#toxic!relationship

Rafe lets out a low, incredulous laugh that's nothing like amusement. He steps towards you, each step deliberate. “Don't start with that bullshit. You think I'm fucking stupid?”

You flinch. “I panicked, okay? I didn't-”

“Panicked?” He cuts you off sharply. “You panicked so you lied to my fucking face?!” His voice spikes, bouncing off the walls.

“I'm sorry,” you say quickly. “I-I didn't even know how to tell you.”

“Who else knows?” His eyes are blazing now, blue but storm dark.

Your mouth opens, closes. “Sarah. She was there when I took the test. Nobody else.”

“How long have you known?”

“I didn't. I literally just found out.”

“And you thought I didn't deserve to be the first to know?” His voice is raw now, not yelling but worse, tight with betrayal.

“I wasn't sure!” You're crying before you realise. “I just-I didn't know, Rafe. Please calm down.”

He steps closer. Another step and you're bacled against the dresser. His shadow swallows you. “Calm down? You've been sick for days and didn't think to tell me? You run around with Sarah instead?!"

“Please,” you whisper. “Can I at least get dressed before we do this?”

Rafe glares, then yanks a black t-shirt from the back of his chair and throws it at you. “Fine. But don't think this conversation is over.”

You turn your back, dropping the towel and slipping it over your head, pulling it down over trembling hands. Your hoodie and leggins are crumpled on the floor, forgotten.

When you face him again, his chest is heaving, the pregnancy test still clutched in his fist.

“I'm not marrying you in three months' time.” he says flatly.

You blink, stunned. “Wait-what? What do you mean?”

“I mean we're not waiting.” His eyes glitter. “We're getting married as soon as possible.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He takes another step forward. “You're not running with my child. You're not making decisions without me. We're doing this now.”

Your pulse hammers in your ears. “Rafe-this is crazy. We're not ready. I'm not ready-”

“You think I'm going to sit back while you decide when to tell me things? While you disappear to ”talk" to other people? No. This ends now."

He paces the room, hands digging into his hair, then back to pointing at you with the test. “Do you even understand what this means? This isn't some game. This is our life.”

“I know!” you shout back, tears streaking down your face. “I know, okay? I didn't plan this either!”

He stops pacing and spins to face you. “Then you should be standing with me, not against me.” His voice drops lower, softer but deadlier. “We're going to handle this together. You're mine. This baby's mine. We're a family now. And I'm not waiting around for your doubts to catch up.”

Your back hits the wall. He's close enough that you can smell his soap, feel the heat rolling off him. His hands land on either side of your head, boxing you in without touching.

“Do you hear me?” he asks, voice vibrating against the walls.

You nod skakily. “Yes. I hear you.”

He closes his eyes, breathes hard through his nose, and then steps back, his whole body still tense. “We'll talk about the wedding later. I'm thinking eloping. Something quick. Something no one can stop.”

“Rafe…” Your voice breaks. “Please slow down. We can figure this out, but we can't just-”

He cuts you off with a look so sharp it silences you mid sentence. “No more running,” he says. “No more secrets.”

For a long moment the only sound in the room is your breathing, the faint hum of the AC, and the soft click of the pregnancy test as he sets it down on the dresser.

“Get some rest.” he says finally, turning away, though his shoulders stay rigid. “We're going to talk more tonight.”

𝗧𝗼𝘅𝗶𝗰!𝗿𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗽: 𝗢𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿 𝘅 𝗯𝗿𝗮𝘁!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

In a few words, Oscar gets uneasy when he feels his control slipping, is very stubborn, quietly vengeful, and thrives on the push-pull of being tested.

In more words...

Let’s start by pointing out he’s an Aries. Aries are fighters at their core, even (or especially) when they try to brush it off. Imo, Oscar wouldn’t let your bratty streak go far. Although you won’t catch him argue in the moment, he’ll wait only to outmaneuver you later. “Funny how you need me now, after all that attitude, hm?”

Brattiness makes him tighten control. I don’t think he would ever play into tantrums, but I do think he’s more than able to double it down.

He will force you to chase his validation one way or another.

Not the kind to give you satisfaction in an argument, but the kind to cut with sarcastic comments.

He’s not an intense person, but can get explosive when cornered, if you actually push him. He’ll make it quick and end it right there though, with eye contact and a very clear “Enough.”

Aries men are low-key territorial. In a toxic cycle, Oscar wouldn’t kick and scream about jealousy, but you’ll feel it when he suddenly fucks you harder than usual.

His stubbornness will test your nerves. He would rather ignore you, go about his business, and leave you to crack first. When he’s in his feelings but still wants to talk it through, it’s very rarely that he verbalize it. Because he’s stubborn. So if he stays in your proximity with a grey cloud above his head, that’s his way of showing he’s willing to talk... if you do it first.

Just another night in the Suh household.

You were sitting on the couch, scrolling through Instagram when you heard the signs of someone fumbling with the lock. More like the sound of keys scrambling to find the lock, after a couple of minutes you heard the lock click. There was no use looking up, only one person had a key.

“You’re still up.” You didn’t have to turn around to know what he was doing. The sound of his keys hitting the bowl on the table, shuffling as he kicks off his shoes, not bothering to place them along the wall or on the rack properly before he makes his way over to your spot. “I told you I’d be home late. You didn’t have to wait for me.” Leaning down he placed a kiss on your cheek, instinctively scrunching your nose up from the smell of alcohol that was flowing off of him in.

“You never told me where you were. I got worried.” You scoffed at Johnny’s hum in response, brushing off your statement completely as he walked towards the couch.

“I was at work.” Typical statement. Typical bullshit response.

Standing up you followed him, purposefully ignoring the groan he let out at you. He continued pouring himself a cup of water, only turning around to you afterward with his eyebrow cocked.

“Just be honest with me, if you're cheating I can leave."

“Here we fucking go.”

“What? Aw, is my accusation of you cheating too much to bear? Cry me a fucking river Johnny.” Johnny slammed the cup onto the counter, causing some of the water to splash up over the sides. “I called Taeyong. He told me that you left shortly after Taeil at 12 am. It’s fucking 4 am so where the hell where you? Can you just tell me the fucking truth, I already know you’re cheating.”

Same old routine. You accuse him of cheating, something that you weren’t even positive about, he gets angry and proceeds to pin you to the counter. Like he’s doing right now, hands holding onto your waist while his body physically cages you in.

“If you want me to leave I will. I’d rather you just admit it instead of hiding it.” This always got you to shut up, nervous that you might’ve taken it too far. No matter how much you argued there was a fear that one day it would end, he would just walk out and not come back. Today wasn’t that day, if the way he gently holds your chin to force you into making eye contact. The anger that seemed to be simmering behind the calm facade he had on did little to quell your nerves.

“If I was cheating on you, I wouldn’t even bother coming home.” Here comes your favorite part, Johnny walking away from you as he heads towards the bedroom. There was no reason for him to glance over his shoulder to see if you were falling, you’d done this dance a million times before.

“It’s 4 am. Wish you would’ve just stayed gone then come back home.” That always got his attention. No matter how calm he pretended to be, that was surely the thing to make him snap. It’s kinda funny, just how quickly he pins you against the door, physically restraining your wrists above your head. Even in moments like this the old Johnny still shines through in the way that his grip is loose on you. If you truly wanted to break free from him, he would let you.

Despite knowing that you never fought him, maybe it was how close he came to you, so close that you could feel his breath ghosting over your lips and you could see the way that his pupils dilated.

“You shouldn’t have come back.” Johnny cold laugh forced you to look away from him. That only gave him another reason to grab your chin, forcing you to look at him. When your eyes met his, something melted inside of both of you. If the way his grip on you loosened even more to the point where his fingers were only loosely framing your wrists were anything to go by.

“This is my house. You’re always free to leave.” You wanted to leave. Something inside of you was constantly telling you to just pack your bags. There were plenty of people who had offered you a place to stay after you only venting about your relationship for 10 problems, but looking into his eyes, seeing the anger bleed out and feeling the tension run out of your body, why would you ever want to leave?

Maybe that’s why the argument always ends in the same way. In a kiss. An awful kiss, but a kiss nonetheless.

No sooner had all of the anger bled out the two of you then Johnny was pulling you into a kiss. Teeth clashing almost playfully, too much tongue to be deemed a proper kiss, too messy by the amount of spit running over your lips, but it was still too perfect for your relationship. You truly don’t know how Johnny got you onto the bed so quickly, and you didn’t even remember him taking off your clothes but here you were, hands finally able to touch Johnny thanks to him no longer restricting him and fingers wrapped around strands of his hair as he continued to steal the breath out of your lungs. After a painful nip to your bottom lip, followed by another sweet kiss as an apology he was sucking bruises onto your neck.

They were entirely too high, and you would definitely have to do the walk of shame plast your coworkers in order to get to your dress but the feeling of his teeth scraping over your neck, and the feeling of his tongue swiping over the fresh bitemarks adorning your neck was too good for you to ask him to stop. After he deemed you properly marked, his kisses started trailing down your body, nipping at the smooth flesh of your stomach before he was at his destination between your thighs.

He wasted no time when he was faced with your soaked cunt, placing a kiss on your clit that made you throw your head back. The first lick made you tense up, a tentative one just over your lips, the second one made your whole body relax as he separated your lips, getting a taste of your arousal. He groaned, knowing that no one would ever taste as good as you before he got to work, tongue fucking you with occasional flicks to your clits, sometimes taking a break to suck on your clit like a lollipop causing you to cry out from the pleasure. Johnny may have been changing, but his love for making you cry hadn’t. His ministration didn’t stop until you were clenching around his tongue, pulling his hair did nothing to stop, only encouraging him.

When your first orgasm hit you all thoughts of the argument were completely out of your mind. The only thing you could think about was Johnny, but the night was over. You may have dropped the argument but Johnny was still seething, if the way that he quickly flipped you over and pulled your hips up, forcing you to get on all fours was anything to go by.

Johnny’s view was something that he couldn’t even imagine. Your back perfectly arched giving him a perfect view of both of your holes. He couldn’t fight his temptation, leaning down to lick a broad stripe over your asshole, savoring the loud moan that you let out before your pleading started. A mix of ‘please’, ‘Johnny’, and ‘just put your cock in me, I need you’.

Stroking his cock a few times, just until it was at full hardness he rubbed the tip over your hole, watching in awe at how quickly your arousal covered his head before pushing inside of you. One shuttering breath as Johnny tried to control himself before you were already fucking yourself back on him, begging him to move already. Johnny was more than happy to oblige, if the way that he gripped your hips before brutally fucking into you was anything to go by. There weren’t many sounds in the room, Johnny’s groans every time your pussy squeezed around him, attempting to pull an early orgasm out of him, skin hitting skin as his hips your ass, surely leaving both his pelvis bright red after this but he couldn’t care less, and the sounds of your cries. Tears leaving your mouth from the overwhelming pleasure that was overtaking you as you weakly grabbed at the sheets.

“Why would I want anyone else when I have needy slut waiting for me back home?” Johnny always knew the perfect things to say, that’s why you weren’t ashamed to say that just him calling you a needy slut caused your eyes to roll back as your second orgasm hit you. The chuckle that Johnny let out should’ve made you feel disgusting, but with the way that his cock was still dragging against your walls that were still quivering from your orgasm all you could do was squeeze your eyes tight as more tears fell from your eyes, surely soaking the pillow that you shoved your face into. “You okay baby?”

Despite the anger still coursing through Johnny’s vein he still didn’t want to actually hurt you, he only ever wanted you crying out from pleasure. Just on schedule after your second orgasm Johnny pulled out and helped you lay on your back, he knew you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up much longer by the way that your legs shook. And now? Seeing your tear filled cheeks, and your swollen lips? Johnny really knew that there was no one else for him. Grabbing your legs and placing them around his waist he easily slipped back in, cupping you cheek soothingly as you let out a whimper from oversensitivity.

Maybe that’s why Johnny was always out late, finding someone that could actually keep with him in bed.

He seemed to sense your thoughts because he placed a kiss on both of your cheeks before starting up his slow strokes. You rarely did missionary outside of arguments, but being able to look up at him as his cock hit deeper in you, rubbing over your g spot with every well aimed and timed stroke was something that was worth arguing for. Wrapping your arms around his neck you pulled him down closer so that you were chest to chest, kissing at this point wouldn’t even be worth it, all the two of you could manage was to breathe into eachothers mouths.

“You always take me so well, pretty.” Rubbing his thumb over your bottom lip you eagerly wrapped your lips around it, running your tongue over the pad of his thigh, feeling proud in the way that you could feel his cock twitch inside of you.

“Still so tight, no matter how much I fuck you.” Johnny was purely chasing his orgasm now, grabbing both of your legs and practically bending you in half as his thrusts sped up, along with his dirty talk. “My little slut.”

His thrusts were quickly pushing you towards a third orgasm, but he knew that already by then your mouth dropped open and you started letting out moans again. There would surely be a noise complaint tomorrow, but for now all he wanted was to make both of you cum. Removing his spit covered thumb he slid it down to your clit before covering your mouth with his, swallowing all of your moans as he quickly rubbed your clit. Your third orgasm hit you the hardest due to the way Johnny was desperately kissing you while rubbing circles over your swollen clit. He finally came as your walls seized around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him. Johnny continued to fuck you through your orgasms, stopping only when overstimulation finally started to hit.

It took everything in him not to just lay down on top of you, but he only got as far as to turn the both of you to the side. He didn’t even bother pulling out, just rubbing soothing shapes into your back as you both caught your breath.

“Why do we keep doing this?” Your voice broke the silence, shaky in the way that Johnny knew you were going to cry again. “Why don’t we just end this? We’re dragging it on too long.” Sighing Johnny placed a kiss to your forehead, pulling you closer to his chest.

“I don’t want to see you with anyone else. I won’t be made if you leave. I deserve it.”

By the fourth day, you stop bringing it up. The fatigue of fighting and the exhaustion of the whirlwind engagement smother your protests before they reach your lips.

That's when Rafe suggests lunch. “Let me make it up to you,” he says over the phone, his voice soft and coaxing. “We'll go somewhere nice. Just us.”

You find yourself sitting across from him at a waterfront restaurant. He orders your favourite drink before you even open the menu. Compliments you on your outfit. Tells you how proud he is of you. Each word is a velvet rope looping tighter around your chest.

“I know I've been pushy,” he says between bites. “I'm just so excited about our future.” His thumb strokes the back of your hand. “I want to do everything right for you.”

“I know,” you say, because what else is there to say.

Halfway through the meal, your stomach knots. At first it's a faint churn, then a wave of nausea. You push your plate away.

“Y/N?” Rafe's brow creases. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just-” you swallowed hard. “-don't feel great.”

“Do you want to go home?” His tone is already shifting into command, not suggestion.

“No, no. It's fine. I'll be okay.” You try to smile.

Thirty minutes later he's had enough. “Alright, that's it.” He rises, scooping your bag with one hand and placing cash on the table with the other. “We're leaving.”

“Rafe, I'm okay-”

“You're not. You're pale.” His hand finds the small of your back, firm, steering. “Come on.”

Guilt rushes up to meet you. “I'm sorry. I ruined lunch.”

“Hey,” His voice softens. “Sickness and health, right?” He grins at his own joke, but his eyes flick with something unreadable.

You give a small, awkward laugh.

On the drive home, the guilt gnaws at you. He keeps one hand on the wheel, the other drapped over the back of your seat, thumb brushing your shoulder like he's soothing a child.

Once home, you disappear into the shower. The hot water helps a little but the unease doesn't lift. When you step back into the bedroom, hair wet, wearing one of his old shirts, Rafe has already pulled the curtains shut and arranged pillows on the bed.

“Movie night?” he asks, smiling. “Just the two of us.”

“Yeah.” You climb into bed beside him.

For a while it's almost normal, the flicker of the screen, the quiet. Then he speaks. “What happened back at the restaurant?” His tone is casual but there's a glint of something sharper beneath. “Why did you suddenly get sick?”

You rub your temple. “I don't know. Maybe I'm coming down with something.”

“Hmm.” He hums low, eyes fixed on the TV but his thumb still tracing your thigh. “You sure about that?”

“What else would it be?” you ask, half-distracted, not catching the knowing undertone.

He just hums again, a sound that could mean anything, and tightens his arm around you. 

You lean back against his chest, trying to ignore the coil of unease in your stomach. A feeling you've learned too well by now.

The movie flickers across the screen in the dark. You're curled against Rafe's chest, the steady drum of his heartbeat under your ear. You don't even notice yourself drifting off until the sound of gulls and the faint glow of early dawn filters in through the curtains. 

You stir, eyes heavy, when a sudden wave of nausea hits like a punch to your stomach. It's violent, all consuming. You throw Rafe's arm off and stumble to the bathroom.

You barely make it to the toilet before you're retching, sweat beading at your temples, your whole body trembling. After a few heaves, you rinse your mouth, brush your teeth, and try to steady yourself in the mirror. Your reflection looks pale and washed out.

Padding back into the bathroom, you see Rafe is still lying on his side, eyes closed. You crawl back under the covers, exhausted.

An arm slides around your waist and pulls you close. Lips brush the back of your head. “Everything okay?” His voice is thick with sleep.

You nod quickly. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” you say again, curling into him.

______________________________

Morning comes fully and the other side of the bed is cold. You drag yourself downstairs. In the kitchen sits a folded note with your name scrawled on it in Rafe's handwritting.

Had a few things to do today. Breakfast is in the fridge. - R x

You open the fridge to find yogurt, granola, and a glass of orange juice arranged neatly. Your stomach flips at the sight. You shut the door, not hungry.

Your phone buzzes, Sarah. Want to hang at John B's?"

You hesitate before texting back. Are the others okay with it?

Yeah. They're cool.

You agree.

Upstairs, you try to slip into your usual jeans but they pinch tight across your hips. Frowning, you swap them for leggins and an oversized hoodie.

John B's place still smells like salt and sand. At first, the tension is thick, you can feel every glance from JJ, Kiara and Pope. But slowly it eases as the afternoon wears on.

Sarah pulls you aside. “How are you? Since out last talk?”

“I'm good.” you say, forcing a smile.

Latter JJ orders pizza. You take a couple bites, then push it away when the nausea returns. 

Kiara notices. “You good?”

“Yeah,” you murmur, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Sarah follows you. “You seem off? What's going on?”

You sigh. “I've been feeling sick since lunch yesterday with Rafe.”

Sarah gives you a look that makes your heart stop. “You're not… please tell me you aren't, Y/N.”

“Am I what?”

“Pregnant.” she whispers.

Your throat goes dry. “What? No. I-” You cut yourself off because you don't actually know.

“Oh no.” Sarah's voice softens. 

“I don't know.” you admit.

“Okay, okay. We're in this together. I've got you.” she says firmly. 

Sarah tells the rest of the group you're heading to town for snacks. You rattle off everyone's requests, then you're gone. At the store, you buy chips, soda, and hidden under everything else, a pregnancy test.

Once you're back at John B's, you hand out the snacks, then slip into the bathroom. After using it, you place the test face down on the sink.

“It's me.” Sarah knocks.

“Come in.” you say.

She closes the door behind her. “Well?”

“I can't look.” You nod towards the test. “Can you?”

Sarah flips it over. Her face drops.

You know instantly. Your legs give way and you collapse into sobs. Sarah catches you, holding you tight. “It's okay. Whatever you want to do, we'll figure it out. You're not alone.”

You nod against her shoulder. You tuck the test into your hoodie pocket before heading out. “I'm heading home.” you mutter. The Pogues hug you goodbye, unaware of what just happened.

_________________________________

You arrive back at Rafe's, the kitchen smells like coffee and citrus. He's leaning on the counter, scrolling his phone.

“Hey,” you greet nervously.

“You didn't eat the breakfast I left.” he says without looking up.

“Yeah, wasn't feeling it.”

“How come?”

“Wasn't feeling the best this morning, but I had lunch with Sarah and all.”

“So you've ate today?” His tone is quiet but probing.

“Yes.” you lie.

He hums and kisses the top of your head. “Shower. You'll feel better.”

You head upstairs and strip off in his room, heading into the bathroom. You step under the water, let it pound against your skin. Ten minutes later, you return to the bedroom, hair damp, wearing a towel.

Rafe is standing with his back to you, shoulders stiff.

“You okay?” you ask.

He turns. In his hand is the pregnancy test. “What's this?”

Like waiting for the moment his patience finally snapped, and wondering wether that would be the moment he killed you.

So when Rafe stood in your apartment days later, calm again, watchful, hand resting possesively at your lower back as if you might dissapear if he let go, you didn't argue when he told you they were going home. 

You didn't ask when.

You didn't ask how long.

You already knew the answer to both.

__________________________________________________

The cafe smelled like burnt coffee and sugar that morning. The same smell it always had, comofrting, familar, yours. The bell above the door chimed when you stepped inside, and for a second, just one second, you imagined staying. Letting the day play out like any other.

Marley was behind the counter. Luna sat at their usual corner table, legs tucked under her, scrolling on her phone.

They looked up at the same time.

One look at your face and they both knew.

“No,” Marley said immediately, stepping around the counter. “No, no. Don't tell me that look means what I think it does.”

Luna stood, chair scraping loudly against the floor. “He found you.”

You nooded. Once. That was all you could manage.

“He's here,” you said quietly. “I have to go.”

Marley's eyes filled instantly. “You don't have to do anything. You can stay. We can call the police. We can-”

“He'll hurt you,” you interrupted, voice breaking. “I can't let that happen. He won't stop. He never does.”

Luna grabbed your hands, squeezing them tight. “You don't belong to him.”

“I know,” you whispered. “But he thinks I do. And that's worse.”

They begged. They cried. Marley told you she could hide you in her spare room. Luna offered money, her car, anything. But it didn't matter. Nothing they offered could outrun a man who had already proven distance meant nothing to him.

When you hugged them goodbye, it felt like tearing something living out of your chest.

Rafe waited outside. Leaning against his truck. Watching the cafe windows like he was counting your breaths.

The moment you stepped out, his arm slide around your shoulders, casual. Claiming. His thumb brushed your collarbone, a silent reminder.

“Good girl.” he murmured, lips near your ear.

You didn't respond.

__________________________________________________

Outer Banks felt exactly the same.

That was the cruelest part.

The salt in the air. The sun bouncing off the water. The sound of laughter drifting down from somewhere along the beach. It felt like you'd stepped backwards in time. Except now, everything was sharper. Heavier.

Sarah was the first to see you.

She froze mid-step, disbelief flashing across her face before she ran forward, pulling you into a hug so tight it stole the breath from your lungs. 

“Oh my god,” Sarah whispered. “I thought-”

“I know,” you said softly. “I'm sorry.”

The others followed. John B, JJ, Pope, Kiara. Each reaction different. Shock. Anger. Confusion. JJ didn't even try to hide the fury burning behind his eyes when he saw Rafe standing just behind you, hand planted firmly at your waist.

They sat together later, away from him. On the edge of the dock, feet dangling above the water.

You told them everything. Not the worse parts, not all of them, but enough.

You told them why you left.

Why you ran.

Why you came back.

“I'm not happy,” you said, staring at the rippling water. “But I'm tired. And if I don't go with him… he'll destroy everything in his path until there's nothing left. At least this way, I can keep it contained.”

“And the baby?” Kiara asked gently.

You swallowed. “He can provide. He already is. And he won't let me dissapear.”

Rafe watched from a distance, satisfied. Victorious. He kept you close after that. An arm always around you, fingers always touching. Like you might remember you once escaped if he let you forget him for even a second.

He smiled more.

Laughed louder.

Acted like he'd won something that was always his.

_______________________________________________________________

Epilogue

Their house sat back from the road, tucked behind trees and tall fencing. Private. Safe, depending on who you asked.

They married quietly.

No spectacle. No crowd. Immediate family. Sarah stood beside you, eyes shining but worried. Rafe squeezed your hand during the vows, grounding. Claiming.

You said ‘I do’ because not saying it felt more dangerous.

The baby came a few months later.

A boy.

You named him James. After no one in particular. Rafe cried when he held him the first time. Real tears. Soft voice. Promises whispered against the tiny head.

For a while, it almost felt normal.

You learned the rhythms of your life again. Morning light through the kitchen windows. Rafe's arm heavy across your waist at night. A baby monitor humming softly beside the bed.

You were… content.

Not happy.

Not free.

But breathing.

You never fully trusted him, not really. You still watched his moods. Counted his silences. Memorised the way his jaw tightened before anger bloomed.

But you stayed.

Because running was worse.

Because loving him had consequences.

Because sometimes survival looks like surrender dressed up as stability.

And because, standing in the quiet of your home, baby asleep on your chest, Rafe's presence looming behind you like a shadow you'd learned to live with. 

You knew the truth you'd been avoiding since the beginning.

He would always find you.

And maybe, some part of you had stopped wanting to be lost.

That morning you hear him downstairs on the phone. His voice is low but intense. You're halfway down the stairs when you freeze on the landing. 

“It's happening, Dad,” Rafe is saying. “Yeah. She's pregnant. I'm locking this down. No, I'm not waiting months. We're doing it. You and Rose will be there. Yes. Book the flights.”

The word pregnant punches the air out of your lungs. You grip the bannister, the world tilting. He told Ward? Before you'd even processed it yourself?

When the call clicks off, you step into the kitchen doorway. “Did you seriously just tell your dad I'm pregnant?” you demanded, voice trembling.

Rafe turns sharply, face hardening like stone. “You were going to tell him when?”

“I wasn't ready-”

He cuts you off. “You weren't ready? This is my kid too.”

“It's my body, Rafe. My life.”

The argument detonates. His voice rises, your hands shake. “You think you get to disappear on me again? No. We're in this. I'm not giving you the chance to run. Not with my child.”

You back away. “You're suffocating me. I need to think.”

“You don't get to storm out,” he snaps. When you try anyway, brushing past him towards the door, he grabs your wrist and drags you back inside. Not rough enough to bruise, but firm enough to leave no doubt. “You're not walking away from this conversation.”

You wrench free, heart hammering, and run up the stairs, slamming the door to one of the guest rooms. The lock clicks, your hands shake so hard you almost miss it. His footsteps thunder up the stairs.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

“Open the door. Now.”

You press your back against it, phone already in your hand.

I can't do this Sarah. He told Ward. He's planning everything without me.

Sarah's reply is instant.

Stay locked in. Breathe. I'm here. We'll figure this out.

Outside the door, Rafe's voice drops low and dangerous. 

“You're making it worse for yourself, Y/N. Open the door.”

You don't. He bangs once more, then silence. After a few minutes you hear him stomp down the stairs. A door slams. The house goes quiet.

Hours pass. The light fades to orange. Your legs cramp from sitting on the floor. When you finally emerge, the house feels hallow. You tiptoe into the kitchen, nerves buzzing.

His laptop is on the counter, still open. You shouldn't, but your fingers move before your brain does.

Confirmation emails. A small elopement in Charleston booked for three weeks from now. Two witnesses. Ward Cameron and Rose Cameron. You click through the PDF's, scrolling past hotel reservations and a private officiant deposit.

Your breath comes in short, sharp bursts. This isn't talk anymore, this is happening.

You close the laptop, hands trembling. You run upstairs to his room, pulling an overnight bag from the closet. Clothes. Toothbrush. Phone charger. Cash from the jar under the sink. You stuff it all into the bag and tuck it in the spare bedroom closet behind extra bedding.

Your phone buzzes. Sarah again.

Sarah: Are you okay?

You: No. He's already booked it all. I'm packing a bag. 

Sarah: Good. Have a plan. Text me everything. I'll help however you need.

You spill your plan out in a long steam of messages, when you'll leave, how, where you'll go. Sarah sends back affirmations, reminders that you're not alone, that she'll come get you if she has to.

You put the phone down and sink onto the bed. The bag's hidden. The messages sent. But your hands still tremble. You glance at the door every few seconds, bracing for Rafe to come back through it, for the sound of his truck on the gravel. 

Downstairs the house sits still, but it feels like a held breath.

And you don't know how much longer until it exhales. 

______________________________________________

You wake to the sound of a door slamming somewhere downstairs. The house creaks with heavy footsteps climbing the stairs. Your stomach knots as you roll to your side, facing the wall, eyes squeezed shut. You don't have to see him to know it's Rafe. His smell hits you first, sharp alcohol laced with his expensive cologne. He's drunk.

The bedroom door opens. Silence. Then the matress dips under his weight. A hot, unsteady hand slides up the back of your thigh, fingers grazing skin you don't want him to touch. They travel over your hip, to your stomach, playing with the elastic of your underwear.

“No.” you say, spinning onto your back and catching his wrist mid-movement. Your voice is quiet but firm. “Not tonight, Rafe.”

He blinks at you, pupils blown wide, a lazy grin twisting his mouth. “C'mon, baby… don't act like you don't miss me.” He leans in, trying to press his lips to yours.

You push at his chest, harder this time. “You're drunk. Stop.”

For a heartbeat, his face hardens. Then he laughs, a low, bitter sound, and flops onto his stomach beside you. “You're no fun anymore.” he mutters into the pillow. 

“You're drunk.” you repeat softly, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

Another laugh. “Maybe.”

The two of you lie in a charged silence. His breathing evens out, the scent of liquor hanging heavy in the room. Within minutes he's snoring lightly, sprawled across the bed like he owns it. 

Your heart pounds against your ribs. The adrenaline makes your hands shake. This is it, you think. This is the window you've been waiting for. 

You slide carefully out of the bed, feet hitting the cold floor without a sound. Rafe mumbles something incoherent but doesn't move. You watch him for a long moment, the man has wrapped himself around every corner of your life, and then turn towrad the spare bedroom where your hidden bag waits.