped in behind you, “I’ve still got energy for round two.”

You turned slightly, arching a brow. “You can barely stand.”

He leaned down, mouth brushing your ear. “Then come back later. I’ll be ready for you.”

You spun around, biting back a grin as you backed toward the door. “You’re insatiable.”

“And you’re irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile as you slipped out into the corridor, cheeks still flushed, legs wobbly, and your heart absolutely wrecked.

You didn’t even realize it until you were halfway to the dungeons—but you could still feel the ghost of his kiss on your temple.

series plot - she’s a Slytherin who plays with fire. He’s the Gryffindor who finally gets burned. When a Potions mishap leads to late-night detentions, sparks turn to smirks, insults turn to touches—and suddenly, hating each other isn’t the only thing they’re good at.

trope: enemies to lovers, love triangle, and forbidden love.

characters - harry potter x you, draco malfoy x you

warning - smut, possessiveness, angst, & curse words.

chapter 1: taste

chapter 2: promiscuous

chapter 3: crawling back to you

plot - Belle and Rafe are both grappling with feelings they can’t quite name—but somehow, they always find each other when the masks slip. Unfortunately for them, vulnerability doesn’t always come with kindness.

tropes - enemies to lovers, angst, slow burn, and pogue x kook.

wc - 5.1k 😋

warnings - harassment, bullying, and curse words.

final notes - i hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as i loved writing it--and hate olivia as much as i do lolll. this is part 4 of my ruin me gently series! go read the first three so you're up to date!

The water was scalding hot.

Rafe let it burn.

Steam clung to the mirror like a second skin.

He stood still, letting the heat smack the back of his neck and trail down his spine to the floor.

His head throbbed from yesterday.

Kelce’s teasing.

Belle falling.

Kooks laughing at her.

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Last night shouldn’t matter.

She shouldn’t matter.

It was just a beach day. Kooks being Kooks.

And she wasn’t even supposed to be there.

But she was.

With the Pogues, no less.

She probably thought he hadn’t noticed.

But he had.

Every. Damn. Detail.

The way she laughed at something JJ said.

The way she stood close to Sarah.

The flicker of something—sharp, unreadable—in her eyes when she spotted Olivia by his side.

Jealousy?

No.

Maybe.

He was probably making it up, like he always did when it came to Belle.

“What’re you even doing, Cameron?” he muttered.

He punched the shower wall—not hard, just enough to feel something.

Anything besides this.

These feelings.

Because he couldn’t have them.

Didn’t want them.

She’s not yours, he reminded himself. You don’t even want her to be.

Then why the hell was she still under his skin?

Maybe he should just text Olivia.

A distraction.

Something easy.

Anything to stop thinking about Belle Maybank.

∴.·:*¨ ¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

Belle adjusted her polo shirt and smoothed out her tennis skirt before stepping out of the employee bathroom. 11:00 AM.

One more hour, she told herself.

She didn’t hate the job. Being a golf course attendant was kind of fun, actually.

She’d perfected the fake smile, the flirty customer service voice, and the art of stroking Kook egos for fat tips—straight from their daddy’s wallets, no doubt.

Belle was halfway through organizing a basket of golf balls when she heard it.

“Well, if it isn’t the help,” Ruthie said, swinging her golf club with dramatic flair as she strolled up.

Less than an hour, Belle. Just hang on.

She turned, ready to plaster on her customer service smile—the one that usually did the trick.

But it faded the second she saw Olivia beside her.

Both of them were blatantly out of dress code.

Shorts too short, button-downs undone in a way that screamed intentional. They looked ethereal. Disgustingly beautiful.

How could someone so pretty be so ugly inside?

“Hey, Belle,” Olivia chirped, voice sugar-sweet. “Didn’t know you worked Sundays. That’s… dedication.”

She gave Belle a once-over before flashing a polished smile.

“Or desperation,” Ruthie muttered, pretending to inspect her manicure.

Belle forced a tight-lipped smile. “Just doing my job. Do you guys need help with anything golf-related?”

“Nope,” Olivia said, smile never wavering. “We had other plans, but we heard the view was worth it.”

They giggled like it was some private joke.

Don’t bite. Don’t give them the satisfaction.

But her patience was hanging by a thread.

Ruthie stepped closer, her voice low and razor-sharp.

“We saw you at the Boneyard, by the way. Cute that you still hang with JJ and the dirtbags.”

Belle’s jaw clenched. “He’s my brother,” she said flatly, turning back to the basket of golf balls.

“Hey, we’re talking to you!” Ruthie snapped, shoving her hard enough to send her sprawling to the ground.

Belle blinked up at them, heart pounding.

“I’m just glad he’s back to his type,” Olivia added, crouching beside her like some benevolent queen addressing a peasant.

“I know you thought you had a little moment with Rafe, but… he’s mine. He would never go for a Pogue.”

Belle wanted to scream. To punch Olivia—and Ruthie even harder.

But she was at work.

So she swallowed it. Brushed herself off. And kept organizing the damn golf balls.

Luckily, it didn’t take long for her shift to end. She clocked out immediately.

She hopped into JJ’s truck.

“Hey, how was Kook Kingdom today?” JJ joked.

“Fine,” Belle replied flatly, staring straight at the road.

“You, uh, hungry?” JJ asked. He could sense something was off but didn’t want to push.

Belle nodded. “Can we just stop somewhere quiet?”

“F’course,” JJ said.

Fifteen minutes later, they pulled into the gravel parking lot of an old food shack—empty of tourists or Kooks.

The kind of place filled with nostalgia from when the Pogues were kids.

“You good? I can hang if you want,” JJ offered.

“Nah. I’ll text you when I’m done. I just need silence,” she said quietly.

“I understand.”

She slid into a booth—dim, nearly empty. Just how she needed it.

Then she felt it. A shift in the air.

She felt him before she saw him.

“Hey,” Rafe said, standing beside the booth. He looked like he hadn’t slept. Or eaten. “How’re you?”

“Like you care,” she said, picking at her food.

He flinched. But he stayed.

“Belle, I—” he paused, searching the walls for the right words. “Can I sit?”

Belle shrugged.

For a minute, neither of them said a word.

But somehow, everything felt louder.

“I didn’t know you guys were gonna be there,” Rafe confessed.

“No, no, it’s fine,” she said, bitter. “You two looked perfect. Even Sarah thinks so.”

She still hadn’t looked up at him.

If he hadn’t given her eye contact before, why should she?

“I didn’t say anything because…” he trailed off. “I didn’t know what to say.”

She swallowed hard. “You didn’t have to say anything. Ignoring me worked just fine.”

“Belle—”

“Don’t.”

Not angry. Not loud.

Just tired.

Silence.

“Did you know your girlfriend visited me at work today?”

She finally looked at him.

“What?”

“Yeah. Gave me this nasty bruise,” she said, gesturing to her knee.

It wasn’t entirely true. But Olivia was guilty by association, right?

“She doesn’t even golf—”

“So she is your girlfriend?”

“Why does it matter to you—”

“It doesn’t.”

Rafe didn’t answer right away. Just stared at her, jaw clenched like he was chewing on a thousand words.

Cherry-picking which ones to say.

“It didn’t mean anything,” he finally said.

“Right,” she chuckled bitterly. “Because everything you do doesn’t mean anything.”

“That’s not what I—” he stopped, ran a hand over his face. “I didn’t ask her to do that. I didn’t even know she went.”

“Well, you didn’t stop her. Or Kelce.”

Her voice softened. Like a confession.

“You didn’t even text me back.”

“I meant to—”

She snorted, crossing her arms.

“I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t.”

And she could see it—it was taking everything in him to stay semi-calm.

“You don’t have to say anything, Rafe. You made it pretty clear.”

She brushed past him.

But he caught her wrist—gentler this time, not like before.

“Belle.”

She didn’t turn.

“Let go.”

“I care,” he said, barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t—but I do.”

That made her pause.

She turned just enough for him to see her eyes—tired, bitter, guarded.

“You’re the most evil person on earth, Rafe Cameron.”

His face twitched. Just for a second.

Then he let go.

Belle didn’t wait for a reply. She straightened her shirt and walked out.

“And the worst part is,” she added, voice shaking now, “I think I still wanted you to prove me wrong.”

She left him standing in the dim light, for once—speechless.

He put his head in his hands.

He could not figure her out.

Back in JJ’s truck, Belle sat quietly, eager to get home and scrub off the sweat and the lingering touch of Rafe Cameron.

It was mostly a silent ride.

The kind of silence only JJ could give—comfortable, safe.

“Whoa. Who gave you that shiner?” he asked, finally noticing her knee.

“Nobody.”

“B—” he warned, side-eyeing her.

“Fine,” she sighed. “Ruthie and that Olivia girl showed up at my work. Pushed me.”

“What?!” JJ’s whole body tensed.

“It’s not a big deal, J,” she muttered.

“It is a big deal,” he said, gripping the wheel tighter. “Next time, you tell me.”

Belle nodded faintly, watching the trees blur past.

“Yeah.”

Silence again—but heavier now.

“You wanna go home or…?”

She hesitated.

“No. Can we just… drive a little longer?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We’ll drive.”

∴.·:*¨ ¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

Rafe woke up angry. He’s been angry—ever since he heard about Olivia’s stunt at the golf course. He can’t shake the feeling that it’s more than just Ruthie and Olivia—like something deeper is festering.

And now Olivia was on his porch, waiting for him like she always does. Her expensive sunglasses perched on her head, a sweet smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

“Rafe,” she coos, but the way she says his name makes his skin crawl a little. “You didn’t answer my texts last night. I thought we were having fun?”

He doesn’t feel like having fun.

“I was busy.” he muttered.

He feels like he’s drowning, the weight of everything pressing down on him. Olivia has always been an easy distraction—one that’s never really mattered—but now, with Belle stuck in his head, He’s not sure he can deal with this anymore.

He wants to confront her. 

Olivia tilts her head, watching him with her tongue in her cheek and a look that’s both curious and calculating. “Busy with what?”

“I don’t know, Olivia,” he grits through his teeth, rubbing a hand over his face. “Maybe with my fucking conscience.”

She laughs—a short, breathy sound that grates on his nerves. “Oh, that’s rich. But you know you don’t have to apologize for last night. I’m not the one you need to worry about.”

“I’m not worried about you.” He says, his chest tightening. It feels like it’s about to burst.

“Then what are you worried about?” She rises, stepping closer. “Belle?” Her voice drops at the name drop.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He said, rather as a statement than a question.

“You look like you want to take her clothes off whenever she’s around. I’m not stupid Rafe.” The edge is her voice is as sharp as a knife. “She’s not a lost puppy. She’s a pogue.”

Rafe’s jaw clenches. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“You don’t deserve me,” she says, smirking as she turns to leave.

 He almost lets her.

“Olivia.” he says, softer than intended. She turns around.

“I didn’t mean that,” he says, taking a step closer.

Olivia raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Didn’t mean what?”

“Look,” Rafe says, running a hand through his hair again, trying to find the right words. “I don’t need you to make me feel good about myself, okay? I know what I am. But I don’t want to lose you—not right now. I need you.”

“You need me?” She smirks, she loves the idea of being in power. Rafe knew that.

Olivia stares at him for a beat, then smirks, leaning forward just enough to press a kiss to his cheek. “Alright, I’ll stick around. But don’t think for one second I’m just going to wait around while you fix whatever’s broken in your head.”

Rafe watches her walk away, feeling the tension still hanging in the air. He wants to shake it off, but there’s that damn weight again, the pull of something he’s not ready to face. He watches Olivia leave, knowing she’s just another distraction. Another excuse. Another wall between him and the one thing he can’t stop thinking about.

Belle.

∴.·:*¨ ¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

Rafe sat on the hood of Kelce’s Jeep, half a blunt in one hand, a beer bottle in the other—warm and forgotten.

Topper tossed a rock toward the trees. “You gonna tell us what’s crawled up your ass, or do we have to guess?”

Rafe didn’t answer—just stared straight ahead.

Kelce snorted. “Let me guess. Pogue girl trouble? That Belle girl? Heard Ruthie pushed her at the course.”

Rafe froze mid-drag. “Ruthie?” He looked at Kelce.

Kelce nodded, like Rafe was the idiot in this conversation. “Yeah. Ruthie said Belle was mouthing off, so she gave her a little shove. Classic.”

Topper barked a laugh. “Damn. Ruthie’s savage.”

Rafe wasn’t laughing.

Belle said Olivia gave her the bruise.

Why would she lie?

Did she think that’d split him and Olivia up?

Kelce kept grinning, completely oblivious to the storm brewing behind Rafe’s eyes. “Anyway, don’t let some Maybank mess with your head. You’ve got Olivia. She actually gets you.”

Rafe didn’t respond.

But the thing that stuck with him—wasn’t Kelce’s smug smirk or Topper’s laughter echoing behind him.

It was that image of Belle.

On the ground.

Looking up at him like he was the one who’d hurt her.

And now?

Now it all felt like a game.

Fine.

She wanted to lie?

He could play that game too.

Rafe pulled out his phone, already texting Olivia back.

∴.·:*¨ ¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

The moon rippled across the lake, its reflection stretching in slow waves. Belle sat with her knees tucked to her chest, a hoodie draped over her jean shorts. Sarah lounged beside her, legs stretched out, toes skimming the water.

“You okay? You’ve been quiet all day.”

Belle wanted to say no.

She wanted to say actually, your brother is the reason.

Instead, she gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Just tired.”

Sarah glanced at her, eyes narrowing slightly. “You gonna tell me what happened at the course?”

Belle exhaled, the memory still sitting heavy on her chest. “It was nothing. Kooks being Kooks. I’m over it.”

Sarah frowned but didn’t press. For a moment, the silence returned—easy, familiar. Then her whole energy shifted.

“Alright. Get up,” Sarah said, already standing.

“What?” Belle blinked, confused.

“We’re going to a party.”

“Do I have to?” Belle groaned.

Sarah nodded firmly, crossing her arms. “Yes. And you’re wearing real clothes this time. No more Maybank boy hoodies.”

Belle rolled her eyes, fighting a battle with a smile she ultimately lost.

She stood anyway.

∴.·:*¨ ¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

The party was at some random Kook’s house—a friend of a friend of Sarah’s. Two stories, string lights, and a fancy pool in the backyard. Just enough “daddy’s money” energy without making Belle feel completely out of place.

Rafe knew exactly what he was doing—letting Olivia hang off his arm like she was a designer accessory. She laughed too loudly at things he didn’t even say, traced circles on his chest with her nails, bit her lip when she looked at him. And he let her.

He needed Belle to see this. Needed her to feel it—like he felt every word she’d said in the dark. Every lie she let slip from her lips like it didn’t matter.

And Belle knew exactly what she was watching. Olivia, in a low-cut sundress, clinging to him like she belonged there. Rafe’s hand low on her back, leaning in when she spoke. Every calculated move he made hit Belle square in the chest—and still, she couldn’t look away.

She just stood there, drink in hand, seething, while Sarah talked to a guy Belle couldn’t remember the name of.

Rafe leaned in again, smiling at something Olivia whispered—then glanced up, just once, to make sure Belle saw.

Oh, she saw.

Belle finally tore her eyes away from the scene. But it was too late. Every emotion she’d tried to bury clawed its way to the surface—jealousy, betrayal, whatever the hell else was mixing in there. It stung.

This? This was worse than the beach.

“Hey, Sarah, let’s get drinks,” she said.

“That’s the spirit!”

Sarah looped her arm through Belle’s, dragging her toward the drink table, past a cluster of laughing Kooks and down the side of the house. Belle tried not to hear Olivia’s high-pitched giggle trailing behind them like smoke.

Rafe leaned against the wall by the bar, jaw tight.

“Dude, you’re brooding like you’re in a CW show,” Kelce said, handing him a drink.

“I’m fine,” Rafe muttered.

“Yeah, super convincing. Especially with that death stare aimed at the girl you’re ‘supposedly’ over.”

Rafe didn’t respond. He hated that she wasn’t looking at him. Hated the way she might be when he wasn’t watching. Hated that he cared at all.

He took a long sip, letting the alcohol burn. Closed his eyes. Leaned his head back against the wall.

“She’s not even talking to any guys,” Kelce added. “Just hanging with your sister like she’s on a mission to chill.”

“Let her,” Rafe said flatly, rolling his eyes. “She made her choice.”

“Right,” Kelce said, following his gaze. “So... you and Liv. Official? Or just vibing?”

Rafe ignored him.

His eyes locked back onto Belle across the patio—just in time to see her laugh. Not at him. Not with him. At something Sarah said.

Something in his chest cracked.

He wanted to be the reason she laughed.

She lied to you, he reminded himself.

Belle leaned over the punch bowl, pouring something questionable into her cup.

“Want me to mix something better?” a voice asked beside her.

She looked up. Some guy she vaguely recognized—nice smile, backwards hat, definitely not a Pogue.

She hesitated, then smiled. “Sure.”

“So... where have I seen you before?”

“I work at the golf course. You’ve probably seen me there.”

Their conversation was easy. Light.

And across the party, Rafe saw it.

Saw the way Belle tilted her head back laughing. Saw how she angled her body toward the guy.

And he snapped.

“Come with me,” he murmured into Olivia’s ear, eyes never leaving Belle. He didn’t wait for an answer, just pulled Olivia toward the hallway.

Belle looked up just in time to see Olivia’s hand slip into Rafe’s.

Sarah followed her gaze and swore. “He’s such a damn idiot.”

Belle’s smile faltered. But she didn’t let it break her. Not yet.

Two can play at that game, Cameron.

Rafe’s grip on Olivia’s wrist was tight enough to make her stumble slightly in her heels as he dragged her down a dim hallway. The bass from the party thumped behind them, muffled now by closed doors and the hum of his own pulse.

He spun to face her, eyes dark. “Why’d you go to the golf course?”

Olivia blinked. “Are we really doing this now?”

“Answer me.”

She rolled her eyes. “Ruthie wanted to hit some balls or whatever. I went for the vibes.”

Rafe stared at her, jaw ticking.

“Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t even do anything. Ruthie was the one who got weird. I was just there.”

“She had a bruise,” Rafe said lowly.

“She probably tripped,” Olivia scoffed. “Seriously, Rafe. Who cares? If she can’t handle a few comments, maybe she shouldn’t be working there.”

Then, quieter: “She’s probably just jealous I’m with you. She’s got a crush, you know.”

Her hands slid to his chest.

That should’ve made him feel something. Victory. Power.

But all he felt was that echo in his mind—Belle’s voice in the shack: You’re the most evil person alive, Rafe Cameron.

Maybe she wasn’t wrong.

“Forget it,” he muttered, stepping back.

Olivia stepped forward instead. “Okay,” she whispered, pressing her lips to his.

He kissed her back.

But it didn’t feel like anything.

Not like her.

Not like Belle.

∴.·:*¨ ¨*:·. ☙.·:*¨ ¨*:·.♡ .·:*¨ ¨*:·. ❧.·:*¨ ¨*:·.∴

She wasn’t looking for him.

She swore she wasn’t looking for him.

But there he was.

Hand in hand with Olivia, slipping out of one of the back rooms like they hadn’t just emerged from every teenage cliché imaginable. Belle froze mid-sip, plastic cup hovering near her mouth, the taste of flat soda suddenly bitter on her tongue.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.” Belle muttered under her breath.

They didn’t see her—at least she didn’t think so. Olivia was giggling like she’d won, and Rafe had that same blank expression he always wore when he was trying not to feel something. Which meant he was feeling something.

Belle turned around too fast, bumping into someone—Sarah maybe, she didn’t even care—because she needed air. So, she went to the nearest balcony. So she could get air–away from people.

It was about 5 minutes of fresh air and silence before she heard a voice she came to know all too well.

“How’d I know I’d find you here, Belle.”

“Because I’m a cliché.” She replied sarcastically.

Rafe stepped out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him. The muffled thump of music faded, replaced by the sound of waves in the distance and Belle’s shallow breathing.

His hands were shoved into his pockets, his shoulders tight. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

Belle turned her head just enough to glance at him. “Oh? Gonna call your girlfriend to come protect me?”

“She’s not—”

“Don’t. I saw you two leaving a room together. Don’t insult me by pretending.”

Rafe exhaled hard, like he wasn’t expecting this version of her—sharp-edged, already wounded.

“It wasn’t like that,” he muttered.

“You know, I actually thought you were human. Maybe broken and vulnerable inside.” She paused. “Why are you even with her, Rafe?” She looks at him. Her voice cracked, quiet and biting all at once.

She turned around to look at him. Tears formed in her eyes, catching in the light.

Something in his eyes shifted, like the question hit deeper than he wanted to admit.

“She just–it’s easier.”

“And I’m what? Complicated?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “You’re real. That’s the problem.”

Belle blinked, scoffed. “Go back inside, Rafe.”

“I didn’t come out here for her.”

Then Belle turned, wiping a single tear that rolled down her cheek. “Go back to your distraction.”

And Rafe did as she said– walked back into the party, as the music swallowed him whole.

Belle took a deep breath, stepping back into the party. “Belle!” a voice shouted over the bass. It was Sarah, grabbing her hand and tugging her into the crowd. “Come on, you’ve been mopey all night. At least pretend to have fun.”

Belle gave her a weak smile, letting herself be pulled into the pulsing center of the room. The floor vibrated beneath her feet, and for a second, it was easier to focus on the music than on the ache in her chest.

That’s when she saw him—the guy from earlier. The one who’d helped her with the punch. 

He caught her eye again, smirking like he’d been waiting for a second chance. “Hey,” he said, stepping into her space, his hands loose at his sides. “Still look way too cool to be here.”

Belle gave a breathy laugh. “That’s because I am.”

He grinned. “Dance with me?” 

She looked at Rafe and Olivia, their bodies barely leaving any room in between. 

“Yes.” She said as she took his hand. 

And she did. She let him put his hands on her waist. She let herself sway to the beat. She let her head tip back in a laugh, just once, just loud enough that Rafe could hear it across the room.

Because she knew he was watching. She didn’t have to look to feel it.

But she looked anyway.

And there he was—across the dance floor, Olivia draped over him like a scarf, her mouth close to his neck. But his eyes?

They were on her.

Belle’s heart stuttered.

The boy spun her gently, fingers curling around hers. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” she faked a smile, then continued to look at Rafe.

The music intensed and that’s when her heart dropped.

Slowly, deliberately—he leaned down and kissed Olivia.

But his eyes never left Belle.

“You wanna get out of here?” The boy asked,his breath brushing her ear. She bit her lip and nodded, intertwining her hand with his. 

She wasn’t thinking about what came next. She just needed out—of this house, this night, this feeling. She didn’t care where they went. As long as it wasn’t here.

If he gets a distraction, she can have one for the night.

They were halfway to the front door, his hand still in hers, when she heard it.

“Belle.” Not loud, not angry. Just… there. And it stopped her cold.

She turned.

Rafe was standing at the base of the stairs, Olivia nowhere in sight. His expression was unreadable, but his chest rising fast like he’d just run through the crowd.

“Don’t.” he said in a serious tone, eyes fixated on the couple’s hands. “Don’t go with him.”

Belle’s pulse pounded in her ears.

“Why? You’re the only one who gets to ignore his feelings?”

“Just–don't.”

She let out a bitter laugh, but her fingers slipped from the boy’s anyway. The silence between them was loud, full of unsaid things and the weight of every moment they’d let pass by.

The guy raised his hands, awkward. “I’ll, uh… I’ll see you around.”

Belle didn’t answer. Rafe stepped closer. 

Once he was gone, Rafe closed the space between them just enough for her to feel the heat rolling off him.

“You don’t get to do that,” she said quietly, chin tilted up.

“I don’t?” he said, voice low. “Then what the hell was that back there?”

“You kissed her.” Her voice cracked. “While looking at me.”

He didn’t deny it. He didn’t have to.

“I’m so done with your games, Rafe,” she whispered. “Tired of pretending I don’t care when I do.”

Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “And what? You gonna follow it up with another kiss for Olivia? Or maybe take her upstairs again just to prove a point?”

Rafe’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t take her upstairs.”

“Oh, so you just stood outside the room with her doing nothing, making it look like you did?” she snapped, voice rising with every syllable. “For what?”

“I was pissed,” he said, gritting his teeth. “Because you lied to me.”

“You say the right things when it’s convenient for you, like When I’m halfway out the door, with a guy I don’t even know the name of. But the second I’m in the same room as you again, I’m just another game piece.” She said, maintaining eye contact, deadpanning him.

“That’s not true.”

“I should punch you right now.”

“Then why haven’t you?”

“Tell me how you feel, and I won't leave with him.” She whispered. 

Rafe reached out wordless, but she stepped back.

Belle simply smiled. “Have a great night, Rafe.” Then she walked out like he hadn’t just lost her.

Twenty minutes had passed but Rafe was still frozen, staring at the door as Olivia’s arm was wrapped around his. The air in the room felt suddenly thick, suffocating.

Olivia's voice cut through his thoughts, but it felt hollow. "Rafe, you okay?"

He didn’t answer her. He couldn’t. His feet moved before his brain could catch up, cutting through the crowd, pushing through bodies, just to get to the door.

But he stopped at the porch. She was already gone.

Little did he know, Belle was still there. She was just in the hot tub. She knew she couldn’t leave Sarah, so she wore a bathing suit as her underwear–just in case.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him, and he helped her into the tub.

Belle thought it was a casual hangout. They hadn’t been very intimate. Plus, it was just a way to make Rafe jealous. 

Then he moved closer. His hand brushed against her knee, lingering just a second too long. Belle stiffened.

“Hey,” he said softly, his breath warm against her neck. “You’re different from all the other pogue girls, you know that?”

She smiled faintly, trying to keep the mood light, but the words didn’t quite come out right. “Thanks, I guess. But I’m not really looking for anything.”

He laughed, low and almost too smooth. “Yeah me either, just a little fun.”

Before she could respond, he slid closer, his hand resting on her thigh. She pulled away, shaking her head.

“Stop,” she said, voice sharp. “I said I’m not interested.”

His grin faltered for a second before his expression hardened. “You sure about that? You’re all over me one minute, and now you’re just gonna play hard to get?”

Belle’s stomach twisted, a mix of annoyance and discomfort bubbling up. “I’m not playing anything. Just be a normal fucking person and respect it.”

“Aw, I love it when you play hard to get.” He said, reaching for her upper thigh.

“Everything okay here?” Rafe asked, his jaw set, fists clenched at his sides.

Rafe’s tone was low, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. The guy turned around, surprised, as Rafe stepped into the light, eyes locked on him like a predator about to strike.

The guy stood up, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, man, we’re just talking. Not your business anyways–”

Rafe didn’t give him a chance to say anything else. He moved forward, fast, and shoved him back. The guy stumbled, hitting the ground hard.

“Not sure I made myself clear,” Rafe growled, stepping closer. “You stay the hell away from her.”

The guy scrambled to his feet, but Rafe was already swinging, a punch landing squarely in his stomach. He gasped, his hand reaching for Rafe’s arm, but Rafe shoved him again, sending him reeling.

“Get the hell out of here,” Rafe spat, his chest heaving with barely-contained anger.

Belle stood frozen, her heart pounding as she watched the guy scramble away, disappearing into the crowd. Rafe’s gaze didn’t leave him until he was out of sight.

He turned to Belle, his expression softening, but there was still tension in his jaw.

“You alright?” he asked, voice quieter now, his anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Yeah–just, you didn’t have to do all that.” she paused. She didn’t know if she should be pissed or thankful. “Thanks, though.” 

Rafe’s jaw tightened, and he took a step closer, close enough for her to feel the heat of his body. “I didn’t like seeing him touch you.”

Belle swallowed, trying to keep her voice steady. “I didn’t ask for your help.”

“I don’t care,” he said quietly, his eyes locking onto hers. There was something unspoken between them now—too many words left unsaid, too much tension hanging in the air. “You’re not getting that from anyone else.” His voice was low, rough, and Belle felt her chest tighten at the words.

plot - Belle returns home wearing Rafe’s clothes and barely dodges JJ’s suspicions. At Boneyard Beach, the Pogues run into the Kooks, and Belle catches Rafe avoiding her—until he unexpectedly defends her from Kelce’s teasing. But when she spots a new girl hanging off Rafe, something in her shifts.

trope(s) - enemies to lovers, slow burn, & kook vs pogue.

characters - rafe cameron x oc! belle maybank

wc - 2.6k

warnings - curse words, mentions of smoking, and small injury.

final notes -heyyy, we have a new character...and i dont think you're gonna like her, love. nonetheless, i really enjoyed writing this chapter. (i know thats a cliche but stick with me.) i think this really adds some more depth to their relationship. also this is chapter three of my 'ruin me gently.' series so if you haven't read part 1 or 2 do that first icon! k love u byeee.

Belle parked her car in the driveway of Maybank’s house. She immediately put her head on the steering wheel. This was the first actual moment of silence all day. Driving through Figure 8 always felt weird. The white-picket houses. The brunch-drunk moms clutching mimosas and judging her Nissan Rogue like it was held together by duct tape.The real problem? Her mind had made Rafe Cameron likable. The jersey, the picture of his younger, happier self. The clothes. The soft brushing of hands, those ocean blue eyes she could swim in for hours. She didn’t have to look down to know who she smelled like. She knew it was Rafe’s cologne. Oh my god. She was still wearing Rafe’s clothes he lent her last night.

“Shit shit shit.” She said as she threw off the shirt and stuffed it in the backseat. She’d give it back to him later. The joggers, fuck. She quickly slid those down and threw them where they could live with the shirt. Just then, as she’s catching her breath, she hears three hard knocks on her car window.

She turned like a deer in headlights—to see her big brother. He had a stern look on his face like she’d just been caught. She rolled down her window, mind scattering for any excuse she needed to look like she hadn’t been caught red handed.

“Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over today?” JJ joked as he impersonated the other thing he always had trouble with–law enforcement.

She blinked at him, caught between panic and secondhand embarrassment.

“Shut up,” She laughed.

“How was Lacy’s?” JJ asked as she got out of the car. She had almost forgotten that she had spent the night at a sworn enemy’s house. Not by choice, though. Never by choice. She could still feel the weight of his clothes on her. He hadn’t even laid a finger on her. He probably didn’t want to, right? She thought as they walked into their house.

“Fine. Yeah we mainly just rewatched the Twilight series.”

“Ew. Chick Flick.” JJ pretended to be gagging as Belle playfully punched his side.

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

The sun was bright, the UV was 4, and the beach air smelled like sunscreen that had just been sprayed on. This was the kind of freedom she needed. The kind of distraction she needed. This was going to be a good day.

“Race you to the water, B.” JJ said, surfboard in hand ready to run.

“That’s ridiculous dude, I’m not racing-” Belle said dismissively, before sprinting leaving JJ in the dust and saying “See you on the water!” Her locks whipped in the wind, she felt the warmth of the sun, and for the first time in a few days–she felt like Belle again. She was ready to drown out all the noise, including him.

“Woo, go JJ!” Kiara cheered as JJ started to surf. They were so cute. Belle had seen how much they had gone through to be together. She was infinitely proud of them. More proud of JJ because she thought Kiara was way out of his league.

As she and JJ walked back to the beach, JJ explained “Just leave the surfing to the pros, yeah?”

“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes, with a smile on her face. Then she saw Sarah’s face. Then shifted her gaze to John B’s, and the rest of the group.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” John B said as Belle followed his eyeline.

There they were, loud and obnoxious as day. The Kooks. The bright flashy Jeep Wranglers and trucks that had been modified until they couldn’t be anymore.

“You wanna leave?” John B turned to Sarah with a soft, loving look. “No.” she said, sticking her tongue in her cheek with her arms crossed. “We were here to have a good time. Let’s not let my brother and his minions ruin it.” John B had put an arm over her and kissed her head.

“Let’s just try to have a good time.” Belle spoke up, trying to keep spirits high, mainly her own.

Rafe got out of his truck, and He wasn’t looking at her. Not even a glance. That should’ve been a relief—but instead it felt like an undeserved punishment. It was like he was avoiding her. That’s when he walked to his passenger seat.

That’s when an older girl with straight black hair hopped out, taking Rafe’s hand.Her outfit left little to the imagination. She was gorgeous. Flirtier, louder. Everything Belle wasn’t—and maybe that was the point.

She felt her stomach twist. Of course. Of course he brought someone. What an idiot she was to think Rafe and her had a moment last night.

“Uh, Earth to Belle! Round 2 or what?” JJ waved his hand in front of her face.

“Oh yeah. Be there in a second.”

Belle paddled out far enough to where they could catch a wave. JJ was too busy trying to impress Kiara by showing her all the different backflips he can do to surf with her. She had been doing pretty well. Had been.

That was until she heard Kelce, a Kook, yell “Didn’t know they let Pogues rent real boards now!” She wasn’t expecting it and she fell off her board.

“Kelce shut the hell up.” Rafe snapped. He said it low enough to where she didn’t hear it. But Sarah did. And that made her eyebrow slightly lift up.

“Fuck.” She muttered under her breath. Sarah and Cleo ran over to her as she now had her board in one arm and she gave a scathing glare to the group of Kooks one last time. Rafe was looking anywhere but at her. And that girl was too close to Rafe’s side, giggling. Had he said something funny? Was he making fun of her?

As Pope examined her elbow, she kept her gaze on Rafe and his crew. “Honestly it should probably scab over in the next few days, it should be fine.” Pope explained.

“Yeah,” she mumbled “Hey who do you think that girl is by Rafe?” she nodded toward the group and Pope glanced.

Pope returned his attention to Belle’s elbow cleaning it. “That is Olivia. She just moved here a couple weeks ago. If you can’t tell she is the epitome of Kooks. She fits in perfectly. Why?”

“Curiosity.” She excused. “Thanks for helping Pope.” She exchanged smiles with Pope and helped the Pogues clean up their area of the beach.

Belle sat in the back of the Twinkie as John B drove them all to JJ’s house to crash. She couldn’t focus on much. Why did it bother her this much? A week ago he was a random kook she abhorred. Now? He was her whole world. Before she could think anymore into it, she found herself in her room. It was dimly lit with string lights, and polaroid photos of the pogues adventures are scattered on Belle’s vanity. There are half-empty soda cans, blankets, and throw pillows scattered on the bed where the girls are sprawled out. Laughter drifts between them—easy, soft, the kind you only get with your best friends.

Sarah is braiding her hair, while Kiara is painting her toenails on the floor. Belle leans back against her headboard, twirling a friendship bracelet between her fingers. Cleo is scrolling on Instagram as all the girl’s hangout to decompress from the beach.

“I’m just saying, if I wiped out? We would still be able to hear Kelce’s awful donkey laugh.” Kie joked.

“Don’t worry, he is. It’s all on his Instagram story.” Cleo shows the group.

“Oh. Yay, I’m famous.” Belle sighed, her mind still lingered on today’s events. Why didn’t he look at her, once? Was Olivia laughing at a joke Rafe made at Belle’s expense?

“You’re infamous, B. There’s a difference.” Sarah smirked.

“Ha ha Sarah.” Belle replied, trying to play back but, she was too distracted to respond with something witty.

“Everything okay?” Kiara asked Belle.

“Hmm?” Belle perked up. “Oh yeah, just tired. Wiping out takes a lot out of you.” She joked, dryly.

“So does seeing those Kooks. Ugh.” Kiara said with a disgusting look on her face.

“Especially that new girl who was all over my brother,” the girls all agreed. “That was weird right?”

“So weird.” Belle replied at the same time Cleo and Kiara agreed with the same variation of what she said.

“Still.” Sarah paused. “She’s perfect for him.” Sarah’s tone was bitter and sharp, like she was declaring it. She paused again, this one felt longer to Belle. So much longer. “I bet my dad loves her, rich family, snobby attitude, and a lethal face card.”

A silence fell over the girls.

“Mmm. I am going to bed. Next time, no Kook talk.” Cleo commanded.

“Yes! Only facemasks and good times.” Kiara agreed.

“Well, I would pass out on your bed but, John B needs me to read him bedtime stories.” Sarah teased.

“Me too, except JJ needs to be tucked in.” Kiara added.

Once the girls left, it was just Belle and her thoughts that remained. It’s like the universe was teasing her today. She just sat there, staring at her phone sitting there like it would have answers for her.

Impulsively, she picked it up.

Belle: Nice rebound. Does Olivia surf too?

Belle: You didn’t even look at me today…

Belle: i didn’t hate you. emphasis on didn't.

She deleted all of that before she could even send it. She wasn’t sure if she wasn’t even supposed to be sending anything. Or if Rafe not looking at her on the beach today was enough of a signal in itself. She weighed the pros and cons of sending it to Rafe. If she didn't send it, there was no risk. If she didn’t send it she could ignore him too, go back to hating his guts. Bury that night like a secret. Forever. She didn’t know why the night felt so intimate to her. They slept in separate rooms. Separate floors of the house even. If she did send it though, he may realize it meant more to her than he originally thought. He may feel the same. And that meant more morning coffee chats with Rafe. More joking with Rafe. More exploring this feeling she had never felt before. God what a mess she had gotten herself into.

Normally, she'd go to Kie. Her unofficial big sister.

But not tonight.

Not for this.

Belle: You don’t have to pretend like I don’t exist.

She hit send before she could talk herself out of it. Immediately, below her message it changes from ‘delivered’ to ‘read’ She knows she shouldn’t care. But she does.

It’s only been minutes but it feels like hours. Why hasn’t he responded? She stuffs her phone in her nightstand after powering it off and goes to sleep. She’d been around Rafe Cameron her whole life — but last night was the first time she didn’t want to punch him. And that scared her more than anything.

⋆˙⟡⋆Meanwhile, across the beach, someone else is unraveling too. ⋆˙⟡

Rafe is smoking on the balcony. The same balcony he first encountered Belle. She looked so beautiful that night. Her hair fell a few inches below her shoulders, her infectious energy that pulled him in, and god she smelt like heaven. It was the type to hypnotize you. Fresh linen and salt air. It was subtle, but so unforgettable. Was it weird that he really enjoyed how she smelled? It didn’t feel weird. It felt right.

It felt the same way he felt when he saw Belle the other night. It wasn’t even intimate, so why did every time they touch, it felt like more? He let out a huge sigh before taking another drag of his cigarette. Belle has been the only thing occupying his mind for the past few days. Ever since the party. She hated her. Hated her perfect face. Her laugh he fortunately got to hear in the morning. Hated how he wants to put his hands on her when she’s near. Touch her in places he can’t see.

His phone pings. He sighs and opens his phone, assuming it is Topper. Luckily, it wasn’t.

1 NEW MESSAGE:

Belle: You don’t have to pretend like I don’t exist.

His mind travels back to the beach. He couldn’t look at her. That’d mean he’d see how beautiful she looked. He couldn’t handle the emotions that came with that.

When she fell off, he wanted to run over to her. He really did. It took all of his restraint not to run over there and check on her. He wanted to be the first one by her side. See if she needed help, if she broke anything, and if he needed to beat Kelce’s ass. He ached for her at that moment.

But her friends were right there. And so was his. So he couldn’t. She saw the blood on her elbow. He saw her staring daggers at his group. He didn’t have the courage to look at her. He felt like a coward.

“Yeesh, what’s her deal?” Olivia said.

“She eat it that hard for attention, orrrr is she just that bad?” Topper jokingly asked, he didn’t expect an answer. Rafe’s chest tightened at that comment. And so did his jaw. It ached as bad as his curiosity as to why he cared so much.

“Nah, she was probably hoping someone in particular would come rescue her.” Ruthie said, glancing at Rafe. “But guess knights don’t ride out for Pogues.” He bit the inside of his cheek, it was the only thing restraining him from lashing out at this band of idiots.

“Or maybe she thought last night earned her a seat at the table.” Kelce grinned and continued to poke the figurative bear, Rafe.

“Kelce. Shut the fuck up.” Rafe said, looking up at Kelce. His voice was tight and low.

“Relax, man. Just sayin’—some people forget where they come from.” Kelce shrugged, acting innocent and walking away.

“Hope she doesn’t think she’s one of us.” Topper said, then walked back to grab a beer.

“Yeah, Rafe,” Olivia put her hand on Rafe’s arm in an attempt to calm him down. “You’re acting like she matters.”

Then, he was brought back to reality by the burning of his cigarette. He hated himself for caring, for feeling something he shouldn’t. He should hate her, like every other pogue on the Cut. But he doesn't. So he hates himself for it instead.

He stares at the phone, thumb hovering over it and his breath quickens.

“Are you coming to bed, Ray?” Olivia says, which makes Rafe turn around. Olivia’s perfume travels from where she’s standing, near the door to Rafe by the edge of the balcony. It doesn’t smell the same as Belle’s. It smells… fake. Too sweet. Like store-bought roses soaked in poison.

He quickly powers off his phone and stuffs it into his pocket.

“Yeah. Be in a second.” He cleared his throat, before taking another drag of his cigarette. He hadn’t even touched her since she showed up, twirling her hair and giving him those eyes.

Everyone says Olivia is perfect for Rafe, a match made in heaven. So why doesn’t he want her? Why does he pull away? Why does he want a pogue he can’t have? He’s been on this balcony with many different people. So why does it remind him of her?

plot - she’s a Slytherin who plays with fire. He’s the Gryffindor who finally gets burned. When a Potions mishap leads to late-night detentions, sparks turn to smirks, insults turn to touches—and suddenly, hating each other isn’t the only thing they’re good at.

characters - harry potter x you, draco malfoy x you (mentioned)

warnings - possessiveness, heavy themes, smut, and angst

wc - 4.8k

creds - @cafekitsune for the divider! <3

final notes - this is my first smutty fic, and i didn't even mean to start it as one. enjoy reader ;)

edit: part 2 out now

Professor Slughorn clapped his hands together. 'Attention to detail is the prerequisite of all planning!' He beamed—just as the door opened to reveal the Chosen One himself.

Draco hated his guts. You tried not to, but there was always trouble where Harry went…

“Ah! Harry, my boy, I was beginning to worry. Get what you want from the cupboard.” Slughorn instructed Harry and barely acknowledged Ron.

Harry’s eyes cut over to you. You looked away immediately. You were a Slytherin. Practically Draco’s best friend, and a bit more. You’d stolen one to many kisses from Draco and had many nights where you ‘accidentally’ slept over at Malfoy’s dorm. As for the chosen one? Potter was very easy on the eyes but, you weren’t going to risk being shunned from your house.

“Any ideas what these might be?” Slughorn asked, referring to the potions he concocted earlier today.

Hermione, ever the know-it-all, answered swiftly. The love potion. “It’s rumoured to smell differently according to each person, according to what attracts them.”

“Exactly. Now Amortentia doesn’t create actual love. That would be impossible. Who wants to try to give us an example of what they smell?”

Your eyes immediately went to the floor, praying to Merlin that Slughorn doesn’t pick you. But he did. Great.

You cleared your throat and stepped up to the cauldron. “I smell old parchment paper and ink.”

“Go on, Y/L/N.” Slughorn says.

“Um I also smell freshly cut grass, almost like how the quidditch field smells. The fresh rain smells after a storm and hints of a fireplace freshly stocked with wood.”

“Good.” Slughorn says.

Draco frowns, but Harry smirks.

“I think she smells you mate.” Ron says nudging Harry.

“No, I don't!” You quickly snapped, almost biting his head off.

All the students take their turn, including Hermione who smells fresh mint toothpaste and Luna who smells warm wool and candy. Then, It’s Harry’s turn.

“Don’t be shy my boy!” Slughorn insists. Of course. That could only end badly.

“I smell-”

He pauses.

Sniffs.

A faint pink flushes across his cheeks.

“Um cherries, warmth, and,”

He hesitates, but eager to get on Slughorn’s good side, he finishes by mumbling:

“That vanilla scented stuff she wears.” His eyes cut to you only for a second before looking down in shame.

Why did he have to smell you?

The slytherin boys teased Harry and made multiple ‘woo’ noises. Bloody hell.

“Looks like someone’s got a crush on Y/N.” Lorenzo couldn’t resist teasing.

Blaise silently shot you a knowing smirk.

“As if Y/N would ever go for Potter.” Draco sneers.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

You and Draco gather the last of your things from the Slytherin table.

“Merlin you take forever.” Draco complained, eager to catch up with Blaise and the rest of the Slytherins. That’s when you hear footsteps approaching. You looked up and saw the golden boy himself, Harry Potter.

“I’ll catch up.” You say, looking at Draco, smiling and resting a hand on his arm.

“Alright.” Draco said walking away but not before giving Potter a scathing look. “I don’t trust that git.” He muttered as he walked away.

Harry scratched his neck, you could tell he was nervous for whatever he was about to say. “You always wear that vanilla scent, don't you?” He lightly chuckled.

“Yeah.” You stopped packing your stuff and put a hand on the desk. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothing,” He said, not meaning to offend you. ”Guess I just noticed today in Potions.” He smiled then walked away leaving you flustered. No teasing. Just that awkward boyish honesty that had no business being that charming.

It wasn’t the first time you noticed him, obviously. But it was the first time you blushed at his comment and the first time your stomach twisted.

You froze in place for a moment, temporarily stunned.

“You coming, princess?” Draco said, groaning.

“Yeah, my bad. I thought you already left!” You said, quickly grabbing the rest of your stuff and meeting Draco at the door.

“What’d Potter want?”

“Nothing.” You said, but in reality the scent of parchment paper and a warm fire were still lingering. And all you could think about for the rest of the week was bloody Harry James Potter.

So when Potions arrived again, you prayed to Merlin you would have a normal time as you walked with Draco, Theo, Mattheo, Enzo, Blaise, and Pansy.

“Do you think Slughorn ever forgets which potion he's drinking and ends up sipping Amortentia?” Theo asked, jokingly.

“That would explain why he keeps smiling at his own reflection.” Enzo adds, which gets an eye roll from Blaise.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

“What you see before you, ladies and gentlemen…is a curious little potion known as Felix Felicis. It is more commonly referred to as -” Slughorn stars before getting interrupted.

“Liquid Luck.” Y/N responds, sitting with all the Slytherins now at their table. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cut your eyes over to the Gryffindor table to see Harry a couple of times. Sometimes, you’d catch him staring at you.

“So, this is what I offer each of you today. One tiny vial of Liquid Luck to the student who in the hour that remains, manages to brew an acceptable Draught of Living Death. Let the brewing commence.” Slughorn announces and immediately you—and all the other students in the class— start to brew.

“Hey, Y/N.” Mattheo says, already has a smirk on his face that reads nothing but trouble

“Yes?” You say, sighing as you were focused on making the potion, but now facing Mattheo.

“Hope you like blokes with glasses. 'Cause apparently one’s obsessed with you now.” Mattheo teased, loud enough for the whole class to hear.

Mattheo Riddle’s book went flying with a hex before he could finish his sentence.

“Miss Y/L/N!” Slughorn says surprised. “I expected better from you. You’ll be serving detention scrubbing the old Potions classroom after hours.” He said.

“Ugh.” You said, putting your head down on your desk. “Thanks, Mattheo.” you mumbled to where you could only hear.

The class ends with Slughorn announcing Harry had won the Felix Felicis and you all clapped for him.

“Oh Potter.” Slughorn said, grabbing the boy’s attention.

“Yes sir?”

“You’re top of the class and one of my best students—would you mind overseeing Miss Y/L/N’s detention? She’s a bright girl, just needs a steady influence.” Slughorn winked.

“Sure, sir.” Harry smiled, even though he sighed inside.

“Was Slughorn congratulating you even more mate?” Ron asked as he walked down the hall with Hermione and Harry by his side.

“No, actually. He asked if I could watch over Y/N’s detention. He’s lost it. Who in their free time would want to monitor detention?”

“Harry.” Hermione started, in her intellectual tone. “It’s clear Y/N and you had smelled each other's scents last week. He’s obviously setting you up.”

“Did you say yes?” Ron asked.

“Yeah. But I’m just doing this to appease him, Dumbledore wants me to get close to him.” Harry explained, although a small fraction of him was looking forward to spending time with you–without Malfoy.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

You were elbow-deep in soap suds and whatever magical gunk stained the walls of the old Potions classroom. You were too busy scrubbing to care how you looked at the moment. Then you heard the door creak. You turned to see it was the star student, Harry Potter. You turned back around.

“Slughorn sent you?” You inquired but you knew he did. Of course he did. You rolled your eyes as you continued scrubbing.

“Nice to see you too, Y/N.” Harry said, fighting a smile that threatened to creep onto his face.

Of course, he’d be smiling. He knew he was charming. You looked back to see that Harry was rolling up his sleeves, his hair a little messier than usual due to the day. He looked so effortlessly handsome.

“I thought this was my detention.” You said distracting yourself from the man that you were just admiring.

“Professor Slughorn sent me to supervise. Make sure you don’t hex anyone” He explained.

“Well you can tell Slughorn I won't hex anyone unless they deserve it–and Mattheo did.” You replied, which earned a laugh from Harry.

You felt a warm feeling inside. One that made you want to hear him laugh more. “You don't have to pity laugh.”

“What? No, no, that was funny. Mattheo can be a bloke sometimes.” He grinned, reflecting.

“Yeah,” you breathlessly laughed. You wringed out your towel as he squatted beside you, rolling up his sleeves even more, inspecting what you had been scrubbing for the past few minutes.

“I can handle it, golden boy.” You looked at him.

“I know you can.” He looked back at you. Something inside you lit up like a firework, those striking green eyes. You looked right back down.

He’s off limits. You knew this.

A few minutes passed before you needed more of the cleaning potion. You reached up toward one of the higher shelves where Slughorn kept old potions ingredients. You stretched on your tiptoes, fingers just grazing the edge of the jar as you felt the back of your shirt stretch up revealing your bare lower back.

“Need help?” Harry asked, you rolled your eyes in defiance. You knew you needed his help—and so did he.

Without another word he came over and grabbed it for you. His hand brushed the bare small of your back sending an electric spark up your spine. Nothing overt, you don’t think he meant to do it. But it made your breath hitch.

You cleared your throat. “Thanks.”

“Told you, I don’t bite Y/L/N, unless you want me to.” He smirked, his voice soft but his smirk spoke louder than the both of you combined.

“I figured I’d help anyways. I’m nice like that.” He said with a soft smile on his face. Why was he being so kind?

For a while there was only light conversation, jokes sprinkled in (mostly at Ron’s expense.), and the sounds of enchanted cleaning equipment to take up the sound in the room. It was quite nice.

And you smiled. And laughed. A lot.

He reached over your shoulder to grab a cleaning potion, and that’s when it hit you.

That smell.

Fire wood, the quidditch grass after a fresh cut, and a soft hint of an unknown warmth.

The exact combination from Amortentia.

You froze because you couldn’t deny it anymore. It was him.

“You alright, Y/L/N?” he asked, quietly. Like he actually cared.

You blinked. Then blurting out: “You changed your cologne.”

“Noticed, huh?” he said, smiling. “Hermione picked it—said it smells like me.”

“It does.” The words slipped out before you could catch them.

“Like the Amortentia you smelled in class the other day?” Harry teased, leaning closer to you. His voice changed to a lower, softer tone–he was certain at this point.

You didn’t respond. Your mouth had already betrayed you the last two times you spoke. Unfortunately, your silence spoke volumes.

“I knew it.” He smiled, smug. Blushing.

You looked at him then. Really looked. He was close enough to count the freckles on his nose. Close enough to see all the different shades of green in his eyes. Close enough to see that his lips were parted like he was holding his breath.

“Harry..” you whispered, almost so quiet to where you couldn’t hear it.

“You’ve got something-” he trails off as he wipes some soap off of your cheek. He keeps his hand there though. Your brain is telling you to look anywhere but in his eyes. Pull away. Slap his hand away. But you don’t.

And that’s when he kissed you. Softly. His lips felt like clouds you could lay on forever. It was warm and felt shy, like he was unsure if he should be kissing Draco’s best friend, a fellow Slytherin.

“Bloody hell.” you whispered on his lips.

You knew this was dangerous. You knew kissing Harry was the kind of thing that could unravel everything you’d worked to protect—your status in Slytherin, your friendship with Draco. But Merlin, you wanted him.

Eventually, your hands started to wander. And so did Harry’s.

“D’ya think Slughorn planned this?” Harry asked between kisses.

“If he did, I don’t think he planned it to go this far.” You replied breathlessly.

His hand was on your waist before you had a chance to even think about what you were doing. You gasped into his mouth, letting him guide you backward until the desk hit the back of your thighs. Your hands were tangled in his hair, pulling slightly, and he let out a low groan against your lips.

“We shouldn’t,” he murmured, even as he backed you up against the wood. But he didn’t stop. Neither did you. You helped him take his shirt off. You wanted to explore all the parts the cape was normally covering.

He hoisted you onto the desk with ease, parchment crackling beneath your thighs as you landed. The wood was cool through your slytherin skirt, a sharp contrast to the heat in your chest.

“Spread your legs.” He commands. His voice is deeper and eyes darker.

“You're distracting,” he said, breathless now, fingers trailing up the edge of your blouse. “How’s a bloke supposed to finish a potion like this?”

“You’re the one who kissed me.” You teased him, pressing your hand against his erection. Rubbing it.

“You kissed me back.” He growled.

A soft knock echoed from the far door. You both froze.

“Shit,” you whispered.

Harry cast a quick Silencing Charm toward the hallway, then leaned back in with a grin.

“You owe me ten points from Slytherin with that save.”

“She smirks. “Fine. But you’ll have to work harder if you want the House Cup.”

“Then maybe you should make it up to me some other way,” he said, fingers slipping just under the hem of your skirt.

The parchment crinkled louder now, mingling with the sound of their quickened breathing, the faint creak of old wood. Every noise felt dangerous. Every kiss felt like a dare.

The Silencing Charm fizzled suddenly, the glow snapping out with a quiet pop. They froze again—this time for real—just as Slughorn’s voice echoed faintly down the hall.

“Everything alright in there?”

Harry blinked, panic and adrenaline lighting his features.

“Brilliant,” you muttered, hopping off the desk and straightening your skirt.

He didn’t stop smiling as he helped you button the top of your blouse, eyes flicking down to your lips.

“We are so getting caught,” you whispered.

“Worth it,” he replied.

“Okay. Just finish up in there.” Slughorn says before you hear his footsteps retreat.

“Oh we will sir.” Harry said as you smacked his chest. It took no time for him to devour your face again like it was his air he needed to breathe. As he went to kiss your collarbone, he noticed a necklace.

He looped a few fingers around your silver necklace with Draco’s initials on it. He immediately ripped it off, throwing it across the classroom. You were more of a gold girl anyways.

The moment the necklace was gone, something in Harry changed. You weren’t Draco’s property anymore. His restraint—snapped.

“You’ve been wearing his initials this whole time?” His voice was low, rough, barely recognizable. “That git doesn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

This time when he kissed you, it was harder. Like he was staking a claim on you. He wanted to make you forget any guy you had ever been with. And you let him.

You moaned into his mouth as he gripped your thighs, spreading them apart with a firm hand as he stepped between them.

“The silencing charm is gone, so you have to be quiet, yeah?” He instructed. You nodded. Anything to have him please you right now.

His fingers dug into the soft flesh in your legs, forcibly pulling you closer to the edge of the desk until there was no space between you. You could feel him—all of him—pressed against your core through layers of fabric. It made your head spin and your heat ache.

“You’re so fucking warm,” he murmured, his thumb trailing around your lips and eventually going into your mouth—which you started sucking. “Been imagining this since the first time you smart-mouthed me in class.”

“Merlin, Potter you’re addicted to me.” You smirked, tugging at his belt.

“Maybe,” he slipped his hand to touch the space between your two legs. He leaned to whisper in your ear. “But I’m not the one soaking for your best friend's enemy.”

After, he pushed your underwear to the side like it was nothing. “You’re dripping for me.” He said, more to himself as an achievement than to you. “All of this for me.” He said, admiring the view.

“Merlin Harry.” you said, bucking your hips.

He pulled back his fingers after you finished, licking them while maintaining eye contact with you. “You taste so sweet. Like cherries and trouble.”

“C’mere,” you begged, grabbing his shirt and dragging him down for another kiss, all teeth and tongue. You could feel the hard line of his cock through his trousers, grinding against you with each movement. You needed him.

“Tell me what you want,” he demanded, voice hoarse, his forehead pressed to yours.

You grabbed what you wanted.

“Use your words, or I walk out of here right now, love.”

“I want you to fuck me right here on Slughorn’s desk,” you said, unashamed, fire blazing in your chest. “Like you don’t care if someone walks in.”

“I’ll be quick,” he muttered, pulling his pants and underwear down in a swift motion, voice thick with lust. “But next time, you’re riding me until you forget Malfoy’s name.”

“Yes sir.”

And then he was inside you.

You gasped, nails raking down his back as he filled you all at once. There was no easing into it, no time for gentle. He thrust deep and hard, making you moan out of pleasure.

His hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your moans as your head fell back in pleasure. “I said to be quiet.”

His pace was brutal, unforgiving, like he was punishing you for making him want you this much. You clenched around him, making him choke on a moan against your neck.

“Fuck—keep doing that and I’m not gonna last,” he hissed.

You bit down on his shoulder, trying not to scream. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he slammed into you, each thrust hitting your core perfectly, you swore you could start seeing stars. It’s like he’s done this before. Your bodies were in sync perfectly.

“Harry,” you moaned, which only sped his pacing up, “Gonna cum,” you whispered into his ear, desperate and wild. “Please—don’t stop—”

“I’ve got you,” he growled. “Cum for me, darling.” He said before moving stray hairs out of your face to look in your eyes.

You shattered around him, muffling your cry into his shoulder as you clenched hard, your whole body pulsing with the release. Harry followed right after, groaning low as he buried himself deep inside you, spilling with a final thrust that left you both trembling.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. Just the sound of you both catching your breaths, the creak of the desk, and the faint sizzle of a potion that had overheated across the room.

Then Harry slowly pulled back, resting his forehead on yours, still inside you.

“Well,” he panted, smirking. “I think Slughorn’s desk might need a second round of cleaning.”

You smirked right back, running a hand through your hair. “Only if you supervise again.”

Your legs were so jello you almost fell when you both started to put your clothes back on. Although he giggled at first, he was gentle, slowly putting your shirt and underwear back on, making sure you were okay. He stole a few kisses before you had to part ways. Nobody could find out. Especially Draco.

As you walked down the hallway, alone, you were smoothing out your skirt and running your fingers through your hair. Thats when you caught a glimpse of your new tie. Gold and Red.

“Bloody hell.” you muttered. You quickly snatched it off, that would be a bold fashion statement in the Slytheirn common room for sure. One you were not ready to risk tonight.

But you couldn't help the smug little smile curling on your lips, reflecting on tonight’s events. Your neck still tingled where Harry had kissed you. Branded you. Your thighs ached deliciously with every step. You smelled like his cologne and sex and sin.

“Ah, Y/L/N. How was detention?” Draco asked.

“Terrible.” You said fighting a smirk, to which you lost.

“Where’s your tie, Y/N?” Theo noticed.

“Oh I lost it.” That earned a smirk from Blaise. He never spoke yet he knew everything.

You walked to your dorm when Lorenzo followed you.

“Ah, Y/N. You smell like sex. A scent I know all too well. So what really happened at detention? And if you don’t tell me, I’m assuming it was Slughorn.”

Meanwhile, across the hall, Harry walked in with a huge internal grin on his face. While trying to maintain an external ‘innocent and casual’ look. His hair was messier, sticking up in all different directions, where you had tugged on it. His lips tingling and his shirt untucked. But most importantly? The tie around his neck was not red and gold.

“Oi! Mate! What took you so long! ‘Mione made me do all of my homework.” Ron inquired.

“You had detention with Y/N, didn’t you?” Hermione interrogated.

“Yeah. The one I had to oversee.”

Hermione raised a brow. “You’re wearing a Slytherin tie.”

Fuck.

Worth it.

He looked down and pretended like he was surprised. “Huh. Must’ve—uh—mixed them up by accident.”

Ron blinked. “How do you accidentally put on a tie that’s a completely different color?”

“I wasn’t paying attention,” Harry mumbled, running a hand through his hair. “It was dark.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “You smell like cleaning supplies and… something else.”

“I know what your thinking ‘Mione.” He paused as he sat down in the chair, facing Ron and Hermione who occupied the sofa by the fireplace. “But nothing happened okay?”

“That’s not what your body says. You're practically glowing mate.” Ron said half embarrassed for Harry. Half proud of Harry.

“Your lips are swollen,” Hermione added as she continued to analyze him. “And you’ve got a love bite on your neck.”

Harry slapped a hand over it, heart racing. “Merlin’s beard, Hermione.”

“Harry snogged a Slytherin!” Ron said, putting all the pieces together. “You snogged Y/N Y/L/N.”

Harry stared in the fireplace, refusing to answer. Not out of embarrassment, but out of respect.

“I must say,” Hermione began.

“Must you?” Harry said, throwing his head back.

“Yes.” She paused, then continued. “Y/N is a good match for you-”

“If she wasn’t Malfoy’s best mate.” Ron added.

Which made Harry flashback to when he ripped off your necklace with Malfoy’s initials.

He giggled, remembering the memory, proud of himself.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

“I’m just saying, if Hermione and Ron don’t get together by the end of this year, I will give you ten galleons,” Pansy laughs beside you in the courtyard between classes.

You laugh, shaking her hand. “Deal.”

Draco saunters up like he owns the damn place—confidence and arrogance wrapped up in a perfectly pressed Slytherin uniform. His eyes scan you slowly.

“Y/LN.”

You tilt your head. “Yeah?” Your laughter fades, but you keep the smirk. You know how to match his energy.

“I was—” He pauses, eyes flicking down. “Wait. Where’s your necklace?”

You blink. “What?”

“The silver one. The one I gave you for your birthday.”

Your hand instinctively goes to your neck. Empty. “Oh. I must’ve misplaced it.”

Draco narrows his eyes, something unspoken tightening in his jaw. But he doesn’t press. You feel it though—whatever illusion you two had? It’s slipping.

And then, as if on cue, Harry walks up.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just clocks Draco standing far too close to you. His jaw tightens.

“Ah, Potter,” Draco smirks, catching the tension. “Careful. Keep staring at Y/N like that and people might start thinking you actually like her. Especially after that little Amortentia stunt in Potions.”

Harry’s expression darkens. He knows exactly what Draco’s doing—but so do you. And you don’t stop it.

“Yeah?” Harry says, voice low.

Draco steps closer, smug. They’re almost nose-to-nose now.

Harry looks between the two of you, jaw clenched like he’s debating something dangerous. Then he turns to Draco, voice low but lethal.

“Next time you get close to Y/N…” He pauses. “Let me know how my dick tastes, Malfoy.”

The courtyard goes silent.

Mattheo chokes on his pumpkin juice somewhere behind you. Enzo’s jaw? On the floor.

Draco stares, stunned. He’d expected a snide remark. Not that.

You? You can barely breathe. Heart racing. Legs weak. And somewhere deep down—way deeper than you want to admit—you’re completely, shamelessly turned on.

Harry doesn’t wait. He brushes past, fingers grazing your wrist in a possessive little touch that feels like a brand.

You stare after him, stunned. Then at Draco.

“I—”

You don’t finish. You run.

You find Harry in a shadowy corridor, one no one uses anymore. “Potter!” you snap.

He turns. There’s something flickering in his eyes—guilt? Regret? But it’s gone just as fast.

“What the hell was that?” you push him, palms on his chest.

He pins you to the wall, dark eyes wild. “No.”

“What?”

“You don’t get to look at him like that after last night.” His voice is rough, angry.

“I wasn’t—”

“You’re mine, Y/N.” He leans in, breath hot by your ear. “You know you’re mine.”

His hands plant on either side of your head, caging you in.

“That doesn’t give you the right to—”

His lips hover just inches from yours, daring you to keep going.

“He looked at you like he still had a chance. Asked about the necklace like you’re still his. And you just let him.”

“It’s not like that,” you whisper.

“Then make it clear.”

He looks at your mouth, then your eyes. Your lips crash into his like you’re starved. Need outweighs reason.

“Say it,” he murmurs.

“Say what?”

“Say it, Y/N.”

You hesitate—then surrender. “I’m yours.”

Harry grins against your mouth before kissing you again like he’s claiming what’s his.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Later, you sneak into the Slytherin common room, Harry’s kiss still burning on your lips.

“So it’s true then,” Draco’s voice cuts through the quiet. He’s slouched in a chair, signature green apple in hand. He takes a bite.

You freeze. Of course he knows. Everyone does by now. You sigh.

You don’t say anything.

“Snogging in corridors. Switching ties like love letters.” He scoffs. “You think no one notices?”

“Why do you even care? Draco, we hooked up five times. It didn’t mean anything—you know that.” That was cruel, and you both knew it.

“Because you were mine first, Y/N.” Draco rarely referred to anyone by their first name, so you knew this was serious. He took a swig of his fire whisky. Always was his go-to.

“Tell me, Y/N.” He hesitated, did he want to know the answer to his next query? “Is he better than me?”

You stared off into space, it was at least thirty seconds before you responded. “Yes.”

You looked back at Draco, you could tell that stung. “That half-blood golden boy who doesn’t know what to do with a girl like you.” Draco sticks his tongue in his cheek. “He’ll only break your heart, princess. You’ll regret choosing him.”

You turn to go, but his voice follows you, quieter—almost vulnerable.

“I asked about the necklace because I thought maybe…” he trails off, then swallows hard. “Thought maybe you’d still wear something I gave you. Never mind. I guess you had other things wrapped around your neck anyway.”

That almost gets you.

Almost.

“Draco, stop.”

“Was it when we were…?” He doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to.

“Don’t twist this.”

“Well, you’re not denying it.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “Enjoy being his dirty little secret. Let me know when the Gryffindor guilt eats him alive.”