H 𐙚

his breathing was uneven, like he was fighting back sobs. you squeezed your eyes shut. you remembered how it felt, standing there at that party, your chest splitting as you watched him touch her the way he used to touch you.

“i keep trying to fill the hole you left. pills, booze, girls, fights—none of it works. it never works. because it’s not you. it’s never you. and i swear to god, you’re the only one who makes me feel like i’m not insane. like i’m not just my father’s fucked-up, broken son. with you, i felt… human. like maybe i was worth something. do you get that? you’re the only thing that’s ever made me feel alive.”

your throat closed. tears spilling down your cheeks. he was saying all the things you once begged him to say when you were still there, still fighting for him. and now it was too late.

“i know i ruined it. i know i broke you. i know i’ve been a coward from the start. but i can’t fucking breathe without you. i can’t sleep, i can’t eat, i can’t think. i walk into a room and i’m looking for you. i close my eyes and it’s you i see. i’m haunted by you, y/n. and maybe that’s what i deserve. maybe that’s my punishment for throwing away the only good thing i ever had. but i’m begging you, even if you never take me back—please don’t forget me. please don’t erase me from your life like i don’t exist. i couldn’t take it.”

a pause, then a sound so raw it broke you. he choked on a desperate sob. you bit your lip so hard it almost bled. part of you wanted to hate him for this. and part of you wanted to reach through the phone and just have him with you again.

“i love you. i love you in a way that ruins me. in a way that’s killing me right now. and i’ll never stop. i don’t care if you hate me, i don’t care if you never say it back again—i’ll never stop loving you. you’re it for me, y/n. you’ve always been it.”

the voicemail ended in silence. but his words hung in the air, pressing against your ribs, making it impossible to breathe. you sat there in the dark, your phone clutched tight, tears slipping down your face faster than you could wipe them away.

you hated him. you loved him. you couldn’t stop hurting. and yet, god help you, you wanted him. your thumb hovered over his name in your call log. you told yourself not to do it, that it would only hurt more. but you pressed it anyway.

the line rang once. and then his voice came through, rough and broken, like he hadn’t slept in days. “…y/n?”

It’s pathetic, if you’re being honest. And you hate the way it sounds, so casual, as if that's all you are now. As if every breathe you keep sharing isn't charged with the damage you keep doing to each other.

It feels like relapse. A relapse you walked into with open and conscious eyes.

You: Are you up?

Two words. No explanation. No double question mark that sounds like you thinking twice before hitting send. Just a tap of your thumb at 11:47 p.m. because you can’t sleep, and you can’t stop thinking about him, and you’re so tired of pretending you don’t know the shape of his hands anymore.

You expect silence. The last time you saw him like this, he was the one who texted first. You keep changing roles and it only shows just how much you're thinking about each other.

But your phone lights up within seconds. Almost rehearsed, this is your new and miserable routine.

Rafe: Yeah. Need me to come?

It’s not even a question. It’s a reflex. He already knows what you're going to say.

Your chest tightens. You shouldn't even be doing this anymore, he shouldn't even be answering you either. But the door is still open for a reason and you both don't want to close it yet. Publicly, the door isn't even closed, it's shut down.

Why is this still so easy for him? The questions hangs on your tired brain.

Your fingers hesitate over the keyboard— but the truth is, hesitation has never stopped you when it comes to him. No matter how scared you might be, you will always chose him.

You: Back door. Be quiet.

As soon as the message delivers, regret blooms like a bruise. Inevitable and so predictable and avoidable, you know you could save yourself from it if you just stopped.

You stand there in the dark kitchen, wrapped in the oversized cotton T-shirt you threw on hours ago, half-wishing he won’t come, half knowing he already grabbed his keys the second he saw your name on his screen. The house is quiet— unnervingly so. The twins’ rooms down the hall glow with the soft hum of their nightlights, a tiny universe of stars spinning lazily on their walls.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

Not after the divorce. Not three months into pretending you’re okay. Not when your kids are asleep and your heart still behaves like he lives here. Not when it already took so much courage asking for divorce in the first place only for you to fall into this mess so easily.

But then you hear it: the faint rattle of the back door unlocking.

Your breath catches.

Rafe slips inside like he’s done a hundred times already, he doesn't enter like he lives here anymore, he sneaks in like a squatter. His hoodie is still unzipped, hair messy like he’d been running his hands through it nonstop. Or maybe he had been asleep. Maybe you woke him. You can't really recognize his expression when it comes to sleeping anymore, you haven't actually slept next to him for a full night in three months now.

He doesn’t turn on the lights. He doesn’t need to, it feels cohesive, everything around you two is dark. It has been for a long time.

He finds you in the dim kitchen, the moonlight cutting across him like he’s half-shadow, waiting to disappear whenever you're not looking or hanging there while being so scarily looking.

You hate the way desire slides into your veins the moment you get to have a good glimpse of his eyes. Still so blue.

Neither of you speak.

He takes a slow step forward, gauging whether you’ll flinch.

You don’t.

Your heartbeat is loud in your ears— so loud he probably hears it. The look on his face make you believe he does.

Rafe takes a look at you, analyzing your face. “Hey." He whispers finally once he was done admiring you in the darkness of the room.

The word is soft, hesitant, nothing like the confident, stubborn man you once loved out loud. There’s something broken in the syllable, something that cracks straight down the center of your ribs. Something that maybe you would've defined as butterflies a year ago just because you wanted to hold on.

His eyes trace your face like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

You swallow. Not scared, not exactly nervous but with an immense level of adrenaline and longing in your body. “Hi.” You whisper back.

And then that familiar current slips between you, thick and magnetic, pulling you together like the months apart never happened. His hand lifts— a question, not an answer like the way he used to own the place. His fingers brush your cheek, and you let him.

Just like that, the dam breaks and the unstoppable water that is represented by desire comes by roughly.

You grab the front of his hoodie, pulling him into you. His breath stutters as his forehead drops to yours, the kind of closeness that once felt like home and now feels like trespassing.

When he kisses you, it’s not greedy.

It’s soul-splitting. The kind of kiss that feels like old promises resurfacing.

It’s slow for just a moment, like he’s memorizing the exact pressure it takes to make you exhale against his mouth.

He presses you against the kitchen island, squeezing your hips like they own him money. Acting like he's going to make you pay for the amount of sleep he has been losing over you.

He pressed your body against his, chest to chest. And the sound he makes is small, relieved, devastating.

He presses his lips to yours— slow, cautious, reverent. You grab the front of his hoodie, pulling him harder against you, and he exhales into your mouth like he’s been holding his breath for weeks.

The kiss deepens. Soft becomes hungry, hungry becomes desperate. His cold hands slide under your shirt, cold fingers skimming warm skin, expert and experienced. A shiver rolls through you. You arch into him involuntarily, and the corner of his mouth curves against your cheek like he felt it— like he needed to feel it.

When your breath catches, he murmurs: “I’ve missed you." against your neck.

You don’t answer. He knew you wouldn't. But it makes your knees weaken.

Then, it's fast and needy. You gasp and Rafe takes the opportunity to let his tongue inside your mouth. One of your hands slips to his jaw, thumb skimming the stubble there, and he tilts his head deeper into your touch like he can’t help himself.

He lifts you slightly, enough to slide you further onto the counter so you’re perched on the edge. You gasp, grabbing the back of his hoodie to steady yourself, but he’s already there— hands braced on your thighs, pushing them open just enough to step between them.

His hands skim up your back beneath your shirt again, tracing your spine, drawing you flush against him. Every point of contact is too much and not enough all at once.

He makes you cold and hot at the same time, you feel like running a fever.

He tugged you closer with a strong arm around your waist when he had enough of you in the island. He puts you down, softly sliding you off.

You pull him through the quiet house as you tug his shirt, tiptoeing past the kids’ rooms, holding your breath every time the floor creaks. The two of you moving in a practiced, guilty silence. He’s right behind you, one hand at your back, his touch as familiar as the framed photos you still haven’t taken down from the hallway. And he's still kissing you: your lips, your neck, your cheeks.

You end up in your bedroom.

Or what used to be your bedroom.

And you don't bother with the lamp. You let the dark be the only judge of your sins tonight, you don't have the courage to see what he will look like underneath the cruel light. You're afraid he might see a lot.

Your clothes disappear in the dark. Rafe laments not getting to see more of your body with the clarity he's been lacking lately.

Rafe kisses you like he’s starving, like he can't wait to get more of this. You kiss him like you’re trying to forget why this can’t last.

You fall into the bed, the sheets cool beneath your back, his body warm above you. He moves with a tenderness he never had before the divorce— as if loving you gently is the only way he knows to apologize for failing.

One of your arms goes around his neck as your other hand slowly drags down his chest, touching every single muscle that tenses under the touch of your fingertips. He's squeezing your hips with impatience.

But he doesn't push. He's afraid you may back up if he does something you suddenly don't agree with. His eyes follow your hand, eagerly tracing down the path you're doing.

Rafe looks desperate, he's almost pleading for you to do something. His eyebrows are saying what his mouth isn't: please.

A witty finger ends up on the elastic of his expensive boxers, you tug from it, making the fabric snap against his V-line. His eyes flicker back at you with an accusing look. "C'mon," He groans.

You only smirk, the smile is no stranger for you in these kinds of situations. It's a familiar walk. "Someone's excited." You say, arching your back and making your mouth closer to his after noticing the bulge on his underwear. Teasing.

And he likes it. The exasperated chuckle that comes out of him is a tell, but the way he slowly rolls his hips to touch you is also one. "Don't make me wait, sweetheart." He said in that low tone you've never been able to resist, teeth tracing your jaw with a knife-like precision. He's restless, waiting for you to give him the time of the day.

One of your hands slides over Rafe's waist as you pull him closer, his skin is hot underneath your fingers, so eager to be touched. "Don't call me that." You scolded, falling into the usual banter in between a heated moment.

Rafe lets you pull him down— lets your hands roam over his chest, the heat of him pressing into you like he’s been starved.

But the second your nails drag down his abs, that smirk creeps back.

"Don’t call you what?" he rumbles, lowering his face until his lips hover just above yours. "Sweetheart?" Another roll of his hips. "Princess?"

His voice drops— rougher, darker. But it breaks at the end, imploring.

"Baby..." It rolls off his tongue so easily.

He says it like a secret. Like this is the only time he’s allowed to say it anymore. Like he can no longer take it.

And then —without waiting— he crushes his mouth to yours, one hand fisting in your hair while the other drags down your body like claiming territory again.

You called him here. But he'll be damned if he's not the one taking control over this.

Your hand reached out to grab his boxers, wanting to jank them off him without a second to be wasted. He catches your hand mid-air, fast, and pins it above your head with one grip, eyes still locked on the bra you've put on only for him tonight.

The tables turn.

He fixes you with just one look of his eyes, making sure you stay still. "Slow down," He growls, voice thick like smoke. "Let me look."

His thumb drags slow across the lace-covered swell of your breast, then lower, just enough to tease, before tracing back up to the strap.

Your eyes remain on him, on the way his eyes scan over you, as if trying to find something different since the last time he got to see you like this. You look just as breathtaking.

He helps you take off your bra, finally letting him have his favorite view after weeks of not getting you. Rafe has been desperate and it's almost painful how he tries to hide it down.

He kisses and kisses. He treats the swell of your tits gently, giving them the attention he knows you have been craving. He kneads with his hand the one he's not kissing, making sure it's just as stimulated. He sucked your nipples, looking up at you the entire time while doing it.

His big hand drifted down your abdomen, touching with his calloused fingertips, so rough and warm at the same time. It's the touch you know you'll never get tired of. It used to be a blessing, now it's an unbreakable curse that'll follow you for the rest of your life.

He finally curled a finger around your panties. They're sticky with arousal once he takes them off.

"All that just f'me? So nice, baby. Thank you..." Rafe taunted with a smirk, as if he's actually surprised by what he's seeing. You don't answer, a sigh comes out of you as you bite your lower lip, propping your hips up to get some of his touch. "Now, calm down..." He chuckled.

You don't know why is he wasting so much time on teasing you. His mouth has always been one of Rafe's traits that brings you to absolute bliss or drags you to hell. You don't think you have the actual patience he's asking you for when he hovers over you, his breath hitting over your wetness is making you lose your mind.

"Rafe..." You let out with exasperation. He's kissing your thighs, feeling the flesh as if he's coming back home. "We can't— don't tease." You grunt, feeling pressured by the moonlight over you that hangs up in the sky with watchful eyes, as if she knows you shouldn't be doing this.

"You're so bossy, has anyone told you that?" Rafe teases again with a triumphant smile on his face. "I'll give it you, don't worry." He eases the tension by touching you with two fingers as he takes off his underwear, freeing his thickness. His cock glistening and throbbing with need.

"You better take it, then." He says, promising. Threatening.

And he doesn't make you wait much longer, with a preventing hand over your mouth, he pushes deep inside, tearing you open so widely. A moan is immediately let out of your mouth, ripping and heartbreaking.

Rafe sighs, groaning under his breath when he feels your warmth all around him. "Fuck..." He takes a moment to recompose before looking back at you. His chest is weighting with recognition. "Shh..." He asks you, leaning closer to get to your eye level.

His strong and dominant facade breaks just for a moment when he starts moving, thrusting into you with all the passion he has never been able to held back for you.

You try to keep quiet, so badly, but it's so hard when Rafe fucks into you like this. Like he means it, like every slam of his skin against yours is a word.

You wrap your legs around his waist and he grips one of your legs, trying to pull you somehow closer, trying to push deeper into you.

"Rafe—" You gasp his name, voice shattering with the way his cock is driving into you.

Oh. Jesus.

You almost made him come right there.

The way you felt, what you said… It's so fucking hard to see you like this and not feel the way he feels about you.

He was so far from in control right now it wasn't even funny.

Rafe leaned over you, arms pressed into the mattress on either sides of your head, face burying into your neck as he fought the urge to just take. He could. You were his. In every single way.

"You don't know what you do to me," He growled against your neck with frustration. "What I go through… trying to stay away when all I want is you."

His words were just as strong as the way he was fucking you. His cock was relentless on you and you don't know for how much longer you can take it.

"Yeah?" You manage to get some attitude back. Satisfied that you only get him like this.

Rafe smiles at the tone, tilting his head. "You already know it, baby. No pussy like this one." He accentuated his statement with a hard thrust.

The attitude breaks and you can't give him other than cries for his name when he does that. And he doesn't want anything else, either. "Rafe— fuck..." You choked, a little louder than expected, closing your eyes and overwhelmed in pleasure.

He quickly covered your mouth again, taking away the liberty he had just given you. But he loved it.

Rafe growled at the sound —muffled, sweet, desperate— and it went straight to his head like a drug.

"Quiet." He ordered, voice low and rough as he pulled back just enough to make you feel the loss before snapping his hips forward again—slow but deep. "Now, open your eyes for me."

You whimpered but obeyed, opening your eyes just enough to met his through the dark room.

There it was— that look he lived for.

Dazed. Devoted. Ruined.

"Yeah, you love it, huh?" He has a devil smirk, one you have seen way too many times to know how satisfied he is with himself. "Pussy's so good... She's always so nice for me," Rafe complimented.

Rafe’s hand slid from your hip up your ribcage until he caught your neck— holding you in place as his thrusts grew harder, more urgent.

"You take me so good," He muttered, breath ragged now. "So damn perfect… my woman, all mine…"

He pulls out without a warning, grabbing you by the waist and turning you around before you had any time to process, leaving you on your stomach against the mattress. "All fours, c'mon." He commanded.

You feel his palm drag over the curve of your ass, warm and steady. The pet name is right there on the tip of his tongue —you can hear it in the way he exhales— but you’ve long passed the point of pretending it bothers you.

“Rafe, I— I can’t—” You start, half annoyed, half breathless.

He laughs under his breath, the kind of laugh that knows exactly how this is about to go. “Yeah, you can,” he says, nudging your knees apart with his own. “You’ve done it a million times. Don’t start acting shy on me now.”

He taps your ass once with his cock, a gentle, impatient cue.

You give in, settling onto your hands and knees. When you look back at him over your shoulder, biting your lip out of pure reflex, he seems to lose the last bit of patience he had. He pushes into you again, slow but deep, and the sound you make is embarrassingly immediate.

Your elbows buckle, and you let your upper body sink into the mattress.

"Careful," He warned, chuckling as he pulled your hair to lift your face out of the pillows.

His hand was gentle at your throat, tilting your chin back to look up at him, to make sure you knew who you had to look back to.

"Wanna watch that pretty face." He murmured, his hips still rocking in a slow, steady rhythm. "See those pretty eyes looking back at me when you fall apart. That's a sight a man could get addicted to, doll."

And you can only melt into his words, feeling the way your body was falling helplessly into the imminent pleasure he provides you with.

Your hands are shaking, grabbing the arms he has around you, looking for something to hold onto. You feel your tits bouncing with each hard thrust he gives you. "Rafe, please..." You asked for some mercy, feeling the way your legs started to tremble.

"Ah— Jesus Christ." Rafe growled, breath catching in his throat. It was almost too much.

His hand wandered down your tits and back up again, fingers tracing every line of them until he reached your hip for something more rough and possessive, his other hand tightening on your neck as he held you firm against him.

A silent warning.

Your back is pressed again his hard chest, sweat only making it harder to separate.

He eases your movements with a steady hand on your hip, squeezing the flesh, reflecting the contained desire. He clenches his jaw again when he feels you clenching around him. "You're gonna kill me..." He mutters. But he knows you're close, he can practically touch your orgasm. "Cum for me, gorgeous. You want it." He assured.

"Oh, Rafe..." Your voice wavers between quiet and loud, trying to keep yourself together as he hits that spot that makes your whole body jolt. You’re so close it hurts.

Rafe hears it instantly— the way your breath catches, the way your hips twitch. “I know, baby,” He says, voice dropping. He shifts behind you, bracing one arm around your middle as your weight leans into him.

One hand slid between your legs again— thumb pressing slow and hard right where you needed it. His hips snapped up rougher, chasing that perfect angle.

Your mouth falls open in a soundless gasp.

He could finish like this. You can tell.

But he won’t. Because Rafe Cameron always made sure his woman cummed before he did anything else.

The coil in your stomach snaps hard, your breath shattering as your whole body jerks against him. The orgasm hits fast and sharp, rolling through you in waves that make your knees go weak.

Rafe holds you upright, arms locked around you as you shake through it, his mouth at your shoulder whispering. “There you go... I got you.”

Your hand flies to your mouth on instinct, but he beats you there— covering it with his palm, possessive, quieting you. Jealously making sure that he can be the only one who listens to you.

He keeps moving through your release, his thrusts shorter, more desperate now. Your body pulses around him, and that’s all it takes— his breath stutters, his abdomen tightening hard against your back.

“Fuck—” He chokes out against your ear.

His hand slips up to your chest, grabbing a breast and squeezing, thumb brushing over your nipple like he can’t help himself. You melt into the touch, still trembling.

He presses in deep one last time, groaning low into your shoulder as he finally comes. His body jerks, his hips stutter, and you feel the warmth flood you in slow, pulsing waves. His grip tightens around your ribcage, like he needs to hold onto something real while he unravels.

He stays there, breathing hard against your neck, not letting you go. His fingers trace your waist, your hip, your stomach— leaving little marks, reminders.

You stay for a moment, both of you catching your breath, bodies still joined, the room unbearably quiet except for the soft, uneven rhythm of your breathing.

Rafe finally loosens his arms, but not all the way. He presses his forehead to the back of your shoulder, grounding himself. “Shit,” He mutters, voice rough.

He slowly eases out of you, one hand steadying your hips when your legs wobble. You feel warm and sore and completely undone and so guilty.

You hum at the lost of him, feeling empty for a few seconds before you gave into his arms. He pulls you down on the bed again, making you rest your head against the pillows.

You swallow with a lump in your throat. Shit, you think. Why do you keep falling into this over and over again? You shouldn't feel so damn guilty, you were the one who called him this time around. You have to take the responsibility for that.

And you do. And God, it's so heavy. It makes you feel like your heart has fallen on your stomach. You got a feeling its been living there for a while now.

Rafe wraps an arm around you. He knows he won't stay, you never stay with each other for long after your encounters. Boundaries, you call it.

But he doesn’t expect this.

He doesn’t expect the way you shift away when he presses absentminded kisses along your arm— soft, apologetic touches over the spots he’d gripped so hard minutes earlier. He’s used to comforting you after sex, it’s the one part of this whole thing that’s never felt strange.

"What's wrong?" Rafe murmured, trying to read you. He’s gotten worse at it these past months— every time he thinks he knows what you’re feeling, he’s wrong. He's overly disappointed every time.

You don’t look at him. Your throat works in a dry swallow, breath unsteady. "I..." Your breath shakes. "Everything." You admit.

You sit up, pulling the sheets over your chest— something you’ve never bothered to do around him, a protective gesture you've never had to do. The shift is small, but the meaning punches him harder than anything you’ve said.

"We can't keep doing this."

Rafe's not surprised. He hasn't been surprised at any negative thing you tell him lately. He expects it.

“Right.” His voice is rougher than he means for it to be. He clears his throat and pushes himself upright.

And Rafe doesn't hold it against you. He doesn't hold it against you that you were the one who called him today, that you were the one who kissed him first. And he won't hold it against you if you want to end it.

He won’t hold it against you if you want to end it.

He knew this… whatever the hell it is… had an expiration date. He walked into it anyway because he wanted the last pieces of you he could get.

He liked the thought that every time you called him it was because you still needed him and when he called you and you came, it was because you still cared.

But he didn't expect it tonight. He thought you both could get away with these toxic events a few more times before you called it off.

And Rafe won't lie anymore. It's starting to hurt a lot. The pull and take is so tiring. The constant getting closer to each other only to be shattered seconds later. He can only take so much when it comes to you.

You’re sitting there with the sheet clutched to your chest like armor, staring at some point on the wall— anywhere but at him. And over the past year of his life, Rafe doesn't know which sight of you has been more devastating. He knows he's tired of seeing them.

Rafe exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “Did I… do something?” He hates how his heart was asking him to ask.

You shake your head instantly. “No. It’s not… it’s not about that.” Your fingers twist in the sheets, anxiously. “It’s about us. About what we’re doing. It's wrong."

He frowns again. Rafe knows that what you've been doing for the past three months isn't healthy or what it's supposed to be done after a divorce, he knows you've always been out of the norm. "It's not wrong, alright?" He tries to make it seem less terrible.

He gets closer. "We're adapting, it's been fucking hard." Rafe clenched his jaw, speaking like you're personally offending both of you, as if he can't bare listen to you talking about the two of you like that.

You close your eyes, because the defensiveness in his tone hurts. Like he's such a believer. “Rafe, we’re divorced. We’re supposed to be moving on. Not—” You gesture vaguely between your bodies. "Not getting stuck in this loop.”

He lets out a humorless breath. “I know we’re divorced. Trust me, I’m reminded of it every damn day.” The sarcasm and irritation drips off his words like honey, he can't help it. It's touching a nerve.

That makes your shoulders tense, but you don’t turn around.

“And the kids...” You whisper, sinking your face in between your hand as you think about them. “If they ever caught on… or if someone saw us—”

“They won’t.” He cuts in, too quickly. Too defensive.

“Rafe...” You say, finally looking over your shoulder. Your eyes are glassy, tired.

And the pleading in your eyes make him feel so cruel. He never expected to feel like an actual villain ever in his life. He never expected causing you this level of pain, he doesn't know what to do with it.

So he gives in, he can't be the reason you keep hurting. You've been doing it for years now, all because of him. "No, yeah. You're— you're right." He says, stiff and hard as he pushes up from the bed, getting his clothes.

"It's for the better." He repeats. This isn't what Rafe wanted, but if this is his new world, might as well try to make it work.

You watch the way he gets dressed, letting your eyes tear apart every detail. You memorize the muscles of his back, knowing it'll be the last time you see them. You watch the way his arm are tense when he puts on his shirt again.

But you look away when he turns around, pretending you weren't looking. Rafe turns, breath still uneven from everything the two of you said. His eyes flick to your face, then drop right back down to the floor like he’s afraid of the damage he might cause if he looks too long.

You tighten the sheet around yourself, pulling your knees up, trying to make yourself small. Not because you fear him (you never have) but because you fear the ache clawing its way up your chest.

He drags a hand through his hair once, like he’s trying to reset himself, but nothing resets anymore. Not with you.

He picks up his keys from the floor. The familiar clink sounds final.

Rafe takes one slow breath and forces himself to speak.

“Hey,” He says quietly. Not sharp. Not defensive. Not anything he’s been for the last ten minutes but still just as meaningful. “Look at me for a sec.”

You do. Hesitantly.

His gaze softens— not enough to make this easier, just enough to make you want to crawl out of your own skin.

“I’m not—” He stops, swallows, tries again. “I’m not gonna use this against you. Any of it. Not now, not later… not ever.” His words are short, almost. As if he was ashamed that he has to be saying this.

You blink hard. Confused. “Rafe, I know, I just—”

“No,” He interrupts, but gently. “I mean it. Don’t worry about me pulling some shit in the future. This stays between us. All of it.”

He pauses. His jaw works once like he’s wrestling something down. He can't leave without you knowing he means it. He would never, ever hurt you like that. He would never hurt you with the times you trusted your body and mind on him.

Your eyes sting, and you look down again because if you keep looking at him, you’ll break.

Rafe takes a few steps closer: cautious, like he’s approaching something fragile. He stops right in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, smell his cologne mixed with sweat and the remnants of what you were doing minutes ago.

He doesn’t touch you at first. He just… waits. Gives you a moment to pull back if you want.

He visibly relaxes when you don't.

So he leans down slowly, bending at the waist, and cups the sides of your face, letting his big hands go all the way to your hair, tangling in it and remembering the touch for one last time.

"Don't worry." Rafe whispered. It might seem like something so minimal and obvious, but he knows your view of him has deformed so much over the past two years together, he wouldn't be surprised if you thought like that of him. He can't let you go with such a damaging image of him.

You nod, barely as your eyes are locked on him.

Rafe hesitates only once. Then he presses his lips to your forehead. Not rushed, not casual, not something he should be doing, but he does it anyway.

You close your eyes at the contact, squeezing them shut as tears fill your entire vision. A single tear falls down your cheek, and for the first time, Rafe doesn't clean it up.

He lingers a second longer than he should, breathing against your skin. When he pulls back, it feels like something is being ripped, not removed.

He steps away.

You keep your eyes on the sheet in your lap.

It’s the only thing that doesn’t feel like it’s falling apart.

Rafe heads toward the door, hoodie in hand. He stops with his fingers on the handle, shoulders tense, as if there’s one more thing he wants to say. But he doesn't say anything else, he's not allowed to say what he wants anymore.

You don't have to tell him to be quiet, you know he will be. You know he won't dare to break the peace you've been able to settle on the house now that he's gone.

But as you watch his figure disappear behind the door once he closes it, you can't help but let out a heartbreaking sob. One that lets out the pain you've been feeling every time you let him go. The way he takes a piece of you with him every time you part now.

It's been so hard to settle with the reality of having to live with his absence. He has never shined brighter in your life, in all your time together and it makes you skin crawl with irritation. You're so angry at him for it, you're so angry for allowing this to happen over and over again.

And you're so angry you didn't work out.

But this is the reality now. This is the last time you let him in your door. This is the last time you let the hurt come in between you.

That was the last time.

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Harry and Y/N had been secretly dating for six months now. She had been on his team as his stylist for a couple of years , and while they’d started out as good friends, their relationship had quietly shifted into something more. No one knew about them, everyone only thought they were close friends, and for now, they decided to keep it that way.

For Harry, sneaking into her room at night was easy. Their rooms were near each other since she was his stylist, and it gave them little moments of privacy they couldn’t risk in public.

Harry had just come back from a long, exhausting meeting with his management, who informed him that he and Chloe Miller, the model he was in a PR relationship with, would be attending an upcoming event together.

Y/N understood the nature of his job, and she never wanted to be the reason he said no to an opportunity. So when he told her about the PR stunt before it started, she smiled and said she was fine with it. But inside, it stung. Watching another woman drape herself around the man she loved wasn’t something she could ever truly get used to, no matter how much she told herself it was just for show.

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He peppered kisses all over her face and pecked her lips again and again till she pulled him closer and deepened the kiss. He groaned into her mouth, pulling her up and onto him like she was straddling him. His hands started roaming all over her body and underneath her sleep shirt, while hers was all over his neck and jaw. Finally, they broke apart for air with a gasp, and smiled at each other, eyes warm and full of love.

“Hi”

“Hi,” she giggles.

“Wanna take this to the bedroom?,” he asks, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, dimples deepening across his cheeks.

“I'd love that,” she giggles again.

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Harry gently pushes her onto the mattress and takes off his shirt, crawling over her with a look on his face that can only be described as yearning and hunger.

“God you're perfect…I must be the luckiest man alive,” he groans, situating himself between her thighs and running his hands over the slopes and curves of her body.

His eyes lock with hers with a look of pure lust,

“Relax baby, and let me have a taste…”

As he is pulling down her panties, his phone rings on the nightstand.

“Don't pick it up,” she tells him.

“Wasn't planning to,” he smirks, pulling it off of her.

But when it rings again and again, he stops for a second.

“Hold on, baby,” he gets up, “might be important, or why would they call this many times?,” he murmurs as he reaches for the phone.

“Oh..,” he says, surprised,“It's Chloe” and picks up the phone. Harry doesn't see the way her face falls.

“Hello? Yeah… um yeah no I'm in the hotel”, he stutters over his words.

“Yeah I'm not in the room because I am at Y/N’s room right now…to… yeah discuss some matters about the gala. Yeah, she's my stylist,”

The word sliced through Y/N sharper than in should have. Stylist. Not the person whose hands had been in his hair seconds ago, not the person he kissed again and again like his life depended on it. Just a title that explained away her presence in his life.

She turns her face away, blinking hard, because deep down, she knows that he is just trying to protect their secret, only playing the part that the contract forced him into, but God it stung.

He hangs up the phone and turns to look at her with an apologetic look on his face,

“Baby, I'm so sorry but I have to get back to my room right now. Turns out Chloe is outside my room, said there was something to be discussed urgently”

She pulls her shirt down and sits up, trying to mask her disappointment.

“It's alright, H, you gotta do what you gotta do”

“I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll be back after the discussion, it must be about the Gala.”

“What Gala?,” she asks.

“Yeah, about that. That's what the management called me for earlier today. They want me and Chloe to go together. It's the day after tomorrow, I think Jeff will send you the details soon,” he tells her, eyes nervously searching for any discomfort on her face. Even if she did, she masked it so well that he couldn't see the hurt on her face.

“Oh. Alright,” her tone was clipped and she couldn't even look him in the eye.

“Sweetheart, I'll make this up to you, I promise,” a lingering kiss on her forehead, and he was gone.

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When Harry reached his room, Chloe was already waiting, arms folded as though she owned the hallway. Suppressing a sigh, he unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping aside just enough for her to sweep in first. He followed behind, jaw tight.

“What did you need to talk about?” he asks flatly, already eager to wrap this up and get back to his girl.

Chloe turns, leaning casually against the dresser, her lips curving into a practiced smile. “Oh, nothing major. I just wanted to go over the details for our Gala appearance.” She let her gaze flick deliberately over him, her voice dipping into something sultry. “How do you want to play it? Should we go all out,lots of PDA?”

“I think I made it clear with Jeff that I don't wanna do that in public?,” he says, voice clipped.

“Oh that he told me, but I was wondering if we should, you know, take it up a notch,” Chloe was relentless.

Harry clenched his teeth, forcing himself to endure Chloe’s drawn-out chatter as she circles him with hypothetical scenarios, her hand brushing his arm once too often. Every minute she dragged it on felt heavier, guilt pressing harder against his ribs. He could still see his girl’s face in his mind, the way she’d tugged at his hair with a teasing smile when they were tangled up on her bed, only to watch disappointment cloud her eyes when his phone buzzed.

Chloe was relentless, spinning her web of fake smiles and faux intimacy, refusing to let the conversation die. Harry's patience thinned until finally, he cut her off with a clipped, “I’ll see you at the Gala,” and guided her to the door before she could prolong it any further.

The hallway was silent when he slipped back toward his girlfriend’s room, his chest aching with regret. He turned the knob quietly, the soft glow of her bedside lamp still on. She was curled up on her side, breathing slow and even, sleep claiming her long before he returned.

Harry lingered in the doorway, guilt settling heavy in his chest. He padded over, careful not to wake her, and pulled the blanket higher over her shoulders. His hand hovered for a moment, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, the words catching in his throat. “Didn’t want it to be like this.”

She didn’t stir, and Harry pressed a kiss to her temple, sliding into the empty space beside her. Wrapping an arm gently around her waist, he held her close, eyes closing with a silent vow that he’d do better, whatever it took.

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The early hours of morning crept in too fast. Harry lay awake for most of the night, arms wrapped around her, but the weight of his schedule pressed down before dawn. His phone buzzed endlessly with reminders and calls waiting to be returned, and he knew if he didn’t get moving, the day would swallow him whole.

He pressed one last kiss to her hair, careful not to stir her, and slipped out of the bed. The door closed with a soft click, leaving her sleeping peacefully, unaware.

When sunlight finally spilled through the curtains, she stirred, reaching out instinctively for him, only to find cool sheets and empty space. Her chest tightened. Had he even come back at all?

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The day unraveled into silence. Harry was caught in back-to-back meetings, his phone buzzing nonstop, his manager tugging him from one obligation to the next. Messages went unanswered, and stolen glances down hallways never lined up. By the time he finally returned to the hotel, exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders, her room was empty. She probably might have gone to pick up the clothes for the Gala the next day, he thought.

He opened his phone to see if there were any texts from her, but there were none.

He walks into his bedroom, and plops onto his bed, not even bothering to change his clothes. He was exhausted.

Y/N came back late, after going with Chloe’s stylist, to pick up the fits for the Gala. She was still a bit angry and sad that he blew her off like that. She went to his room after freshening up and when nobody answered the bell, she went back to her room.

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The next morning, Harry woke up early to surprise Y/N with breakfast. He was still full of apologies for standing her up the night before, and although Y/N had been a little hurt, she brushed it off and forgave him. Not long after, Harry had to rush out, but they agreed to meet later that afternoon in his room to get ready for the gala. Since Y/N was his stylist, it was her job to come by after the hair and make-up team left to make sure he was properly dressed and prepared.

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Harry sat on the edge of the bed, buttoning the cuffs of his dress shirt, while Y/N fussed with the knot of his tie. The hotel room was warm with the late afternoon sun, golden light spilling through the curtains, but there was a heaviness in the air she couldn’t shake.

Harry never cared for ties or pressed suits, but he always let her be the one to fix them. As if letting her touch was the last thing grounding him before he disappeared into a different world.

On the dresser, his phone buzzed. The sound was innocuous, but her eyes flicked toward it. One unread message, bold and bright on the screen:

Chloe: Ready to be my arm candy tonight? 😘

Y/N’s chest tightened. She quickly looked away, fingers tightening on the silk knot she’d just adjusted.

Harry noticed. His hand came up, curling around her wrist, gentle but firm. “Hey.”

Y/N forced a small smile, trying to keep her voice light. “You should answer her. Don’t want to keep your date waiting.”

“Don’t.” His voice dropped, steady, almost pleading. “Don’t call her that. She’s not my date.”

Her throat ached. “Isn’t she?”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, the kind he always did when he wanted to argue but didn’t want to snap at her. He pressed his forehead briefly against hers, tie forgotten, his thumb brushing along the inside of her wrist.

“It’s work,” he said, quieter now. “You know that. It’s fake.”

She wanted to believe him. She did. But that didn’t erase the fact that in less than an hour, another woman would be on his arm. Another woman’s laugh would ring in his ear. Another woman would be smiling at him for the cameras while the world cheered.

Her hands slipped from his chest. “I know.”

Harry tilted her chin up until her eyes met his. “No, you don’t. Not the way I want you to.” His gaze was earnest, the kind of look that always made her heart trip. “You’re the only one I go home to. The only one who matters. Don’t let that screen change what’s real.”

Her eyes stung, but she forced a nod. “Go. You’ll be late.”

He lingered, clearly torn between obligation and the need to stay, before finally bending to press his lips to her forehead. It wasn’t a rushed kiss, but it carried a weight that made her chest ache, like a promise, or maybe like a goodbye.

When the door clicked shut behind him, the silence that followed was deafening.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, fingers curling into the comforter. Her chest tightened with something she hated admitting even to herself: dread.

The logical part of her whispered reminders, that it’s fake, it’s business, it’s not real, but her heart tangled itself in images she didn’t want to imagine. Harry smiling for the cameras. Harry's hand claimed by someone else’s grip. Harry laughing at something whispered against his ear.

Her phone buzzed. A notification banner lit up the lock screen: “Live now: Red Carpet Coverage for the Gala, Harry Styles and girlfriend in attendance!”

She swallowed, thumb hovering over the screen before she tapped it.

The livestream opened with a blare of sound—reporters calling names, camera shutters firing in rapid bursts, fans screaming from behind barricades.

And there he was.

Harry stepped out of the car in his sharp black suit, taller than anyone around him, a practiced smile tugging at his mouth. The crowd roared, flashing lights strobing across his face.

Her heart fluttered in her throat at the sight of him, so familiar and yet so distant, as if he’d stepped into a different world the second he crossed that carpet.

And then she appeared. Chloe, shimmering in a golden gown, makeup done right and eyes shining bright as she looped her arm through his like she belonged there.

The crowd went wild.

Harry didn’t flinch, didn’t falter. He played his role, steady and composed. His smile stayed even, his hand settling politely over hers. To anyone watching, it looked natural. Perfect.

Y/N tried to remind herself: it’s fake, it’s fake, it’s fake. But the screen made it look so real, her laugh against his shoulder, her lips pressing just shy of the corner of his mouth, his hand caught in hers as if it had always belonged there.

Her stomach twisted.

On Twitter, the clip was already trending. Headlines scrolled across the feed at dizzying speed:

“Harry Styles and Chloe Miller are the Couple of the Night.”

“That chemistry is undeniable!”

“Harry Styles lighting up the Gala with his girlfriend!”

Y/N shut her phone off, chest hollow.

The silence in the room was louder this time, heavy enough to press against her ribs. She curled into herself on the bed, pulling her knees to her chest.

The livestream ended hours ago, but the images wouldn’t leave her mind. They replayed in cruel detail: Harry’s hand at the small of her back, the way she leaned into him, the flashlights catching them in every angle that screamed perfect couple.

She had muted the notifications long ago, but the phone still vibrated across the nightstand, texts, missed calls, messages she couldn’t bring herself to open.

She couldn’t.

Going back to her own room, she pulled her hoodie tighter around herself and tucked her legs under the blanket. The curtains were still half-open, letting the city lights flicker through, but she didn’t move to close them. The stillness pressed down like a weight.

Her chest ached with the thought that maybe the headlines were right. Maybe people would look at those pictures and believe them, not her, not the quiet girl waiting at home while he smiled for the cameras.

Her phone buzzed again. She didn’t check it. She couldn’t stand to see his name lit up on the screen, not when the images were still raw in her mind.

The hours crawled. Midnight. One. Two. Each creak of the apartment building, each car passing outside, made her heart jump, thinking maybe he’s back, maybe it’s him.

But the door stayed closed.

When sleep finally came, it was restless, her dreams fractured into flashes of red carpet lights and her own reflection in a phone screen she wished she’d never opened.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

A few days had passed since the gala, but the images lingered like a shadow she couldn’t shake. Every time her phone buzzed, her chest tightened. She didn’t answer most of Harry’s messages anymore. “Miss you.” “Can I come over?” Each one made her stomach twist, she knew he meant it, but she couldn’t bring herself to respond. And she knew that he knew something was off because he'd never ask her if he could come to her room otherwise.

Harry had a few more functions- opening of a high end fashion store, another charity Gala and a couple personal things- to attend in that city, after which they'd all go back to theirs. But Y/N was tired of all this.

She kept her distance, replaying in her mind the memory that burned worst of all: Chloe's lips brushing the corner of his mouth, his hand resting on her back just the way he usually held her, the world watching and believing. She told herself it was fake, that he belonged to her, but the image clung to her brain like a warning.

Her shift at the event today hadn’t helped. She’d gone through the motions, styling other clients, smoothing fabric, adjusting collars, but her heart wasn’t in it. Every time she saw him laughing with her, or felt the press of another hand against his arm, she wanted to disappear.

She told the team she wasn’t feeling well. Her voice had been flat, the excuse rehearsed, and no one questioned it. She handed her duties to another stylist, trying to smile politely as she left. Harry, bundled in his own preparations, had spotted her and tried to call her back.

“Stay,” he’d mouthed across the chaos of hair dryers, chatty assistants, and makeup palettes. But he couldn’t step away, not in front of the team, not while cameras and crew were moving in every direction. He had no moment of privacy to plead, to tell her she didn’t have to go. And she left.

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Walking back to her apartment back home, she hugged her arms around herself. She felt small, erased, as if she’d already been replaced.

She shut her apartment door behind her, leaned against it, and let herself crumble. Tears pricked at the edges of her vision as the quiet settled around her. Alone, she could admit it: she felt invisible, unworthy, like the world and everyone in it, including Harry, was better off without her.

She lay down on the couch, scrolling briefly through her phone before shutting it off entirely. She didn’t want to see messages, didn’t want to hear his name. She just wanted to vanish from the chaos of the world that had made her feel so small.

But even in the quiet, a soft ache in her chest reminded her: he was out there, performing, smiling, pretending, and she was stuck here, questioning if love alone could hold them together.

Her eyes closed, but sleep didn’t come easily. Every flicker of a notification in her dreams was the ghost of a flashbulb, every whisper of the night air felt like someone leaning in too close.

She didn’t know how to fix this, or if it could even be fixed.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

Early morning. The pounding on her door jolted Y/N upright, heart hammering like she’d run a marathon. She sat up, blanket tangled around her legs, trying to steady her breathing.

“Who is it?” she croaked, voice hoarse from crying herself to sleep last night.

“Open the door.” Harry's voice, low but insistent.

Her stomach flipped. “Aren’t you supposed to be… at the inauguration? Of the store?”

“I got out early,” he said, almost too softly to hear. “Please, just… let me in.”

She hesitated. Her fingers hovered over the lock. When she finally opened the door, he was there, hoodie soaked from the drizzle outside, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. He looked worn down, but his gaze held something sharp,determination, or was it desperation?

“I… shouldn’t—” she started.

“Shh.” He stepped in before she could finish, shutting the door behind him. “I needed to see you.”

Her arms crossed instinctively. “I told you… I’m fine. You shouldn’t even be here.”

“Fine?” he echoed, voice tight. “Fine is what you told me at the gala, fine is what you’ve been saying every day since. Fine is you avoiding me, shutting me out, pretending none of this hurts you. Fine isn’t fine.”

Her throat tightened. “It’s none of your business.”

“It is my business!” he snapped, stepping closer. “I can’t just watch you fall apart a little more each day and do nothing.”

“I… I can’t…” Her voice faltered. “I can’t do this anymore, Harry”.

“Do what?” His hands twitched at his sides, a mix of frustration and helplessness.

“Us.” The word escaped before she could stop it. “This-whatever this is- it’s not… I don’t know what you want, and if you’re not sure, I don’t… I can’t keep letting myself get hurt. I can’t pretend it’s okay.”

His jaw tightened. “I am sure!”

“You are?” Her laugh was hollow, almost bitter. “Then why are you letting all of this happen? Why are you standing there, letting her wrap herself around your arm, smiling like it means something when I know it doesn’t, and everyone else believes it?”

“Because I had to,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and frustration. “Because I didn’t think there was another way.”

Her hands trembled at her sides. “There’s always another way! There’s always… something else you could’ve done. But you didn’t. You accepted it. So maybe, maybe I should just walk away. Maybe I should stop pretending I belong in this at all.”

“You’re not pretending,” he said sharply. “You’re not pretending anything!”

She shook her head, tears spilling freely now. “I can’t compete with her, Harry. I’m… I’m just me. And I’m not enough. You… you deserve someone like her.”

He froze, like the words had punched him squarely in the chest. “What?”

“I’m not…fuck…just look at me! Look at us!” Her voice cracked as she gestured between them. “We’ve been together for six months. Friends for years. I don’t know what you want, Harry. And if you don’t know, then I… I can’t let you continue this. I can’t sit back while everyone else thinks… that maybe you should be with her.”

The air between them felt thick enough to choke on. He ran his hands down his face, jaw tight, then pressed them to her shoulders. “You think I don’t want you? You think I’d choose anyone else over this?”

“Thats the thing…I… I don’t know what to think,” she admitted, voice small and raw. “And the more I see you with her… I feel invisible. I feel like I should just disappear so you can… be happy. With her.”

He shook his head, frustration spilling over. “No! Stop it. Stop talking like that. You are not invisible. You are not replaceable. You are not some… some mistake I made.”

Her tears fell freely now. “I can’t help how I feel, Harry. I can’t help being scared. I don’t know if you’re… serious. I don’t know if you really…” She broke off, shaking her head. “I don’t even know if I can do this if I’m constantly afraid that the real ‘us’ is slipping away while everyone else is watching.”

He cupped her face, thumbs brushing over the wet streaks of mascara. “Look at me.” His voice was low, fierce, urgent. “Look at me. There is no ‘maybe’ here. I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone else like this. This, whatever they see out there, is nothing. You’re the only one I belong to. You’re the only one I care about, in every way that matters.”

Her body shook with the force of it. “But… the pictures. The gala. The red carpet. I saw-”

“I know,” he interrupted, voice soft but intense. “I hated every second of it. Every. Single. Second. But I do it because I have to. Not because I want to. And the second I can stop, I will. But not a second goes by that I don’t wish it was just us, like it is right now. And nothing, nothing that anyone sees, nothing they say, changes that.”

Her tears spilled down her cheeks as she leaned into him, trembling. “I feel like I’m losing you…”

“You’re not losing me,” he whispered. “You can’t lose me. I am yours. Always yours. The rest of the world? Let them think what they want. But this…” He pressed his forehead to hers, breathing her in. “…This is real. You’re the only one I’ve got.”

She closed her eyes, letting the weight of the day, the week, the months of fear and doubt finally fall away. The anger, the hurt, the jealousy—they all melted into the small, steady heartbeat against her chest. She was still scared, but for the first time in days, she believed it could be okay.

He kissed her forehead softly, whispered, “I’m not going anywhere. Not now, not ever. And I'm so sorry baby, for letting you believe that for even a second. But please believe me when I say this, you're the only one i wanna love.”

For the first time since the gala, she let herself breathe.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

The apartment was quiet. She sat curled against the couch, trembling, tears still damp on her cheeks. Harry knelt in front of her, taking her hands in his, fingers warm and grounding.

“Look at me,” he said softly. “I want you to really look at me.”

She lifted her gaze, red-rimmed eyes meeting his, still uncertain, still fragile.

“I hate that you feel this way,” he continued, voice low, but firm. “I hate that I made you feel this …But none of it, none of it with her was real.Let me show you.”

He pulled out his phone and opened a few texts, scrolling quickly. “Notice this?” He tapped a conversation from Chloe. “Unread. Every single one I never responded to. I didn’t answer her because I’m not hers. I never will be.”

Her lips trembled, her chest tightening.

“Look here,” he said, swiping through images of him at events with her on his arm. “Notice how I always turn my head so she only gets my cheek? Notice how stiff my smiles are? That’s not me, not the way I’m relaxed with you.”

He paused, letting her take it in. “I put on a show for the cameras, for the fans, for their expectation of what they want me to be. But you…this… is real. You’re real. Every laugh, every touch, every late-night conversation, none of that is fake.”

Her voice came out soft, broken. “I… I just didn’t know how to trust it. I thought I was imagining things, that maybe you wanted… I don’t know…”

Harry's hands cupped her face, thumbs brushing over the tracks of her tears. “Do not doubt this. Not for a second. You are the only one I belong to. Only you. Even when the world sees another version, it doesn’t matter. It’s you, always.”

She buried her face in his chest, arms wrapping around his waist, and he pulled her fully into his lap. Her tears soaked through his hoodie, but he didn’t care. He held her like she might disappear if he didn’t.

“I’m talking to Jeff about ending the contract early,” he whispered. “I want it done. I want us free from this nonsense, so we can just… be us. I don't want anything if it causes you this much pain.”

She pressed her forehead against his shoulder. “I’m scared, Harry. Scared I’ll lose you, scared it’ll happen again.”

“You won’t,” he murmured, hand resting on the small of her back. “I won't let you feel that way ever again, knowingly or unknowingly. I'm sorry, baby.Just know that I'm with you, always.”

For the first time, she let herself breathe, letting the tension of the last week melt against him.

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Hours later, the apartment was dimly lit, blankets draped over them as they lay on the bed. Y/N rested her head on Harry's chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart, hands lazily tracing his sleeve.

“I was scared,” she admitted softly, voice muffled against his hoodie. “I was scared of losing you. Of not being… enough.”

“You’ll never lose me,” he said, brushing her hair back gently. “Even though we’ve only been together for six months, I see a future with you. I’ve never been so sure about anything.”

She looked up, eyes wide. “A future?”

He smiled, soft, tender, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Yeah. A future. And it’s you in it. Not someone else. Not some idea. You. Always you.Forever.”

She pressed a soft kiss to his chest. “Forever sounds nice.”

He held her tighter, wrapping both arms around her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “It’s ours. And I mean it. And I'll spend it proving to you how sorry I am for causing you this much pain and how much I love you. And after all this dies down, we'll go public, I don't wanna hide this anymore. I wanna hold your hand and kiss you anywhere I can and be proud of it, I wanna tell the world that you're mine and I'm yours.”

Her eyes closed, and she finally allowed herself to relax fully, letting the warmth and certainty wash over her. Even with the chaos and fear, even with the PR games and the fake smiles, she felt safe. She belonged here, in his arms, in that moment.

And for the first time in days, she believed it.

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for you, it was just another friday night, and you laid in bed reading, trying your best to ignore the music blasting and other noises coming from downstairs, the party seemingly in full swing by now, but even your noise-cancelling headphones. didn't seem to be enough to drown it all out you took them of with a groan, just when there was a soft knock on your door. you were so ready to tell whoever was standing there to go screw themselves, but the words seemed to stick to your throat when you saw that familiar head of blonde hair along with that grin you came to know all too well on his annoyingly handsome face as he leaned his head against the doorway.

"hey." rafe said in a gruff voice, looking at you up and down, your body covered by nothing but an oversized t-shirt and a pair of shorts, most of it covered by the long t-shirt.

"hi." you said softly.

"aren't you gonna tell me to come in?" he said, a feigned pleading look on his face as you rolled your eyes, chuckling slightly, "what's so funny?"

"are you gonna behave?"

at your question, his grin widened even more as he brought his hands to your hips, pushing his way inside.

he turned you around, pressing you against the door so it closed, a hungry glimmer in his eyes as he licked his lips, bringing them close to your ear as he whispered.

"not a chance."

rate pressed you against the door roughly, his hands slipping under the hem of your shirt, traveling up your body, his hot fingers on your cool skin causing shivers to run down your spine as you felt your nipples harden under the fabric of your t-shirt, your back arching against the door. when his hand reached your breast, your breath got stuck in your throat, but as you felt the sting of his fingers pinching your nipple, you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp. "i haven't been able to stop thinking about you..." rafe whispered into your ear before his lips attached themselves to your neck, kissing and sucking on the skin, causing small whimpers to escape your lips.

"rafe..." you whined out his name, but he simply shushed you, pulling your body closer to his as his lips continued their ministrations on your neck. "rafe, my brother's right downstairs, if he catches us-"

"shh..." he brought the hand that had been on your hips down to your thigh, lifting the hem of your shirt as he let his hand travel up your thigh. "he's not gonna know anything, his ass is wasted..."

your entire body was now coursing with need, and even though you knew it was a terrible idea, your body was craving him, craving the kind of feeling that only he had been able to make you feel, all of you hungry for him, as if you hadn't eaten for days.

"fuck it." you said softly, lifting his head up from his chin, smashing your lips onto yours in a messy, needy kiss, his tongue darting into your mouth before you could even think about it. he pulled you toward your bed without breaking the kiss, until he pushed you down onto it roughly, causing you to miss the sensation of his warm lips on yours.

rafe's eyes moved up and down on your body appreciatively as you lay there, bringing his hand to his chin, rubbing it as he licked his lips, thinking of all the ways he wanted to make you come undone. "i'm gonna take my time appreciating you, princess." he said with a wicked grin as his fingers moved to the waistband of your shorts. "lift your hips for me." he said, the commanding tone of his voice causing a pang of arousal hit your pussy, and you did as he said, the blonde pulling off your shorts painfully slowly, discarding them on the floor.

his head was between your thighs, his lips immediately attaching themselves to your thigh, pressing kisses on your hot skin, as you whimpered underneath him, wanting him to touch you where he needed him the most, but rafe's hand simply slid under your shirt again, pushing it up so your breasts were on full display.

"rafe, please..." you whimpered, and he let out a gruff chuckle, smacking your pussy through your panties, causing you to let out a squeal, looking down at him with a frown.

he lifted his head up, a cocky smirk on his lips, "don't rush me, or l'm not gonna let you come at all." your eyes widened and you nodded, pressing your head back down onto the bed as you closed your eyes, so desperate to just have him touch you as he slowly spread your legs wider, getting closer and closer to your pussy.

however, you weren't prepared for the moment when his lips pressed against your panty-covered folds, even the minimal friction causing a whimper to leave your lips.

rate chuckled slightly, looking up at you as he spoke with a husky tone, "damn, princess... your pretty pussy is so wet it's making your panties cling to you."

he ran his tongue over your folds, and even though they were still covered by your black panties, it was enough to make you arch your back into his mouth, and you brought your hand to your breast, hoping that the action would bring some kind of relief.

but before you could even bring your hand to your nipple, rafe's large hand had swatted yours away, the hunger in his eyes now replaced by coldness, his hand wrapped around your wrist, pressing it roughly onto the bed.

"did i say you could do that?" he raised his brows, looking down at your wrist as you shook your head uncertainly. "now, you're not gonna do anything i don't tell you to do. is that clear?" you nodded, causing him to scoff. "use your fuckin' words."

"i-i won't do anything you don't tell me to do..." you say with a shaky voice, and rate tsked, letting go of your wrist and moving his head back down between your legs. "lift your hips up." he commanded, and you lifted your hips up as his hands went to the waistband of your panties, his long fingers starting to pull them down your legs, a quiet hiss leaving your lips as your arousal-slick pussy was now bare. when rafe had discarded your panties, he started kissing up your inner thighs again, his hands gripping your thighs.

every kiss he pressed felt like it started a tiny fire right in the spot it was left in, the need inside of you getting so excruciating. you bit down on your lip, your eyes pressed closed so hard you could feel tears welling in your eyes while you were trying your hardest to stay still so that rafe would finally reward you with some kind of friction.

and as if he had read your mind, his tongue quickly flicked over your clit, causing you to let out a surprised yelp as you opened your eyes to see him right between your thighs, that same hungry gleam in his eyes as he looked up at you, "how much do you want this?" rafe asked, and you could feel the vibrations of his words against your pussy, sending chills all around your body.

"so much. i want you, rafe. please."

he chuckled, once again sending vibrations all throughout your body. he nipped at your inner thigh, causing you to take in a sharp breath as you looked down at him pleadingly. "alright, since you asked so nicely." rafe said with his usual self-satisfied grin. "just relax. let me take care of vour sweet pussy."

and when you felt him start pressing kisses on your outer folds, you couldn't help but lay your head back, a surprised, loud moan leaving your lips as his lips attached themselves to your clit, and when rafe saw you press your hand over your mouth, he couldn't help but let out a small chuckle, a chuckle that you ended up feeling throughout your body, causing you to shiver and shake.

he licked up some of the arousal from your folds, his lips now covered in your wetness as he continued his attack on your clit, lightly suckling it into his mouth before letting it go, and then sucking it with more force. rafe brought his middle finger and ring finger to your entrance, your pussy gushing with arousal, making it easy to push them into you.

you moaned, your back arching off the bed before settling down, the combination of his long, thick fingers starting to move in and out of you along with his wet lips sucking on your clit causing every thought to leave your mind, your breathing heavy and ragged as your fingers clenched around the sheets underneath you, the familiar feeling in your abdomen growing stronger and stronger.

"rafe..." you couldn't stop the moan that escaped your lips even as you tried to be as quiet as possible, so close to feeling yourself come undone, "rafe, i'm so close..." you breathed out, his touch so dizzying that you weren't even sure if he heard you.

he flicked his tongue on your clit, and you ground your hips against him as his fingers pumped in and out of you, building that feeling up, making you get closer and closer until it all just... crescendoed.

you let out a string of moans as you felt yourself come undone, your arousal gushing out of you as he pulled his fingers out of you, bringing his lips down to your hole, licking up all of you, his hands now gripping your thighs as he helped you ride down your orgasm, intense aftershocks going through your body.

he brought himself up to lay next to you, propping his head on his elbow, his lips still covered in your slick arousal. 

rafe looked down at your face as you were still coming down from your orgasm, pushing away a strand of hair that had stuck to your skin. when you were finally getting down from your high, you looked at him with half-lidded eyes, but before you could even open your mouth, his lips were pressed against yours, the salty taste of your arousal still staying on his lips as his tongue slipped into your mouth, the blonde making you taste yourself.

when he pulled away, he pulled his shirt over his head and threw it onto the floor, bringing one of your hands to his abs, letting out a small hiss at the coldness of your hands. "y'know," he says, pressing small, gentle kisses on your neck, "you look so pretty when you come..." he lets out a sigh, a small nip at your neck causing you to let out a yelp, "i could never get sick of it."

your hand went to his belt buckle, causing rafe to let out a dry chuckle against the skin of your neck. you slipped off his belt and threw it onto the floor, trying to fumble with his button and zipper in frustration.

"someone's impatient." rafe said as he pressed a small kiss on your neck before pulling away, standing up while you still lay down on the bed, a small pout on your face.

he laughed at your reaction as he pulled down his pants, kicking them aside, enjoying the way you bit down on your lip when you saw the bulge in his boxers, "like what you see?" he asked cockily, and you threw one of your throw pillows at him, making him laugh as he took off his boxers, letting his cock spring free.

rafe got back onto the bed, laying on top of you, pushing a strand of your hair away from your face and behind your ear, a small smile on his face.

"i like your smile. you should smile more often." you said in a quiet, hoarse voice, making him chuckle. "i smile all the time." rafe said, raising his brows and causing you to roll your eyes at his response. "i don't mean smirk or grin, i mean... smile."

at your words, rafe pressed his lips against yours, and unlike any of the other times you had kissed, this one was a gentle, almost caring kiss, full of unspoken emotions, and instead of the usual fire you felt spread across your body when he touched you, you felt... like an ocean without even a bit of a breeze in the air.

calm, serene, unwavering.

he pulled his lips away from the kiss, pressing his forehead against yours as he looked into your eyes, one of his hands stroking his cock, "ready?" he whispered huskily, and you nodded, a hoarse "yeah." leaving your lips, and with that, he positioned his cock at your entrance, making sure to gather some of your arousal onto the tip of his cock before slowly starting to push into you.

a moan left your lips as you felt him hit your cervix, his lips starting to leave messy kisses down your neck as he started to develop a steady pace, one of his hands going to grope your breast.

almost everything about you two seemed to be in sync, the way your hips met his, his breathing equally erratic as yours, your nails digging into his back as he fucked you, his lips sucking small, purple marks onto your skin while he groped your breasts, his hips slowly starting to pick up pace.

the hand that had been on your breast went onto your sensitive clit, starting to draw slow circles around it, your breathing turning even more erratic as his cock pushed deeper into you, all of the disturbing loud noises that had been coming from downstairs now were simply background noise for your ragged breaths and the filthy squelching sounds that came from his cock pulsing in and out of your soaked cunt, your moans combining with his rough groans as you lost yourselves into one another, the familiar warmth starting to build inside of you again.

"feel that?" rafe whispered and took your hand, bringing it to your lower stomach as he thrust into you in a way that made you sputter, and you could feel the shape of his cock there, "yeah, you feel that…"

you could hear rate's breathing becoming more and more ragged the more you moaned his name, the pace of his fingers on your clit becoming even faster, and you knew he was close to coming. you wrapped your legs around his torso, pulling him deeper into you, a gasp leaving his lips. "you're driving me insane..." rafe groaned, "i'm so close, but fuck, don't wanna cum, you feel so good... wanna be in you forever.."

a shiver ran down your spine at his words, and you clenched your pussy around him, causing a whimper to escape his lips before he suppressed it by biting down on his lips, his hips picking up their pace as the feeling inside your abdomen was getting more and more intense, so close to taking over your body. he nipped at the sensitive skin on your collarbone, and one more push was all it took before the warmth spread across your body.

as soon as your pussy clenched around him due to your second orgasm, rate let out a weak breath, feeling himself spill into you, his climax rocking through his body, his breathing ragged as his body slumped on top of yours, feeling completely boneless, his face hidden in your neck, trying to catch his breath.

your moans and breaths mixed together, your arms wrapped around his neck as you let out a small chuckle, causing rafe to raise his head from your neck in confusion, furrowing his brows.

"nothing. that was... amazing." you said softly, pressing a chaste, gentle kiss on his lips. he pulled out of you, some of his cum leaking onto your inner thighs as rafe rolled back down onto the bed, laying next to you as he stared up at the ceiling, a small chuckle leaving his lips.

he turned his head to look at you, and you turned yours to look at him, and as if you were in sync, the two of you let out laughs that were almost identical.

TAGLIST: @raahosh @nemesyaaa @rafesgreasycurtainbangs @purpleplumpudding @esotericcangel @mattyskies @bakugouswaif @nonietosay @my-name-is-baby @tinythebunni @fratbrochrisgf @ariieeesworld @silkylovey @izumis-salty-penis @flow33didontsmoke @hisdumbbunny @haylorbestie @k4yr14 @harringtonsbowgirl @umbreoni @st8rkey @lunaleah @cicicavill7 @lillied31 @doremimosasol @lerclec @deeninadream @finnickodairslut @drewsephrry @drewssgirl @sc05 @spaghettimonsterjane

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On the night of your date, you arrived at the restaurant ten minutes prior to the reservation time that Harry had given you because you were just so excited. Harry was hands down one of the nicest people you had ever met, and the thought of delving into a new type of relationship with him sparked something inside of you. It was something you had never felt before.

The host had led you to the table, and you remained there - waiting for him. 

You waited for him there for almost an hour, and after a few text messages to him that went unanswered, you determined he wasn’t coming. You tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he forgot, or maybe he got hung up at work and didn’t have time to let you know. Harry was a big time contractor. You knew that sometimes he ended up getting caught in contract conversations with clients from time to time. From what he had told you in the past, it seemed like those could set him hours behind in his day.

As you walked out the restaurant and towards your car, you dialed Harry’s number. It rang out and went to voicemail, but you didn’t bother leaving a message. What would you have said?

Instead, you decided to call his roommate, who was also a friend of yours, Reagan. 

Your heart sank to your stomach when Reagan told you that Harry had brought a girl home just half an hour ago, and that they were currently hooking up in his room. Reagan then asked why you wanted to know Harry’s whereabouts, and you decided to lie. You told him that the two of you had talked about going to a new bookstore that had opened up. You didn’t dare tell him you had just waited by yourself in a restaurant alone for Harry.

Ever since then, Harry treated you differently, and you weren’t sure why. 

He was no longer friendly towards you, and for the most part, he ignored your existence when you were out with your friends. There was a part of you that wanted to ask him what happened so badly, but you were too embarrassed to do so, and quite frankly, you weren’t sure if you could hear the rejection actually fall from his mouth.

So going forward, you tried your best to keep your distance, as it seemed like just the mere presence of you pained him. You didn’t want to cause a riff amongst the lot of you. You all had already had your fair share of shock when it turned out Reagan was stealing from Harry right underneath his nose. Thankfully Harry was able to break his lease, and since he had finally found his footing with contracting, he was able to get a place of his own.

As you stepped into the pub, you were immediately met with the laugh that belonged only to your friend, Elizabeth, and you glanced over to see your group. You smiled as you walked over to them, and Yvette’s face lit up once her eyes landed on you.

“Y/N!” She squeaked as she stood up from the large booth everyone was occupying.

You wrapped your arms around each other, Elizabeth following suit afterwards, and then you made your rounds to both Misha and George as well. There was a bit of relief that settled in your chest when you noticed Harry wasn’t there. You secretly hoped that he wouldn’t be joining you tonight. It would be nice to have a one evening where you didn’t feel so on edge by being around him.

Once you went up to the bar to order yourself a beer, you came back over and sat down at the outside end of the booth with Yvette in the middle and Misha on the other side of her. George and Elizabeth sat across from you as you all carried on about your weeks. 

After finishing your first drink, you and Yvette decided to go use the restroom before grabbing another round. You both freshened up in the bathroom, and when you walked back out, you could see that everyone by the booth was now standing. Your eyes landed on Harry, and it caused your pulse to quicken just a bit.

You really hoped you had been right in thinking he wasn’t going to be coming.

You grabbed a fresh pint before heading over to the booth, and you and Yvette took your previous seats - now causing Harry to be across from you since he had joined everyone.

For a brief moment, your eyes met one another, but you quickly looked away and cleared your throat.

“So, Harry, you’re hosting our monthly movie night next Friday, right?” Elizabeth asked, and he nodded in response while taking a sip of his beer.

“That’s the plan,” he licked over his bottom lip. “What’s everyone in the mood to watch? Horror, drama, romantic comedy?”

“Well, we are deep into spooky season,” Misha piped up. “How about horror?”

“I can make a little poll to send to the group chat at the beginning of the week with a couple of options. Keep it fair like we usually do,” Yvette offered as she grabbed a handful of the trail mix in a bowl on the table.

“I’ll uhm…” you swallowed harshly as you kind of regretted what you were about to say before you had even said it. “I’ll see if I can make it. I might be going on a date.”

It wasn’t a lie. There was a guy, William, you had run into a couple of times at your local coffee shop in the morning, and after joining him at his table a few times so that you could eat your morning croissant when all the other tables were full, he asked if you wanted to go out with him sometime. You had agreed and exchanged numbers, and it just so happened that he was free next Friday.

His job required him to go out of town on the weekends a lot, so next weekend would be the last one he had off for a while.

“And you let this mystery man steal you away on movie night?” Elizabeth pouted as she slumped against the bench. “No one has ever missed one.”

“I know,” you shook your head. “His work situation is a little complicated. If we don’t do it next Friday, it’ll be a few more weeks before we’re able to. He’s a really nice guy.”

“Hope that means you’ll stop sleeping around then.”

Quiet immediately fell over the table, and everyone turned their attention to Harry once the words left his mouth.

“Excuse me?” You asked with a harsh laugh. “Where the hell did that come from?”

“Well you know, usually when you agree to go on a date with someone, you either stop sleeping around, or you at least tell said person that you’ve still been seeing other people,” Harry continued, and you could feel your cheeks flush as everyone at the table looked at you.

You and Harry hadn’t told your friends about the date you once had planned. The two of you wanted to decide what it all was for yourselves first before letting anyone else in on it.

The date with William would actually be your first one planned since the one you were supposed to have with Harry.

“I’m sorry. I’m not sure I’m following.”

“Of course you’re not,” Harry’s tone was sarcastic as he responded to you, and you soon felt extremely uncomfortable being around him.

You weren’t sure what he was playing at here. 

Is that what he thought you had been doing around the time of your date? Is that why he ghosted you?

“Well, I think something a bit worse than that would be sleeping with someone the same night you’re supposed to be going on a date with someone else.”

If he was going to come at you with some wild claim, then you’d come back with something that you knew to be true.

Harry’s eyes widened as you stood up, and you chugged down the rest of your pint before grabbing your purse - slinging it over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you guys later,” you told the table as you started to make your way towards the entrance of the pub, and you could hear Yvette’s sharp voice ripping into Harry just before you walked outside.

Once on the street, you closed your eyes and sucked in a deep breath to soothe the ache in your chest. You jumped as you felt a hand on your shoulder, eyelids snapping open to see Elizabeth and Misha standing next to you.

“Y/N, are you alright?” Elizabeth’s face had concern written all over it as Misha rubbed his hand up and down your back. “I don’t even know what happened in there. Yvette is currently giving Harry the third degree.”

“It’s nothing,” you whispered while shaking your head. “I don’t…I don’t really know either.”

“I’ve never seen him act like such a dick before. I mean, I can tell that you two don’t really get along, not like you used to at least,” Misha’s eyes scanned over you before continuing. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

“Are you trying to say it’s her fault for him acting like that?” Elizabeth snapped, and Misha’s lips parted. “Why is it automatically her fault?”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m just trying-”

“Sounds an awful lot like you’re trying to get Y/N to admit something to justify Harry’s behavior.”

“I’m right here, you know?” you huffed out as you crossed your arms over your chest. 

You figured now was as good of a time as ever to come clean about what you had been keeping from everyone. You were sure Harry was probably telling Yvette and George already anyway. 

“Harry and I were supposed to go on a date a few months back, but he ghosted me. He didn’t answer my texts or my calls, so to make sure he was okay I called Reagan. Reagan told me Harry was busy hooking up with some girl in his bedroom.”

Elizabeth’s mouth gaped at your confession, and then you watched as her brows narrowed. “Oh, he’s in for it.”

“Lizzy,” you rolled your eyes at her as she turned to Misha again.

“See! If anyone should be a dick, it should be Y/N! Who does Harry think he is treating her like that after what he did to her?”

“Okay, but what’s the whole thing about sleeping around? Were you doing that when you had agreed to go on a date with Harry?” Misha asked, and you shook your head.

You knew he was asking from a place of wanting to understand, and not a place of judgment, so you weren’t angry with him for it.

“I wasn’t,” you told them honestly. “I didn’t…I didn’t want anyone but him, and I hadn’t even had him yet.”

“Can I ask why you haven’t told him that then?” Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, pulling her coat tighter around herself as a chill breeze came through. 

“I didn’t know that’s what he thought until tonight. I didn’t say anything to him about the ghosting because I was so embarrassed. I couldn’t imagine just walking up to him and asking what happened to end up being rejected even more than I already had been.”

Misha sighed as he walked forward and pulled you into his chest for a tight hug. “I think the two of you desperately need to have a conversation to clear some things up.”

“Doesn’t matter. Regardless of if he thought that, he still ghosted me to sleep with someone else without speaking to me first. I don’t want to be with someone who would do something like that as some weird sort of revenge.”

The three of you didn’t speak anymore as Misha continued to hold you, and finally you pulled away.

“Please just…don’t say anything to him,” you tucked your hands into the pocket of your coat. “Let me think over how I want to approach the whole thing - if I even choose to.”

The two of them nodded as you gestured down the sidewalk with your elbow. “I’m going to head home now. I’ll let you guys know about next Friday.”

“Okay, please text me or call me if you need anything,” Elizabeth said, and you could tell she was upset about what she just found out.

“Same here,” Misha chimed in, and you sent them both a soft smile before heading off down the street where you had parked your car.

• • • • • • • • •

“Y/N, you made it!” You heard Vyette exclaim once Harry had opened the door to his loft.

You watched as Harry’s eyes ran over you, and he didn’t make any movement to step aside and out of the doorway.

“Thought you had a date,” his voice was rough as his jaw twitched, and you shook your head.

“He couldn’t do this weekend. Switched to another day.”

It was then you saw Elizabeth appear over Harry’s shoulder, and she immediately nudged her way forward to have him stepping to the side. “Let her in, Harry,” she said before grabbing your hand - pulling you inside.

This wasn’t the first time you had been over to Harry’s loft since everything happened, but this was the first time you were seeing him again after your little tiff last Saturday. Elizabeth took your coat from you so that she could hang it in the closet with the others as Misha popped up from the couch to greet you.

“Hey, Y/N, how are you feeling?” He asked, giving you a strong hug.

“I’m good. How about you?”

“Good, good,” he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “We were just about to get the movie started. Do you need me to get you something to drink?”

“No, that’s alright. I’ve got it,” you gave Misha a soft smile before heading towards the kitchen, and your eyes wandered over the options that were laid out before you.

Just as you went to grab the bottle of bourbon, a large hand grabbed it from in front of you. Looking over, you saw Harry standing there - his eyes drilling into yours as he set his glass down on the counter. You didn’t look away from him while he pulled the cork out of the bottle to pour more of the dark liquor into his glass, and when he put it back in, you expected him to hand it over to you. Instead, he placed it back down on the counter where it originally was, and moved around you to reach the fridge to grab a mixer.

“If you don’t want me here, I can leave,” you told him.

Harry stopped moving for a moment, his back to you as he closed the fridge, and you could tell he had let out a deep breath. “Like any of them would let that happen. You’re already here - let’s just get tonight over with.”

“I wasn’t sleeping around with anyone, Harry. I only wanted you.”

Your mouth was open, the words almost slipping off your tongue before George spoke up in the living room. “Hey, you two,” you looked over to him to see his arm around Misha’s shoulder, the two of them cuddling up on Harry’s large couch with Yvette and Elizabeth on both sides of them. “Are you coming or what? Elizabeth is chomping at the bit here to start Barbarian.”

“Yeah, sorry,” you tried not to stammer as you quickly grabbed a glass from the counter top, and you walked over to the fridge to get ice. “Just making a drink. You guys can go ahead and start once Harry sits if you want.”

Harry rolled his eyes at you as he left the kitchen area of his loft, and you watched as he sat down in an armchair that was on one end of the couch. That left the other armchair open for you, furthest away from Harry on the opposite side, and that granted you some relief when it came to your anxiousness.

Once you finished your drink, you joined everyone and curled up in the open chair - keeping your glass between your hands as George finally started up the movie. You hadn’t seen this movie before, but you knew that Bill Skarsgård was in it, and that was enough to sell you on it.

The movie had managed to give you a couple of jumpscares, and you refilled your drink twice to deal with the nerves that were still nestled into your stomach - ones that were showing no indication of leaving. As the credits began to roll, a loud crack of thunder clapped outside, and that caused you to jump harder than the movie had.

“Oh shit, we better get going before it gets really bad,” Misha announced as he stood up, extending his hand out for George to take. “Sorry to cut this short you guys, I didn’t realize the storm was going to be this bad, and we’ve got a bit of a drive.”

Misha and George always took turns drinking on movie night so that someone was always the DD. Tonight, it was Misha who would be taking home a fairly drunk George. George wasn’t the biggest fan of scary movies, and neither was Yvette, so in order for the two of them to cope, they had been indulging in several shots throughout the night.

“Can I come with you guys?” Yvette pushed herself off the couch and stumbled into Misha’s side as he quickly wrapped his arm around her waist. “George and I have been having so much fun being drunk buddies tonight, and I wanna keep partying.”

Misha rolled his eyes playfully, but you knew that he loved it as George was only introduced to all of you a couple of years ago when they started dating. You could see in his eyes just how happy it made him to see his best friends getting along with his boyfriend.

“Sure, sure,” Misha nodded as George finally stood up as well. “You can sleep in the guestroom too, if you want.”

“Sleepover!” Yvette giggled as they began to collect their things.

After saying their goodbyes, you and Elizabeth moved around Harry’s loft to help tidy things up. This was something you did for whoever held movie night, and even though you still weren’t on the best terms with Harry, you were going to stick to your tradition - especially if Elizabeth was here to also help.

“Do you need a ride?” Elizabeth asked as she dried her hands off after washing them. 

Elizabeth lived at least twenty minutes away from Harry, just like you, however, you lived in the opposite directions. If Elizabeth took you home, that would end up being a forty minute commute, and you weren’t going to have her do that in this kind of weather. You peeked out the window to see that the storm had gotten even worse, and you shook your head.

“No, it’s okay. I’ll grab another Lyft,” you sent her a smile as the two of you wrapped your arms around each other by Harry’s front door. “Please text me when you get home, alright?”

“Will do,” Elizabeth said, giving you one more squeeze before looking over at Harry as she grabbed her keys. “Don’t be an asshole while she waits for her ride or else you’re in for it the next time I see you. Got it?”

Harry scoffed as he crossed his arms over his chest - leaning against the island in the middle of his kitchen. “I’ll try to be on my best behavior just for you, Lizzy.”

Elizabeth quickly held her middle finger up at him before looking over to you - blowing one more kiss as she walked out the door. You stared at it for a moment, keeping your back to Harry as you sucked in a deep breath. The two of you hadn’t been alone together in quite a long time, and uneasiness was spreading over your body even more.

You patted your back pocket for your phone, and you brows narrowed when you didn’t feel it. Looking over to the chair you were sitting in, you could see it had fallen into one of the cracks on the side. You walked over to it and pulled the Lyft app up with your bottom lip tucked between your teeth. The closest ride was almost twenty-five minutes away, but you kept your expression neutral as you requested it.

“I’ll just grab my things and wait in the lobby,” you told him as you retrieved your coat from the closet - shrugging it onto your shoulders. “Thank you for allowing us to have movie night here tonight.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him as you grabbed your purse from the small table by his door, but before you could grab the doorknob, another clap of thunder ricocheted outside. A gasp left your lips as the lights in Harry’s place went out, and you quickly placed a hand against your chest as the two of you were now consumed in almost total darkness.

“Just fucking great,” you heard Harry mutter, but you were frozen in place as you could barely make out the silhouette of the door that you stood in front of.

Your fingers brushed against the knob that you were looking for, and when you turned it, the lights in the hallway of the complex were also out. It looked like the abyss out there, and you quickly slammed the door before backing away.

“Here,” Harry’s voice was closer to you now, and you turned around to see him holding not only his phone with the flashlight on in one hand, but a small LED lantern as well that was lighting up the living room area of his place quite nicely. “I have a couple of other lanterns and some candles as well.”

You couldn’t find it in yourself to speak as you took the lantern, so you just nodded in response as you walked back over to the chair you had been occupying all night - fishing your phone out to turn on your flashlight as well after placing the lantern in the middle of the coffee table. When your phone buzzed in your hand, you looked down to see that your Lyft ride had canceled, and you were sure it had to do with not only the storm, but how far they’d have to drive in the storm to get you home.

Your hands began to shake as you pulled the map on the app up again, and you could see there were no current drivers available.

“This should help a bit more,” Harry commented mindlessly, and you looked over to see him lighting candles around his kitchen, and sure enough, the space began to brighten up. “I know you don’t like the dark.”

Hearing those words leave his mouth surprised you. All of your friends knew how much you didn’t like the dark, but they had known you forever. You weren’t sure if Harry would’ve retained that information. 

“Thanks,” you cleared your throat as you stood up - turning the flashlight off on your phone before tucking it in your pocket. “Uhm, my driver canceled, and there’s no other drivers available right now. I’ll keep checking, and as soon as one pops up, I promise I’ll be out of your hair.”

Harry’s eyes trailed over you in the lightly illuminated room before he turned away and back towards the liquor that was still on the counter. “You can just stay here. I checked the weather app and it doesn’t look like it’s going to calm down until the early morning. Even if you did get a driver, I’m sure you’d be without power at home too. I’ll give you my bed, and I can sleep on the couch.”

“Harry, that’s not really-”

“Y/N,” the glass that he had retrieved from the cabinet above him clinked loudly against the counter as he did his best not to slam it down on the hard surface. “Just take the fucking offer.”

You swallowed harshly at his tone. You didn’t want to be here, but you knew he was right. Your apartment was more than likely without power, and staying there in the dark by yourself seemed even worse than this.

“Okay,” you whispered as you fiddled with your fingers behind your back. “Thank you.”

It was a minute before Harry started to move again, and you heard him let out a heavy sigh. “Drink?”

“Sure.”

Walking back into the living room, you decided to sit down on the couch instead of the chair again, and you curled your legs up into your chest. You wrapped your arms around your shins - resting your chin on your knees as you watched the aggressive storm from outside the window.

“Here,” Harry extended a rocks glass of bourbon on ice out to you, and you took it from him with both hands.

“Thanks.”

It was silent as he went and sat down in the chair he had been sitting in as you all watched the movie. The clinking of the ice in your glasses was the only thing that could be heard for a few minutes before you looked over to Harry. He was staring down into his glass as he rested it on the top of his knee with one hand - his other hand tucked inside his short curls as he leaned against his elbow on the arm of the chair.

“Why did you do it?” You asked, the question escaping you before you could stop it. You knew it was probably the buzz from the liquor in your head having it slip out, but deep down it was clear to you that the conversation needed to happen. “Why did you bring that girl to your place the night of our date?”

Harry lifted his head and looked at you with an expression you couldn’t read, and when he didn’t speak, you continued.

“I waited at the restaurant for you for almost an hour. I was so excited and then…you never showed up.”

“I didn’t have another girl over that night,” Harry stated, his tone calm. “But I had no intention of showing up to our date.”

“And you couldn’t have just told me that? If you had changed your mind, that’s fine, Harry, but ghosting me? I thought we were closer than that.”

“The second I found out that you were still continuing to sleep with other people while leading me to believe you wanted something more between us - that’s when I made the decision to not go on the date. As harsh as it sounds, I didn’t feel like you deserved an explanation from me as to why I wasn’t going to show up.”

“What are you talking about?” You gulped down the rest of your drink before dropping the glass onto the coffee table. “I wasn’t sleeping with anyone, Harry! I haven’t slept with anyone in almost a year.”

“Come on, Y/N, don’t continue to lie to me. Reagan told me-”

“Reagan told you? But he told me that…”

Silence came over the two of you again, and you raised your hand to your mouth as you realized what had happened. Reagan had lied to the both of you. You knew that Reagan had a thing for you. Even before Harry came into the picture he had told you he had a little crush, but you didn’t feel the same way. You were more than gentle in letting him down and assuring him that it wouldn’t change anything on your end in regards to your friendship. He had never acted differently towards you after that, so you didn’t think anything was wrong.

Now it had become apparent that he was secretly angry with you over it, and although you and Harry had decided to keep the date between just the two of you in case things went bad, you couldn’t blame him for confiding in Reagan about it. He was his roommate, and you were sure that if you had one, you would’ve done the same.

“He lied to us,” you whispered, shaking your head.

“But why?” Harry asked, and you looked over at him again to see another unreadable expression.

You’re sure he was feeling what you were feeling right now. Anger, regret and probably a good sense of guilt washed over him for how differently he had treated you. You had never been nasty to him. Even though it had broken your heart when Reagan spewed his lies, it just wasn’t you to be mean. 

“He liked me,” you sighed as you wrapped your arms around yourself. “I never told anybody about it because I didn’t want to embarrass him, but he told me once that he wanted to take me on a date. I had to let him know that I didn’t feel the same way. He seemed fine afterwards, but now it’s pretty obvious it was still eating away at him.

“He probably stole from you for the same reason. He could see that I wasn’t over you. I talked to him about not being over you, and how hurt I was about everything. He was probably pissed that I still couldn’t move on even though he made me believe that you hurt me. He was jealous that some part of you still had me even though he tried to tear us apart.”

Harry remained silent as he reached forward and placed his empty glass on the coffee table just like you had a few seconds prior. He now rested both of his elbows on his knees while running his hands over his face. 

For a little over four months now, the two of you hadn’t been the same. Seeing this reaction from Harry, it was clear now that the whole situation had the same effect on him as it did you - even if he didn’t show it. The two of you were trying to figure out how things had gone so wrong. He was wondering how you could’ve hurt him all while you were wondering how he could’ve hurt you.

“This is so fucked up,” Harry whispered, shaking his head. “So fucked up.”

“It is,” you swallowed the lump that started to form in your throat due to the array of emotions you were feeling. More than anything you just felt angry. Angry at Reagan for taking away something that you knew probably could have been so good for you if it hadn’t been ruined before it was even started. “He made you hate me.”

You choked on the last word before dropping your forehead against your knees - hands tightening around your shins as you tried to keep yourself from crying.

“Y/N,” Harry said your name but you didn’t look up.

Although Reagan lied to you both, you still had to blame each other for the lack of communication. If Harry had just asked you if what Reagan had told him was true, you could’ve shot the lie down immediately - before it found a way to burrow itself right in between the two of you. You were also angry at yourself in that aspect. If you had just asked Harry why he ghosted you, maybe you would’ve gotten this answer sooner, and again, all of this could’ve been shot down before it grew into what it is now.

“Y/N,” Harry repeated himself, and you could tell that he was closer.

Lifting your head, you looked down to see him on his knees on the couch next to you. He hesitantly stretched his hand out to rest on top of one of yours, and you let him ghost his fingertips over the top of it.

“I should probably go, Harry,” you told him as you shuffled around on the couch - turning to face him which caused his touch to abandon you. “I think it’s best we just sort through this alone.”

“Please don’t go,” he reached out and placed both of his palms over your knees. “I need to apologize to you. I fucked up. I fucked up so bad and I…oh my god.”

Harry shook his head as he tilted his head down - chin meeting his chest. 

“I wish I had just talked to you,” he said softly as his thumbs stroked over the insides of your lower thighs. There was nothing sexual about it. You could tell he was looking for a sense of comfort among the emotions firing throughout his body. “I should’ve just talked to you. I should’ve been better than that. I think I just felt really betrayed because I thought you really liked me. So to hear Reagan say you had still been seeing other people…multiple people. It hurt me.”

It was clear you were both too afraid to speak up to get hurt even further. You didn’t want to ask him about being ghosted because hearing him verbally reject you would’ve been too painful, and he didn’t want you to ask you about the other people for the same reason. If it had been true, hearing you admit it would’ve made it worse.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t speak up either. I just couldn’t imagine hearing you tell me that you weren’t interested anymore, and that you had found someone else to occupy your time that night,” you reached a hand out, pausing for just a moment before you lowered it to run through the top of his cropped curls. “I didn’t want anyone else, Harry. You had me even before we had admitted our feelings to each other.”

Harry slowly lifted his head to look at you, and your hand dropped to rest against the side of his neck now. “I wish I still had you, Y/N. This whole thing is so fucked up. I should’ve…after I knew Reagan was stealing from me, I should’ve realized he had probably lied to me about many other things, but especially you.”

Bringing your other hand down, you cradled Harry’s jaw in your palms - pulling him up a bit more so that he sat higher on his knees. “Make it up to me.”

You watched as Harry’s eyes darted over your face in the soft candlelight mixed with the glow of the LED lantern behind him. His large hands rubbed over the tops of your thighs as he moved a bit closer so he was now properly slotted between your legs. Tilting your head to the side, you dragged the pad of your thumb over his lower lip.

“Make it up to me,” you said the same phrase again, but lowered your tone as you let your lips ghost along his.

Harry didn’t hesitate this time, and he quickly angled his head up to meet your mouth. You couldn’t help but to immediately moan as his hands journeyed further up to grip to your hips - the tips of his fingertips indenting against the skin of your lower back underneath your t-shirt. Your hands journeyed down to fist the front of the jumper he had on so you could pull him closer to you, and you arched your back to have your pelvis flush against his. Although you had alcohol in your system that was causing your head to feel a bit floaty - you knew this was what you wanted. You needed him.

His tongue slipped out to run across the seam of your mouth before you parted your lips. You rolled your tongue over his own as he rocked his growing erection that was straining against the zipper of his jeans along the inside of your thigh. It didn’t take long for you to feel the damp spot starting to form in your underwear while his tongue began to explore every bit of your mouth.

“Y/N,” the rasp of Harry’s voice sent a shiver down your spine. “I want to taste you.”

That earned him another moan from you as you nodded, and he pulled back a bit to reach for the waistband of your jeans. You allowed him to take the reins as you leaned back and lifted your hips while he unbuttoned and unzipped the denim clinging to your body. Once he had those properly undone, he yanked them down your legs - fingers wrapping around your underwear along the way to pull them all down in one go.

Although you were pretty confident in yourself when it came to the bedroom, it had been so long since you had even been partially naked like this in front of someone. You watched as Harry raked his eyes over your exposed lower half before shaking his head.

“So fucking beautiful,” his lips grazed along the inside of your thigh before planting a kiss right against your pubic bone. “You promise you’re comfortable?”

His eyes peered up into yours and you nodded while cupping your hand against the back of his head. “I promise,” you assured him. “Now have a taste.”

Harry ducked his head down to run his tongue through your drenched slit and you threw your head back at the sensation. You didn’t bother trying to conceal the noises that left you as he trailed his tongue up to your clit - lapping over it a few times before sucking it between his lips.

“That’s it, Harry,” you whined as your tossed your legs over his shoulders, and he pressed his palms against the inside of your thighs to spread you just a bit further.

“You’re so fucking sweet, Y/N,” he pressed kisses against your throbbing bud - your hips jumping right in time each one. “I’ll make it up to you every single day if it means I get to have you like this.”

“That’s to be determined,” you puffed out a small laugh as your fingers gripped to his hair. “Depends on how hard you make me come.”

Harry couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him at your words, and he took a minute to look up at you again. “If I could stay here all day, suffocating between these beautiful thighs of yours while licking at this sweet pussy - making you come again and again? I would fucking do it.”

His words caused your cunt to clench around nothing, and you mewled out at just how hot and bothered that got you. “Well, show me just how good it can be, and I’ll let you know if you’ve got the job.”

The crooked grin that stretched over Harry’s lips, causing that sweet dimple to indent into his cheek, had your heart fluttering in the midst of you being turned on beyond belief.

“I’ll show you, baby, and then you’re going to be begging for more.”

Getting right back to work, Harry began to properly take his time with you. He licked at your folds, sucked on your clit, and when he knew he had you so perfectly worked up, he plunged his tongue inside. You gasped as you stared up at the ceiling - feeling the thick muscle pulse in and out as you rutted your clit along the bridge of his nose.

“Yes,” you sighed happily, shutting your eyes as the corners of your lips twitched up into a smile. “So good.”

He kissed his way back up to your clit, beginning to suck again before slowly inserting his middle and ring fingers into you. Your back arched even further, and given that you hadn’t had any contact like this in so long, you knew that you’d be coming sooner rather than later.

“You like that, Y/N?” Harry’s sultry voice started to ring in your ears. “You look so amazing like this. Got me fucking addicted and I’ve only had a little taste.”

“It feels…shit,” you could feel your thighs starting to tremble once Harry curled his fingers - the tips of them rubbing across your sweetest spot. “Oh my god, Harry. You’re going to make me come.”

“Come on,” he coaxed you, putting his head back down. “Come on my fingers. Come on my tongue. Let me taste you completely.”

Once his tongue found your clit once again, you knew you were done for. He sucked it between his heart shaped lips as he thrusted his fingers in and out of your soaked cunt - your heels digging into his shoulder blades.

“Harry,” you moaned deliriously. “I’m…oh my fuck - I’m coming.”

Your walls closed in completely around Harry’s fingers as he continued to pulse your clit into his mouth. It was euphoric. It was everything. Your body tingled from the tips of your toes to the top of your head, and even when he pulled away from you entirely to massage your thighs - you still weren’t coming down.

“Y/N,” his muffled voice filled your senses. “Open your eyes, baby. Look at me.”

Following his directions and blinking your eyes open, you focused on the ceiling before looking down at Harry. You smiled wide at the sight of him. Your orgasm was still glistening on his lips, and his touch was so soft.

“Come here,” you pulled him back up like you had before - having him be level with you again once you sat up straight.

Your lips found his once more and you indulged in a short makeout session before pulling away.

“Did that make up for it?” Harry asked with a small laugh as you played with the curls at the nape of his neck.

“It did…for now,” you said while knocking the tip of your nose against his with a smirk. “I want a proper date. Next Friday. Then we’ll go from there.”

Harry’s eyes met yours, and he smiled wide - bunny teeth on full display for you to see before he responded with a nod.

“It’s a date.”

• • • • • • • • •

You were Rafe’s favorite kind of storm. The kind he never saw coming. 

Kelce had just bought another round of Mai Tais. The boys slouched back in their private booth at the Club, half-drunk and obnoxiously loud. Rafe knew he didn’t need another drink, but he wasn’t about to be the first man down. Not with his pride in the room.  

‘Earth to Rafe.’ Topper’s voice dragged him from his thoughts. A hand waved in front of his face, drawing a tired grumble from him as Rafe sipped his Mai Tai like he wasn’t two drinks away from blacking out. 

‘Huh?’ 

‘We were just saying, we didn’t realize she got hot.’ Topper nodded in your direction, where you were bent over a table, cleavage on very clear display. Rafe’s eyes locked on like a sniper before he even realized. 

His heart sank, guilt pooling in his chest as his face paled. He shook it off, trying to brush it off before his friends noticed.

‘Yeah, she’s got a rack on her now,’ he muttered, forcing a playful laugh. The boys around him burst into a fit of laughter, totally missing the way Rafe’s eyes kept flicking up to you. 

He couldn’t look away. 

Something about you was different now. You used to clean his family’s house. You were younger then, quiet, always rushing between jobs, dirt under your nails and exhaustion under your eyes.

You hadn’t cleaned his house in over a year. That night, you looked happy. Your cheeks were flushed with color, your hair different and your posture more confident.

‘I wouldn’t even bother. She’s got that good girl, white skirt, cross-necklace thing going on. You’d be wasting your time,’ Kelce scoffed, dragging Rafe’s attention back to the table.

‘Who said I was bothering?’ Rafe deadpanned.

Rafe’s dry tone caused a scatter of laughs around the table, and Kelce leaned in, eager to get under Rafe’s skin.

‘Bet you couldn’t even get your hand in her panties without her praying about it after,’ Kelce leant forward, his voice dropping to a dirty murmur. Rafe’s smirk twitched, caught between disgust and amusement.

‘You’re a sick fuck, you know that?’

Kelce still had that shit eating grin on his face, shrugging like he was as innocent as ever, ‘I’ll put a band on it. You won’t fuck her by the end of the month.’ Rafe’s eyebrow raised in amusement.

‘What, you tryna pimp me out now?’ 

Kelce wiggled his eyebrows, throwing his hands into the air like a preacher, ‘Call it a challenge. You always act like you’re the king of this place. Prove it. I’ll even give you six months, ‘cause she’s as straight as a nun.’ 

There was a pause. That landed. Rafe’s pride stung. Validation clawed at his gut.

Rafe’s voice dropped low, his eyes sharp on Kelce, ‘Make it two bands. And stop talking about her like that.’  Kelce laughed, whilst a string of hollers crowded the table. 

‘There he is. Savior complex strikes again.’ Kelce mocked, kicking back in satisfaction. 

‘Game on, Cameron.’ 

His heart pounds harder when the door doesn’t open right away. You always answered fast. You’d see his location, peek through the doorbell, and met him with a soft smile and a kiss. 

Not tonight.

He knew he didn’t deserve your gentleness, but fuck, it felt too good to push away. 

‘Rafe? What are you doing here?’ your voice was muffled over the rain, yet it hit him like a wave of calm. You pulled him inside, rushing for a towel.

‘Are you cold? I can make you a hot chocolate-’ he cut you off with a shake of his head. He wasn’t even sure why he came. He felt like a fool. After he’d made the bet with Kelce, he made a point of showing up every night to the Club. 

He was always alone, tipped well, and made it his mission to get to know you. The bet slowly began to fade. Because you never threw yourself at him. You weren’t trying to impress him. You just talked to him.

You were polite, asked how his day was, complimented his work ethic, and always turned down his excessive tips like it was just second nature. You were just working. Just… being kind.

It only made him want you more. Not because of the bet, but because he wasn’t used to the kind of attention you gave him. 

‘No, no. I came here because I know you said storms scare you. I didn’t want you to be alone.’ He felt like a fucking idiot the second the words left his mouth. He winced, but the way your eyes twinkled with adoration made his heart hammer in his chest. 

He had to keep telling himself that it’s just for the bet. 

‘Rafe, you didn’t have to do that…’ you trail off, ‘My jellycat does a pretty good job at scaring the storm-scaries away.’ He had to swallow the lump in his throat forcefully, impossibly fighting the smile plastering his face. 

‘I wanted to though. I can leave, if you want,’ he offered, scratching the back of his neck. You were shaking your head before he could move, moving forward to wrap your arms around his waist in a tight hug. 

The gesture was merely friendly, yet Rafe’s body felt like it was on fire. He could smell the perfume he bought you, and his guilt bubbled in his chest. He was in way deeper than he ever could’ve imagined. 

It took him a moment, but eventually his arms enveloped you, holding you tightly against him. Holding you that close, showed him a feeling he’d never experienced before. He’d been with plenty of girls, yet none of them made him feel all warm and fuzzy like you did. 

He couldn’t even pinpoint when it happened. He began offering to drive you to work. Began texting to check up on you. Began buying you little gifts to drop you at work. He was doing the things he thought would win you over, unaware that you were always going to walk away the winner. 

Hell, you hadn’t even kissed him, and he knew you were something he couldn’t just walk away from. 

You pulled back, the prettiest of smiles on your face, ‘I was just watching a movie, I can make some popcorn and you can pick something else.’ His eyes softened, that burning in his chest making it impossible to not tell you about the bet on the spot. 

It gnawed at his soul every time he saw you. He was swimming deeper and deeper into your life, and wanted nothing more than to tell you. But that little smile, that warmth that followed you into every room–he couldn’t shatter your spirit like that. 

‘I’m not hungry, angel. And I’ll just watch whatever you’re watching.’ You nodded, cheeks beginning to flush with an embarrassed heat. A smirk twinkled on Rafe’s face, pulling away from you, his hands rested on your shoulders. 

‘What? Watching a porno or somethin’?’ Rafe sniggered, forcing your nose to scrunch up adorably. 

‘Ew! No. It’s just–you’re gonna laugh at me,’ you murmured, eyes focused on your bare feet instead of his gaze. He forced your chin up with a delicate hand, shaking his head. Your stomach was flipping at the touch, electricity coursing through your veins. 

‘I’m not gonna laugh at you, angel, I promise,’ he had to practically chew the bile down, knowing how well he knew you already. He knew how seriously you took a promise, yet he let it fall off his tongue so naturally. 

‘It’s stupid, but I’m watching Beauty and the Beast…’ your voice was shy, and he knew in that moment that he was completely fucked. If any other girl had told him that, he’d laugh in their face and leave. 

But you’d worn down his walls, an inch at a time at first, and then they came crumbling down, like a sledgehammer had taken to them. 

The softest, kindest, purest sledgehammer he’d ever seen or felt. 

And you’d just kicked him in the gut with the most ironic movie choice he’d ever seen. 

‘It’s not stupid, come on, we’ve got a love story to go watch,’ he spun you around by your shoulders, ushering you towards your bedroom. He didn’t miss the way you were wearing those Victoria’s Secret satin pajamas he’d bought you. 

You were swooning over him. He made your tummy flutter. He said all the right things. He always bought you sweet little gifts, regardless of how many times you’d told him not to. You couldn’t possibly see why he would care for a Pogue like you though. 

Especially not to that extent. You’d thought it was just for sex in the beginning, but he never even tried to get you into bed. He just started being around. Started making you laugh, started making you feel like home wasn’t always the roof over your head. 

He’d tried to lay on the floor that night, wanting to respect your space. You were instantly scolding him, ‘What are you doing?!’ Rafe had looked at you like you were absolutely insane, and it made you giggle. 

‘Getting comfy?’ You rolled your eyes, pulling the other side of your pink comforter up. The comforter that he never knew you’d saved up for nearly two months to buy. You patted the space beside you, ignoring the dumbfounded look on his face. 

‘I’m not letting you lay on the floor, stupid.’ That cracked him. A real smile. One full of more emotions than he’d ever allowed himself to feel in one moment. He didn’t let the opportunity go to waste, instantly kicking his shoes off and climbing under the sheets that smelt so perfectly of you. 

He had the opportunity to be close to you, and that was all that mattered to him. 

You were asleep by the time the movie finished, and the storm had quietened down outside. He rolled towards you, brushing a wild strand of hair from your face, a million thoughts flowing through his head. 

Maybe if you told him you loved him, he’d transform from the beast he is, into the man he wanted to be for you.

Maybe he was cursed. 

Maybe you were the person who could break that curse. 

‘You’re my Belle,’ his eyes lingered on your face, blissfully unaware, ‘And I’m the reason the story ends differently.’ 

He didn’t even realize the words had slipped out of his mouth until you began to stir, sending him close to the edge of cardiac arrest. Every inch of his being prayed you hadn’t heard him. He didn’t even believe in a god for fucks sake.

‘What time is it?’ you whined, eyes still heavy with sleep. Rafe let out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, continuing to stroke your hair. You couldn’t have possibly heard him.

‘About two? I should probably get going, angel.’ Your head shook instantly, and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere. 

‘Stay.’ 

Blood flooded his mouth, accidentally biting his cheek. Your words made his head spin, only for a moment. He soon settled back beside you, wrapping an arm under your pillow, drawing you closer to him. 

‘You sure?’ 

Your little ‘mmhmm’ was all it took. When your breathing levelled, and he knew you were asleep, he rested his forehead against yours, and fell into the most blissful sleep of his life. You’d become his safe place as much as he’d become yours. 

‘Angel?’ He pressed the Ring doorbell, rubbing his palms together, trying to calm himself down. You hadn’t texted all day, and he’d put it down to the late-night shift you’d done last night. Maybe you were sleeping. 

Maybe you were in the bath, using one of those bath bombs he’d bought you. 

Maybe you were watching a movie. 

Maybe your phone was flat. 

You couldn’t have possibly seen the text from Kelce last night. You were asleep before him. Right?

‘Leave.’ 

The word slices through the static. Chills crawl down his spine. His brows knit, confusion twisting through him like smoke. 

He’s waiting for you to open the door, and tell him you’re only kidding. To see that smile that lights up the entire town. To feel your lips on his. To feel your arms around him, holding him tighter than anyone has ever held him in his life. 

You swung the door open, watching his location on your phone, like you always did when he rode over. You had baked him a cake for his birthday, and were practically buzzing with excitement to give it to him. 

He’d tossed his helmet, booting the kickstand with a sense of urgency he only had when he missed you. He’d seen you the day before, but it didn’t matter anymore. He rushed inside, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. 

‘I baked you a cake, y’know, for your birthday!’ Your words dizzied him. The candles flickered, but the brightest light before him was you. He blinked hard, fighting off the warmth burning at the corners of his eyes.

‘Thank you, angel.’ 

‘You have to make a wish before you blow out the candles, though,’ you told him with a sudden sense of seriousness. He’d never understood cuteness aggression, but in that moment, he wanted to grab you and squeeze you so tight you could never leave him. 

His wish was right in front of him. 

‘I already have everything I could have ever wanted.’ 

Your face scrunched up, ready to poke back with a playful jab. His eyes were cracked open, the window to his soul oozing a vulnerability you’d only seen short glimpses of until then. He grabbed the cake from your hands, blowing the candles out, placing it down gently on the counter. 

You froze. His hands swept up to your cheeks, his eyes flicking from yours, down to your lips. There was no sassy remark in your mind, only him. He caressed your cheeks like they were made of porcelain. 

‘Why are you looking at me like you want to kiss me, Romeo?’ your words throw him off guard, a shy smile creeping up your lips. 

‘Because I do.’ 

And when your lips met for the first time, it wasn’t to win any bet. It was to savor something he didn’t know he was allowed to want. To savor the feeling he never wanted to let go of. 

When you fell asleep in his arms that night, in the matching pajamas you’d bought him for his birthday, he knew he had to put an end to it. 

He rolled over, without waking you and texted Kelce. 

‘Just put 5k in your bank. Bet is off, no one says a word about it. Ever.’ 

And he fell asleep, with a weight off his shoulders that had been holding him back for nearly two months at that point. 

Maybe he would’ve told you tomorrow, but he wanted to relish in this bliss you welcomed in him so openly.

You had to know. You’d never left him outside. Not when he’d missed dinner to stay back at work. Not when he’d rode his bike over after drinking, knowing it scared the shit out of you. You’d never left that door closed in his face. 

He should’ve told you the truth. 

He should’ve told you before he ever touched you. 

Before he made you fall for the man that started this with a fucking wager. 

But he didn’t. 

Because he was selfish. 

The kind of selfish who’d let the world burn to keep you in his arms.

The kind of selfish that needed you to feel alive. 

The kind of selfish that knew he’d be nothing without you. 

‘You know you don’t have to do this, angel,’ he whispered, peppering kisses down your neck. He’d never been so nervous at the prospect of having sex, but with you, it felt like he was crumbling to pieces. 

‘I want to. I want it to be you.’ 

That damn near broke him.

Not just your words, but the way you looked at him like he was something to be trusted. 

Like he was something to be kept. 

Like he was a good man, who deserved this. 

He knew he didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve you. But you filled every missing piece he’d spent his whole life trying to find. He knew he was destined for hell, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop. 

The bet was on his conscience, but his heart yearned for you, and only you. He wanted to tell you. There had been so many times it nearly slipped out, but he couldn’t bring himself to break your heart like that. 

You’d healed his heart. How would it be fair if he was the one to ruin yours?

He locked his lips on yours, taking his time to undress you. He let you touch every inch of his body, even the parts of himself he hated. The parts he would tell other girls to leave over. There was not a single part of him that didn’t belong to you. 

He pulled his lips back, his forehead pressed against yours. His breathing was ragged, and for a moment, he thought he was going to tell you. But the words that slipped from his mouth were a ton crueler than any mention of the bet. 

‘I love you, my beautiful angel.’ 

And after all was said and done, he’d held onto you like you were all he had in this cold, cruel world. You’d fallen asleep in his arms, wrapped up in his bliss, his gentleness lulling you into a dreamless sleep. 

All he can think about is the way you shook when you let him in. Not into your bed, but into your heart. His whole world revolves around you, and the thought of you not knowing that makes him sick to his stomach. 

All those mornings, talking about your future, where he could’ve told you about the bet. Where he could’ve told you how his love for you was the only thing he knows is real in this world. But he didn’t. 

Because Rafe Cameron is a selfish man. 

‘I want two. Preferably a boy and then a girl,’ you said with a grin, looking up at him through post-sex hazed lids. Your hands trailed down his bare chest, and his hand mocked your movements, running along your back like a silent confession. 

‘Two?!’ he scoffed. ‘One of you is already a full time job.’ 

You rolled your eyes, ever so playfully pushing his forehead into the pillow, ‘Shut up, Romeo. You’d make the best daddy.’ 

Your words stunned Rafe. Hell, they paralyzed him. The room got too quiet, and all Rafe could hear were his dad’s words of not being enough. Of never amounting to anything. 

‘You think, angel?’ he asked softly, his eyes bore into yours with a sincerity that only reared its head every now and again. You paused, not even realizing you were frowning. You’d never doubted Rafe for a single moment. 

‘Of course. You don’t even realize it, do you?’ 

His head flicked down to you in confusion, waiting for you to elaborate. 

‘You already take care of me like you’d take care of them.’ 

Rafe had to swallow the tears back, his voice cracking, ‘Like who?’ 

‘The family we’re going to have one day, baby.’ 

‘Angel, please. Open the door.’ Rafe pressed his head against the cool timber, itching to hear any sign of you on the other side. But he’s only met with silence. The kind of silence that brings him to his knees. 

You don’t know what possesses you to move to the door and open it. Seeing him there, on his knees through the doorbell, you feel guilty. He should be the one who feels guilty, yet you can’t help but open the door. 

A storm seemed comical on an evening like this, yet the rain hits Rafe like it’s trying to drown the truth out of him. You look down, seeing the rain soak through his shirt, and his unmoving figure, pleading with his whole being. 

‘I know I don’t deserve you to open this door. I know I fucked it–god, I fucked the most important thing in my life up, but I love you,’ his voice breaks, twisting cruelly at your heartstrings, ‘I love you. I need you to believe that.’ 

He was playing you like a fucking harp, like he has been these last few months. 

‘The moment you saw me as a bet was the moment you fucked up, Rafe.’

Your words cut through his sobs like a relentless knife. He begins to shake frantically, his words sputtering out, ‘It was never about the bet. Not after that first night. Not after I heard you laugh at my stupid fuckin’ jokes like I was something more than the asshole I am.’ 

His words make you laugh. Not out of amusement, but out of sheer disbelief. 

He’d told you when he was younger, his mom used to put little polaroids of her and Ward in Ward’s phone case when he was sleeping. She’d sneak them in there, and he’d never say anything, but he knew it was there. 

So when Rafe had bought you your very own polaroid camera, you’d made sure to sneak plenty of photos. Enough photos that when you’d finally sneak one into his phone case, it’d be unexpected. 

The universe decided to make a big fat joke out of you though. 

He’d fallen asleep last night, assuming you were also sleeping. You’d snuck the polaroid out of your nightstand, and picked his phone up to place it in the back of the clear case. You tucked it in there neatly, admiring the goofy smile on your faces. 

That day he’d taken you to look at properties for development. He’d grumbled around all day, and you still managed to make him laugh with a stupid joke. 

‘You wanna hear a construction joke?’ 

‘Sure.’ 

‘Hang on, I’m still workin’ on it.’ 

His fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, and you were in a fit of laughter before he responded. He tried so hard to keep the laugh in, but it was an impossible task. 

‘You kill me, you know that?’ 

You giggled quietly beside him, placing his phone back on the nightstand, unsuspecting, just like you’d planned.

That’s when you saw it. 

The text from Kelce. 

Kelce: still can’t believe you’re wifing the girl we all bet you couldn’t fuck 💀💀 does she know?

Kelce: hope she likes the ring tho hahaha

Your arms are crossed, but not for warmth. For protection. Your silence is a thousand decibels louder than his sobs. His trembling hands find their way into his pocket, pulling out the ring that has become an unbearable weight. 

Not just gold, but guilt, regret, and the shape of everything he ruined. 

‘I wake up, and you’re all I think about. I see that stupid stuffed rabbit you sleep with and I feel like I’m home. You made me want more than this fuckin’ place. You made me better. I want to marry you.’ 

Your eyes don’t dare look at the ring. You don’t even acknowledge it, your gaze locked on him like a wound you forgot you had. 

The ring glimmers under the clouded sky, like a joke too cruel to laugh at. 

‘You know what this looks like to me?’ There’s hope in his eyes for a moment, his grip on the ring faltering briefly. Your eyes finally lock down onto the ring. 

‘It looks like a trophy. For a game you were never supposed to win.’ 

His pleas spew from his mouth, but he doesn’t dare move. He watches his heart step away from him, and begins to forget how to breathe. You shut the door, and he hears the lock click, with a softness he could only expect from you. 

When the finality of it settles in, he’s up on his feet, blinking in disbelief, like that might help to open the door. He’s whispering your name like you might come back out. But you don’t. The spare key is gone. 

Reality hits. Hard. 

‘No, no, no! Fuck!’ His knuckles nearly split with the force he uses to knock on the door. Knuckles turn to palms, desperately pounding on the only barrier between your physical presence. 

‘You don’t get to walk away thinking I meant it like that! Please!’ He’s pacing, rain pouring down his face in a blend of hot and cold tears from him and the earth. His chest is heaving. He feels like he’s going to be sick. 

He storms to the car, indifferent to his soaked self, in both rain and self-loathing. Once he’s in the driver’s seat, he’s punching the steering wheel until his knuckles finally burst at the seams. 

When the blood snaps him back to reality, all he can do is grip the steering wheel with bloodied, white knuckles, his head pounding into the seat behind him. He can’t leave. He can’t drive. He can’t think. 

He throws the ring across the car, trying to get even a singular breath in. He can’t breathe without you. You’re his oxygen. His heartbeat. His sole reason for existing. But that ring is all he has left of you. 

His Belle. 

His fairytale. 

He’s scrambling to find it like a madman, unable to see through the tears streaming down his face. You’re the only person who has ever been able to reason with him, and he’s fucked that up. 

The tears turn into pulses of rage simmering beneath his skin, and he doesn’t even remember driving to the Country Club. 

It’s a flash of red and pain that barely registers in his brain. The brief glimpses his brain allows him to see, he’s got Kelce by the neck against the wall, screaming in his face. He knows he’s a mess, but he doesn’t fucking care. 

The only opinion he cared about was yours. 

He hurt you, he deserves to hurt too. He deserves to look like a piece of shit. He knows he is. 

‘You think this is funny? Huh?!’ Kelce’s shit-eating grin doesn’t do him any favors, and Rafe is left seeing black again. 

The next thing he remembers is being dragged off Kelce, and Barry’s voice firm in his ear, ‘Country Clu’! ‘S enough! He’s had enough!’ 

‘She was everything to me!’ 

Blackness. 

Later that night, he’s alone in his room, back against his bed. He’s twirling the ring around his finger in one hand, downing an entire bottle of whiskey with the other. He doesn’t cry. Not really. But his chest throbs with how badly he wants to. 

He doesn’t even think when he calls you. He knows you won’t answer. But he has to get it off his chest. Maybe he’ll regret the voicemail in the morning, but right now, it’s the only form of solace he could possibly find. 

‘I was suppose’ to be better, for you. I was better. And I ruined it, like I ruin everythin’. Fuck. I love you, my angel. Tell me you hate me to m’ face, okay? Dont–don’t just shut m’ out.’

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The night you’d found the text message from Kelce, you hadn’t said anything. The shock hadn’t worn off. It hadn’t settled yet, instead just hovering thick and invisible. 

You went to work like nothing was wrong. But Rafe’s betrayal crept up on you in waves. Not all at once, but enough to make your stomach churn with every memory that came flooding back.

You’d found yourself hollow. Hollow enough to close the door. Hollow enough to shut out the one thing that ever made you feel like you were more than just ‘some girl from The Cut.’

But clearly, you weren’t. 

Like everything good in your life, it crumbled. Not suddenly, but like the punchline of a long-running joke the universe never let you in on.

When your head settled into the pillow that night, no tears came. Just the scent of him, clung to the fabric like something alive, and the other side of the bed resting unnaturally, insultingly cold. 

You’d tried to cry. Willed for the tears to come. Begged for it. But the void was louder. It sucked you into endless spirals of what-ifs that left you wide-eyed and wide awake.

How could he keep that from you?

If he actually loved you, how had he allowed himself to keep such a monumental secret?

Would he have ever told you if you didn’t see that text? 

Would he have said, ‘I do,’ with Kelce watching like the keeper of some terrible secret? 

Would he even have said, ‘I do.’?

You count your steps. 

Not in fear. Never again in fear. 

In defiance. 

Against every odd you were never meant to outrun.

One. 

The night the door shut. The night you stopped pretending Rafe’s betrayal wasn’t going to break you.

Two. 

The day JJ let you fall apart  in his arms without saying, ‘I told you so.’

The Pogues didn’t shut you out. The deeper you’d embedded yourself into Rafe’s affection, they’d still checked in every now and again, but they’d stopped waiting for you to come back.

They never said it out loud, but the further you fell into Rafe’s world, the fewer texts came through. Fewer invites. Fewer places set at dinner. 

They’d stopped asking if you were going to come over. 

Even though it scared the living shit out of them, they let you have it. 

Because for a while, you’d looked happy. 

Kie showed up in the Twinkie like a soldier on a rescue mission. She didn’t ask any questions, just came with open arms. You didn’t want to be at home. Not when the walls still smelled like him. 

Not when every sound made your heart jump with hope and dread.

You weren’t sure what would’ve hurt more. Him not showing up, or him looking at you like he still loved you.

His face always made you feel like he loved you. Like you were the air in his lungs.

But that look on his face when you shut the door, the wounded, pitiful one, made you feel like you were the one who burnt your own happiness to the ground.

Inside the walls that once felt like safety, you cracked open like a smashed glass. JJ caught you mid-fall. He held you whilst you cried, letting you spew out the questions and regrets that clawed at your heart. 

Kie settled by your side, her body heat doing nothing to relax the tremors wreaking havoc through your body. She just let you breathe. 

‘Why did I let myself fall for him?’

Your voice cracked, your hands trembled. 

‘I should’ve known better. He was never going to love a Pogue.’ 

You couldn’t even look at them when you whispered the last part. 

‘Why was I so stupid? How didn’t I see that I was just a piece in his game?’ 

They didn’t try to give you the answers. They held you. Gave you their presence. They fed you. Made you shower. Dragged you outside long enough to feel the sun again. 

And somehow, that was enough. Enough to keep breathing on your own.

They deleted the voice message that you kept playing like a lullaby. The one where he said ‘I love you,’ like it still meant something. They pulled you back before you could spiral into the guilt of not telling him you hated him. 

Because deep down, you didn’t. 

You’d quit the Country Club without a word, ignoring the dozen missed calls from your boss. You couldn’t go back. Not when his presence haunted the walls. That place didn’t just remind you of him. 

It belonged to him.

Even worse, it was the place where you let him claim pieces of your heart, one soft lie at a time.

You’d stopped showing up. To shifts at work. To people. To yourself.

Instead you clocked into the bait shop and didn’t leave until your body forced you to. You clung to the friends who never made you feel foolish for falling in love with a boy who pretended to be a man. 

A man with a heart made of pretty promises and cold silence.

He’d never felt icy. He’d felt like the kiss of a summer breeze right before a hurricane. He’d felt like the shelter from the storm you didn’t know he’d caused. He made you feel like the universe had finally remembered you existed. 

But above all, he felt like a lie with a beating heart and blue eyes that forced you to believe him anyway.

The kind of lie that made you question every time he looked at you like he was your future. 

The kind of lie that humiliated you in front of yourself. 

No one can see your heart pounding. But you feel it. In your ears, your knees, in the way your ribcage can’t seem to hold it still. It’s thrashing. Desperate to claw its way out of your chest to beat normally again. 

 You’re staring straight ahead at those doors. 

You know once you cross that threshold, there’s no turning around. 

Not from this version of yourself.

The night was still. Still enough to hear your own thoughts for once. 

Until it wasn’t.

You’d been cleaning the counter at the bait shop, when you heard the unmistakable roar of Rafe’s bike closing in on you. JJ instantly shot up, slamming his beer down, jaw already clenched like he’d been expecting this.

Always your loyal soldier. 

JJ Maybank, the boy with a reckless heart, bruised knuckles and a moral compass that always pointed in your direction.

You were frozen, rooted to the floor like fear had turned your blood to concrete. He was here. And he was invading the only place that had started to feel like yours again. He tossed his helmet into the dirt, and JJ was on him before he could step foot under the soft light of the shop. 

‘You need to leave, Rafe.’ 

JJ’s voice was steel. No cracks. No wiggle room. But Rafe’s eyes found you, behind the counter, trembling, and it was like nothing else existed. He looked strung out, pupils wide and wild, like he hadn’t seen daylight in weeks.

He hadn’t seen you in weeks at that point. He’d kept his distance physically, instead flooding your phone with voicemail confessions and apologies he never had the courage to say to your face. He told himself he was giving you space. 

But now, he needed to see you. Even if it ruined him.

‘’M not goin’ anywhere, I need to talk to her.’ Rafe’s voice was cold, his hands working to shove JJ aside, his eyes set on you. Even with the tears in your eyes, all he could think about is how badly he missed you. 

Because, as you’d learnt, Rafe Cameron is indeed a selfish man. 

JJ didn’t flinch, shoving Rafe back so hard his boots dragged across the dirt, ‘You’re not talkin’ to her. Not in this state.’ His voice was a quiet growl, dripping promise opposed to threat. 

‘Sober up and get the fuck off my property before I put you in the dirt.’ JJ was practically spitting at Rafe, shoulders arched in a way that dared Rafe to test him. 

Behind the bar, your hands began to shake. You didn’t even realize you were holding your breath until your head began to spin. Rafe shoved JJ again, like he was just a small hurdle in the way of his prize. 

‘Fuck off, Maybank. She needs to know ‘m sorry.’ Rafe snarled, fighting against JJ’s grip, holding him back. Holding him away from you. JJ almost felt bad for Rafe in that moment. Almost. 

Rafe had been a dick to JJ, yet the blonde couldn’t help but feel something that resembled pity towards him. The way Rafe’s eyes reddened when he saw you, the way his tears betrayed his prideful ego. 

You’d fucked Rafe up, just as badly as he had you. 

‘Rafe, leave. Now.’ JJ stood firm, adrenaline keeping himself anchored onto Rafe. He could feel your anguish across the store, and he wasn’t about to let Rafe worsen it. Rafe shook his head, charging forward. 

JJ had no choice. His fist collected Rafe’s jaw in a steady swoop, knocking him right on his ass. You didn’t even stop him. You froze. Your stomach curled up like something had just died inside of you. 

Your brain screamed at you to move. To shout. To step between them. But those concrete veins prevailed. Your heart? It was already bleeding again. 

Rafe was already clamoring to his feet, before JJ struck him with another brutal punch. 

And Rafe just laughed. 

He spat the blood in his mouth onto the dirt, attention now on JJ. 

‘Hit me!’ Rafe laughed, broken and bloody.

‘I fuckin’ deserve it ‘nd you know it.’ 

JJ froze. You did too. Because he wasn’t fighting back. He was begging for pain.

JJ couldn’t bring himself to swing again. He grabbed Rafe by the collar and dragged him to his bike, and stood tall until he left. He left, and once again, you were left picking up the pieces of rubble he always left in his wake.

You felt every emotion under the sun, possibly even emotions science hadn’t yet identified. 

Emotions that sat in your throat like glass, slicing their way into your chest. 

Humiliation, hurt, regret, empathy, sadness, worthlessness, longing, betrayal, anger. 

It was too much to deal with. 

So you did what you could. You couldn’t afford therapy, so you focused on distracting yourself. You broke your lease and moved in with the Pogues. You saved up for a camera like it was your salvation. 

Started taking pictures like your life depended on it.

Tourists, Kook weddings, baby bumps, family photoshoots and seaside sunsets. You fell in love with life again, one shutter click at a time. Each smile, each person reminding you that there’s eight billion people on this earth, and maybe one day, you’ll experience happiness like them again. 

You started making more money than you knew what to do with. Bookings came faster than you could breathe, each shoot a step further from the version of yourself that used to beg for scraps of love. 

You found yourself in country clubs and coastal estates. In the same world that once belonged to him. But now you were behind the lens, and for the first time in your life, you were the one holding the power.

Until one day, he was there. 

And the ground didn’t shake. 

Your heart didn’t break. 

But it did… stir. 

The Pogues surround you, beaming like they’ve just watched you conquer the world. JJ’s hand squeezes yours, steady and silent, reminding you that you’re never alone. You try to focus on the moment. 

But your mind drifts back to that day. The day where the red string tugged. No rain. No thunder. 

Just the quiet pull of fate. 

‘You look good,’ his voice cracked the air like a match. You blinked, pulling your eye from the viewfinder like you’d just been caught committing a crime. Of course he was here. The Camerons and the Lowes were business partners.

‘You look… better,’ you muttered, eyeing him up and down. He did look better than the last time you saw him. When he came to the shop, and left his pride at your feet. He also had no hair now, which made you do a double take. 

‘I’m clean. Seven months.’ Your lips parted, but no words came. All you could do was nod. Speaking felt like betrayal. Betrayal to your dignity, to your healing and to the reputation you’d built from the ashes of loving him.

You weren’t just you anymore. You were your brand. Your name. Your work. And your name didn’t flinch when he said things like that. 

‘Congratulations.’ 

There was an uneasy beat of silence. 

‘Thank you. And ‘m not saying that to win you back. I’m sayin’ it because you deserve to know.’ 

You didn’t get the chance to say, ‘I’m proud of you.’ 

Or, ‘I’m scared of what you still mean to me.’ 

Or anything, really. 

Because as quickly as he appeared, he disappeared. 

Fuck, you’re glad the photos paid for therapy. Real therapy. Not ‘healing through distraction.’ Not Kie’s borrowed journals. Actual therapy, where saying his name for the first time felt like hauling a boulder uphill with bloodied hands. 

But you did it, and every session since has been a brick of emotional turmoil excavated from your chest.

‘I think I hate him.’ 

That’s what you told the box of tissues in front of you, because the tissues couldn’t judge you. 

‘But I miss him so much I feel sick.’ 

Your therapist just nodded, because she knew. Love isn’t always clean. Grief is never clean. 

You’d headed to a local bar to try and ease the thinking your brain was forcing upon you, post-therapy session. You’d drunk enough to sedate a horse, but it was never enough to forget about him–or what he did. 

And of course, the universe had to poke fun at you once more. 

‘That Cameron boy? Been volunteering ‘round my place since spring. Quiet kid, but he works hard.’ Said casually, like the crustless cucumber sandwich between sips of mimosas. The old lady’s words hit you sideways.

Rafe?

Working hard? Volunteering?

The same boy who bought and flipped homes like a game of Monopoly?

He wasn’t a hard worker. He was a talker. A manipulator. 

A charm-your-mama-before-he-breaks-your-heart type.

Wasn’t he?

Rafe’s palms sweat like he’s back in the courtroom. This time though, it’s not the judge he’s scared of. 

Every minute of work. 

Every sober morning.

Every aching, gut-wrenching therapy session. 

It’s all been building to this moment. 

He didn’t even know you were there. But his therapist had said, ‘Keep doing the work. The right people will find you again.’ 

He didn’t think that would include you. 

There he was, side by side with Wheezie, laughing at something she’d said, like the world hadn’t broken both of you a dozen times over. 

It was just the monthly ‘beach tidy.’ Locals. Volunteers. Garbage bags. Nothing poetic. 

Until he was in the frame. 

You went every month. It was your thing. Your breath of clean salted air. Your reset button. A way to give back to the world. 

And he was never there, until he was.

He looked different. Lighter. Like he’d laid something heavy down and walked away from it. His shoulders, the ones that used to carry ego and rage like armor, were loose. Relaxed. It wasn’t performative. It wasn’t a show. 

It was peace, and that terrified you.

You didn’t mean to do it. Your fingers moved on instinct. Your eye slipped behind the lens, where it was safe, and you captured him. The way he smiled. The way Wheezie laughed beside him, hands equally as dirty as her brother’s.

The way he didn’t look broken anymore. 

Later that night, curled up on the top bunk, you stared at the photo like it might blink back. It made something shift in your chest. Something you’d worked so hard to bury beneath logic and pain. 

You’d told yourself you were done with him.

That you weren’t going to will your heart to be shattered in his hands again.

But there he was. Doing something good when he thought no one was watching. Where there’s no party. No camera. No performance. Just his sister, the sand, and the gentle lap of the waves. 

Your fingers twitched over the delete button. You knew you shouldn’t keep it. 

You knew how it went. One photo becomes curiosity. Curiosity becomes memory. And memory becomes the ache to call him, and beg him to tell you he loves you. Because being broken by Rafe Cameron, had left an empty pit in your stomach that craved his validation to fill. 

You didn’t delete the photo. 

You’d talked about men like him in therapy. Users. Liars. Boys who begged for love and offered rot in return. You knew better now, and yet, his soul called to yours like a familiar song in a burning building. 

You could run, or you could turn around and listen. 

Whether it be weeks or months, he always found a way to be there, and chip away at your resolve and anger, one glimpse at a time. 

Despite the way he broke you, despite the betrayal and the deep ugly scar he’d left on your heart, part of you wanted to believe that maybe he might’ve changed. 

And that scared the living shit out of you. 

You remember when you were sure this day would never come. Not like this. And sure as hell not with him. 

‘You ready?’ JJ murmurs, his arm hooking through yours like a lifeline. Unknowingly, he takes half of your weight. Half of your nerves. Half of your fear. You shake out your free hand, trying to toss the jitters onto the floor like spilled rice.

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’ It’s barely a whisper, but somehow, JJ hears the steel behind it.

You’d gone alone to the beach, wanting to catch a glimpse of the sunset, possibly a photo too. Headphones on, sundress flowing around your body with the slight breeze, you walked aimlessly. 

You’d found yourself in front of the Country Club, by some freak of nature. You hadn’t expected to see him again, especially not only a few days after the photo. A few days for you to try and compose yourself and remind yourself that he splintered your idea of love. 

But there he was. 

Tucked behind the bar, chatting away to Wheezie by his side. His demeanor was delicate with her. He oozed a protective aura around her, yet his eyes stayed gentle, and he actually seemed to be listening to her ramblings. 

He noticed you first this time. 

He didn’t move. Didn’t smile. He just gave you a polite nod. 

You nodded back, continuing to walk further down the beach, trying to get the encounter out of your mind. You’d thought that was it. It should’ve been. History only rewrites itself. No–that’s not what your therapist said, but whatever. 

Wheezie hadn’t missed the interaction. She chased you down, sand-crusted and pink-cheeked, heart on her sleeve. ‘He didn’t know you were gonna be here,’ she blurted out, like she was trying to catch the apology before it slipped too far between you. 

It felt like she was trying to hand you a bandage you weren’t sure you needed. Like she still felt the gravity of your name stitched into Rafe’s heart. 

‘I didn’t know he’d be here either,’ you murmured, offering the young lady an indifferent smile. You hadn’t intended on being rude, but your eyes kept flicking up to Rafe, who sat at the bar, frozen solid. 

He was terrified. Not of you, but of what Wheezie might spill. She was the only person he’d ever really spoken to about you. The only one who knew he still whispered your name every therapy session.

You two were out of earshot, but Rafe knew his gut instinct was right when he saw Wheezie speak, and your brows furrow. 

‘He talks about you. Not like a weirdo or anything,’ she spoke quickly, like you were going to run before she could get the words out, ‘just… like how he wants to be someone you’d still be proud of.’ 

You didn’t trust your voice to respond. Although young, Wheezie could tell there were no more words to be exchanged anymore. She’d seen what Rafe had gone through. She’d seen him get clean. 

She’d seen him cry in front of her. 

She’d seen the way he would take her to the cinema after a therapy session, never talking about it straight away. He’d stew on it in the dark, with his sister beside him like silence could keep him whole.

She’d seen the way he was trying so desperately to make amends with Sarah, who was surely the next Cameron to require therapy. 

She’d seen the way he began to help the community, participated in fundraisers, volunteered to clean and repair boats for the elderly, and helped people carry their groceries to their car. 

She’d seen the impact of you, embedded into every inch of Rafe’s once bleak, arrogant heart. 

She’d seen the way your ghost had pulled him towards goodness.

The way your absence shaped him into something softer. 

Because that’s who he’d fallen in love with all those months ago. 

That’s who he’d been in love with all those months. 

That’s who he wanted to make people feel, because it was the most perfect feeling in the whole wide world to him. 

Sarah tugs one last time on the strap settled against your shoulder, grounding you with the quiet efficiency only a sisterhood can offer. It still doesn’t feel real, but it feels earned.

The music changes, and you know this is as real as it will ever get. 

Raw, honest, broken and healed. 

As fucking real as it gets, like the scar left behind was always supposed to become part of the map.

Your breath stops. 

After talking to Wheezie, you found yourself wandering down to sit on the end of the dock, watching the world fall asleep one shutter click at a time. You didn’t even notice his boots until they were too close to ignore.

Then he sat beside you, quietly, like he’d been summoned by the tide.

There was enough space to pretend he wasn’t there. Just enough wind between you to feign indifference. But you didn’t. You turned your shoulders towards the sea and let yourself feel the weight of him beside you. 

He gave you enough space. Enough to choose if it would’ve been a moment, or just a memory.

He didn’t want to speak. He just sat there, letting the hush of your camera fill the gaps his words would’ve cracked wide open. As with every time you thought about him, your therapist’s voice played in your head. 

‘I think it’d be good to talk to him about your feelings. Putting your cards on the table can provide you with a sense of closure.’ 

‘Absolutely not. I would rather fuck a chainsaw than tell him how bad it hurt. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.’ 

But fuck it. 

Letting go didn’t mean forgetting. It just meant finally putting the chainsaw down.

‘I still think about that text, you know,’ your voice was sharper than you’d intended. But he nods anyway, because he truly does understand. After all, you couldn’t possibly hate him more than he hated himself. 

You realized in that moment that he wasn’t fighting. He wasn’t trying to make excuses. He wasn’t defending his actions. He just let the weight of accountability sit heavy on his shoulders, alongside the hope that maybe… just maybe, you’d let him keep it.

‘You hate me, and you should because fuck-I hate me. What I did… what I didn’t say–’ 

You cut him off. 

‘You lied to me, Rafe. I saw it all with you. I saw the white picket fence, the perfect wedding, the family. And to have that torn out under me because you couldn’t be honest with me? I trusted you with my life.’ 

‘And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to give anyone that part of me ever again.’ 

His face cracked. He didn’t hide it. His pride was something he savored for his impactful decisions, not his once fragile ego. He leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees, fingers knotted like he was trying to hold himself together. 

‘I wanted to tell you. I swear I did. But every time I looked at you… I-’ his voice cracked, and tears began to pool along the rim of his pretty blue eyes. You wanted to wipe them, but the distance from him was the only thing keeping you sane. 

‘I didn’t want to lose it. I didn’t want to lose you. You’re the only person who ever made me feel like I mattered. I know it was fucked up. I’m sorry.’ 

He swallowed hard, his eyes locked onto yours, like he was prepared for you to tell him you hate him. To get that final piece of closure he’d been searching for through months of his good deeds and unravelling of the worst parts of himself. 

‘You already had me, Rafe,’ your voice shook.

‘You didn’t need to lie.’ 

He looked down at his hands, letting the waves fill the beat of silence between you. 

‘I didn’t think I deserved you. So part of me… I think I was waiting for it to all blow up. Like it always does. I kept waiting for the catch. And when it didn’t come… I guess I let myself become it.’ 

You closed your eyes, turning your head away from him. That was like a kick straight to the heart, stumbling the beat. You knew the taste of self-sabotage all too well. Of not feeling good enough for anyone from the mess you’d become. 

You’d felt like that before him. 

And you’d felt like that after him. 

‘You know, in therapy, they told me that forgiveness isn’t a gift. It’s a decision. A commitment,’ your voice cracked slightly. You wanted to continue, but Rafe had another weight he wanted to get off his chest. 

‘I’ve been going to therapy twice a week for eight months now. At first, it was for you. I wanted you to think I was sorting my shit out, but the more I went, the more I realized I needed it.’ His confession lingered heavily in the air. 

It was a bruising weight. The silence. 

Your eyes finally came up to meet his, blurred by your own tears threatening to spill. You blinked against the sting, ‘I don’t think I’m ready for the commitment of forgiveness yet, Rafe. But I see you’re trying.’

He didn’t reach for your hand like he wanted to. He just nodded, eyes fragile on you, like you were the bear ready to come barrelling through his china shop. He went silent. No breath. No movement. 

This was the closure he came over here for, right? 

‘I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready again. But I see you trying, Rafe. And I’d be lying to the both of us if I said that didn’t mean something.’

‘I’d wait a hundred years for you to be ready, angel.’

The pet name didn’t sting as bad as it once did. It didn’t make your stomach churn like it did when you’d shut the door in his face. It landed tastefully on your tongue, with a glimmer of hope sneaking in beside it. 

‘You’ve got a hundred years of waiting, you may as well walk me home.’ 

His lips parted. The glimmer of hope seemed to wash over him too, flashing behind his eyes like a dreamy sunset. He didn’t rush anything. He didn’t rush to reach you. He didn’t ask for more. 

Instead, for the first time, he met you where you were. 

And he continued meeting you where you were. 

He stepped in to help with a wedding shoot when JJ bailed last minute. No fanfare. No fuss. Just steady hands on the reflectors, gear fetched before you even asked, kids laughing at his stupid jokes. 

He didn’t make it about him.

Just showed up. Held space. Respected yours. 

He’d packed up every last lens and tripod without waiting for permission. When the sun began to bleed orange across the sky, he lingered by your car.

‘You’re really good at this, y’know?’ 

It had been so long since his praise didn’t feel like a trapdoor. But this time, you didn’t flinch. You didn’t brace. You just heard him. 

He worked his way back into your orbit, not with apologies, but with presence. Every move was deliberate, cautious, patient and grounded in something that felt real. 

He wasn’t chasing forgiveness. He was building trust.

He wanted to be the kind of man you could rely on. The kind of man his father never taught him how to be.

He wanted to be someone you could put every last drip of your faith into, and be able to handle it with the care it deserved. He never wanted to be the boy who broke everything he touched, ever again. 

‘Wait!’ Kie’s voice cuts through the air, her gaze sweeping over you like she’s searching for cracks. 

‘Where’s your something blue?’ 

Your chest finally lets go of its bated breath. You raise your hand.

‘Right here.’ 

The blue diamond glints on your finger, not loud or flashy. Just enough.

It wasn’t grand. It was like your love. It was raw, steady, and unshakably yours. Just the two of you. The same barstools at the Country Club where you first met him. The same spot where he’d fallen in love with you. 

When neither of you knew what love really meant yet. 

‘If you can forgive me,’ he said, the tear tracking down his cheek doing all the confessing for him. He didn’t wipe it away. He wore it.

‘I want to spend the rest of my life proving I deserve this second chance with you.’ 

You didn’t say a word.

You couldn’t. 

Not when your heart had already answered for you.

‘I want to marry you. I want the family, the dog, the white picket fence–fuck, angel–whatever you want to do, I want to do it with you.’ 

You said yes. Not because he begged. But because he didn’t have to. 

He proved that he had become a better man, not just through his words, but through his actions. 

He’d earnt that spot that consumed your whole heart and soul. 

The spot that still remembered how he used to hurt, and chose him anyway. 

He’d earnt your trust back, week by week, month by month. 

And you could confidently say you trusted him with the shattered pieces of your heart that he was grown enough to repair after breaking them. 

It wasn’t perfect. 

You never expected perfect. 

You expected honesty, and reality.

And he was going to spend the rest of his life giving it to you. 

The blue diamond shimmers under the sunlight. Blue, for loyalty. For devotion. It cost Rafe more than half his property portfolio, but he didn’t even flinch.

He would’ve given anything he had if it meant holding your hand at the altar.

When the doors open, and you see him at the end of the aisle, all of your worries melt away. 

He’s standing tall in his sleek navy suit, shoulders squared. But he looks like a man on his knees. Not because he’s weak. But because you still bring him to them. 

Each step you take is certain. There’s no hesitation. No fear. You’ve both worked so hard to get to where you are today, and everyone around you knows it. 

JJ leads you down the aisle, arm locked through yours like it’s holding you up. He leans in, voice low enough that it curls beneath your veil, ‘Last chance to back out, Princess.’

You laugh, breathy and watery, trying not to smudge your makeup, ‘I’m not running.’ JJ brushes his thumb over your knuckles in a quiet way that says: Good. I’ve got you. 

‘Good,’ he says, watching the aisle like a soldier. ’Because if he hurts you again, I’ll have to break every bone in his body.’ You don’t doubt it. You laugh louder this time. Rafe sees the exchange, the way JJ’s hand is still looped through yours. 

The corners of his mouth twitch, like he’s fighting back a smile, and a sob, and a lifetime of regret all at once. He’s definitely not fighting back those tears, but neither are you. 

You reach Rafe. JJ takes your hand and presses it gently into Rafe’s waiting palm. He doesn’t joke. He doesn’t threaten. He just looks at Rafe, blue eyes hard and full of history. Don’t fuck this up without ever saying it.

‘She’s my best girl,’ JJ says. Calm. Steady. ‘Don’t make me regret letting her go.’ 

Rafe nods. Once. Firm. Like it means everything.

No bravado. 

No ego. 

Just reverence. 

‘Never.’ 

The ceremony was small. No microphones. No stage. Just the people who mattered, close enough to hear your heartbeat and the crack in your voice. You didn’t want a production. You wanted a promise.

Kelce wasn’t there. Neither was Topper, or any of the other Kooks who once scoffed at the idea of Rafe Cameron loving a Pogue. And you didn’t miss them. 

‘When we get married, are you going to get all sappy with your vows?’ You’d asked the question, perched on Rafe’s bare chest. Long before the text message. Long before you knew about the bet. When it was just you and him, planning a future together. 

He rolled his eyes. 

‘Like in sickness and in health?’ his gut twisted as he played it coy. He was going to tell you in that moment. Because fuck yes he wanted to marry you, and he absolutely wanted to get sappy with his vows, but only if you knew the truth. 

‘You’re so unserious, like, all the time.’ 

‘You just bring out the calmest side of me I’ve ever known, angel.’ 

You let out a shaky breath, his thumb caressing your knuckles the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground.

‘I didn’t think we’d get here,’ you begin, voice cracking just a little. A nervous ripple of laughter breaks through the small crowd. Everyone knows. The rise. The fall. The redemption. Hell, in the Outer Banks, your love story was practically public record.

Your eyes blur before the second sentence even comes. 

‘There was a time I thought I’d only ever say these words in my head.’

A pause.

‘And even then, they felt too big.’ 

‘When I met you, I didn’t know what it meant to be loved by a storm,’ you glance at him, and he smiles, but his eyes are brimming with heated emotion.

‘You were wild. Untouchable. Like a tide I couldn’t stop.’ 

‘I didn’t want to stop. I wanted every part of you… Even the ones you hadn’t figured out how to love yet.’ 

There goes your makeup. 

‘When it all broke, I thought we were done. I thought that love had to come easy to be real.’ 

Your hand shakes. His doesn’t.

‘But now I know better. Love is the work. It’s the fight. It’s the showing up, even when it hurts.’ 

Your voice breaks, struggling to get the last of your words out, ‘You showed up. Even when I didn’t want to see you. Even when I shut every door. You grew. You became someone who loves honestly. And wholly. And bravely.’ 

You smile through the tears, barely able to see him through the floodgates that have crashed open down your face. 

‘I don’t want a perfect man. I just want you.’ 

The whole room holds its breath as your voice cracks.

‘And I promise to choose you.’

‘Every version.’ 

‘Every day.’ 

‘Every storm.’ 

He pulls away from your hands to wipe his eyes, laughing in pure elation. You dab your eyes, looking around at your closest friends and family. The Pogues are all in tears. Ward even has a stern tear welling in his eye. 

‘How am I supposed to compete with that angel?’ Rafe whispers, only loud enough for you and Pope, who was officiating the wedding, to hear. You let out a sniffle, reaching for his hands again as he begins his vows. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. 

‘I was scared of you at first.’ 

You blink, startled. But then he smiles. The kind of smile he only ever saved for you.

‘Not because you were scary. Because you saw me. Even the parts I wanted to pretend weren’t there.’ He takes your bouquet of flowers from your hand, passing them to Pope. He grabs both of your hands tightly, fingers toying with your engagement ring settled on your finger. 

‘I’ve lied. I’ve hurt people. I’ve run from every good thing that’s ever come close.’

‘But not you. You were the first thing I ever wanted to stay for,’ his voice breaks, and you move closer, knowing it might help calm him down. 

‘I didn’t know how to love you right. But you made me want to.’

‘When I lost you, I realized I couldn’t live proud. Not unless I earned the right to look you in the eye again.’ 

Your lip wobbles, and he has to look down at your dress to stop himself from melting into you. 

‘I don’t deserve you,’ his eyes meet yours now, steadier now, ‘But I honor you.’

‘And I promise–I’ll spend the rest of my life learning how to be the man you saw in me… even when I didn’t believe he existed.’ 

Suddenly, ‘I do,’ felt like the perfect promise to forever. 

Later in the evening, the party has began to quieten down, after your first dance as husband and wife with Rafe, JJ clambered onto a table, clinking his glass obnoxiously. 

‘Ahem! I would like to make a toast… to Mr and Mrs Cameron,’ he grins, pausing to relish in the cheers. ‘When she told me she was marrying Rafe, I thought she’d lost the plot.’ 

Scattered laughter follows, some uneasy, some relieved, but you and Rafe just beam. JJ softens, that playful facade dissolving into the kind of rawness he rarely ever lets through.

‘But then I saw him. Really saw him. He was… scared, man. Scared she’d never forgive him. Scared he’d never be enough.’ Rafe squeezes your waist tighter. Because JJ’s words aren’t just true. They’re him. 

‘And then it hit me. I’ve never seen Rafe Cameron scared of anything. Not the law. Not his parents. Not even himself.’ 

A tear pricks the corner of Rafe’s eye. JJ raises his glass into the air. 

‘So here’s to love. Real love. The kind you bleed for. The kind you beg for. The kind you build for. Because if these two crazy people can make it… maybe there’s hope for the rest of us too.’ 

You raise your glass through blurry eyes, not expecting JJ of all people to be the one to make you cry again today.

Life always has had a funny way of letting love into your heart when you least expect it. 

6 YEARS LATER

Sunlight spills through the curtains, layering golden warmth across your chest. There’s a weight there, not heavy, not burdened. Just solid. The kind of weight you’d spent your whole life longing for.

Your son. 

Rafe walks in, falling in love with you all over again, like he does every single day. The sight of you cradling your two-year-old, safe and small on your chest, makes his heart swell with something deeper than pride.

Not the cheap kind of pride that had him betting on your virginity. This pride felt earned. Grounded. The kind that said he’d done better with his life. 

He’d done better than his dad. As a father. As a husband. 

He passes you a cup of coffee, sinking into the sofa beside you, careful not to wake your boy. Then as softly as ever, he brushes the loose strand of hair from your face, that same smile decorating his pretty face.

‘How did I get so lucky, hmm?’ 

You smile sleepily, fingertips tracing slow circles over your son's back. Steady, soothing and familiar.

‘You showed up, Rafe.’ 

‘You always showed up.’

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topper’s standing, arms out like he’s trying to defend himself, but rafe’s leaned back on the bench, legs wide, jaw tight, murder in his eyes. you pause for half a second. then you move. without saying a word, you slip between them and drop onto the bench beside rafe. it’s casual, innocent, like you didn’t just sit next to a loaded weapon.

he doesn’t react right away. not verbally, at least. but his hand finds your knee almost instantly. it settles there like it belongs, thumb rubbing over your skin in a slow circle. like he wasn’t just seconds away from strangling his childhood best friend.

topper blinks. “oh. hey.”

you give him a polite smile. “hi.”

rafe doesn’t look at topper again. he doesn’t need to. the shift in him is obvious, almost absurd. his posture eases, his voice drops an octave. “hi, baby,” he says, like the word tastes good.

“hi, rafey.” you blush with a grin. “you done verbally assaulting your friends?”

“depends,” he mutters. “you gonna keep me from finishing the job?” you roll your eyes, but your hand slips into his anyway, fingers threading through his lazily. he squeezes once, like he’s already won something. “he was being an idiot,” rafe mutters under his breath, mostly to you now. “saying dumb shit like you wouldn’t be able to handle…”

“handle what?”

“nothing,” topper cuts in quickly. “it was a joke, dude.”

rafe levels him with a look that could kill a lesser man. “it wasn’t funny,” he says flatly. then, turning to you, he melts. his eyes soften, his lips curl into a smile. “you okay?”

you nod. “just tired.” rafe hums in reply. his hand moves, slides around your shoulders like it’s second nature, pulling you closer. you end up curled into his side, chin tucked near his collarbone, and he kisses the top of your head like it’s just another tuesday.

“rest,” he says, mouth brushing your hair. “i’ll deal with him.”

“you’re so dramatic,” you murmur, voice muffled by his shirt.

he smirks. “you like it.” god help you, you do.

topper stands awkwardly for another beat, then finally mutters, “i’ll just…go.”

“great idea,” rafe calls lazily, already playing with the hem of your sleeve like he didn’t just verbally eviscerate someone two minutes ago. as soon as topper’s gone, he exhales—long and slow—and rests his cheek against your head. “thanks for saving his life,” he murmurs. “i was close.”

“you’re awful.”

“i know,” he whispers. “but i’m nice to you.” it’s true, and when rafe is nice, it’s not performative—it’s real. it’s in the way he runs his fingers through your hair, in the way he always has a hoodie for you before you ask, in the way he’d go to war for you and sleep soundly after.

rafe cameron is an asshole to everyone—except you. and he doesn’t even knows how not to love you.

“would it matter?” you smirk, lip parting just slightly. “we’re not exclusive.”

his eyes flash. something behind them cracks. then he kisses you. he slams his mouth onto yours, bruising and hot and messy. you gasp, and he uses it to slide his tongue in, hand already under your shirt, fingers curled tight on your waist like he wants to crush the space between you.

you shove him back against the wall and he just laughs again, cocky and breathless and mad. “you’re such a fucking brat,” he mutters, yanking your shorts down, not even bothering to fully undress you. “you wanted this, huh? wanted me all pissed off so i’d come fuck the attitude out of you.”

you kiss him again just to shut him up. it’s frantic, frenzied. your back hits the wall, your shirt’s halfway off, and his hand’s already between your thighs, pressing into your soaked panties with a groan. “fuck,” he whispers, cock straining through his jeans. “you’re soaked. did he do that?”

“no.” you reach down, unbuttoning him with shaky fingers. “you did.” he curses under his breath and pulls his cock free. before you can blink, he pushes your panties to the side and sinks in all at once.

you both moan like you haven’t done this a hundred times. like you didn’t swear this didn’t mean anything. like he doesn’t already know your body better than you do. he fucks you hard. not careful or not slow. just hips slamming into yours, hands gripping your thighs, lips dragging down your neck. “next time,” he growls, “you even think about going out with someone else—i’ll remind you who this pussy belongs to.”

you whimper. clutch at his shoulders. dig your nails in because you want to mark him, you want it to hurt. “you’re such an asshole,” you gasp.

“yeah?” he grins against your throat. “but you’re still letting me fuck you.” yeah, you can’t argue with that. when you come, clenching around him, biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming, he follows with a groan, spilling into you like he doesn’t know how not to.

after, he doesn’t let you go. he keeps holding you there, pinned to the wall, breathing hard, nose brushing yours. “you’re mine,” he mutters, almost like he forgot to say it out loud before. “you know that, right?”

you don’t answer. you just kiss him again…because you don’t know either, but you want it to be true.

You were wearing a white lace dress, with your hair tied loosely back, a few strands slipping free to frame your flushed face. The streets hummed around you, but you weren’t really paying attention to anything except Harry, well, Harry and the icy drink in your hand.

The cobblestone streets of Rome glistened under soft amber lights. It had rained briefly earlier that evening, just enough to coat the city in a sheen that made every step feel cinematic.

You were tipsy. Gloriously, gigglingly tipsy.

Harry leaned back against the wall of the trattoria you’d all just left, the collar of his blue shirt slightly undone, the hem of his trousers brushing his ankles. He was sipping slowly, his other hand tucked into his pocket, eyes watching you with that amused, adoring little smile.

Alessandro Michele was standing nearby with an arm lazily draped around his partner. He was telling some story to the group gathered around, all talking over one another.

But you were entirely fixated on your boyfriend.

You took a sip of your cocktail, lips pursing. “Why is this so good?” you said, stumbling a little as you reached Harry. You clung to his side, wrapping your free arm around his waist like you needed him to stay upright.

Harry chuckled, low and patient. “Because it’s your fourth one, bunny.”

You smiled dreamily. “It’s not my fourth.”

“It is.” He slid your glass gently from your hand. “And that’s enough, lovie.”

You blinked up at him, swaying just slightly on your feet. “You’re mean.”

“I know.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek. “But you’ll thank me in the morning.”

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, hands gliding over the silk of his shirt, and buried your face in his neck. “You smell so good,” you whispered, then nuzzled in deeper and left a slow, open-mouthed kiss just beneath his jaw.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away or tell you to behave. Just let you nuzzle and nip at the soft skin beneath his ear, your lips brushing just beneath his jaw as if you were trying to memorize the shape of him with your mouth. You were delicate at first, barely-there kisses, your breath warm and sweet against his skin, but then your teeth grazed him, playful and a little greedy, and he made a low sound that barely passed as a laugh.

Still, he didn’t stop you.

His arm wrapped more securely around your waist, hand warm and steady against the small of your back, his thumb drawing slow, grounding circles. He was still listening to Alessandro and laughing softly with the others, nodding along, but every now and then, his hand would slide just a little lower, soothing, steadying, as your lips trailed along his neck with lazy devotion.

You kept going, half-draped over him, mouthing at the skin above his collarbone, barely noticing how your lip gloss had smudged just a little. You pressed another kiss to the side of his neck, then did it again, just because you could.

Harry tilted his head to the side slightly, offering you more space, still not saying anything. He didn’t need to. His body was so relaxed, like this was just second nature, letting his tipsy girl crawl all over him in the middle of a Roman alley while he chatted with old friends.

Every now and then, his fingers would tighten at your waist, squeezing gently when you got a bit too close to his collar or a little too sharp with your teeth. But he didn’t move you away. He just kept talking.

At one point, Giovanni, Alessandro’s partner, caught Harry’s eye and raised a brow with a knowing smirk.

“She’s had fun tonight,” Harry said smoothly, not missing a beat. He kissed the top of your head without even looking. “Haven’t you, bun?”

You hummed in reply, completely blissed out against his neck, lips still grazing skin as if it was the only thing tethering you to the ground.

Then you said softly, right against his skin: “You taste good too.”

That was when Harry finally blinked and let out a quiet laugh.

You kissed him again, then again, sloppier this time, hot lips dragging across the column of his throat. “Can we go back home?” you murmured.

“Not yet, bun.”

“Wanna be alone with you.”

“I know you do.” His voice was still gentle, but there was a warning edge to it. You’d pushed past that edge.

Your hand slid down, tracing the front of his shirt, nails dragging lightly, until you reached the waistband of his trousers. You giggled, brushing the heel of your palm over the slight bulge in his pants.

His eyes widened. “Jesus,” he muttered, laughter bursting from him as he quickly grabbed your wrist and pushed your hand away. “You’re gonna get us arrested.”

“But it’s Rome,” you whispered with a giggle. “They’re romantic here.”

“Yeah, not that romantic,” he said, still laughing.

You pouted, leaning up to kiss him again. This time it was full-on, your mouth open, messy, hungry.

Your lips found his like it was the only thing in the world you could focus on. You tilted your head and opened wider, tongue brushing his, fingers tangling into the collar of his shirt as you pressed up on your toes to reach him fully.

Harry let you kiss him. Let you take and take, groaning softly into your mouth as one of his hands came up to cradle the back of your head, steadying you. His other arm stayed looped around your waist, keeping you anchored, flush to him. His fingers curled at your lower back again, a slow, reassuring stroke up and down, up and down.

Around you, no one paid much attention. The group had splintered into smaller conversations, Alessandro now theatrically reenacting something with wide hand gestures, everyone too caught up in their own tipsy laughter and stories to care that you were practically devouring your boyfriend in the street.

You whimpered softly into his mouth, angling yourself closer, knee slipping between his, and Harry chuckled again, deep in his chest.

“You’re a menace tonight,” he murmured against your lips.

But he still didn’t stop you.

You were about to say something, something about how warm he was, or how you wanted to crawl into his shirt and live there, when a sudden arm slung casually around your shoulders from the side, pulling you back slightly with affectionate force.

“Alright, bambini,” Alessandro grinned, standing between you and Harry now like a human barrier, one arm still draped across your shoulders, the other flung around Harry’s. “Save some of that passion for behind closed doors, hmm?”

Harry threw his head back and laughed.

You blinked up at Alessandro, dazed and pouty, but didn’t resist his grip. You stood there for a moment, swaying a little under the weight of his arm, then slipped out from under it with a tiny huff and wandered toward the table nearby, sinking into one of the wrought iron chairs with a sigh.

Your cheek smushed against your hand, elbow propped on the table. You kicked your feet slightly under the chair and started humming to yourself, some soft, dreamy tune you couldn’t quite remember the name of. Probably something Harry had played for you once, or something Alessandro had blasted through his villa speakers.

Your dress caught the light every time you shifted, your flushed face dreamy and content as the night swirled on around you. People talked and sipped and smoked and laughed, and you just hummed and watched Harry from your little spot, like he was the center of your universe.

Because he was.

You kept humming, now swaying slightly in your seat, arms folded on the table in front of you. The streets had grown quieter now, just the low hum of traffic in the distance, a few passing voices, the clinking of ice in glasses.

You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the breeze slip past and cool your flushed skin. You imagined Harry’s hand instead, those warm fingers tracing down your back, over your thighs, up the inside of your—

“Bun,” came his voice suddenly, close.

Your eyes fluttered open to find him crouching beside you, glass of water in one hand and that soft, bossy smile on his face.

“Drink this,” he said, nudging it toward your lips.

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t want water.”

“I know,” he said gently, tilting the glass anyway. “Be a good girl, yeah? Just a little.”

You let out the tiniest whine, dramatic and pouty, but opened your mouth. He helped you sip, watching you the whole time, free hand rubbing your thigh slowly under the table. You finished a little less than half before turning your head dramatically into his shoulder.

“There,” you murmured. “I’m healthy.”

Harry laughed, soft and warm. “You’re getting healthy. One more sip, bunny.”

“This is so entertaining,” Alessandro said suddenly, perched across from you both with a smirk on his face, chin in hand, elbow propped on the table, as you glared at him.

Harry smiled down at you, ignoring them entirely, lifting the glass once more.

“You gonna finish this for me?” he asked sweetly.

You stared at him. “If i get a kissy after.”

He smirked. “Deal.”

You took another sip, then immediately threw yourself at him. His arms came around you instinctively, laughing into your shoulder as you tried to kiss his cheek, his jaw, his mouth.

“Christ,” he muttered, letting you do whatever you wanted, still smiling as he glanced back toward Alessandro. “She’s relentless tonight.”

“Let her be,” Alessandro said.

“C’mon, time to go.” Harry said after a while.

You blinked. “Already?”

“It’s nearly two,” he said gently, crouching slightly so you were eye level. “I thought you wanted to go home?”

You pouted again. “No, I like it here.”

“I know, lovie,” he said, brushing his knuckles against your cheek, “We’re gonna come again tomorrow, right now you need sleep.”

You giggled and let him pull you to your feet.

Your legs wobbled a bit, and Harry steadied you immediately with both hands around your waist, then leaned in to kiss the tip of your nose.

“I want pizza,” you said dreamily as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and guided you back to the group.

Alessandro gasped. “Finally, someone says what we’re all thinking!”

Within minutes, the group was making their way down the winding street toward a place Alessandro swore had the best late-night margherita in the entire city. You walked with Harry, arm wrapped tightly around his middle, your body practically glued to his side.

You kept kissing his shoulder as you walked. His arm never left your back.

“You know how much I love you?” you asked, not quietly.

Harry glanced down at you with a soft laugh. “How much, bun?”

You stopped suddenly in the middle of the street. “This much,” you declared, stretching your arms wide, nearly twirling in your spot.

He caught you before you could wobble too far and kissed your forehead, tucking you safely back under his arm. “That’s a lot.”

“You’re my favorite person,” you whispered into his chest.

He squeezed you closer. “You’re mine, too.”

Eventually, the group stumbled into the tiny pizza shop Alessandro had spoken of, and you curled up beside Harry in the booth, half-asleep on his shoulder by the time your slices arrived. He fed you bites between sips of water and whispered something against your hair that made you giggle again.

It's the same Friday night ritual you've fallen into for years now—predictable in a way that should feel boring by now, but somehow never does. You don't remember when exactly it became your thing, but you know it started sometime after his last relationship went up in flames. Somewhere between his dry, sarcastic text—"bring snacks or don't bother showing up"—and the way he always leaves the door unlocked when he knows it's you coming over. You don't knock anymore. Haven't in ages. You just toe off your shoes by muscle memory, drop your bag on the little hook by the door he hung there for you a year ago, and slip into your usual spot on his couch like it's second nature. It is, really.

Tonight's no different. The air smells like leftover pizza and the two cheap beers you grabbed from his fridge on your way in. You're half-curled under one of his worn-out throw blankets, your legs stretched long across the couch, your bare feet pressing into his thigh like they always do. He doesn't even flinch when you do it anymore. Just rests his warm palm on your shin absentmindedly like it's the most natural thing in the world. It's reckless, really, how easy this all is. How dangerous it feels sometimes when he doesn't pull away.

The TV's playing something you've both seen a thousand times—something neither of you are really paying attention to. The real entertainment, like always, is the stupid conversation unraveling between sips of cheap beer and leftover takeout. He makes a joke about your taste in men, you roll your eyes and throw one right back at him. The back-and-forth feels sharper tonight though, like you're both playing closer to some invisible line neither of you have dared to cross. Not really.

You don't know what makes you say it. Maybe it's the second beer loosening your tongue, or maybe it's the way his laugh curls in your stomach when you throw your head back against the cushion and groan dramatically. You mock the high-pitched whine one of his exes once made you promise not to bring up again. You pitch your voice higher on purpose, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead in the most ridiculous overacting you can manage.

"Oh, Harry... oh my God... you're so—so loud—" you gasp, drawing the word out, clutching your chest like you're seconds away from fainting.

You expect him to laugh. That's how it always goes. You take the piss, he rolls his eyes, throws something back, and you both move on. But tonight... tonight he doesn't laugh.

Instead, he goes still. His palm on your shin tightens just a little—barely noticeable, really, if you weren't suddenly hyperaware of every inch of his skin touching yours.

He tilts his head, eyes narrowing, and for the first time all night, you swear the air between you crackles like something you shouldn't touch.

"You really wanna keep pushing, sweetheart?"

The words come out low. Thicker. Not playful like they should be.

And your mouth goes dry.

Because that's not the kind of thing he says to you. Not like that.

You blink, heart stuttering, trying to laugh it off, but it comes out wrong—too breathless, too tight. "What? I'm kidding. Relax."

But he doesn't.

He leans back a little, his arm curling casually along the back of the sofa like he's suddenly aware of how close you are, how easy it would be to pull you closer. His jaw flexes as he swipes his tongue across his bottom lip, like he's thinking too hard about something he shouldn't say.

And then he does.

"Maybe you should find out for yourself before you start laughing."

You freeze.

So does he.

The silence that falls between you isn't the usual kind—the one you fill with easy shrugs or dumb jokes. This one feels loaded. Heavy. Like you've both been balancing on this stupid little edge for so long you didn't even realize how close you'd gotten until you both looked down.

He swallows hard, flicking his gaze to your mouth and back up again so fast you almost think you imagined it.

You could laugh. You should laugh. That's how you survive this. You let it roll off your back, you change the subject, you make another joke and pretend you didn't hear it like that.

But you did. God, you did.

And something in your stomach twists.

Your voice comes out quieter than you mean for it to. Barely above a whisper. "What if I did?"

Harry's breath catches. You feel it more than hear it—right there where his palm is still pressed to your leg, fingers curling in slow motion like he's grounding himself. His mouth opens and closes again, like he's trying to figure out if you're fucking with him, if this is just another game.

You're not sure what kind of answer you're expecting—some dumb, cocky retort, maybe, or worse, a nervous laugh to remind you this is all one big misunderstanding. But when he finally speaks, it's nothing like that.

"Then you're gonna have to come over here and show me."

It knocks the air clean out of your lungs.

Because that's not a dare. Not a joke. Not something he can walk back if you say yes.

His hand slides a little higher on your shin, thumb dragging slow and steady like he's making sure you feel it. His gaze doesn't drop this time. Doesn't waver.

"C'mon, love. What's stoppin' you?"

You've never moved so slowly in your life. Shifting your weight, setting your half-finished beer down on the coffee table like you're moving underwater. Your heart's thundering so hard you're half-convinced he can hear it. You swing one leg over his lap, knees sinking into the sofa on either side of his hips until you're straddling him, palms braced on his chest to steady yourself.

And he's just... looking at you. Like you're the fucking answer to a question he didn't know he was allowed to ask.

"Hi," you whisper, suddenly breathless, nerves crashing over you in one dizzy wave.

The corner of his mouth twitches like he wants to laugh, but he doesn't. His hands find your waist, curling slow and careful, as if he's terrified you'll shift back and realize this is a mistake.

"Hey."

It's the softest thing you've ever heard from him. No edge, no teasing, just quiet and wrecked and right there between you like you've already passed the point of no return.

His thumb drags along your waist, and you swear you feel his hands tremble just a little.

"You gonna kiss me or what?" he whispers, voice cracking on the last word like it's killing him to hold back.

There's a second—just one—where the fear kicks in. Not the bad kind, not really. It's more the holy-shit-what-are-we-doing kind, the one that flickers right behind your ribs like a warning bell that's come a little too late. Because this is Harry. Your Harry. The one who steals your fries without asking and makes you playlists when you're having a bad day. The one who's held your hair back when you've had too much to drink, who's let you crash in his bed more times than you can count without ever once making it weird. He's always been safe. Uncomplicated. Yours in every way that didn't require you to risk everything by leaning in and closing the gap.

But now? Now his breath fans across your cheek, his hands tense on your waist like he's waiting for you to change your mind, and you know there's no coming back from this if you do it. No pressing rewind. No laugh-it-off in the morning.

And still—you lean in.

You don't even really kiss him at first. It's slower than that. Softer. Like you're both testing the weight of the moment, hovering close enough that you could pull back if you had to. You feel his breath catch when your nose brushes his, feel the tiniest tremor run through him when your fingers curl tighter in the worn fabric of his t-shirt. His lashes flutter against your cheekbone when you tilt your head, nudging your mouth toward his. And just when you start to wonder if he's going to make you do all of it—if he's going to sit there and let you chase the whole thing all the way down—he meets you halfway.

It starts careful. Almost clumsy with how long you've both tiptoed around this. His lips part slow, brushing yours once, twice, barely there. You almost pull back to say something stupid like "was that okay?" but then—God—he makes that sound.

Low in his throat, wrecked and quiet and so fucking real it short-circuits every rational thought you have left.

You melt.

The second time you kiss him, it isn't careful at all. You tilt your head, fingers sliding up into his curls like they've always wanted to, pulling him closer, chasing that sound like it's oxygen. He groans again, louder this time, and you feel him sink under you like his whole body's giving out.

"Fuck," he breathes, muffled between kisses, hands flexing tighter on your waist. "Fuck, baby, you're gonna ruin me."

The word baby snaps something loose in your chest, like you've just unlocked a part of him you never knew you were allowed to touch.

Your breath stumbles out in a shaky laugh, your lips brushing his as you gasp, "You really are loud."

He freezes for half a second like he's about to pull back, but you barely give him the chance. You roll your hips over his, testing the friction, chasing the heat, and it punches another groan right out of him—louder, needier this time.

"Yeah?" he pants, teeth scraping your jaw as he pulls you closer, rougher, like he's trying to fuse you to him. "You like that? Huh? Wanna keep mocking me, baby? Gonna let you hear it all fuckin' night if you let me."

You suck in a sharp breath, fingers tightening in his hair.

And God, you should stop. You should slow down, give yourself half a second to think this through, to figure out what the hell this means. But his mouth finds that spot under your ear that makes your whole body jolt, and suddenly you don't care about what tomorrow's going to feel like.

You rock against him again, chasing the pressure, the heat curling low in your belly. He hisses, dragging his hands up under your t-shirt like he's starving to touch you.

"Tell me to stop," he whispers, voice cracking like he already knows you won't. "Tell me right fuckin' now if this isn't what you want."

But you don't. You can't. Not when you're already dizzy with it. Not when you've wanted this longer than you've let yourself admit.

So instead, you lean in again, brushing your mouth against his ear until you feel him shudder under you.

"I don't want you to stop."

His breath hitches, hands curling tighter like he's barely holding himself back.

"You sure?" he rasps, nose brushing along your jaw, voice so wrecked it makes your chest ache. "Tell me you mean it. Tell me this isn't just the fuckin' beer talking, baby, 'cause I swear to God—"

You pull back just enough to look at him. Really look at him.

He looks wrecked already. Like this is costing him. Like this has been sitting on the tip of his tongue for longer than you've even dared to hope.

And you swear something inside you snaps.

"It's not," you breathe, shaking your head as you cup his jaw in your hands. "Swear it's not."

He curses under his breath, dragging his hands down to your thighs like he's grounding himself, like he's trying to keep himself from breaking.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours, eyes screwed shut like it physically hurts to keep his hands from sliding under your shorts. "Need you to tell me what you want, baby. Please."

And it's there, on the tip of your tongue.

The thing you swore you'd never risk saying.

But it's too late now, isn't it? You've already crossed the line.

So you whisper it like a secret, like it's been sitting there in your chest for years.

"I want you."

It happens fast after that. Like the air finally snaps between you and there's no holding it back. One second you're still hovering, trembling with it, your hands on his jaw like you're terrified he's going to pull away—and the next, you feel him exhale the most broken sound you've ever heard from him, his grip tightening on your thighs like he's lost the battle with himself.

"Come here," he groans, breath hitching, voice barely holding together, and before you can even blink, he's dragging you closer—sitting up straighter, chest pressed to yours, his mouth finding yours again like he's starving.

This time, it's different. Hotter. Desperate. There's no hesitation now, no teasing, no careful second-guessing. It's messy, frantic, like you've both finally stopped pretending this wasn't inevitable. His hands are everywhere—sliding up under your shirt, fingers dragging across your skin like he's trying to memorize every inch of you. You gasp into his mouth, shivering when his palms flatten against your back, pulling you flush to him, your thighs tightening around his waist instinctively like you can't stand even an inch of space between you.

You swear you feel him shudder under you, like you've knocked the breath clean out of him.

"Fuck, baby," he pants, dragging his mouth across your jaw, leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck that make your whole body jolt. "Feel that? Feel what you fuckin' do to me?"

You do feel it—hard and hot between your legs, pressing up through your thin shorts—and the realization knocks every ounce of breath from your lungs. You roll your hips without thinking, grinding down with more pressure this time, and you feel him stiffen, hear the sharp curse tear from his throat.

His head falls back, curls brushing the back of the sofa, and you watch the muscles in his throat work as he swallows hard, jaw so tight you can see the effort it's taking him not to lose control right there.

"Jesus Christ, you're killin' me," he groans, one hand sliding up to fist in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. "Tell me what you want, baby. Say it. Please."

You don't even hesitate. You can't. You're already shaking with it. Already soaked in it. Your voice comes out as more of a gasp than a whisper, breathless and messy against his jaw.

"Want you to touch me. Want you so bad it hurts."

The groan he lets out sounds like it physically knocks the breath out of him.

Before you can process it, he's moving. One strong arm sweeps under your thighs, the other curls tight around your back, and you let out a squeak of surprise when he stands, lifting you off the couch like you weigh nothing.

"Harry!" you gasp, clinging to him, laughing breathlessly as he stumbles toward the hallway.

"Shut up," he breathes against your neck, mouth dragging hot along your skin, "Not lettin' you go. Not now. Not ever."

You swear you feel your heart split in two right there.

By the time your back hits his mattress, you're trembling with it—skin buzzing, breath catching, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts.

He doesn't move for a second, just hovers over you, curls falling into his eyes, his chest heaving like he's trying to memorize every inch of you before he ruins it.

"Tell me again," he rasps, voice cracking. "Please. Need to hear you say it's not just the beer talkin', baby."

You sit up on your elbows, heart swelling so painfully full it feels like it might burst, and reach for the hem of your shirt.

"It's not," you whisper as you pull it over your head and toss it somewhere over the side of the bed. You're trembling a little now, but you don't stop. You meet his eyes—wide, glassy, hungry—and you nod, slow and certain. "It's me. I swear."

His eyes drop to your bare skin, and he drags his hand through his curls like he can't fucking believe this is happening.

"Jesus," he breathes, crawling over you again on his forearms like he's scared to crush you. "You're perfect. So fuckin' perfect."

You barely recognize the sound you make when he kisses you again—somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, like your body is short-circuiting under his hands. You've kissed him before—drunken pecks on the cheek, playful lips pressed to his jaw when he made you laugh too hard—but never like this. Never with the weight of every line you've tiptoed around collapsing all at once between your bodies.

His hands are greedy now, trembling just slightly as they trail along your sides, slipping under the curve of your ribs like he's afraid to rush, like he wants to memorize every inch of skin he's never dared to touch. He dips his head, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses down your throat, sucking softly at the base of your neck, and you swear your back arches off the bed all on its own.

"So fuckin' soft," he murmurs under his breath, voice low and rough and right against your skin like it's a prayer you weren't meant to hear. His hands slide higher, fingertips brushing the underside of your bra, hesitating just barely like he's giving you that last out.

You nod before he even asks.

"Please," you whisper, breath catching, "I want you to touch me."

He groans like you've wrecked him completely, leaning up just enough to tug the fabric over your head and toss it aside with your shirt. The moment your chest is bare to him, he just... stops. Stares. Like you're the first thing in his life that's ever left him speechless.

His palms come up slowly, reverently, cupping you like he's terrified you'll vanish if he blinks too long. His thumbs brush over your nipples and your whole body jerks with the heat of it, breath spilling out in something dangerously close to a moan.

"Fuck me," he whispers, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, like he's trying to keep himself from coming undone too fast. "You're... fuck, you're unreal."

You can't stop yourself—you hook your legs tighter around his waist, grinding up into him again, desperate to feel all of him. His breath stutters, hips jerking like he can't help himself.

And then he's moving again, dragging his mouth down your body—slow, lingering kisses pressed to every inch of skin he can reach. Down your ribs, over your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts.

He looks up at you from there, lips pink and swollen, curls a mess, chest still heaving.

"Can I take these off, baby?" he asks, voice so thick and wrecked it makes your stomach clench. "Wanna see all of you. Need to."

You nod so fast it almost embarrasses you, lifting your hips for him without a second thought. He drags your shorts and underwear down slow, eyes never leaving yours as he bares you completely.

The air feels electric on your skin. Too much and not enough at the same time. You feel exposed, trembling, but the way he looks at you—like you're the only thing in the world that matters—makes you feel like you could fall apart right there and he'd hold every single piece.

He sucks in a sharp breath, dragging his hand through his hair again like he doesn't know what to do with himself.

"Jesus, you're beautiful," he whispers, voice cracking, like it's physically painful to hold back. "Can't believe I get to touch you."

You reach for him again, curling your fingers into his shirt, tugging at the fabric until he gets the message. He peels it over his head, tossing it somewhere behind him, and when his bare chest presses to yours, skin to skin, you swear you could die from how right it feels.

"Please, Harry," you breathe, burying your face in his neck, rocking your hips up again without thinking. "Need you so bad it hurts."

He shudders, dragging his mouth back to yours, kissing you slower this time—deeper, like he's trying to pour every unspoken word into you.

"Gonna take care of you, baby," he whispers between kisses. "Promise. Gonna make you feel so good."

And you believe him. God, you believe him with every shaking breath you take.

You barely register the way your breath shudders in your throat when his mouth finds yours again. It's slower now. Deeper. Less frantic, more certain—like every kiss is meant to make you feel it. Like he knows you already do. His weight settles a little heavier on top of you, hips sinking between your thighs, skin hot and slick where his chest presses to yours.

You can feel him—all of him—hard and thick, pressing right where you need him, just separated by the thin fabric of his boxers. The pressure makes your breath catch, makes your hips tilt up instinctively like you're chasing something you're both too far gone to slow down for.

He groans into your mouth, one hand sliding down your side to grip your thigh, pulling it higher up his waist like he needs to feel closer, needs to make sure you know how badly he wants this. How badly he wants you.

"Fuck," he breathes, voice cracking as he drops his forehead to yours, hips rocking forward once—slow, steady—grinding into you just enough to make your whole body jolt. "Baby... I—"

He doesn't finish. Doesn't have to. You already feel him shaking above you, like he's holding himself together by the thinnest thread.

"Harry..." You can't even hear your own voice, breathless and wrecked, but you know he hears it by the way his grip tightens on your skin. "Need you. Please."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, wide green eyes flicking between yours like he's trying to memorize every single thing about you in this exact second.

"You sure?" he whispers, voice barely steady. "I don't—fuck—I don't wanna do this if you're not sure, baby."

You almost sob. "I've never been more sure of anything."

His face crumples like you've broken him, lips crashing onto yours again with so much force it steals every bit of air from your lungs. You feel his hand slide between you, pressing low over your stomach, slipping down until his fingers brush over the slick heat of you.

You let out a noise that sounds nothing like you—high and desperate, something you'd be embarrassed about if you weren't already too far gone to care.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he groans, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, voice shaking like he's seconds from losing control. "You're so wet, baby. All for me, yeah?"

You nod frantically, clinging to him, your nails digging into his back as you roll your hips into his touch.

"All for you," you whisper back, voice cracking, "Please, Harry, just—please."

He shudders so hard you feel it in your bones, his breath spilling hot and shaky over your skin as his fingers slide through the mess between your legs, circling your clit so slow you could scream.

"Gonna take my time with you," he whispers, "Wanna feel you come on my fingers first. Wanna feel you fall apart for me."

And God, the way he says it—wrecked and hungry and like it's the only thing he's ever wanted—you don't think you've ever wanted anything more in your life.

You try to brace yourself. You know you should. But it's useless the second his fingers slip lower, dragging through your folds like he's already memorized every part of you. He's so gentle at first, so fucking careful, like he's afraid to hurt you or rush it. Like he's determined to make this the best thing you've ever felt.

Your body arches off the bed before you even realize you're moving, a broken moan catching in your throat when his fingers find that perfect spot again and again. It's slow, torturous, the way he circles your clit—light at first, just a tease, until your hips are chasing his touch, until you're gasping his name like you've forgotten how to say anything else.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, breath hot against your jaw as he keeps moving, building you higher with every slow stroke. "You're doin' so good for me. Sound so fuckin' pretty when you fall apart, you know that?"

You dig your nails into his shoulder, gripping him like he's the only thing keeping you from slipping under. You've never been this sensitive, never been this wound up, like every nerve in your body is buzzing under his touch.

You try to warn him—you really do. But the words die in your throat when he adds just a little more pressure, a little more speed, his mouth pressing hot kisses down your neck while his fingers work you open.

"C'mon, baby," he breathes, "Wanna feel you let go for me. Been dreamin' about this for fuckin' years, swear to God—"

You cry out, hips stuttering, body shaking as the pressure coils tighter and tighter until it snaps, crashing over you so hard it nearly knocks the air from your lungs.

You feel yourself clench around his fingers, feel him groan right against your ear like he feels it too, like he's just as wrecked by it as you are.

You're still gasping, still trying to catch your breath, when he pulls back just enough to cup your face in both hands. His lips are pink, swollen, his hair a complete mess. But it's his eyes that leave you breathless.

Wide. Shiny. Like you've just torn him to pieces and he doesn't know how to put himself back together.

"Baby," he whispers, voice breaking like it's too much, "Need to be inside you. Please. Please tell me you want that too."

You don't even hesitate. You reach for him, curling your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down until you feel him bare and hot and thick against your thigh.

You look up at him, heart in your throat, and whisper the only thing that's been sitting on your tongue since the moment this started: "I've always wanted you."

And you swear, in that split second before he sinks into you, he breaks all over again.

You feel him hesitate just for a breath—just long enough to make sure you don't change your mind. His forehead presses to yours, his nose brushing yours softly, like he's checking again without needing to ask out loud.

You slide your hands up his back, nails scraping lightly across his skin, and whisper the only thing you know will tip him over the edge.

"Please, Harry... I need you inside me."

The groan that rips out of him sounds almost pained. His fingers curl tighter around your waist, pulling your body up to meet him, and when you feel the thick head of him nudging at your entrance, you nearly stop breathing altogether.

He moves slow. So slow it's almost unbearable—like he's savoring every inch, dragging it out just to make you feel it. You gasp, clawing at his shoulders, your body stretching around him inch by inch until you're completely full, until there's no part of you that isn't pressed to him, surrounded by him.

"Fuck—" his voice cracks, shaking like he's seconds from losing it. "So fuckin' tight... Jesus Christ, baby, you feel... you feel like heaven."

You're trembling beneath him, breath stuttering out in little gasps you can't control. You feel stretched, full, claimed in a way that makes your head spin. Your nails dig deeper into his skin, grounding yourself against the overwhelming ache and pressure that feels like it's going to swallow you whole.

"Move," you gasp, hips tilting up to meet his, "Harry, please— need you to move."*

He groans again, low and wrecked, and finally—finally—he starts to move.

Slow at first. Barely pulling back before pressing right back in, hips rocking steady, grinding deep like he's tasting you from the inside. You cry out, biting your lip to muffle the sound, but he shakes his head, catching your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look at him.

"No," he pants, voice thick and ruined, "Let me hear you. Don't fuckin' hold back, baby. Want everyone to know how good I'm makin' you feel."

You let go of the breath you've been holding, head tipping back as a moan rips from your throat, loud and broken and real. His hips snap a little harder, a little faster, and the sound of it—skin on skin, your name falling from his lips like it's the only thing he knows how to say—makes you feel like you're coming undone all over again.

He presses his mouth to your ear, breath hot and shaking as he fucks into you harder, deeper, each stroke dragging a wrecked little whimper from your lips.

"Tell me this is mine now," he growls, voice pure filth in your ear. "Tell me no one else gets to touch you like this, baby. Ever again."

You can't think, can't breathe, can barely get the words out between gasps.

"It's yours," you choke out, clinging to him like your life depends on it. "Only you, Harry. Fuck—only you."

You don't know how he manages to keep it together. You're falling apart with every slow, deep thrust—clutching at him like you'll float away if you don't anchor yourself to his body. He's everywhere. Filling you, surrounding you, breathing you in like you're the only thing keeping him alive.

His hands frame your face like he needs to feel all of you to believe this is real. His thumbs swipe at the damp skin under your eyes, like he's trying to catch the little gasps and wrecked sounds falling from your lips. His mouth finds your jaw, your throat, dragging open-mouthed kisses down your skin as he groans, low and breathless.

"You feel so fuckin' good," he pants, hips rocking harder now, the bed creaking with every deep push. "Could stay right here all fuckin' night, baby. Stuffed full of me... takin' every inch so good... fuck— look at you."*

His voice hits something deep in you—something raw and helpless—and your back arches off the bed like your body's chasing every word.

"You're killin' me," you gasp, barely able to hold yourself together. "Harry— please—* harder, I—fuck, I need—"*

You don't even finish. He growls, actually growls into your neck, like you've snapped whatever restraint he had left. He pulls back, grabs your hips, and slams back into you, so deep and rough you choke on a cry you can't hold in.

"Like that?" he rasps, voice shaking as his hips piston faster now, driving into you like he's making up for every second you both wasted pretending you didn't want this. "S'that what you fuckin' need, baby? You need me to ruin you properly, huh?"

You nod, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes—not from pain, not even from pleasure—but from the way he's looking at you like you're his entire fucking world.

"Yes," you whimper, breath catching on a sob you didn't know was there. "Please— ruin me—* all yours—* always—"

He groans again, shaking above you, forehead pressed to yours like he's trying to climb inside your skin. His breath fans hot across your mouth as he slows just a little, grinding deep again, hips rocking in filthy little circles that make your whole body lock up.

"That's it," he pants, "Let me feel you again, baby. Wanna feel you come all over my cock. Can you do that for me? Huh? Wanna hear you fall apart one more time."

You can barely nod, already so close you could taste it. You grab at his back, wrapping your legs tighter around him, pulling him deeper, faster, until you can't even think anymore.

"Harry— I—* fuck—* I'm gonna—"*

He doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He keeps fucking you steady and deep, his hand sliding between your bodies, finding your clit again, rubbing fast messy circles that destroy you.

You come hard, stars bursting behind your eyes, your whole body locking up under him as you cry out his name loud enough to echo through the room.

You hear him groan so deep it's almost a snarl, feel him jerk, hips snapping faster now, losing his rhythm like he's chasing his own release.

"Where— fuck—* where do you want me, baby? Tell me—* fuck—"

Your head spins. Your body's still shaking, still buzzing, but you manage to drag him down, mouth at his ear, whispering the filthiest thing you've ever said in your life.

"Want you inside me... fill me up, Harry... please— want all of you."

He loses it. Full-body shuddering, hands gripping your hips so tight you'll probably bruise, burying himself deep with a wrecked cry as he comes inside you, hips rocking through every last pulse of it until he finally collapses on top of you, shaking and breathless.

Neither of you moves for a long time.

His body is heavy on top of you, but you don't care. You wrap your arms around him tighter, as if letting go might shatter whatever spell has just woven itself between your ribs. His breath fans hot and uneven across your neck, every exhale trembling like he's still coming down from it—like he doesn't quite know how to land.

You feel him shift slightly, just enough to brace his weight on his elbows again, careful not to crush you. His nose brushes yours as he pulls back to look at you, curls sticking to his damp forehead, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. You've never seen him like this before. Wrecked. Fragile. Wide-eyed and terrified in the best possible way.

He blinks, searching your face like he's waiting for you to wake up and realize this was a mistake.

"Are you okay?" he whispers, so quiet you almost don't hear it.

Your throat tightens. You reach up, cupping his jaw with both hands, pulling him closer until your lips brush softly over his.

"I've never been better," you breathe. "Promise."

You feel him sigh, like you've just cut every string holding him together. His forehead presses to yours again, eyes squeezing shut like he doesn't know how to say what he needs to say without falling apart.

"I—" His voice cracks. He pulls in a shaking breath. "I don't wanna ruin this. Don't wanna fuck this up."

Your heart breaks a little at how scared he sounds. Like you could somehow forget what just happened. Like you haven't already fallen so far there's no way back.

You trace your thumb along his jaw, tilting his face until he's looking at you again.

"You couldn't ruin this if you tried," you whisper. "I'm yours, Harry. I've been yours for so fucking long."

He lets out the softest sound—somewhere between a breath and a laugh—and leans in to kiss you again. This one's slower, softer. No heat, no urgency. Just yours. Just his.

You don't know how long you lie there tangled together, skin sticky, hearts pounding in sync. Long enough for the air to shift. Long enough for the weight of it all to settle over you both in the best kind of way.

When he finally rolls to his side, pulling you with him, tucking you into his chest like you belong there, you hear him murmur against your hair:

"You're not leavin' me after this, yeah?"

You smile, nose brushing his throat as you snuggle closer.

"Not a chance."

And you swear you feel him smile against your skin, arms tightening around you like he's never letting go.

Not tonight. Not ever.

***