#prison rafe

His eyes darkened, and he leaned closer, pressing his forehead to the glass. “You always know how to get under my skin, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“I do,” she whispered, and her pulse skipped. She hated how much power he still had over her, even in cuffs and prison walls.

“You always smell like trouble,” he said, voice low, rough, and full of something she couldn’t name. “I like it.”

Y/N’s fingers itched to touch him, to feel him, but the glass separated them. She leaned closer anyway, letting her lips almost brush the barrier. “Maybe I’m the only one who can handle your ego,” she said, teasing but trembling with something hotter.

He groaned, running his hand along the side of his face, wishing he could reach her. “You always think you’re so clever, Y/N. But sitting here like this…” He paused, gaze locked on hers. “I’d give anything just to pull you into my arms right now.”

Her heart ached, but she smiled, biting her lip. “Then why don’t you?”

“I can’t,” he said, voice cracking slightly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it. Every damn second.”

Their eyes locked, heavy with need, with frustration, with a fire that no bars could contain. The world faded around them until it was just the two of them, faces inches apart, lips almost touching, breaths mingling across the cold glass.

“You’re insane,” she whispered, unable to stop herself from reaching out, pressing her palm flat against his.

“And you like it,” he growled, matching her hand with his own, leaning in so close she could feel the heat from his breath. “God, I love it.”

Time slipped away as they stayed like that, two souls straining against walls and cuffs, needing, wanting, and unable to let go. And when she finally had to leave, she pressed her forehead to his one last time.

“Don’t forget me,” she said softly.

“Never,” he whispered, voice low, almost a promise. “Not for a second.”