#bratty!reader

not in a weird way. not in a way that makes her uncomfortable. just… constant. like no matter where she is in the room, no matter who she’s talking to, she can feel it. heavy. focused. on her.

she’s halfway through laughing at something one of her friends said when she glances over her shoulder, and—there he is.

leaned back in his chair, arm slung over the back, beer untouched in his hand. he’s not talking to anyone. not really paying attention to anything either.

just her. she grins immediately, because of course he is.

“what?” she mouths across the table, tilting her head, a little teasing.

his jaw shifts. something small, almost like he’s fighting a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his mouth.

“come here,” he says, not loud, but she hears it anyway.

she always does. she makes a face at him, dramatic, dragging it out on purpose as she finishes her sentence, laughs a little louder than necessary, just to annoy him. she knows he hates that—hates when she pulls attention like that, hates when people look at her too long.

it’s fun. he doesn’t react. not really. just watches. that’s new.

usually by now he’d be giving her a look. sharp. warning. the kind that makes heat crawl up her spine because she knows exactly what it means—stop it or i will come get you myself.

but he doesn’t. he just sits there. waiting.

it should be nothing. it is nothing. she tells herself that as she finally pushes out of her chair, smoothing her skirt down like she didn’t just do all that on purpose, like she isn’t already smiling again as she makes her way over.

“you’re obsessed with me,” she says, dropping into his lap without asking, arms looping around his shoulders like it’s second nature. “it’s actually embarrassing.”

his hand comes up automatically, settling at her waist. firm. steady.

“yeah?” he says, low, eyes on her face. “that so?”

“mhm,” she hums, leaning in closer, like she’s about to tell him a secret. “everyone can tell.”

she expects it then. the reaction.

the little shift in his grip. the way his fingers tighten just enough to make her breath hitch. the quiet, possessive “is that right?” that always follows, like he’s already planning how to prove otherwise.

“let them.”

she blinks.

“what?”

“i said, let them.” his thumb moves once against her side, slow, absent. “don’t care.”

it’s not what she expected. not bad. not wrong. just… off, in a way she can’t quite place. so she does what she always does when something feels off. she pushes.

“wow,” she says, leaning back a little to look at him properly, lips curling. “what happened to you being all—” she lowers her voice, mocking him lightly, “—don’t like people looking at you like that, baby?”

his expression doesn’t change much. maybe his jaw tightens a little. maybe.

“still don’t.”

“doesn’t seem like it,” she shoots back, poking at his chest. “you didn’t even glare at him.”

“who?”

she rolls her eyes, dramatic. “the guy who’s been staring at me all night? keep up.”

his gaze flicks past her for half a second. dismissive, then back to her.

“he’s not important.”

“mmm,” she hums, not letting it go, because why would she? “usually you’d be all weird about it.”

“i’m not weird.”

she snorts. “you’re a little weird.”

his hand tightens then. just slightly. enough to make her notice.

“careful.”

there it is.

she smiles instantly, pleased with herself, leaning back into him again like she didn’t just poke at him on purpose.

“there you are,” she murmurs.

his fingers press into her side once, like a warning, but he doesn’t say anything else. just lets her settle, arm firm around her waist, holding her there like he always does.

it’s fine.

it’s normal.

she tells herself that as she plays with the chain around his neck, absent, mind drifting, attention slipping back to the noise of the party around them.

he’s quieter than usual, maybe.

a little less… reactive. but he’s here. he’s with her. his hand hasn’t left her waist once. so it doesn’t matter. it doesn’t.

she tips her head back to look at him again, grin softening into something sweeter this time.

“you missed me?” she asks, even though she already knows the answer.

his eyes don’t leave her face. “yeah.” simple. easy. like always.

she leans in, presses a quick kiss to his mouth, soft and careless, like she’s done it a hundred times before. he kisses her back, just as quick, just as easy. but his hand doesn’t pull her any closer. and she doesn’t notice that yet.

she doesn’t let go of his hand the second they leave.

it’s subtle at first—just her fingers threading through his like it’s nothing, like it’s always been like this. she’s still buzzing from the night, from the warmth of him pressed against her, from the way he didn’t pull away when she leaned into him in front of everyone. it makes her a little braver than she should be, like she can get away with anything as long as she keeps looking at him like that. his hand closes around hers without hesitation.

“you’re quiet,” she says as they walk out into the cooler air, heels clicking against the pavement. “that’s suspicious.”

he glances down at her for a second. “i’m always quiet.”

“not like this,” she insists, swinging their hands a little as she walks backward in front of him for a moment, forcing him to slow down. “you’re doing the whole… brooding soldier thing.”

his mouth twitches like he wants to smile, but he doesn’t give her the full thing. “you say that like it’s a thing i turn on.”

“isn’t it?” she tilts her head, pretending to think. “you come back all mysterious and emotionally unavailable and suddenly you think you’re above me.” he stops walking. so she does too.

there’s a beat where she thinks she went too far, like maybe this is where he finally gives her that look. the one that shuts her up. but instead he just watches her, calm in a way that feels too steady for how she’s acting.

then he steps closer. “above you?” he repeats, quieter now.

she swallows, but she doesn’t back up. she never does. “yeah,” she says anyway, softer now too, because she can feel him closer, heat curling into her space. “you know. all serious. all—”

his hand comes up, not rough, just firm, thumb brushing under her chin so she looks at him properly.

“you talk too much,” he says, and there it was. the old version of him. she grins instantly.

“you missed me,” she says again, like it’s a fact she’s collecting proof for.

his eyes hold hers for a second longer than necessary. “yeah,” he admits again, like it’s still simple. like it’s still easy. it makes something warm twist in her chest. he doesn’t let go of her hand when they start walking again.

his place isn’t far, and she’s been there enough times that it doesn’t feel like a big deal anymore. still, there’s something about it tonight that feels different—the way the door clicks shut behind them, the way the silence settles in softer than outside, like the whole world got smaller the second it’s just them. she kicks off her shoes immediately.

“finally,” she sighs dramatically, flopping onto his couch like she owns it. “i can breathe.” he shuts the door, locks it, then looks over at her like she’s ridiculous.

“you were breathing fine five minutes ago.”

“you don’t know that,” she says, stretching out, arms above her head, like she’s testing the space for him. “you weren’t watching me that closely.”

he doesn’t answer that. just walks closer instead. she watches him like she always does when he gets like this—quiet, focused, like he’s deciding something without telling her what it is. it should make her nervous. it never does. he stops in front of her.

“what,” she says, smiling up at him, “are you gonna tell me to behave now?”

“no.” that makes her pause. just a little. then he leans down and kisses her.

it’s not gentle. not rough either. just certain. like he’s been thinking about it longer than she has. her hands go up automatically, grabbing at his shirt like she’s anchoring herself, and she makes a small sound into his mouth that she would absolutely deny if anyone ever heard it. he pulls her up without breaking it. she goes willingly.

her knees hit the couch, then she’s on her feet, then she’s closer—too close, always too close with him, like there’s no such thing as space that actually lasts between them. his hands are at her waist again, the same place they always end up, like it’s the only place he knows where to hold her properly.

“baby,” he murmurs against her mouth, and it’s quieter than everything else.

she laughs a little, breathless. “what?”

“you’re shaking.”

“i’m not.” he pulls back just enough to look at her. his thumb presses lightly into her side like he’s checking anyway. she hates that he’s right.

“it’s just you,” she says, like that explains everything. something shifts in his expression at that. something softer, but heavier too, like it lands somewhere deeper than she means it to.

“yeah?” he says.

she nods once, smaller now, less teasing. “yeah.” that’s all it takes.

he kisses her again, slower this time, and she melts into it like she’s been waiting for it without realizing. her hands move without thinking—shirt, shoulders, pulling him closer like she can’t get enough of the space he’s taking up, like she’s trying to make up for every moment he was gone without actually saying it out loud.

his grip tightens at her waist again, steadier now, more certain. “my love,” he says quietly, like it slips out before he can stop it.

she freezes for half a second. then she looks at him like she’s trying not to smile too hard. “you just said that on purpose.”

“no,” he says immediately, but there’s something in his eyes that gives him away.

she leans in again anyway, slower now, softer. “say it again then.”

his jaw tightens like he’s thinking about it too much.

then he doesn’t answer with words. he just kisses her deeper instead, and this time she doesn’t tease him for it. her hands slide up his neck, fingers in his hair, pulling him closer like she forgot how to breathe properly when he looks at her like that.

the couch shifts under them as he guides her back without breaking it, like he already knows where this is going, like he’s been here before even if they haven’t tonight. her heart is loud in her ears now, louder than anything else, and she laughs softly into his mouth like she can’t help it.

“you’re so bossy,” she whispers when she finally gets a second to breathe.

his forehead rests against hers for a moment.

“you like it.”

she opens her mouth to argue.

doesn’t get the chance to finish.

he kisses her again, and everything after that starts to blur in the way it always does when it stops being about talking at all, and becomes something else entirely—

“rafey,” she breathes out a moan as he starts to rub her gently through her panties. “mm…g’me more.” she whispers, grinding down against his solid cock through his jeans.

he ignores her words, continuing to rub her clit. he doesn’t break the barrier between the cloth and his skin.

“baby, quit that.” he demands as she starts to whine and be more aggressive with her grinding, gently smacking her ass, making her yelp.

she grinds down roughly until he caves in and takes her lace panties off, throwing them to the side. he doesn’t waste time, sticking a finger between the wet folds and into her tight hole.

“oh, jesus, fuck!” she hisses, wrapping her arms around his neck and whimpering as he immediately puts in two more fingers, not bothering to stretch her out.

"you're doin' so good for me, honey, just a little bit more.” he coos into her ear as he starts to thrust his fingers faster.

she gasps and squirms, but he grabs her hips firmly. “no ma’am. stay still.” he murmurs gruffly.

“oh my god, rafe, ‘m gonna cum!” she cries, burying her head in the crook of his neck as she gets ready to cum, only for him to pull his fingers out.

“don’t you think i deserve to cum, too, sweet girl?” he asks as he takes his cock out of his pants, rubbing the tip against the lips of her pussy.

“y-you do.” she stutters a bit, arching her back so his tip would reach the hole of her cunt.

he leans down to kiss her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth. she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him closer.

he finally pushes his cock deep inside, burying himself in her hear.

“you feel that, baby?” he asks as she gasps. “its all for you, honey.”

she reaches up to tangle her hand in his hair, wrapping her legs around his torso as his hips snap forward. he reaches down to rub her clit in circles.

“oh..oh, rafe!” she cries out, tugging his hair and coming all over his shaft.

“thats it. milk me dry, sweetheart.” he groans as she clenches around him, and cums just from her little sounds and how tight she is.

after a moment of slow thrusts, he stops completely and pulls out, perfectly content. “you’re such a good girl, babe.”

“yea, whatever.” she says quietly, recovering from becoming undone so quickly.

his weight is still over her, one arm braced beside her head, the other resting low at her waist like it belongs there.

she’s smiling before she even realizes it.

lazy. soft.

“hi,” she murmurs, like they didn’t just do all that, like she’s starting over again.

his eyes flick over her face, slower this time. quieter.

“hi.”

she reaches up, pushing his hair back a little where it fell forward, fingers lingering longer than necessary. “you look at me like that again and i’m gonna think you’re obsessed.”

“you already think that.”

“because it’s true,” she hums, pleased with herself.

usually, this is where he’d say something back. something low, something that makes her feel it all over again. usually he leans into it, lets her drag it out, lets her keep going until it turns into something else.

but he doesn’t.

he just watches her for a second longer.

then shifts slightly, not pulling away completely—just enough that the space between them isn’t suffocating anymore.

it’s small.

she notices anyway.

her hand slides down from his hair to his neck, thumb brushing there absentmindedly. “you’re quiet again.”

“tired,” he says, like it’s simple.

“mm. you weren’t tired five minutes ago.”

that almost gets a reaction.

almost.

his mouth twitches like he’s debating whether to respond, then he just exhales through his nose, glancing away for half a second like something else pulled his attention.

she follows it instinctively.

nothing’s there.

when she looks back at him, his expression is the same—but not really. something’s pulled tighter underneath it. more controlled.

she tilts her head, studying him now instead of teasing.

“you do that a lot,” she says.

“what?”

“go somewhere else.” her fingers press lightly at his neck, bringing his attention back to her. “like you’re not here.”

he doesn’t answer right away

just looks at her again. steady. unreadable in a way he wasn’t earlier.

“i’m here,” he says finally.

“you are,” she agrees, softer now. “just not like… before.”

there’s a pause.

not uncomfortable. just… heavier than it should be.

so she does what she always does when things feel too serious.

she smiles, lighter, leaning up just enough to brush her mouth against his again, quick and playful. “it’s okay. i’ll fix it.”

his hand tightens slightly at her waist. “fix what?”

“you,” she says easily. “you’re being weird.”

that does it. not a full reaction—but enough. his jaw shifts. subtle. controlled. “i’m not being weird.”

“you are,” she insists, nudging his shoulder with hers. “you’re like—” she makes a vague motion with her hand, “—all serious. it’s annoying.”

“yeah?” his tone is still even. too even.

“yeah. i liked you better when you were obsessed with me.”

that pulls his eyes back to hers fully.

something flickers there. quick. hard to place.

“i am,” he says.

she smiles immediately, satisfied. “good.”

but it doesn’t feel the same.

she can tell.

not because of what he said—but because of how he said it. like it costs him more now. like he’s choosing his words instead of just letting them happen.

she shifts under him slightly, pulling the throw blanket up without thinking, tucking it around herself as she settles back into the couch.

“stay,” she murmurs, softer now, reaching for him again like it’s automatic. “don’t go all quiet on me.”

he hesitates.

just for a second.

then he lays back down beside her instead of over her this time, arm still coming around her, pulling her into his side.

it’s still warm.

still familiar.

still him.

she relaxes into it easily, head tucked against his shoulder, fingers tracing lazy patterns against his chest like she always does when she’s half-distracted, half-content.

“missed this,” she mumbles.

his arm tightens just slightly around her.

“yeah.”

she smiles to herself, eyes closing for a second.

it feels right.

it should feel right.

but after a moment, she tilts her head just enough to look up at him again.

“say it again.”

he glances down. “what?”

“that,” she says, nudging him. “the my love thing.”

his expression stills. “why?”

“because i like it,” she says, like it’s obvious. “and you don’t say it enough.”

he looks at her for a long second. then away. “not a big deal.”

she frowns slightly.

“it is to me.”

he doesn’t answer.

and this time, when the silence settles in, it doesn’t feel soft.

it feels like something she can’t quite reach.

the next morning, she wakes up to an empty bed.

it takes her a second to register it, still half asleep, face pressed into his pillow, arm stretched across where he should be. the sheets are still warm though, which makes her frown a little less, eyes barely opening as she shifts onto her back.

“rafe,” she mumbles, voice rough with sleep.

no answer.

she blinks a few times, staring up at the ceiling, then rolls over again like maybe he’ll just appear if she waits long enough. he doesn’t. her lips purse slightly.

“rude,” she mutters to herself, pushing herself up on her elbows, hair falling into her face. she glances around his room like he might be hiding in it, like this is some kind of game, but it’s quiet. too quiet.

then she remembers. gym. of course.

she flops back down for a second, dramatic, staring at the ceiling again like this is the worst thing that’s ever happened to her. then she sighs, long and exaggerated, and finally drags herself out of bed. his shirt is the first thing she grabs.

it’s half hanging off a chair, wrinkled, smelling like him, and she pulls it over her head without thinking, letting it fall down her thighs. she doesn’t bother with anything else, just tugs it into place and runs her fingers through her hair a few times, trying to make herself look less like she just woke up, even though she kind of likes that look on herself. he definitely does.

she glances at herself in the mirror briefly, tilts her head, then shrugs. good enough.

the hallway is quiet when she steps out, bare legs brushing against each other as she walks, still waking up fully. she’s smiling a little already though, because she knows exactly how this is going to go.

he’s going to act like he didn’t expect her. like he wasn’t thinking about her at all and she’s going to ruin that. the gym doors are glass, so she sees him before he sees her.

he’s on the far side, back to her, moving through a set like it’s routine, controlled, focused in that way he gets when he’s locked into something. there’s something about it that makes her pause for a second, just watching him.

he looks… good. different, a little, but good. she pushes the door open quietly anyway. he doesn’t notice right away. which is annoying.

so she leans against one of the machines, arms crossed loosely, watching him finish, letting the silence stretch just enough. then, sweetly, “you’re so annoying.”

he stops. not abruptly. just… stills for a second before setting the weight down properly, turning his head slightly like he already knows it’s her.

“morning,” he says.

like this is normal. like he didn’t just leave her in his bed. she pushes off the machine, walking toward him slowly, eyes dragging over him in a way that’s not subtle at all.

“you left me,” she says, soft, accusing in a way that isn’t serious.

he watches her come closer, expression steady. “you were sleeping.”

“yeah,” she agrees, stopping right in front of him. “with you.”

“you looked comfortable.”

she tilts her head, unimpressed. “i would’ve been more comfortable if you were still there.”

his jaw shifts slightly at that, something flickering behind his eyes, but he doesn’t take the bait right away, so she steps closer until there’s barely any space between them, her hands coming up without asking, resting lightly against his chest like they always do.

“you didn’t even wake me up,” she adds, quieter now, like she’s actually a little offended.

“didn’t want to.”

“why?” she scoffs.

“because,” he says, looking down at her, voice lower now, “you were sleeping.”

she narrows her eyes at him, then smiles, slow and teasing. “you’re lying.”

he exhales through his nose, like he’s already tired of her. “about what, baby?”

“you just didn’t want me distracting you,” she says, fingers pressing lightly into his chest, sliding a little like she’s proving her point. “which is rude, by the way. i’m very motivating.”

“you’re not motivating.”

“i am,” she insists, stepping even closer, like that’s possible. “you just don’t have self control.”

that gets a reaction. small, but there.

his hand comes up, wrapping around her wrist, not stopping her, just holding it there.

“you came down here to start something?”

“no,” she says immediately, smiling up at him. “i came down here because you abandoned me.”

“didn’t abandon you.”

“felt like it.”

“you’re dramatic.”

“you like it.”

his grip tightens just slightly. “sometimes.”

she beams, clearly pleased with herself, then glances around the mostly empty gym before looking back at him again. “you missed me?”

he looks at her for a second longer than necessary. “you’ve been awake for ten minutes.”

“answer the question.”

he doesn’t right away. just studies her, thumb brushing once against her wrist, absent, like he’s thinking about it more than he should. “yeah,” he says finally. simple. easy.

it makes her soften immediately, even if she tries to hide it. “good,” she murmurs, stepping closer again, her other hand sliding up his arm, slow, like she’s not even thinking about it. “because i woke up and you weren’t there and it was kind of upsetting.”

“you survived.”

“barely.”

he almost smiles at that. almost. she catches it anyway.

“there it is,” she says quietly, leaning in just enough that her voice drops with it. “i knew you weren’t that serious.”

“i’m not serious.”

“you are,” she insists, brushing her mouth just near his jaw, not quite a kiss. “it’s weird.”

his hand shifts from her wrist to her waist, steady, grounding. “you’re the weird one.”

she hums, pleased, leaning into him like she won. “i know.” for a second, it feels like everything settles back into place. easy. familiar.

she presses a quick kiss to his jaw, then pulls back just enough to look at him again, eyes bright, a little smug.

“next time,” she says, tugging lightly at his shirt, “you wake me up.”

his hand stays at her waist, firm.

“next time,” he repeats.

“yeah,” she nods, like it’s obvious. “don’t leave me.”

there’s a pause.

small.

barely noticeable.

but it’s there.

his grip tightens just slightly, eyes on her face in a way that feels a little too focused for something so simple.

“you’ll be fine,” he says.

she rolls her eyes immediately, nudging him.

“not the point.”

he doesn’t argue.

just looks at her for another second, then pulls her a little closer, hand still steady at her waist like he hasn’t decided to let go yet.

and she lets him.

her roommate is already at her desk when she gets back, hunched over her laptop, glasses slipping down her nose, typing like the world is going to end if she stops.

she barely looks up when the door swings open.

“you’re late,” she says, flat.

“i was with him,” she answers just as flat, already kicking her shoes off and heading straight for her closet. “priorities.”

that gets a glance.

a long one.

“you’re always with him.”

“because i like him,” she shoots back, like it’s obvious, pulling out two tops and holding them up in the mirror. “help me pick. i’m already behind.”

her roommate sighs, pushing her glasses up properly now, turning in her chair. “which party is this again?”

“mine,” she says, grinning a little. “obviously.”

“that doesn’t narrow it down.”

“the one tonight,” she laughs, tossing one of the tops onto her bed. “don’t be annoying.”

“i’m not being annoying, you just never tell me anything.”

“i tell you everything,” she insists, already halfway out of her shirt, not even caring. “you just don’t listen.”

“i listen,” her roommate says, watching her dig through her clothes. “you just talk in circles about him.”

she pauses.

just for a second.

then keeps moving.

“i do not.”

“you do,” she says, matter-of-fact. “you either talk about how obsessed he is with you or how he’s being weird.”

she turns, pointing at her. “he has been weird.”

“you say that every week.”

“because he is every week,” she argues, grabbing a skirt this time and holding it up. “it’s like a cycle. he’s normal, then he gets all quiet and serious, and then he’s normal again. it’s annoying.”

“maybe he’s just… like that.”

“no,” she says immediately. “he wasn’t like that before.”

her roommate raises an eyebrow. “before what?”

she opens her mouth.

closes it.

shrugs.

“before,” she repeats, like that explains anything, turning back to the mirror. “this one? or this one?”

“second one,” her roommate says without hesitation.

“thank you,” she says, already pulling it on, satisfied.

there’s a second of quiet, just the sound of her moving around, grabbing her makeup bag, sitting on the edge of the bed.

then, softer, “you really like him, don’t you?”

she rolls her eyes, but there’s no bite to it.

“obviously.”

“like… a lot.”

she pauses, mascara wand hovering for a second.

then shrugs again, casual, like it doesn’t matter.

“yeah.”

her roommate watches her for a second longer.

“and he likes you.”

“i know,” she says, smiling a little to herself now, going back to her lashes. “he’s obsessed with me.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

she laughs, shaking her head. “you’re overthinking it.”

“i don’t think i am.”

“you are,” she insists, standing up again, smoothing her outfit down. “we’re fine. he’s just… weird sometimes.”

“you keep saying that.”

“because it’s true.”

her roommate doesn’t argue again. just watches her grab her phone, check herself one last time in the mirror, then turn toward the door. “don’t wait up,” she says, already halfway out.

“i never do.”

the party is loud before she even gets inside.

music, voices, people packed together, the kind of energy that hits all at once and makes her grin immediately. this is her space. her people. her night. “there she is,” someone calls the second she walks in.

she doesn’t even know who it is, but she laughs anyway, already being pulled into it, into them, into everything. drinks get pushed into her hand. she doesn’t say no. she never does. time blurs fast after that.

music gets louder, or maybe she just stops noticing it. she’s dancing, laughing, talking to people she barely knows, people she does know, people who keep telling her she looks good tonight, and she soaks it up easily, like she always does.

someone spins her around, she nearly trips, laughs harder.

“careful,” a voice says, close to her ear.

“i’m fine,” she insists, even though she’s already grabbing onto someone else to steady herself.

her phone buzzes at some point.

she feels it.

ignores it.

she’s too busy, too warm, too light, too everything.

she doesn’t think about him.

not really.

not until much later, when the music starts to feel like too much and her head feels heavier than it should.

she says her goodbyes lazily, hugging people she probably won’t remember hugging, grabbing her phone and her things without really checking anything, and stumbles her way out into the cooler air.

the walk back is slower.

quieter.

her thoughts finally catching up to her a little, though they’re still fuzzy around the edges.

she fumbles with her keys at the door, drops them once, laughs at herself, then finally gets it open.

the room is dark.

she doesn’t think anything of it at first.

just kicks her shoes off again, moving inside, already reaching to turn on the light when something makes her stop.

someone’s sitting on her bed.

she freezes.

just for a second.

then her eyes adjust

him.

he’s leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, staring at the floor like he hasn’t moved in a while.

he doesn’t notice her.

that’s what makes her stomach drop a little.

she’s never seen him like that.

not like this.

not when he thinks no one’s looking.

“hey,” she says softly.

he looks up immediately.

too fast.

like he didn’t expect to be caught.

his expression shifts the second he sees her, something closing off, something familiar snapping back into place.

“hey.”

she watches him for a second.

then walks over slowly, quieter now, the haze from earlier fading just enough.

“what are you doing here,” she asks, softer.

“came to see you.”

“you didn’t text.”

“didn’t think i needed to.”

normally, she’d tease him for that.

she doesn’t.

she steps closer instead, stopping right in front of him, studying his face like she’s trying to catch what she saw before it disappeared.

“you okay.”

“yeah,” he says.

too quick.

she tilts her head slightly.

“you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

she doesn’t argue.

just moves.

climbs into his lap like it’s second nature, like she always does, legs settling on either side of him, arms coming up around his shoulders without asking.

this time, she’s slower about it.

careful.

“tell me,” she murmurs, softer now, her voice right by his ear.

his hands come up automatically, resting at her waist, but there’s no pressure behind it yet. no grounding, no pulling her closer.

just there.

he exhales once.

slow.

“i got a call.”

she stills slightly.

“about what.”

he looks at her properly now.

and there’s something there that she hasn’t seen before.

something heavier.

“one of my guys,” he says, voice quieter than usual. “he didn’t make it.”

her chest tightens immediately.

“what.”

“happened this morning.”

she blinks, trying to process it through the lingering fog in her head.

“you mean… like—”

“yeah.”

the word lands heavier than anything else.

for a second, she doesn’t know what to say.

she’s never seen him like this.

never seen him not know what to do with something.

so she does the only thing she can think of.

she leans in, pressing her face into the side of his neck, arms tightening around him, holding him there like that might help somehow.

“i’m sorry,” she whispers.

his grip on her waist finally tightens.

just a little.

like he needed that.

like he didn’t know he did until she did it.

he doesn’t say anything.

just holds her there, quiet, the room settling around them in a way that feels completely different from earlier.

“i’m here,” she murmurs again, softer this time, like she’s trying to convince him of it. “okay?”

he nods once.

barely.

it’s not enough for her.

it’s never enough for her.

so she shifts, sliding off his lap just long enough to grab his hand, tugging at him lightly.

“come here,” she says, quieter now, gentler than she’s ever been with him.

he doesn’t resist.

lets her pull him up, lets her guide him the two steps to her bed like he’s not really thinking about it, like he’s just following because she asked.

she climbs on first, scooting back against the pillows, then looks at him expectantly.

“c’mon.”

he watches her for a second.

then climbs in beside her.

she doesn’t give him space to overthink it, immediately curling into his side, one leg thrown over his, arms wrapping around him again like she’s trying to keep him there.

this time, he pulls her in too.

it’s automatic.

his arm wraps around her, hand settling at her back, pressing her closer until she’s tucked right against him.

that part feels normal.

familiar.

she relaxes into it instantly, cheek pressed to his chest, listening to his breathing, slower than hers, heavier.

“better?” she asks quietly.

he hums something that could be a yes.

she tilts her head up slightly, looking at him.

“you wanna talk about him?”

his eyes flick down to hers.

then away.

“no.”

she nods.

“okay.”

she lets it go.

for now.

her fingers start moving against his shirt without thinking, tracing little patterns like she always does when she’s trying to calm herself down, or him, or both.

it’s quiet for a minute.

just them.

just breathing.

she shifts a little closer.

“you’re okay, right?” she asks, softer now, like she’s not sure she should.

he doesn’t answer right away.

she feels his chest rise under her cheek, then fall.

“i’m fine.”

she pulls back just enough to look at him.

“you’re not.”

his jaw tightens slightly.

“i said i’m fine.”

“yeah, i heard you,” she says, not backing off, not this time. “i just don’t believe you.”

he looks at her then.

really looks at her.

and for a second, it feels like he’s about to say something real.

something honest.

something she can actually hold onto.

but then it closes off again.

like a door shutting.

“it’s different,” he says instead.

she frowns.

“what is?”

“this,” he gestures vaguely, like he doesn’t even know how to explain it. “you don’t get it.”

that lands wrong.

she goes still for a second, her grip on him loosening just slightly.

“don’t get what?”

he exhales, already looking away again.

“nothing.”

“no,” she says, pushing herself up a little, eyes on him now. “don’t do that. you just said something and then—what am i not getting?”

he shakes his head once, like he doesn’t want to do this.

“it’s not something i can explain.”

“then try,” she insists, softer now, but there’s something under it. frustration, maybe. confusion. “i’m literally right here.”

“i know you are.”

“then why are you acting like i’m not?”

that makes him go quiet.

too quiet.

she stares at him for a second longer, waiting.

he doesn’t say anything.

doesn’t reach for her.

doesn’t fix it.

so she huffs softly, dropping her gaze, laying back down again but not as close this time. there’s still space between them now. not much, but enough that she notices.

“you’re being weird,” she mutters.

“i’m not.”

“you are,” she says, turning her head to look at him again. “i’m trying to be here for you and you’re just… shutting me out.”

“i’m not shutting you out.”

“then what are you doing?”

he doesn’t answer.

again.

and that’s what gets her.

not anger.

not snapping.

just… nothing.

she stares at him for another second, then looks away, pulling the blanket up a little higher over herself.

“whatever,” she says quietly.

the word sits there between them.

he doesn’t argue.

doesn’t pull her back in right away.

just lies there, staring at the ceiling like he’s somewhere else again.

and for the first time since he walked in, she doesn’t reach for him either.

she just stays where she is

close enough to touch.

but not touching.

the next few days feel normal enough that she almost convinces herself she imagined it.

not completely normal.

just enough.

he texts her more again. shorter messages, but still. he calls her baby over the phone one night and it catches her off guard enough that she smiles at her wall like an idiot for five whole minutes afterward. he picks her up from class twice that week, one hand lazy on her thigh while he drives, listening to her ramble about some girl in her sorority she can’t stand.

it’s easier when she doesn’t push.

she starts realizing that.

when she lets him come to her, things feel okay again. not perfect, maybe, but familiar enough that she stops picking at it so much.

so she tries.

really tries.

she’s sitting on his kitchen counter one night while he cooks something simple, legs swinging lightly against the cabinets, wearing one of his hoodies and tiny shorts underneath that he definitely noticed five minutes ago and pretended not to.

“you’re burning it,” she says, watching him stir something in a pan.

“i’m not burning it.”

“it smells burned.”

“that’s because you don’t know what garlic smells like.”

she gasps softly, offended. “wow.”

he glances at her finally, unimpressed. “you eat like a twelve year old.”

“and yet you’re still in love with me.”

his jaw shifts slightly at that.

small.

barely there.

but she notices it.

she notices everything.

still, this time, he answers.

“unfortunately.”

she grins immediately, pleased, sliding off the counter before walking over to him. her arms wrap around his waist from behind, cheek pressing between his shoulder blades.

“that wasn’t very convincing.”

“wasn’t supposed to be.”

“good,” she hums. “because i’m adorable.”

he snorts softly under his breath.

actually snorts.

it makes her smile against his back.

there he is.

she squeezes him once before moving around to stand in front of him instead, hands sliding up his chest slowly.

“you missed me today?”

“you saw me this morning.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

his eyes flick down to her.

then back up again.

“yeah,” he says quietly.

it warms her immediately.

“see?” she says softly, smug again now. “you’re getting better.”

“better at what?”

“being normal.”

that makes something shift.

she feels it under her hands before she fully sees it, the way his shoulders tense slightly, the way his expression closes off for half a second too long.

then it’s gone again.

“i was always normal,” he says.

she smiles lightly, pretending not to notice.

“sure.”

he goes back to cooking after that, quieter again, but not in the bad way. at least she tells herself it’s not the bad way.

later, they end up on the couch together, her sprawled across him while some movie plays in the background neither of them are really watching.

she’s mostly focused on bothering him.

“if you loved me,” she says seriously, tracing shapes against his arm, “you’d buy me that necklace i sent you.”

“the ugly one?”

she gasps again. “it is not ugly.”

“looked cheap.”

“you looked cheap when i met you and i still gave you a chance.”

his hand tightens once against her thigh.

“careful.”

she smiles immediately.

there it is again.

that low warning tone that had been missing lately.

“or what?” she asks sweetly.

his eyes move to her finally, slower this time.

steady.

“you know exactly what.”

heat curls low in her stomach instantly.

she shifts on top of him slightly, leaning closer, pleased with herself for getting him to react again.

“missed that,” she murmurs.

“yeah?”

“mhm.” she presses a quick kiss to his jaw. “you were being boring.”

his hand slides higher on her thigh automatically, firm enough to make her breath catch slightly.

“i’m never boring.”

“you kinda were,” she teases softly. “all quiet and moody.”

his fingers pause for half a second.

then keep moving.

“thought you liked me quiet.”

“not that quiet.”

he looks at her for a second after that.

something unreadable flickering there again.

she hates when he does that.

when he looks at her like he’s thinking something he won’t say out loud.

so she leans in before it can settle too much, kissing him first this time, slow and distracting on purpose.

he kisses her back immediately.

warm.

familiar.

his hand sliding into her hair like muscle memory.

and for a little while, it feels easy again.

like maybe they figured it out.

like maybe she was overthinking everything after all.

until she pulls back eventually, smiling a little, still close enough to feel his breath against her mouth.

“you know what i realized?”

“what?”

“you’re way nicer to me when i’m distracting you.”

his expression stills slightly.

“that right?”

“mhm.” she brushes her nose against his lightly, playful. “otherwise you start acting all weird and existential.”

he doesn’t laugh.

doesn’t tease her back.

just looks at her for a second too long again.

and this time, when he speaks, his voice is quieter.

“you think everything’s a joke.”

the smile slips from her face a little.

not completely.

just enough.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“nothing.”

there it is again.

that word.

nothing.

like he keeps saying things he doesn’t actually want her to hear.

she pulls back a little more now, studying his face.

“no, seriously. what does that mean?”

he shakes his head once, eyes already moving away from hers.

“drop it, baby.”

and the way he says it makes something small tighten in her chest. “no, rafe,” she says immediately, pulling back fully now. “what the fuck does that mean?”

his jaw tightens. “nothing.”

“stop saying that.” her voice sharpens before she can help it. “you keep saying shit and then acting like i’m crazy for asking what you mean.”

“because you drag everything out.”

“because you never explain anything.”

he exhales slowly through his nose, leaning back against the couch like he’s already exhausted by this conversation. “not everything needs to turn into a discussion.”

“yeah, well, when my boyfriend starts talking in riddles every five seconds, i’m gonna ask questions.”

“you’re proving my point.”

she stares at him.

“what point?”

his eyes flick toward her again, colder now. more guarded.

“that you don’t take anything seriously.”

her expression changes instantly. “excuse me?”

“everything’s a joke to you,” he says, calmer than her somehow, which only makes it worse. “everything gets laughed off or teased or turned into something else.”

“oh my god,” she scoffs, sitting up straighter. “because i’m trying to make you feel better?”

“that’s not what you’re doing.”

“then what am i doing?”

he looks at her for a second too long before answering, “avoiding it.”

that lands harder than she expects.

she laughs once, disbelieving. “you literally won’t talk to me.”

“because you don’t get it.”

“stop saying that!” she snaps now, frustration finally bleeding through fully. “what the fuck is there to get, rafe? seriously? you act like i’m stupid every time i ask you something.”

“i don’t think you’re stupid.”

“could’ve fooled me.”

he rubs a hand over his face briefly, like he’s trying to keep himself under control. “you live in this fucking bubble,” he says finally, voice lower now. “school, parties, your friends, stupid little arguments that don’t matter. you think all of this is supposed to stay light all the time because that’s what you’re used to.”

she goes still. just for a second. then her eyes narrow.

“wow.”

“i’m not insulting you.”

“you literally are.”

“i’m explaining it.”

“no, you’re talking down to me.”

his jaw flexes hard at that. “i’m not talking down to you.”

“you basically just called my life stupid.”

“i said it’s different.”

“yeah, different from yours,” she shoots back. “you act like because you’re older and miserable and emotionally constipated now, suddenly i’m childish for not acting the same.”

his eyes harden immediately. “watch your mouth.”

“or what?”

“don’t start that shit with me right now.”

“why?” she challenges, voice sharper now. “because i’m not sitting here nodding along while you act like you’re above me?”

“that’s not what this is.”

“then what is it?”

he stands up suddenly, the movement quick enough to make her blink.

“you wanna know what it is?” he asks, looking down at her now. “it’s exhausting trying to talk to someone who turns everything into a fucking joke because they don’t wanna deal with anything real.”

her mouth falls open slightly. “that’s so unfair.”

“is it?”

“yes!” she stands too now, staring up at him. “i’ve been trying to be there for you all week and you keep shutting me out, but somehow i’m the problem because i don’t sit around brooding like you?”

“you don’t listen.”

“because you don’t say anything!”

“because you don’t hear me when i do.”

they’re too close now, and she doesn’t even realize it happened.

his voice is low, rougher now, and her chest is rising too fast, anger and something else twisting together so tightly she can’t separate them anymore.

“you know what your problem is?” she says, staring right up at him. “you think just because you’ve seen worse things than me, you get to decide my feelings don’t matter.”

his eyes flash. “i never said that.”

“you don’t have to.”

“you act like everything’s about you.”

she laughs sharply. “oh, fuck you.”

“there you go.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“every time something gets uncomfortable, you lash out.”

“because you’re being an asshole!”

his hand suddenly braces against the back of the couch beside her head. not aggressive. just there. pinning her attention completely.

“and every time you don’t know what to say,” he says quietly, “you start acting bratty because it’s easier than actually talking.”

her breath catches slightly.

damn him for that. because he’s right, and they both know it. she hates that he can still do this, still look at her like that even when she’s pissed at him, like he sees straight through her.

“you’re unbelievable,” she mutters, but it comes out weaker now.

his eyes drop to her mouth for half a second, then back up.

“yeah?”

“yeah.”

there’s still anger there. still tension.

but it’s changing now, twisting into something hotter, heavier, the space between them suddenly feeling way too small. she should step back. she doesn’t. neither does he.

“you piss me off so bad sometimes,” she says quietly.

his hand tightens slightly against the couch. “you don’t make it easy.”

“you think you’re so much smarter than me.”

“didn’t say that.”

“you think it.”

“baby—”

“don’t baby me right now.” that almost sounds like a warning when he repeats it.

“baby.”

heat crawls up her spine instantly. she hates that too. hates that her body reacts to him even now, even like this.

his other hand finds her waist slowly, steady and warm through the thin fabric of his shirt she’s still wearing. “you done yelling at me?” he asks quietly.

“no.”

“doesn’t sound very convincing.”

she glares at him. he looks at her mouth again.

and that’s it. that’s the thing that snaps whatever was left holding the argument together. she kisses him first. hard. angry enough that their teeth nearly knock together.

he reacts immediately, hand tightening at her waist as he pulls her flush against him, the kiss turning rough almost instantly, all heat and frustration and too much feeling shoved into one thing.

she makes a small sound against his mouth when he pushes her back against the couch again, and he swallows it immediately, kissing her deeper like he’s trying to shut both of them up at once.

his hand slides up her side. hers tangle into his shirt. everything feels too hot all at once, anger melting into something dizzy and reckless and familiar.

“you’re so fucking difficult,” he mutters against her mouth.

“you love it,” she shoots back breathlessly.

his grip tightens.

then suddenly he’s pulling her fully into his lap, her breath catching as his mouth moves to her jaw, her neck, and right above her tits.

she doesn’t waste a second and strips of her clothes.

he looks her over, his eyes full of love of lust. rafe latches his mouth around her hard nipple, making her gasp and wrap her around around his neck.

she moans as he swirls his tongue around the sensitive pebble, “rafe…want your cock.”

he immediately pulls out his hard member and slams into her, releasing her nipple and kissing her.

she tugs at his hair while whining. rafe thrusts faster and harder by the second, overstimulating her while also rubbing her clit with his free thumb.

she cries out and cums, him following in lead. he softens inside of her and kisses the corner of her mouth.

over the next few days, she avoids him so completely it starts feeling ridiculous.

not intentional at first.

not fully.

the first day, she just doesn’t answer because she’s still angry. her chest still burns every time she replays the argument in her head, every time she remembers the way he looked at her while saying it, calm and sharp at the same time, like he’d already decided she wouldn’t understand him before she even opened her mouth.

the second day, avoiding him becomes easier.

because now she knows he’s looking for her.

she spots his truck outside one of her lecture halls that afternoon and immediately turns around so fast she nearly walks straight into someone behind her.

“shit,” she mutters, grabbing onto the wall.

“you okay?” a guy from her class asks, confused.

“perfect,” she says quickly, already walking the other direction.

her heart pounds the entire way across campus.

stupid.

so stupid.

she doesn’t even fully understand why she’s doing this.

it’s not like they broke up.

they’ve argued before. constantly, actually. little arguments, bigger ones, dramatic ones that ended with her storming off and him dragging her back by the waist ten minutes later because neither of them could stay mad long enough to make it matter.

but this one feels different.

quieter.

worse.

because he didn’t yell.

he didn’t lose control.

he just looked at her like she was exhausting him.

like loving her was starting to feel harder than it used to.

and maybe that isn’t what he meant.

but it’s what she heard.

which is the problem.

by the third day, her phone is full of missed calls.

she stares at the notifications from across the room while her roommate types away at her desk like none of this is happening.

“you know,” her roommate says eventually, without looking up, “at some point, this stops being avoidance and starts becoming psychological warfare.”

she’s sprawled face-down across her bed, one arm hanging off the side dramatically.

“i’m not avoiding him.”

“right. and i’m not failing calculus.”

she groans into her pillow.

“he pissed me off.”

“obviously.”

“like… really pissed me off.”

“yes,” her roommate says dryly. “i gathered that from the fact you almost had a breakdown because he viewed your instagram story.”

she lifts her head immediately. “i did not almost have a breakdown.”

“you stared at the ceiling for twenty minutes afterward.”

“that’s unrelated.”

her roommate finally looks over at her then, expression unimpressed.

“you miss him.”

she immediately drops her face back into the pillow.

“no i don’t.”

“you literally sleep in his shirts when you’re mad at him.”

silence.

“that’s not the point.”

“it kind of is.”

she rolls onto her back dramatically this time, glaring at the ceiling.

because yes.

fine.

she misses him.

she misses him so much it’s actually embarrassing.

she misses stupid things too, which makes it worse.

the weight of his hand on her thigh while he drives.

the way he always reaches for her absentmindedly when they’re sitting together, like touching her became instinct somewhere along the way.

his voice when he’s tired.

the way he says “baby” when he’s annoyed with her.

she hates it.

hates that she can still feel him everywhere even when she’s actively trying not to.

her phone buzzes again on the nightstand.

she already knows who it is before she even checks.

you gonna keep running from me?

her stomach twists instantly.

another text comes before she can stop staring at the first.

this is getting old

she locks her phone immediately.

then unlocks it thirty seconds later.

stares at the messages again.

types:

maybe stop acting like an asshole then

deletes it.

types:

maybe i don’t want to talk to you right now?

deletes that too.

instead, she throws the phone across the bed with a frustrated sound.

“what did he say now?” her roommate asks.

“nothing.”

“that sounded aggressive for nothing.”

she sits up finally, pushing her hair out of her face.

“he keeps acting like i’m the one being unreasonable.”

“are you being unreasonable?”

she glares at her.

her roommate shrugs. “just asking.”

“he basically called me immature.”

“did he say those exact words?”

“…no.”

“then what did he say?”

she opens her mouth.

closes it.

because now that she’s trying to explain it out loud, it sounds stupid he didn’t actually say her life was meaningless. he didn’t actually say she was shallow. he just made her feel that way. and somehow that’s worse.

“forget it,” she mutters, getting off the bed. “i’m going out tonight.”

her roommate watches her carefully. “with who?”

“the girls.”

“to have fun or to make him mad?”

she pauses halfway through pulling open her closet then scoffs.

“obviously to have fun.”

her roommate doesn’t say anything, which is annoying, because somehow silence feels more judgmental.

the party that night is packed before she even gets there. music shaking the walls, girls crowded together in bathrooms, people spilling drinks already and yelling over each other like nobody has classes tomorrow. normally, this is easy for her.

normal. she’s good at this. good at being loud and wanted and glowing under attention. but tonight it feels slightly off, like she’s forcing herself back into a version of normal she can’t fully reach anymore.

still, she tries.

she lets herself get pulled into dancing almost immediately, laughing when someone nearly falls into her.

accepts a drink.

then another.

and another.

“there she is!” one of her friends yells, grabbing her hand. “you disappeared all week.”

“i was busy,” she lies easily.

“with your old man?”

she rolls her eyes instantly. “he’s thirty, relax.”

“exactly,” her friend laughs.

usually she’d defend him faster

tonight she just shrugs and takes another sip of her drink.

her phone buzzes in her purse.

saw your location

her stomach drops instantly. another message appears underneath before she can even breathe properly.

really, baby?

heat floods her chest immediately. she hates how two words from him can still do that. hates how guilty she suddenly feels even though she technically hasn’t done anything wrong.

“you okay?” the guy asks.

“mhm,” she lies. but her chest feels tight now. too tight. the rest of the party blurs after that. she keeps catching herself checking the door. checking her phone.

wondering if he’s actually angry or just hurt.

and the second thought makes her feel infinitely worse. because she knows him. knows how rarely he asks for things emotionally. so if he’s been texting her this much, calling her this much…

he probably really wanted her to answer. that realization follows her all the way back to her dorm.

the hallway is quiet when she finally stumbles upstairs hours later, heels dangling from her fingers, makeup slightly smudged from the heat of the party. she’s exhausted. tipsy enough that her thoughts feel slower now.

she pushes open the dorm door carefully, expecting darkness. instead, the lamp beside her bed is on and he’s sitting there.

her breath catches immediately.

he’s leaning forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped loosely together like he’s been sitting there awhile.

waiting.

he looks up the second she walks in, and suddenly every ounce of alcohol in her system disappears because he looks tired. not angry. not cold. just tired.

his eyes move over her slowly, taking in the outfit, the heels in her hand, the smudged makeup, then back to her face.

“you ignored me,” he says quietly, and somehow that hurts worse than yelling ever could.

she stares at him from the doorway for a second too long, heart still pounding from the surprise of seeing him there.

“how did you even get in?”

“your roommate let me.”

of course she did. she drops her heels by the door a little harder than necessary, suddenly irritated again, all the guilt from earlier twisting into something defensive.

“you can’t just sit in my room waiting for me.”

his expression barely changes.

“i’ve been calling you for three days.”

“and i clearly didn’t answer.”

“yeah,” he says, jaw tightening slightly. “i noticed.”

she looks away first, which annoys her, because she’s still mad at him. she came into this room determined to stay mad at him.

but seeing him sitting there like that, tired and quiet and looking at her like he hasn’t slept properly in days, makes it harder.

“you could’ve texted me you were coming,” she mutters instead, crossing her arms tightly over herself.

“would you’ve answered?”

he exhales through his nose slowly, leaning back against the chair now. “that’s what i thought.”

something about his tone makes irritation spark hot in her chest again. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“talk to me like i’m a child.”

his brows pull together immediately. “i’m not talking to you like a child.”

“you are.”

“because i asked why you ignored me?”

“because you keep acting like i’m insane for being upset with you.”

“i never said you were insane.”

“you don’t have to say it outright, rafe.”

he goes quiet at that. not calm quiet. the dangerous kind.

she recognizes it instantly. normally she’d back off a little here. tease him, soften it, crawl into his lap and distract both of them before it got too serious. but she’s too hurt now. too angry.

“you disappeared,” he says finally, voice lower now. “what was i supposed to think?”

“i don’t know,” she laughs sharply. “maybe that i didn’t wanna talk to you?”

“for three days?”

“yes!”

his jaw flexes hard. “that’s not how relationships work.”

“oh, and what? yours are all healthy and functional?”

that lands. she sees it immediately. but instead of apologizing, she keeps going because she’s frustrated and tired and emotional and he keeps looking at her like she’s something fragile he doesn’t know how to hold anymore.

“you don’t get to show up in my room acting hurt when you’re the one who started this.”

his eyes narrow slightly. “started what?”

“this whole thing!” she gestures wildly between them. “you acting like i’m immature because i don’t process things the same way you do.”

“that is not what i said.”

“it’s what you meant.”

“no,” he says sharply now, standing up suddenly. “it’s what you heard.” the room goes still.

her chest tightens immediately. because that’s the problem, isn’t it? she doesn’t even know anymore if she’s angry at what he said or angry at how deeply it got under her skin. “you think i don’t take anything seriously,” she says quieter now.

his expression shifts slightly. “i think you avoid things.”

“same difference.”

“it’s not.”

“to me it is.”

he drags a hand over his face, frustration finally cracking through properly now.

“why are you acting like i’m attacking you?”

she stares at him. actually stares. “because every time i try to be there for you, you push me away.”

“that’s not true.”

“yes it is!” she snaps. “you shut down and then act irritated when i can’t magically read your mind.”

“because not everything can be fixed with jokes and sex and pretending everything’s okay!” the words hit the room hard.

silence drops immediately after. her face changes instantly, hurt flashing across it so quickly he notices before she can hide it. “wow.”

“that’s not what i meant.”

“no?” she laughs once, but it sounds awful. “because it sounded pretty fucking clear to me.”

“baby—”

“don’t call me that right now.”

his mouth shuts immediately. and somehow that hurts too.

she turns away from him first, blinking hard as she grabs randomly at things on her desk just to have something to do with her hands. “you know what the worst part is?” she says quietly. “i actually tried.”

he watches her carefully now. “i know you did.”

“no, i don’t think you do.” she laughs again softly, shaking her head. “i tried so hard to understand you lately and every single time i got close, you made me feel stupid for it.”

“i never wanted you to feel stupid.”

“well, congratulations.” he takes a step toward her. she steps back immediately. that stops him cold.

and suddenly the room feels too small for both of them. her eyes are glossy now. she hates that. hates crying in front of people, especially him. “you know what?” she says, voice shaking slightly despite how hard she’s trying to control it. “maybe you’re right.”

his brows pull together. “about what?”

“about us being different.”

something flickers across his face immediately. “don’t do that.”

“do what?”

“this.” his voice lowers dangerously. “don’t start talking like it’s over because we had one bad fight.”

she laughs weakly. “one?”

“baby—”

“no, seriously,” she cuts him off. “when’s the last time we actually talked without it turning into this?”

he doesn’t answer right away, which is answer enough.

her chest physically aches now, because she loves him. that’s the horrible part. she loves him so much she kept convincing herself this weird distance between them was temporary. something she could fix if she just loved him correctly enough.

but now she’s looking at him and realizing maybe she can’t. maybe he came back different in ways she doesn’t understand. maybe she stayed the same in ways that make him resent her for it. “i don’t wanna do this anymore,” she says finally.

his face goes completely still. “what?”

the second the word leaves his mouth, she nearly takes it back. because he looks genuinely caught off guard. like he thought they were just fighting. like this possibility never even crossed his mind, and somehow that makes it worse. her throat tightens painfully. “i can’t keep feeling like this,” she whispers.

“feeling like what?”

“like i’m too much for you.”

his expression changes immediately. anger disappearing so fast it almost looks painful. “you are not too much for me.”

“yes i am.”

“stop.”

“you think i’m childish,” she says, tears finally slipping down now despite how much she hates it. “you think i don’t understand anything real and honestly? maybe you’re right. maybe i don’t fit into your life anymore.”

“don’t say that.” his voice sounds rough now. desperate, almost.

she hates that too because part of her wants to run to him immediately, but she can’t do this anymore. can’t keep feeling him slowly pulling away while pretending everything’s fine. “i think we should break up.” silence. actual silence.

“you don’t mean that.”

she starts crying harder immediately because the worst part is she doesn’t know if she does. but she says it anyway. “i do.”

he looks away first this time. and somehow that hurts more than anything else tonight. his jaw works slightly like he’s trying not to say something he’ll regret. then finally he nods once. small. tight. “okay.” she wasn’t expecting that. not really.

she thought he’d fight harder. and the fact he doesn’t makes something inside her crack open completely. he grabs his keys from her desk slowly, movements controlled in that way he gets when he’s holding himself together by force. then he heads for the door. just like that.

he pauses when he gets to the door, turning to look at her. “i leave in two weeks.”

the room goes cold. she stares at him. “what?”

his eyes stay on hers now. steady. empty. “deployment came through yesterday.”

her breath catches so hard it physically hurts.“you’re lying.”

“i’m not.”

everything inside her drops instantly. every bit of anger. every bit of pride. gone. “why didn’t you tell me?”

“when exactly was i supposed to?”

tears blur her vision immediately.

“rafe—”

but he shakes his head once.

small.

final.

then he opens the door.

and leaves.

tags: @amelialovesrafe @alyisdead @illumoria @blissfulbutterfliess @sydneysslove @matthewswifeyy @meetmeintheemeraldpool @lcversvoid @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @cokewithcameron @drewrry @harubunnyy @lifeonawhim @ar1ynx @tottassss @nessasmultiverseoflove @camerxnlove @mochibunnyyyy @starkeysfile @rosiecherie @faiux @my-fabulousness-has-arrived @angelicameron @p34rlzzz @maximumstructurearchivist @seraphiccrafe @graciegibsonn @obxobsessedbitch1 @dabishou @corallandtragedy3 @dxphhnnee @angxls @l1ttlebones @kavycakes @drewsbby @ghosttinvs @fiercetigerpoison @friedvoidstrawberry @ssugartalkin @whimsygayho @bonni-98 @sex-the1975 @juulsie @estrellabeatriz15 @heavenstolemyheart @baeeyar @lostinisara @outersbanksgirly @marsisonmarsrn

he was a man of routine, strict routine. he would be happy if nothing ever changed, but he understood life, and understood you, well enough to know that was impossible. so he let it happen. he said yes to your endless ramble over breakfast, swishing your fork in the air as you spoke, leaving your food to grow cold.

"—and this is the club where you need to pay a ridiculous entry fee, and so dana booked it for us, and it was discount—"

"sweetheart, you can go." he laughed, reaching over the table to tap the edge of your plate. "no need to explain. now eat."

so he watched you be on your best behaviour all day, doing exactly as he asked, not bombarding him with questions and requests all at once. he even sat on the edge of the tub as you did your makeup, swapping between watching you and reading his book.

"let me get you a snack, don't want you drinking on an empty stomach." dex mumbled, passing you with a hand drifting over your back as he left.

he was okay with you being out, trusted you and your friends enough that you'd be safe. and you knew if you ever needed dex, he wouldn't even let the phone ring once before he was on his way to get you. but returning to the bathroom with some cheese and crackers, seeing you adjusting the straps of the tiniest dress he'd ever seen; his mind had blown its fuse.

"you sure you wanna go out in that?" he offered, the plate now dismissed on the dresser.

you stopped fumbling with the hem of your dress, pressed against the skin of your breasts. and looked up at him. "this? what's the problem?"

dex scoffed, taking a hair tie from the dresser and throwing it on the floor behind you. "pick that up for me?"

you knew the moment you bent over to grab it, your argument was null and void.

"yeah, not a chance." he folded his arms. "take it off."

"when do you ever drop something at a club? come on, dex." you pleaded. "this is new. you said you liked it."

"and i do." he reasoned. "for me, here. off."

you groaned, "could've got all my drinks for free instead tonight. guys love a tiny dress."

the words came out as a mumble, in passing as you stuck your head back into your wardrobe. but they had barely left your lips before the back of your dress was sliced open. you heard the fabric tear with ease, dropping to puddle at your feet.

"dex!" you exclaimed. "this was two-hundred dollars. of your money."

he shrugged, his mind echoing your words alone. "think of the money i'm gonna save tonight when you're not buying drinks. because you'll be here."

"dex." you breathed, mouth agape in shock. stupid mouth moving before you thought.

"no use begging now." he held you so gently, your bare body against him, his eyes bore into yours. "can't have you thinking about what other guys want to see. hm?"

you shook your head. "i don't think about other guys."

There were several reasons why Harry liked being Princess Y/n’s on-duty guard. The first was that when the king called the calvary together for battle, the princess had insisted to her father that only Harry could watch over her properly, that she trusted no one else and because she always got what she wanted, the king allowed Harry to continue his station at the castle as the princess’s full-time guardian and protector. Being Y/n’s watcher was far better work than going into battle and getting one’s head chopped off, he thought. The second reason he liked being around the princess was that, as rude as she could be, she was entertaining. He enjoyed the unnecessary drama she caused, though he couldn’t tell you why he did. The third and most important reason was something he’d never tell anyone. It was because he was in love with her. And that third reason probably explained the second reason, but Harry didn’t try to think too deeply about that.

They were in the square that day. The princess had wanted to go shopping, and so Harry went with her, as was his duty. He stood about three feet back as he watched Y/n speak with some nobleman who he thought was standing a little too close for his liking. He shifted, hand on his belt, and narrowed his eyes at the man in his finely tailored getup. Y/n laughed and then casually looked over her shoulder, meeting Harry’s gaze and grinned. He knew the look. She was about to cause trouble again.

When she looked back at the man, she slid her arm into his, and they began to walk toward the fountain together. Harry swallowed and kept his usual distance, though now his attention and his focus were heightened. He would only allow this man to get as close as he was for just a little longer before he stepped in to intervene. And the princess knew that.

The moment they reached the fountain, Harry understood she had chosen the spot on purpose. Because the square was busy enough to make a scene risky, open enough that he could not very well drag her away without causing one himself, and close enough that he had an unobstructed view of the nobleman hovering at her side like a buzzing fly. The square around them was full of life and people milling about. And right in front of him, Princess Y/n was setting a trap, and only Harry was privy to what she was doing.

She paused at the fountain’s edge and pulled a coin from the little silk purse hanging at her wrist. The nobleman leaned closer, smiling as though he’d been granted some great intimacy. Harry’s posture drew tight as he watched.

Y/n turned the coin over between two fingers, glanced at the water, then bent slightly at the waist to toss it in, pressing her palm against the stone. It was hardly enough of a movement to warrant concern. Hardly enough for anyone to think she might fall. But she knew what she was doing, and the man next to her played right into her plan.

The nobleman shifted, his hands landed at her hips in a mockery of helpfulness, fingers spreading over the curve of her waist as though he had any right in the world.

And Harry, without much thought, moved before the coin had finished breaking the water. “Step away from her.”

His voice cut cleanly through the noise of the square, causing a few passersby to turn into spectators, slowing their steps to watch the performance.

The nobleman startled and removed his hands, though not quickly enough to satisfy Harry. Y/n straightened and turned, looking between them with a bright expression, waiting for the fire she started to be put out by her knight. Once again.

The man recovered himself with a forced smile. “The princess has asked me to accompany her.”

Harry stopped just in front of him, close enough now that the nobleman had to tip his chin up a fraction to maintain eye contact.

“I am the one accompanying her,” Harry said evenly. “And she did not ask you to place your hands on her.”

A flush rose in the man’s face. “I meant no offense, Sir Harry.”

“And yet you offend.”

The nobleman blinked, glancing at Y/n. “I was only… assisting.”

Harry flashed a look at Y/n. She was watching with open amusement, one gloved hand still laid flat over the fountain’s stone lip, as if this were all some private entertainment arranged solely for her. Which, he supposed, it was as this was her doing.

He looked back at the man. “You may leave now. She doesn't require your assistance.”

The nobleman puffed himself up then, offended now that there were more sets of eyes drifting their way, bits of attention catching on the edge of the confrontation. “You overstep yourself, knight.”

Harry stepped closer, then, only half a pace, but it was enough. Enough for the nobleman to acknowledge the warning in his posture. Enough for him to notice Harry’s hand settling on the hilt of his sheathed sword.

“I guard her,” Harry said quietly, dangerously. “And I have reason to believe your intentions are not honorable. This is your last warning.”

The man looked at Harry’s hand, then at his face, searching perhaps for bluff, for hesitation, for some sign this might still be argued into a victory he could save face with. But there was no victory for the nobleman here. Even the princesses’s expression told him that much.

The look on his face soured. He gave Y/n a stiff bow that she did not bother returning with any sincerity, then turned on his heel and disappeared into the gathering crowd of onlookers.

Harry watched until the nobleman was fully swallowed by the movement of the square before he let his hand fall from his sword. Beside him, Y/n hummed in satisfaction and slid her arm through his as if nothing at all had happened. As if he had not spent the last minute imagining several deeply inappropriate ways he could use his sword on that nobleman.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, laughter tucked warm inside her voice, “there you go again, scaring off men needlessly.”

He kept his gaze on the square, posture straight, expression fixed into cool indifference, something he had spent years perfecting around her. “It was not needless.”

Her fingers tightened more snugly around his arm. “You looked ready to kill him.”

“He put his hands on you.”

“That is hardly a crime.”

“It was uninvited.”

That made her smile widen. He didn't need to look at her to know it was there.

She tipped her head, looking up at him. “And here I thought my guard was simply meant to be doing his duty.”

“I was.”

“Mm.” She let the sound linger. “Your duty does not include scaring away every man who speaks to me.”

Harry swallowed, not answering this time, eyes still shifting over the faces of the people in the square. That, more than any defense he could have made, seemed to amuse her.

They began to walk again at an unhurried pace, his stride even with hers. The people who’d been watching went back to their business as Y/n leaned into him just slightly, not enough for anyone else to notice, but just enough that he had no chance of not feeling the warmth of her against his arm.

“Unless,” she said lightly, “I am meant to think you were jealous.”

His face stayed composed. “I am not jealous, Princess.”

She laughed softly, but there was an undercurrent of wickedness lying just beneath. “Liar.”

Harry exhaled through his nose and kept scanning the square, though every instinct he possessed was fixed on the woman at his side. And she knew it just as well as he did. They’d been at this for long enough to know what they were doing.

After a moment, she sighed with exaggerated disappointment. “Well. Whether it was jealousy or simply your usual impossible temperament, I cannot let it go unanswered.”

At that, his shoulders went subtly rigid, and he inhaled a heavier breath, already knowing what she meant.

Her thumb brushed over the sleeve at his forearm, a tiny hidden stroke no one else would notice. “You know what happens now.”

His throat bobbed as he forced a swallow. “Princess,” he said carefully, a warning that never once worked on her.

She only leaned closer, her mouth near enough that he caught the scent of her perfume. “You have been very possessive today, Sir Harry,” she murmured. “And since you insist on behaving so badly, I suppose you shall have to be punished tonight.”

He tensed his jaw, glancing down at her briefly and already imagining the scene in his head, knowing what was coming.

She drew back just enough to look up and meet his eyes. Her expression was full of false innocence and glittering mischief. “Tonight, you’ll stand guard inside my room, facing the door until I tell you otherwise.”

Harry’s cold features remained steady, but inside him, something hot and terrible turned over. They’d done this before. In fact, it had turned into a somewhat frequent punishment, if it could be called that. More like a tease. A forbidden fruit dangled just behind him, not allowed to look at it, or taste, or touch. He would only be allowed to listen and yearn while he stood with his cock hard and throbbing.

Y/n smiled and patted his arm, delighted with herself, and guided him farther into the square as though she had not just ruined him with a single sentence. And Harry, who would have followed her into hell itself if she asked, walked beside her in silence and began, already, imagining what sort of cruelty his princess would conjure up this time.

Harry stood near the center of the princesses’s room as she moved farther in without a word. She drifted through her room leisurely, as though this were any other night and not one carefully arranged to test the limits of his self-command.

Her chambers were as excessive as the princess herself. The ceilings soared overhead, tall windows framed the darkening sky, their long curtains stirred by a soft draft, beeswax candles burned in silver stands, mixing their warm sweetness with her perfume and the powdery lavender tucked into the linens by her maids. At the far end of the room stood her vast, canopied bed. Silk and feathers and secrets… Harry had imagined himself in it before, but he’d never allow himself to break his oath. He knew better than to risk it.

He stood with his hands clasped behind his back and watched her cross to the mirror. She took her time removing her gloves, peeling each finger free with excessive care before laying them on the dressing table. Then came the outer layer of her gown, the decorative sash first, then the jeweled pins at her shoulders. She hadn’t said a single word yet, nor had she looked at him. That was part of the game too. She knew he was watching. Knew his eyes would track every movement but he’d look away the moment she told him to.

Only after she had shrugged the heavier layer from her shoulders did she glance at him through the mirror. Harry’s expression was just as stoic as always, and Y/n smiled.

The lighter fabric beneath clung more closely when she moved, tracing the line of her back and waist before falling loose again. Almost indecent. Almost sheer, but not quite. Just enough to let him know she was thinking very carefully about what she was doing to him.

He hated how willingly he let her tease him this way, but still, he indulged in the sight of her while he had the chance. Because soon he’d be left with the view of the heavy oak doors and the sound of her doing things very unbecoming of a princess.

She crossed to the armoire, the huge carved thing nearly as tall as the posters on her bed, and drew it open. Inside hung silks and velvet and lace in creams and jewel tones, garments fit for a spoiled rich princess. She slid her fingers along them as though considering her choices, though Harry knew it was all just a show.

From one shelf she grabbed a thin folded fabric, then draped it over her arm, and from another she selected something smaller, which disappeared into her hand before he could make out what it was.

She closed the armoire and moved to the low chest of drawers beside it, the one tucked half out of sight near the bed. Harry swallowed as he watched her smile to herself and pull the top drawer open slowly. He knew better than to let his mind linger on what she kept there. He already knew in part that it was filled with things she kept secret. She looked back at him over her shoulder with a smirk that had no business appearing so innocent on her face as she reached inside.

She drew out two small objects and turned them over in her hands, as though they were no more scandalous than a comb or a ribbon. But if anyone had seen what Harry was, they’d be scandalized. They’d avert their eyes in shock that the princess had possession of such sordid things.

“You’re staring,” she said.

“I am observing my surroundings, Princess.”

A soft laugh escaped her. “Of course you are. Obedient. Observant. Possessive…” She turned and looked at him, eyes sharp. “Maybe one day you’ll be brave enough to act on it. To forgo your orders and your oath and give in.”

Harry kept his mouth pressed together as he stood there, heart pounding. If he broke his command, his oath, he’d regret it, but he’d certainly enjoy it while it lasted. His fear was that he’d lose his post with her if he ever gave in to his desires. If he ever gave in to her.

She set one item on the bed and kept the other in hand as she pressed her knee into the soft blankets of her bed. The mattress dipped as the gauze curtains shifted around her. He watched as she climbed in, palms and knees pressed delicately into the down, her eyes on his with the slope of her throat exposed, the bare skin newly revealed where her earlier layers no longer concealed her as thoroughly.

Harry held himself still. Even if she was trying to tempt him, trying to get him to slip up, he would not.

“You were very bold today,” she said, running one fingertip over the bedcover beside her. “Putting your hand on your sword in the middle of the square. All that just for me?”

“He put his hands on you.”

“And you frightened him away for it.”

He blinked, looking at the item in her hand. “That was the intention.”

Her mouth curved. “Jealous, then.”

“No.” The lie came too quickly. They both knew it was lie.

Y/n sat back and smiled. “You do make this easy.”

Harry kept his hands locked behind his back. The picture of focus and rigidity. A man with the strength to resist his desires.

Her eyes flicked over his face, reading everything he would never say aloud. “That is enough.” She smiled playfully. “Take your place, Sir Harry. Face the doors.”

And because she had asked it of him, because she was his princess and his ruin, he obeyed, turning away to remove his gaze from her.

The doors stood tall and immovable before him with elegantly carved panels. A simple thing of wood and iron. Something he could fix his attention on, something that did not move, did not breathe, did not tempt.

Behind him, though, she began, and he took a breath, readying himself for the torture that was to come. He heard her sigh, then heard the whisper of silk sliding behind him, her last layers coming off, leaving her bare. He was already imagining the sweetest and prettiest thing spread out on her silk bed, only feet away, watching his back with a sly grin on her face.

Harry drew in another slow breath through his nose, held it, then released it carefully. An attempt to calm his racing heart and delay the inevitable rise of heat to his groin.

The bed shifted beneath her weight with a low creak, then a breath pushed from her mouth. The sound was soft at first, as if she were settling into the moment, tasting it, readying herself for what she was about to do.

“Comfortable?” she asked sweetly.

“Yes, Princess.”

She hummed. “You don’t sound comfortable.”

“That is irrelevant.”

A breathy laugh drifted across the room. “Mm. Always so proper. So outwardly detached… Yet I wonder what goes on in that head of yours.”

There was another shift of fabric and Harry fixed his gaze harder on the door. To the iron handle. The grain of the wood. A small imperfection near the lower panel where time had worn the polish.

“It would be very easy, you know,” she said after a moment, voice quieter now, closer to something intimate. “To turn around.”

His jaw set. “I will not.”

“No?” There was a gentle lilt in her tone, coaxing. “Not even a little peek?”

“No.”

Behind him, she shifted again. The bed creaked softly in response, followed by a quiet, almost thoughtful exhale.

“I know… But I do wonder,” she mused, “how long it would take.”

Harry closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, forcing his focus back to the door. “For what, Princess?”

“For you to forget your duty.”

“I will not forget. You have told me to face the door, and that is what I shall do.”

Her voice softened, threading something warmer through the teasing. “You’ve thought about it. Disobeying. Taking a look. Touching…”

Harry inhaled through his nose, chest rising and falling a little harder just as she made a small noise. Pleasure and need, barely a sound, but a breath in, then easing out again.

“You could,” she continued. “No one would know. The door is closed. The other guards are posted outside and they can’t hear. If I told you to turn and watch, would you?”

Harry swallowed. He didn’t know how he survived her teasing, in truth. She drove him mad.

“If you commanded it, then I would do as I was told.”

“Mmm…” she moaned. “But I want to see you break your orders.”

“My duty is not conditional.”

“But,” she said, a hint of laughter slipping through, “you wish you could.”

“I only wish to do as you tell me.”

“Liar. I know you wish you could see this.”

She shifted behind him again. Movement and fabric. A quiet rhythm beginning and then a soft gasp. Harry’s breath grew heavier, and he fixed his eyes on the polish of the wood, steadying himself.

“You are cruel to me, Princess,” he said, voice low.

“Am I?” she replied, pleased.

Another breath left her, slipping free, a little shaky. He realized while she was performing, there was lust in the sound. Whatever she was doing, it felt good for her.

Harry’s fingers curled slightly against his palms, skin heating under his regimental garb.

“You’re listening very closely,” she said lightly.

“I am standing guard.”

“Of course you are.” Her breath shuttered. “Keep listening. Want you to hear it all.”

The rhythm behind him shifted again, just enough to break whatever fragile composure he had managed to reconstruct.

“Harry…” she moaned his name.

He shut his eyes and swallowed. “Yes, Princess.”

She answered with another soft inhale, then his name was breathed into the air again. Her tone was warmer, less playful now. He knew it was only a matter of time before she lost control of the sounds she made at all. Before she was moaning his name like he was the one there in her bed, fucking her and not the phallus-shaped wand she liked to use on herself.

The sounds she made began to settle low in his chest, warmth spreading fast to his stomach and then crawling lower, taking hold of his cock. Never had he been reduced to a panting, leaking mess without being touched before. Only with her. His spoiled princess.

“If you could see this,” she whispered. “Just once, you wouldn’t be able to resist again.”

“No.” His voice came out rougher now.

She made a soft sound. “You are too good, knight. Too obedient.”

The bed creaked again, a little louder this time, followed by a breath that broke unevenly before smoothing out to a soft hiss.

“One day you will lose this fight. It will be so sweet to see you give in.”

Harry exhaled slowly, forcing the tension back into something he could barely contain. He stood facing the door, every muscle locked in place, every sense betraying him, every thought circling the same impossible desire, but still, he obeyed.

The next sound she made wasn’t soft at all. It slipped out of her like something she couldn’t hold any longer, a breath breaking into a needy, open-mouthed moan that echoed off the high ceilings. The shift in tone alone was enough to make Harry’s spine go rigid, his shoulders pulling tighter as if he could physically brace himself against it.

There was no mistaking it now. He could hear that she was fully lost in it. Completely taken by lust and pleasure.

The bed creaked again, more insistently this time, the rhythm no longer tentative. He could practically imagine her hand moving, wrapped around the wand, fucking herself as she stared at his back. Then it was wet, the softest claps of sound came from her bed as she thrust the thing into herself in smooth strokes. Or maybe she was humping it over her pillow, bouncing her little cunt on the wand, legs spread as she lifted and lowered. Both images were equally enticing.

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw as the unmistakable slick sound reached him, timed with her panting breaths. His mind betrayed him, painting the picture he was forbidden to see… his princess spread open on her silk sheets, fingers glistening, that damned wand tucked deep inside of her.

“Harry…” she breathed again, and this time his name dragged, stretched thin with want. “Can you hear me? Hear the way I get so wet for you.”

“Princess…” He warned, not wanting to play into it too much but still hopelessly wishing he could see it with his own eyes.

“Harry… my big knight… Tell me you hear me.”

“Yes,” he said, though the word felt tight in his throat. He blinked hard as his cock swelled against his trousers.

“Good.” A shaky inhale. “Then listen to it properly.”

Of course he was listening properly. He wouldn’t have been able to ignore any of it even if he tried. Not when it was her behind him, naked, hot, wet, with his name on her tongue.

“I’ve got my fingers on myself—oh! On my clit…” she moaned. “But if it were your fingers...” A soft, breathy laugh followed, almost embarrassed at how easily the words came now. “I know you’d take your time… You’d take such good care of me.”

His hand twitched behind his back, and he huffed through his nose. If he were ever permitted to touch her that way, he would take care of her. He’d explore every part and have her coming over and over again before he even allowed himself the pleasure to come. He’d force orgasm after orgasm from her just so he could see it and hear her begging for mercy, but just as she never seemed to let up with him, he wouldn’t let up either. He’d have her bawling and exhausted by the time he was done with her.

“Your hands are so big,” she went on, almost thoughtfully, though her breathing kept catching. “I’d get your palm all wet... I keep thinking about how you’d fill me too… how you’d stretch me properly. Just your fingers…”

Harry shut his eyes hard again, a quiet, controlled inhale doing nothing to cool the throbbing of his heavy cock. He’d already imagined his hand wet with her many times. He’d see to it that she made a mess… He scolded himself for humoring those thoughts, even if hidden only in his head.

“I would not—”

“You would,” she cut in softly, almost lazily, though her voice trembled. “You just won’t admit it.”

The wet sounds grew louder. Faster.

“And this—” she continued, breath rising, “this little wand…” A faint hum of pleasure vibrated through her words. “It barely does it for me.”

He swallowed. He could imagine her fully. See every crevice, every bend, the soft skin on her hips, the way her belly would quiver the closer she got. Her pretty breasts… He’d never seen her naked, but he knew she would be pretty. He knew she’d bring him to his knees if he ever saw her like that.

“Oh…” she panted, almost sweetly. “It’s hitting deep—” Her voice broke into an unrestrained gasp. “Oh my god, Harry…” A small mewl fell from her as the slushy sound of her cunt wrapped around the wand reached his ears once again. “But you would stuff me so full, wouldn’t you, knight? You’d show me what it really felt like to be with a man…”

His composure cracked just slightly as his head dipped forward a fraction, breath deepening. But this was the way. Sometimes she did it fast, other times she took so much time getting herself off he’d get dizzy from need. He was on the verge right then. Goosebumps scattering over his skin as he checked his urge to pull his cock out and pump himself.

Behind him, the pace picked up. The bed answered with a louder creak, the canopy swaying faintly as it shifted with her movements. Her breathing turned uneven, little gasps breaking through with increasing frequency, each one sharper than the last.

“Oh, yessss…” she said, broken. “My pussy is so wet... For you.”

He clutched his hands tight, resisting his urges, refusing to break.

“Please,” she pressed, voice slipping into something almost delirious. “Oh, my god… It feels so good.”

Harry shifted his weight, subtle but necessary, his stance tightening as the pressure became impossible to ignore. His arms moved from behind his back without thought, settling in front of him, one hand pressing briefly against the front of his trousers before stilling again like he’d burned himself.

Behind him, she laughed softly when she saw it.

“There it is,” she breathed. “You want it. How big has your cock grown?”

“I am maintaining my post,” he said, though his voice had lost its edge of control.

“As you always do,” she whispered, but there was no bite in it anymore. Only heat.

The rhythm on the bed turned frantic, the princess losing all of her composure. Her sounds spilled freely now… moans, gasps, broken little cries of his name threaded through it all. The slick, insistent noise of her movements filled the space between them, wrapping around him, dragging him deeper into something he could no longer pretend he wasn’t part of.

“Harry—” she gasped, louder now, desperate. “Mmm…”

His eyes snapped shut again as he palmed at his cock before clasping his hands into fists and forcing them back to his side.

“I’d let you do anything if you broke your duty,” she rambled on. “You could have me however you like.” Her voice broke into a sharp cry. “Whichever hole you wanted. All of them. Oh… stuff me and fuck me so good I never need this wand again.”

His breath stuttered as his dick twitched. He could feel himself leaking at his tip. His body stiff as a board as the princess fucked herself with a thing that he knew wasn’t giving her the kind of pleasure he could.

“Oh! Ffff… Mmm… M’gonna come… Please…”

The bed knocked lightly against the wall, and she cried out—loud, uncontrolled, her voice echoing.

“Please—please break it—fuck me raw and come inside of me… let me feel it…”

He groaned. She still hadn’t given the proper command for him to do any different, so he wouldn’t. Even if she was begging him to break his duty, he would need her words to say it plainly before he did anything but stare at the door.

“I won’t.”

But now his hand moved back into place over his crotch, pressed harder, grip tightening through the fabric, betraying him completely as he rubbed over himself. His neck strained to keep facing the door, and he let out a quiet, broken gasp of his own.

She was too far gone to care. Her words dissolved into cracked sounds, breath rising and falling frantically as she chased something just out of reach for him to see. The rhythm stammered, then surged, faster, sloppier, the slick sounds turning almost frantic. And the moans coming from her were obscene. Like tiny whimpered noises, hot breaths, soft hisses, whiny panting gasps.

“Harry… Oh, Harry—Yesss! Mmm!”

Then he heard her shatter. A sharp, choked cry tore from her as the bed creaked loudly beneath her, the movement abrupt and uncoordinated as pleasure overtook her completely. He let out a moan just as he heard the canopy rustling, the mattress shifting hard under her as she rode it out, breath coming in ragged, gasping pulls.

He pressed his free palm to the door, head dropped as he worked his thickened cock over his pants the best he could. He wouldn’t come like this, but it gave him relief, nonetheless. It would have to do until he could take a break and finally have his own release.

Harry stood frozen, every muscle locked, except for the hand still pressed tight and smoothing at the front of his trousers. He was so hard he could feel the swollen ridges of his head and down the length of his shaft, even over the fabric. His head bowed just slightly as he fought for control that felt like it was slipping through his fingers.

When her breaths slowed and the slick sounds evaporated as she came down, he bit into his lip and straightened himself back out, hands shaky as he pulled them behind his back, even though his dick was leaking and pulsing with need.

She moaned and then laughed. He heard fabric sliding, heard her breaths, and then her feet hitting the ground. He swallowed, wishing he could just look, but he would not. Not until she told him. Not until she commanded it.

Then he felt her hand on the back of his arm as she came in next to him. “Oh, you poor thing. That must hurt.”

He swallowed, keeping his eyes on the door in front of him. When he didn’t respond, she chuckled and slid in front of him, leaning her back against the door. He still didn’t look, but he could tell she’d put on her robe.

“Stand at ease, Sir Harry. That is your command now. You may look if you wish. You’ve kept your duty well.”

He flitted his eyes down over her. The thin silk robe barely covered much, nor did it hide the swell of her breasts and the peak of her nipples under it. Y/n smiled as soon as she saw where his gaze caught, then lifted a hand and cupped his cheek gently, her palm warm against skin that already felt too hot, too tight, too alive. Her thumb stroked along the sharp line of his cheekbone.

“You are all flushed,” she said, amused and almost sweet. “Warm.” Her mouth quirked up. “I think that was punishment enough, don’t you?”

Harry nodded. It was the safest thing he could do. His throat had gone dry, and he did not trust his own voice not to betray him if he tried to answer properly. Even now, with her robe on and the game apparently done—for now—he could feel his restraint like something physical under his skin, pulled so taut it hurt.

Her eyes glittered when she saw him choose silence over speech.

“Yes,” she said softly, as though confirming something to herself. “That’s what I thought.”

She kept her hand at his face a moment longer, looking him over with that infuriating, intimate attention of hers, as if she enjoyed seeing all the places where discipline failed to conceal what she had done to him. Harry met her gaze because he could do that much, because now she had allowed it, because she stood directly in front of him and he had no command to disobey in looking. But meeting her eyes was scarcely easier than staring at the door had been.

There was too much triumph in her expression. Too much certainty that she knew exactly what lived in him at that moment.

Then she tilted her head and said in a brighter, lighter tone, “One day, I’ll see you losing your control. You cannot keep denying yourself forever, good knight.”

A rough sound left him before he could smooth it away, almost a grunt, almost a laugh. He blinked and managed to speak, “I will never disobey the princess’s command.”

Y/n clicked her tongue at him. “Always the same answer,” she said. “Duty, duty, duty.” Her fingers slipped from his cheek and began a slow path downward, gliding over the front of his garb, tracing the embroidered edge near his collar, then down the center of his chest with no hurry at all. “You hide behind it all so well.”

He could feel her hand through the fabric. The drag of her palm, the press of her fingertips, the warmth of her skin carried through linen and leather and all the useless layers meant for modesty and protection and rank. None of them did a damn thing. Not against her. Even if he appeared unbothered.

She stopped with her hand splayed over his heart, then she hummed, pleased, because of course she felt it. The pounding. The wild, humiliating force of it that he simply could not control. He had faced battle lines with a steadier pulse than this. He had stood bloodied and half-blind in rain and mud with calmer breath than he had now, with her in her silk robe against the door, her hand over his chest, smiling like she had discovered some private little miracle beneath his ribs.

“My,” she said. “The way your heart is pounding...”

He clenched his jaw, eyes dropping to her palm and then sliding back up to look at her face.

She leaned in a touch more, pressing her palm more firmly over his heart as if to test whether it could beat any harder. “It’s almost as though you care,” she said.

“I do care, princess. You know I do.”

Her expression softened, the mischief still there, the delight still there, but touched now by something quieter. Something sweeter now. Then she smiled again and slid her hand from his chest down to the belt at his waist, not enough to be considered a mercy, but enough to make him inhale sharply and set every muscle in his body on edge.

“This is why I keep you,” she said softly.

Harry stared down at her. She was infuriating and beautiful, and he didn’t know which was truly worse. She scraped the nails of two fingers lightly against the center of his belt, then let her hand fall away before his control could splinter further.

“Be grateful,” she said, stepping around him at last. “I am in a merciful mood tonight.”

Harry turned his head to follow her with his eyes. She crossed back toward the bed, thin silk flowing around her legs, one hand gathering the robe closer though she knew perfectly well it hid very little. She glanced over her shoulder and found him still watching.

“Go on,” she said. “Brood. Glower. Stand there and convince yourself this is all beneath your dignity.”

A tiny smile tugged, unwilling, at the corner of his mouth, and she saw it. Her brows lifted.

“There,” she said, delighted. “Proof that you enjoy it. Aside from that big hard-on you’re suffering with.” She glanced down at his crotch.

He gave a slow exhale through his nose. “I apologize, Princess. It is improper, but I am not able to control it when you—”

“When I… what?” she laughed, turning away again. “When I get off and moan your name while you listen? Yes, I know. But it would be awfully disappointing if you didn’t get hard. If you truly didn’t care. That would hurt my feelings.”

This was a game to her, and to him too in many ways. A contest made of duty and temptation, command and obedience, honed every time she smiled at another man just to see Harry intervene, every time she ordered him to stand facing a door while she ruined him by inches from the other side of his discipline. A private war fought in the space between what she commanded and what he ached to do.

One day, one of them would lose.

Either Harry would finally break, turn at the wrong moment, reach for her without permission, let want outrun honor and drag duty down with it… Or she would tire of winning by rule, summon him to her bedside with that same spoiled little smile, and command him not to look away again.

Y/n settled herself against the pillows and reached for a book from the table beside her, as though she had not just spent the evening torturing him for sport. “Come. Read to me.”

He inclined his head and moved toward her. It was not typical for a royal knight to read books as part of his guard duty, but for Harry, nothing about his post with Y/n was typical. But that was part of what made it so fun.

Secretly, he loved reading to her. Liked the way she’d cuddle into her pillow and blink her pretty eyes up at him and smile as he spoke the words on the page in his deep, slow drone. Loved watching her eyelids grow heavy and the way her breath would even out before she fell asleep.

He settled into the cushioned chair next to her bed, and she rolled to her side to face him as he reached for the book. He opened it, flipping to the page where they’d left off from the night before, and cleared his throat.

“Chapter Seven,” he said, as Y/n’s lashes lowered and her smile turned small and satisfied against the pillow, her eyes on him as he began to read.

And even if he’d been left with an unquenchable thirst for the young woman lying in her bed next to where he sat, he felt more than fulfilled just to be there with her at all. To be at her beck and call, to read books to her at night, to listen while she pleased herself in hopes of making him break. He would take whatever closeness and whatever cruelty she gave him and ask for nothing more.

. .

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Tonight’s event was technically a "Halloween" party, but given that the guest list was a room full of military suits, high-ranking superiors, old rich men, and government officials, it wasn't exactly screaming cheap tequila shots and tacky costume party. Your father fully expected you to show up as the picture-perfect image of the general’s sweet, obedient good girl.

Which is exactly why you chose a raunchy, wildly inappropriate take on a Girl Scout.

The outfit consisted of thigh-high white stockings, the tiniest green shorts known to man, and a crisp white crop top that functioned much more like a bra than an actual shirt. To top off the irony, you pinned on a green sash covered in merit badges and tossed the matching cap onto your curled hair.

“Fuck you too, General Shepherd,” you muttered to your reflection, smirking at your handiwork.

Swinging open the double doors of your bedroom, you began your descent down the hall toward the grand, open staircase. You walked with an intentional, prissy stride, the sharp click of your pumps rattling against the marble floor. You wanted everyone to know exactly who was arriving.

The moment your foot hit the top step, the low hum of conversation in the foyer below ground to a sudden halt.

Old women sent death glares your way, whispering furiously as they yanked on the arms of their husbands. Not that the husbands minded—their eyes shamelessly tracked your every movement, watching the way you bounced with each step down the stairs.

Head held high, you kept that wicked smirk firmly in place as you sauntered straight toward your father.

If looks could kill, you’d have been dead and buried yesterday.

You had never seen him so furious. He was practically vibrating on the spot, his face tightening as he watched his only daughter stroll through a crowd of his peers wearing next to nothing.

“Hi, Daddy,” you purred, playing entirely coy. You wrapped yourself around his rigid arm, sending a teasing glance toward the circle of older men surrounding him. “Who are your friends?”

The old men clearly didn’t mind the view. Sharing passing glances with each other as they smoked their Cuban cigars. If anything, they looked highly amused by your little stunt, which only added to your enjoyment. Filthy old men, thinking nasty thoughts about their colleague's daughter. It was working out perfectly.

Your father didn’t even look down at you. Instead, his eyes scanned the room, dropping a subtle nod. Within seconds, the crowd parted, and four massive soldiers materialized out of the shadows, completely surrounding the two of you.

A sudden hint of worry flickered through your bravado. “Who are they?” you asked, your voice losing a bit of its playful edge.

These men didn’t look amused at all. They looked deadly. One of them, wearing a grim skull mask, just stared straight into your soul with an unblinking, chilling intensity. It was genuinely creepy.

Shepherd finally spoke, his voice dangerously low as he looked at the masked man. “I want her out of here.”

“No problem, sir,” the one with the thick moustache said, dropping a heavy, calloused hand onto your shoulder. Before you could even protest, the other men moved in, their grips firm and unyielding as they forcefully marched you away from the party.

You just rolled your eyes, secretly amused by your father’s theatrics. Imagine getting kicked out of a party hosted in your own living room.

“Oh, please. It was a joke,” you scoffed, tossing your head back as you walked with the men you assumed were just tonight’s hired security.

But as they started guiding you up the grand staircase toward your bedroom, your father stepped forward. He caught the arm of the mustached man, leaning in to whisper something low into his ear while his eyes locked dead onto you. You swore you saw a dark, predatory glint flash across the soldier's face, sending an unexpected chill straight down your spine. What the hell were they talking about? And why were they looking at you like that?

The illusion of a harmless prank shattered the second they pushed you into your room. You were dropped onto your mattress, and three massive soldiers immediately flanked the doorway, completely blocking your only exit. You sat up, glaring at them.

“You can’t keep me locked up in here, you know,” you declared, defiantly folding your arms over your chest.

They didn't move. They didn't even blink. The absolute silence in the room only fed your growing irritation.

Then, the bedroom door clicked open again. The mustached man stepped inside, closing it firmly behind him. There was something about the sheer weight of his presence that made the air feel thin. You shifted awkwardly on the edge of the bed, a sudden wave of discomfort washing over you—and he noticed, a slow, dangerous grin spreading across his face.

Trying to regain your footing, you lifted your chin. “I was just telling your buddies here—”

“Shut the fuck up.”

The words cut through the room like a whip. You froze, completely shocked. No one had ever spoken to you like that in your entire life—much less someone employed by your father. It worked, though; your mouth hung slightly agape as you stared up at him.

He crossed the room, his heavy tactical boots silent against the rug until he was towering directly over where you sat. The bedroom suddenly felt a lot smaller.

“Spoiled all your life and expect to get your way all the time, don’t you, pet?” A rough, scarred hand reached down, his knuckles grazing your jawline.

“We’ll have to fix that little attitude issue, won’t we, lads?” he murmured, turning his head slightly toward the other men. The soldiers by the door didn't break formation, but the dark, menacing look they shared made it clear they were all on the same page.

For the first time tonight, you were officially scared. You felt like you had finally met your match. But you were still the General’s daughter, and your stubborn streak ran too deep to let you back down completely.

Lifting your eyes to meet his, you spat out, “Fuck you.”

The man leaned down, his grip on your jaw tightening just enough to pin you in place. His hot breath brushed against your ear as he whispered, “Oh, don’t worry, love. You will.”

Oh, you were really in for it now....

Michael was so done with you, and he couldn’t believe he was even thinking that way about you. First, you had teased him on purpose--flirting with other men in front of him (even if you claimed you were just complimenting them, with a smug smirk), knowing exactly how much he hated it. And then, you showed up at his work wearing that short skirt that would flash your whole ass if you bent over. Normally, he wouldn’t have minded… but his father was there, and that bastard had been shamelessly staring at your legs. That was the final straw. How dare his father do that, knowing you belonged only to him? And how dare you act like that while his father was watching?

When 6 AM came, he returned home, took off his coat, and kicked off his shoes. His eyes fell to yours--those beautiful shoes he loved so much, the ones he’d bought for you. They had a tiny purple bow, and it sent a jolt of heat through him knowing you wore purple as his silent claim on you. He walked upstairs and found you asleep, his beautiful darling. He let out a shuddered breath, his body warming as he took in your angelic, peaceful form. You had dared to tease him, to speak to other men with that flirty lilt in your voice. This was your own doing… that’s what he told himself to justify what he was about to do.

He woke you, and you yawned adorably, blinking up at him.

“Michael… it’s 6 AM…” you mumbled sleepily. “I know, love,” he said with a smile, “but we have to talk about your behavior today. That was simply unacceptable…” His hand stroked your hair as he added, “I think you should do something… as an apology,” his fingers already working at his belt. “I didn’t do anything!” you pouted, your voice defiant. “You’re not the one who decides that. You don’t flirt with other men and then claim you did nothing!” he snapped, freeing his cock from his boxers and rubbing the tip against your lips. “Just apologize, and I’ll forget all about it,” he said in that smooth, dangerously hot British accent.

“Hmph, maybe I thought their dicks were worth the trouble,” you shot back. His eyes went wide. You thought their dicks were worth it? You’d been thinking about their dicks? Was he not good enough?

“Fucking dickheads… putting thoughts like that in her head…”

His hand shot out, grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your head. You let out a startled yelp as he pushed you down onto the bed.

“How dare you… thinking about those other bastards’ cocks when you have mine? Fucking slag,” he snarled. “Your dad could probably fuck me better,” you taunted in that bratty tone he despised. If there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was the idea of his father being better than him at anything.

“I hate him. I wish he’d go through springlock failure again…”

You gasped when his free hand gripped your head and forced his cock deep into your throat. You huffed in protest but quickly began sucking eagerly. “You always make me do this… fuck!” he groaned, his voice low and rough. You looked up at him, and he gave you a twisted smile. “Look at you… my little cocksucker, fuck~! Mmm~! That’s all you’re good for--keeping my cock warm~! Let me do the thinking for you~!” he moaned, thrusting into your throat until you gagged.

Your eyes watered as breathing grew difficult, but with your wrists pinned, you couldn’t move away. He held your head still as he came down your throat with a deep, satisfied moan.

Finally, he released your wrists and hair, and you coughed, catching your breath.

“’M sorry, Michael…” you whispered with teary eyes, thighs rubbing together unconsciously. Michael smiled with something dark behind it, leaning down to kiss your tears.

“You look so beautiful… even when you’re crying. So fragile…” he murmured, cupping your face and kissing you deeply. So fragile… you needed him--his protection. Only his.

His hands slid down, pinching your nipples through your nightgown and drawing out a needy whimper. “I don’t think you’re that sorry yet…” he said, his gaze dropping to your stomach.

His tongue darted across his lips as he imagined your belly swollen, your tits full and heavy. The thought made his cock twitch. That would teach you. That would make sure you could never leave him. He slid your panties off, and you didn’t resist--just let him do whatever he wanted, even through your whining and tears. That was the reward of his careful manipulation: you were such a good listener now. Lining himself up, he teased your slit before pushing in, drawing a loud, needy moan from your throat. He didn’t wait before moving, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with your cries and the wet squelch of your bodies. “M-Mike~!!” you moaned out, voice breaking. Your pussy clamped around him like a vice as he thrust harder, his groans joining yours. “Fuck~! You’re so pretty… my pretty girl! Fuckin’ hell~!” he gasped.

You looped your arms around his neck, moaning sweetly against him. He looked down at your flushed, dazed face--eyes rolled back, lips parted--and chuckled darkly. Leaning to your ear, he whispered, “I’m gonna fill you up so good.” You babbled something incoherent in reply. Michael’s thrusts turned erratic as his release built. Then you felt it--hot, thick spurts filling you, and you cried out as you squirted around him. Michael sighed in satisfaction, kissing your wet cheeks. “They wouldn’t fuck you like this, would they?” he murmured with a soft laugh. You mumbled nonsense before sleep claimed you. He pulled out and caressed your cheek, his cum oozing out of your well-used hole. “Maybe I should fuck you in front of William,” he said to himself, a lovesick gleam in his eyes.

Maybe being bratty wasn’t so bad after all…