yoonbroom

San showed up in your life on a completely normal day, one of those days when you swear nothing interesting is going to happen.

You had gone to that small practice room near your house—the one you rented sometimes because you liked to clear your head by doing... well, your thing. You weren't a professional, nor did you pretend to be, but it relaxed you. It was your way of getting away from the noise.

That day, the receptionist messed up the booking.

"The big room is double-booked..." she muttered, looking at the screen. "You are... Choi San, right?"

You were standing right next to him, water bottle in hand, already resigned to just heading back home.

"It's fine, I can come back another day," you said, trying to smile.

Before you could even take a step back, he spoke.

"Wait," his voice was clear and kind. "We can share it, right?"

You turned around to get a good look at him for the first time. Cap, face mask, oversized hoodie, but his eyes... his eyes were smiling. There was something warm in his gaze, something that made you hesitate.

"I don't want to bother you," you replied, feeling a bit awkward. "I'm sure you need the space."

"It won't be a bother." He pulled down his mask a bit to give you a full smile and nodded at the receptionist. "We'll settle it like this, okay?"

In the end, you both went in.

The first half hour was strange. Each of you stayed in your own corner, you with your music at medium volume in your headphones, and the echo of his footsteps on the other side as he focused on his choreography. But you noticed something: he moved way too well. He wasn't just "someone who dances." He was a professional.

You caught yourself watching him in the mirror.

He noticed, too.

"Am I bothering you?" he asked with a soft chuckle, leaning against the wall, sweaty and out of breath.

You quickly shook your head.

"No, no. It's just... you're a really good dancer."

"It's my job." He said it so casually that your eyebrow shot up on its own.

"Your job?"

He hesitated for a second, as if doing some quick mental math.

"I'm in a group... a music group," he shrugged, almost shyly. "ATEEZ. I don't know if..."

"I know who you guys are," you said truthfully, but keeping your tone neutral. Interested enough for it to be true, but calm enough for him to understand you weren't about to lose your mind.

That seemed to relax him instantly.

"Ah..." he smiled wider. "Then I don't have to explain that I'm the one who makes weird noises and laughs way too much."

You laughed too, and the tension between you two completely melted away.

From then on, everything just kind of happened without you really noticing.

Life kept putting you on the same schedule as San more times than was statistically normal. You would run into each other at the practice room, end up talking before starting and after finishing, and without even realizing it, you started telling each other things you didn't usually tell anyone else.

It wasn't hard to see why so many people were drawn to his personality. San was pure light. He laughed loudly, got excited over the smallest things, and would send you videos of a random dog on the street because "look how cute, I know you'll love it." He was intense, but in the most adorable way possible.

And even though you knew exactly who he was and how massive his world was, you set a boundary right from the start: you didn't want to get mixed up in the public part of his life.

"I don't want you getting me into any drama," you told him once, sitting on some stairs, sharing a drink while he wiped away his sweat with a towel. "No cameras, no fans, nothing. Your job is your job. I just want to be your friend, okay?"

San looked at you for a second, serious for once.

"That's exactly why I like you," he said, giving your shoulder a playful nudge. "You're mine. My friend. Not 'ATEEZ's San's' friend—just San's."

"How possessive," you teased.

"Of course. I'm your best friend now, remember," he insisted, pouting his bottom lip in an exaggerated way.

And he was. Your best friend.

Over time, you started meeting part of his inner circle. Never the whole group at once, never in public situations. Always in small, controlled settings, far away from cameras.

You met Seonghwa because he showed up at the practice room one day with a massive bag.

"I brought this because I think you'll appreciate it more than San," he said, pulling out a complex, limited-edition LEGO set.

From that day on, he became that chill friend you could talk to about building things, collections, and little details. Every time you went on a trip, if there was a geeky shop around, you almost always came back with something for Seonghwa. You loved seeing his smile whenever you handed him a new box.

Yunho was easy. Tall, fun, and just comfortable to be around. The type to give you unexpected hugs when you were feeling down, just because "you look like you need one." You shared a lot of laughs and goofy moments with him. And San, obviously, would complain from time to time.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," he would slide right between you and Yunho whenever he saw you two getting too entertained. "What is this? Do I need to remind you who your best friend is?"

"You're jealous of Yunho," you'd say, thoroughly enjoying the drama.

"I'm not jealous," he'd retort, crossing his arms like a kid. "Just... making a mental note to see when you're going to replace me."

You'd roll your eyes, but you'd always end up hugging him too, because you just couldn't help it.

Things with Jessie were different.

San warned you a few days in advance.

"Listen, I want to introduce you to someone," he told you over the phone, his voice a bit lower than usual. "She’s important to me... and to Hongjoong, too."

"That sounds suspicious," you joked. "Is this an intervention? Have you finally gotten tired of me?"

"Shut up," he laughed. "It’s Hongjoong’s girlfriend. But nobody knows about this. I mean, nobody outside of us. When you come over, I want you to have someone to talk to who isn't a scatterbrain like me or a LEGO geek like Seonghwa."

"You're going to end up without a best friend, just watch."

"Impossible," he replied without hesitation. "But I want you to have someone who is... your person. Besides me, of course."

Jessie arrived wearing a cap, an oversized hoodie, and a smile that won you over within ten minutes.

You two connected instantly. Maybe because you were both in the middle of a world that wasn't exactly yours, but that you had to respect; maybe because Hongjoong looked at her like she was a treasure, and that made you trust her. Or maybe because you just clicked.

Over time, you realized that the word "friend" wasn't enough. You told each other everything—from silly daily stuff to doubts you would never say out loud in front of anyone else. Whenever you all hung out, you weren't just "San's friend" anymore; you were "Jessie's friend" too.

And that made you feel less alone inside that small, closed universe.

You had spent all that time staying true to your rule: you didn't want to cross the line that separated "normal" life from fame. You didn't go to concerts with special passes, you didn't take photos, you didn't touch that side of his life.

But things change.

One night, San called you with that specific excitement he only used when something truly big was happening.

"We're celebrating something," he said, barely catching his breath. "Something huge. And you are coming, no matter what."

"San..."

"It's not public, don't worry. No cameras. Just us. The group, some of the staff... Jessie is going to be there. Hongjoong wants her there. And I want you there."

You hesitated for a moment, twirling your headphone cord around your finger.

"Are you sure I won't be in the way?"

"If you don't come, I'm not going," he blurted out flatly.

You knew he wasn't entirely serious, but you also knew it meant a lot to him for you to integrate a bit more. Not on stage, but in what actually mattered: the people.

You sighed.

"Alright. I'll go."

"You're the best," he replied, satisfied. "You're going to like everyone, just watch."

What you didn't know back then was that, that night, you were going to meet someone who would throw you off balance in a completely different way.

Someone who would sit in silence, observing more than he spoke, and make you rethink all of your first impressions.

The restaurant didn't look like a restaurant at all.

From the outside, it looked more like a discreet office building, with dark windows and a guard at the entrance. No bright signs, no lines of people waiting for a table. If it hadn't been for San sending you the location three times, you would have thought you were lost.

You got out of the cab, took a deep breath, and looked at your reflection in the glass door. You weren't dressed up for a "red carpet," but you weren't dressed for a quick errand either. You had aimed for that sweet spot that made you feel comfortable without looking out of place: clothes that looked good on you, but that you could actually move, sit, and laugh in without constantly checking if something was getting wrinkled.

Your phone buzzed.

I’m inside. Tell the security guard at the door you’re with me, okay?

You rolled your eyes at San's text, but you felt the knot in your stomach loosen up a bit.

The guard was nice. He asked for your name, nodded after checking something on his tablet, and let you through to an elevator that went straight up to the reserved floor.

As you rode up, you heard the faint murmur of voices and laughter filtering through the walls. It suddenly hit you where you were and who you were about to hang out with.

No fans. No cameras. But the entirety of ATEEZ. And part of their inner circle.

You, who had always kept a safe distance from all of that, were about to share a dinner with them.

The elevator doors opened with a soft ding.

The first thing that hit you was the warm lighting of the place. It didn't feel like a cold, banquet-hall type of room; on the contrary, it had a cozy vibe—long tables made of light wood, hanging lamps, plants in the corners, and a bar in the back. Some tables were already littered with half-eaten plates, forgotten glasses, and crumpled napkins.

And above all, noise. Laughter. Overlapping voices.

"There she is!" San was the first to spot you. He jumped up from his table as if something had stung him and practically ran over to you, sporting a smile so big it made you want to hug him just for that. "I knew you wouldn't leave me hanging."

"I thought about it," you joked, "but then I remembered you're a crier."

"Hey, where's the respect?" He threw an arm around you and pulled you to his side, giving you a playful, affectionate shake. "Come on, come on, there are people who want to see you."

He only gave you a split second to look around.

You recognized a few of them right away. Yunho was standing up, gesturing wildly while telling a story; Seonghwa was laughing with his head tilted, his hand resting on the arm of a chair belonging to someone you couldn't quite see. Further back, at a slightly smaller table, Hongjoong was talking in a low voice to a blue-haired girl, who turned around at that exact moment.

Jessie.

Her smile reached her eyes the second she saw you.

"Finally!" She stood up, almost knocking her chair back, and came toward you with open arms. "I thought San had kidnapped you or something."

"The temptation was there," he said from behind, pointing at you with his thumb. "But I decided to share."

Jessie hugged you tightly—one of those hugs that lasts a second longer than people usually allow, as if she wanted to make sure you were actually there. She smelled sweet and clean, a mix of light perfume and shampoo.

Her blue hair was thrown up carelessly, with a few loose strands framing her face, and her hoodie sleeves were pushed up a bit, offering just flashes of ink on her skin without showing any specific tattoo. You already knew she had them—she’d told you a thousand times—but she’d never felt the need to show them off like trophies. They were just part of her, like the blue hair, like the way she laughed with her whole body.

"You look gorgeous," she said, pulling back a bit to look at you. "Nervous?"

"A little," you admitted.

"Don't worry about it. If you get overwhelmed, we can both go sit somewhere, put on our best poker faces, and judge everyone in silence." She winked at you. "Come on, come with me, sit with us."

The main table was organized chaos.

They sat you right between San and Jessie, across from Yunho and Seonghwa. The rest of the group was scattered around: Wooyoung was talking fast with Mingi; Jongho was debating something about food with one of the managers; and Hongjoong was at one end, taking it all in with a mix of pride and exhaustion on his face.

Someone was missing, you realized. You had mentally counted seven members.

San caught you looking around.

"He's at the bar," he said close to your ear, following your gaze. "He went to grab something."

You didn't ask who, but your curiosity was definitely sparked.

The conversation flowed much faster than you would have expected. Yunho made you laugh with an absurd airport story; Seonghwa asked about your last trip and if you had brought him anything this time, with that mix of anticipation and shyness you loved.

"I didn't have time to stop by any decent shops, I'm sorry," you said.

"She'll bring something next time," San chimed in, as if signing a verbal contract. "Right?"

"I'm not promising anything," you shot back, nudging him with your elbow.

"I'm starting to think you like Seonghwa more than me," he faked offense, putting a hand over his heart. "I see my best-friend status is in serious jeopardy..."

"Well, he doesn't make me deal with your drama," you replied calmly.

The table burst into soft laughter. San looked at you with his mouth wide open, but his eyes held that gleam of satisfaction he always got whenever he managed to make you feel comfortable around others.

You were so caught up in the chatter that you didn't notice someone approaching until you heard a voice.

Deep. Soft, but with a tone that vibrated in the air.

"Sorry, was this my chair?"

You looked up.

You saw his silhouette first, outlined against the warm light. Tall, but not excessively so; lean, with a straight shoulder line under his dark shirt. His hair fell flawlessly over his forehead, as if it hadn't been touched by anyone all night. His features were sharp, almost delicate, but his eyes held something more serious, more focused, as if he were constantly processing everything around him.

Kang Yeosang.

He had appeared in thousands of photos, videos, and fancams that would sometimes pop up on your algorithm. But in person, up close, he was something else. Less distant, less "magazine-perfect," and more human—but in a way that made him even more striking.

"Yeah, yeah, come on over," Yunho said, gesturing to him. "We hijacked your chair, but we're giving it back."

He tilted his head slightly, politely, and pulled up the empty chair across from you, right between Yunho and Seonghwa. He sat down with calm, almost silent movements.

That was when he noticed you. His eyes locked with yours for a second.

He didn’t smile right away. First, he looked at you, as if recognizing that he hadn't seen you before. Then, very gently, the corners of his lips lifted into a discreet smile.

"Hi," he said.

That voice again. Deep, clean, so different from the first impression you would have gotten if you had only seen him without hearing him. It threw you off balance a bit more than you expected.

"Hi," you answered, trying to sound normal.

San, of course, didn't give you any time to process things in silence.

"She’s the famous best friend I'm always talking about," he announced, giving your shoulder a light nudge. "So watch what you say, Yeosang. I have eyes everywhere."

"You didn't tell me she was coming today," Yeosang commented, looking at San for a moment before turning his gaze back to you. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too," you replied, feeling the back of your neck get warm. "I've heard... good things about you."

Yunho cleared his throat dramatically.

"Don't lie to him, please," he joked. "Mr. Standard over here is very particular about his games and his food."

"I'm not particular," Yeosang retorted calmly. "I just have standards."

The way he said it, so serious and so effortless, brought out laughs all around. You smiled too, almost despite yourself.

Jessie, next to you, leaned in close, putting her mouth near your ear.

"He's different when you see him in person, right?" she whispered, so softly that only you could hear.

"What is?" you asked, faking innocence.

"Everything." You felt her give your leg a gentle tap under the table. "We'll talk later."

You turned back to your plate, pretending to focus on your food so your face wouldn't give you away. Because it was true: you had pictured Yeosang as someone quiet, shy, and proper. And he was. But there was also a firmness in his posture—something about the way he rested his elbows on the table and interlaced his fingers, and how intently he watched the conversations before chiming in.

He didn't talk as much as the others, but when he did, his voice practically forced you to listen.

The night went on.

There were impromptu toasts, bad jokes from Mingi, impressions by Wooyoung, and an emotional moment where Hongjoong stood up, glass in hand, to thank the staff and the group for their hard work over the last few months. Everyone applauded; Jessie looked at him with shining eyes, pure pride, and you squeezed her hand silently under the table.

At some point, the tables began piling up with empty plates and half-full glasses, and people started moving around more freely. Some went to the bar, others got up to talk to people at different tables, and someone put on some background music.

Jessie leaned toward you.

"I'm going to the bathroom real quick," she said. "Want to come?"

You shook your head.

"I'll go in a bit. Let me just finish this."

She nodded and walked off, disappearing into the crowd.

San was on the other side of the room, having an animated debate with Wooyoung and Mingi; Yunho had gotten up to greet someone from the staff. You were left in relative peace for a moment, hands resting on the edge of your plate, just taking in the atmosphere.

You felt a slight shift near your arm.

You turned around and found Yeosang looking at you.

It wasn't as noisy on this side of the table now, so his voice came through much clearer when he spoke.

"San talks about you a lot."

You blinked.

"Oh, yeah? What does he say?"

"That you're the only person outside of this world who actually manages to shut him up when he gets too intense." His lips curved just a fraction. "That you have zero interest in the... public side of things. And that's why he trusts you so much."

You shifted slightly in your chair.

"He exaggerates."

"He says that about you, too," he added, without missing a beat. "That you're always downplaying things."

You didn't know what to say to that. So you just asked the first thing that came to mind.

"And you? Do you trust his judgment when he speaks well of people?"

Yeosang took a second to think about it, as if it were a serious question in the middle of a casual chat.

"It depends on the person he's talking about." His fingers tapped gently against the rim of his glass. "But in your case... I think I do."

There was something completely disarming about how honest he was—no fluff, no trying to sound charming. He was just stating a fact.

You realized you were staring at him a bit too long and tried to shift your attention back to the table.

"I'm not really used to... this," you admitted, gesturing vaguely around the room. "But San seemed so excited that... well."

"He was really looking forward to you coming." Yeosang nodded, as if confirming a thought he’d already had. "And Jessie too, I assume."

"Yeah." You smiled, thinking of her. "She's been asking me for weeks if I was going to make it."

"That’s a good sign," he commented. "Jessie doesn't insist like that with just anyone."

It surprised you that he knew that. That he had even thought about it.

"Do you feel uncomfortable?" he asked then, directly but without sounding harsh.

You shook your head.

"No... just. It's different from what I usually do on a Saturday night."

"And what do you usually do on a Saturday night?" He tilted his head a bit, curious.

That intense gaze, that undivided attention focused entirely on you, suddenly made you hyper-aware of your hands, your posture, of everything.

"It depends," you answered, fidgeting with the edge of your napkin. "Sometimes I hang out with friends, sometimes I stay in, sometimes I just go for a walk with no real destination... It's not very exciting."

"It sounds peaceful." He seemed to approve. "Sometimes I envy that."

There was a quiet sincerity in his tone that touched you more than you expected.

The conversation settled into a comfortable spot—quiet, but not awkward. Around you, people kept laughing, talking, and moving around. The background music filled the gaps.

Jessie still hadn't come back. San was busy with his own chaos. You realized that, in a way, you were alone with Yeosang in the middle of a crowded room.

He stood up first.

"Do you want something to drink?" he asked. "I'm heading to the bar."

You looked at your glass, which was almost empty.

"Yeah... whatever you're having is fine."

He nodded without a word and headed toward the bar. You followed him with your eyes without even realizing it, watching him weave through the crowd. The contrast between his dark clothes and the warm lighting of the place made him stand out effortlessly.

"You're totally eating someone up with your eyes," a voice whispered next to you.

You jumped a little. Jessie had come back without you noticing, a sly smile on her face.

"Don't be dramatic," you replied, trying to play it cool.

She followed your gaze without a shred of hesitation. Her eyes landed on Yeosang, who was waiting at the bar, leaning on one elbow, talking to the bartender.

"Uh-huh." Her smile grew wider. "I get it."

"There's nothing to get."

"Of course not." Her tone was anything but convinced. "Except you almost fell into your glass staring at him. Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. For now."

You looked at her with a mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

"I don't 'like' him. I'm just... surprised. I thought he was more..."

"More what?" she nudged.

You searched for the words.

"More... distant. I don't know. And he has that voice..."

The second you said it, you felt the heat rush to your face. Jessie arched an eyebrow, amused.

"Oh." She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. "I see where this is going."

"It's not going anywhere," you shot back quickly. "I just met him."

"And?" Jessie shrugged. "Sometimes that's all it takes for someone to catch your eye. Relax. Nobody's going to judge you for having eyes."

Her tone was light, but there was pure understanding in her eyes—the kind of "I know exactly what you're feeling even if you don't want to admit it" look.

Before you could reply, Yeosang came back to the table.

He was carrying two glasses. He handed you yours carefully.

"I didn't know if you preferred this or something a bit lighter, so I asked him to make it with a little less alcohol," he explained, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to have noticed exactly how much you had been drinking so far.

"Thanks," you said, taking the glass without holding his gaze for too long, hyper-aware of Jessie's eyes drilled right into you.

He sat back down, this time a bit closer to the edge of the table, cutting down the distance between you to the absolute minimum the space allowed.

The night went on, but an invisible shift had taken place: now you were aware of him. Of his laugh whenever someone across the room cracked a joke, of how he ran his hand through his hair when he was thinking, of the way his fingers toyed with the stem of his glass when he was quiet.

And, every now and then, you caught yourself looking at him. Not a lot, not too much. Just enough for Jessie, right next to you, to drop a comment.

The hours flew by without you even noticing.

Eventually, part of the group started to head out, others went outside for some fresh air, and a few stayed behind, practically collapsing into their chairs, exhausted but happy.

San suddenly appeared behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Are you having a good time?" he asked, his voice a bit raspy from all the talking and laughing.

"Yeah," you answered without a second thought. And it was true.

"Good." He gave your shoulders a firm squeeze. "I'm heading downstairs with Wooyoung real quick; he wants to show me something in his car. Don't leave without saying goodbye, okay?"

"As if you'd let me," you told him.

"True." He laughed and walked away, leaving you once again in that quiet limbo between the noise and the calm.

Jessie was talking to Hongjoong a little further away, standing up and gesturing enthusiastically. The rest of the group was scattered.

You stood up, suddenly feeling the need for some breathing room, even if it just meant crossing the lounge.

You walked over to the bar, more to give yourself something to do than because you actually needed another drink. The bartender was busy on the other end; you leaned your hands against the wooden ledge, breathing slowly.

"Tired of the table?"

You turned around.

Yeosang was standing right next to you, leaning against the bar, his body slightly turned toward yours. You had been so deep in thought that you hadn't even seen him approach.

"I just needed to... switch spots for a moment," you said. "It's a lot of people."

"I know." He nodded understandingly, without pressing for more of an explanation. "I usually escape to the bar too."

A brief, comfortable silence followed. The murmur of the room felt muffled from where you stood, as if you were both a step away from everyone else.

"Thanks for coming tonight," he added suddenly.

You looked at him, confused.

"You don't have to thank me."

"San was really nervous about this," he explained. "He wanted this to be a big deal for us, but he also wanted to share it with the people who actually mean something outside of work." He paused for a moment. "Seeing you here relaxed him."

Noticing that someone had actually picked up on that, and that he was putting it into words, touched a sensitive nerve.

"Well..." you shrugged. "If it helps, then it was worth it."

Yeosang watched you a second longer than necessary. There was something evaluative in his look, but not in a bad way. It was as if he were filing away information about you somewhere in his head.

"You didn't look out of place," he said at last.

"That’s the best thing anyone’s told me tonight," you admitted with a half-smile.

His lips curved in response.

The bartender walked over and asked if you needed anything. You ordered water this time; Yeosang asked for the same. The glasses arrived quickly, cold, with condensation sliding down the glass.

Your fingers brushed against his when you both went to move the glasses away from the edge at the exact same time.

It was a tiny, almost nonexistent touch. But you felt it. And, by the slight shift in his gaze, you knew he did too.

He didn't pull his hand away abruptly or make an awkward scene. He just let the contact last a fraction of a second longer than strictly necessary before letting his fingers rest on the bar.

The distance between your bodies, leaning against the wood, was small. You could feel the heat radiating from his arm, even though he wasn't touching you.

The music had died down. Most of the noise was coming from a corner where Mingi and Yunho were still putting on their own show. Where you were standing, the lighting was a bit lower, softer.

Yeosang turned his head slightly toward you.

"I think I like you," he said, with the exact same calmness he would use to comment on the weather.

Something in your stomach took an unexpected little flip.

"Only 'think'?" you asked, trying to keep your tone light.

"I'm still gathering data." A spark of humor gleamed in his eyes. "But so far, the forecast is good."

You felt the air get a little heavy, very subtly. There was nothing overtly suggestive about his words, but the way he looked at you—the calmness with which he stayed by your side in that little bubble, separated from the rest—made your skin hyper-aware of his every single move.

You could choose to leave. You could make a silly comment and break the tension. You could...

"It’s late," you said at last, taking a sip of water to buy yourself a second. "I’ll be a zombie tomorrow if I stay here any longer."

It wasn't exactly running away, but it was pretty close.

"I guess so," Yeosang nodded, without a hint of reproach. "It’s been a long few weeks."

For a second, you thought he was going to add something else, but he didn't. He just swirled the water in his glass, watching it move with the gesture.

"Thanks for the chat," he added then, simply. "I don't usually talk this much with new people."

"Me neither," you admitted, and it was true.

His eyes locked with yours once more. There was a brief flash, something you couldn't quite read. Then, as if voluntarily pulling down a window shade, his expression softened.

"I'll see you around," he said, neutral but kind.

It wasn't an intense promise. It wasn't an outright "I want to see you again." It was something more discreet, carefully measured. Just enough to leave the idea lingering in your head. Not enough for anyone watching from the outside to point it out as anything strange.

You stepped away from the bar with a small wave and walked back toward the table. Jessie eyed you as you arrived, but she didn't say a word; she just raised an eyebrow with a mischievous smile.

San returned shortly after, his nose a little red from the cold outside and the smell of the night on his clothes. He slumped down next to you, rested his head on your shoulder for a second, and murmured:

"Thanks for coming."

"Stop thanking me," you shot back, but you didn't move. You let him stay there a little longer, feeling his comfortable, familiar weight.

In some corner of your mind, a tiny voice kept repeating that sentence from earlier.

“I think I like you. I'm still gathering data.”

You went home later than you had planned, with a tired body and a mind that was way too awake.

That night, when you crawled into bed, it took you a while to fall asleep. And it wasn't because of San, or Jessie, or even the noise of the city.

It was because of a deep voice that didn't match the mental image you had formed of him at all.

And because of eyes that, for a few seconds, seemed to look at you as if they were seeing more than you yourself were willing to admit.

The days following the dinner passed much faster than you cared to admit.

Work, your routines, your little daily habits all took back their usual spots. But it was as if someone had subtly adjusted a camera lens without warning—certain things just felt a little sharper than before.

Like your phone, for instance.

The group chat you had with San and Jessie—which he had dubbed "The Holy Trinity"—started blowing up way more than usual.

San: I have decided I hate you both because you can't come see us at the practice room today. San: But I love you because we're grabbing dinner after. Jessie: Make up your mind, clown. You: I’m only going to dinner if you promise not to sweat all over me when you hug me. San: This is discrimination against people who are dedicated to their jobs 😔

You found yourself smiling more than once reading those silly texts in the middle of your day. And every now and then, amid the usual messages, a different notification would pop up.

A new chat: “Little Team.” Users: San, Jessie, you… and a fourth name.

San: I added Yeosang, he's always the last to find out about plans. Yeosang: I'm not complaining. Jessie: That's what he says, but then he shows up with a face like 'why didn't you guys invite me sooner.' You: Hi, I'm the one who doesn't really belong here, but here I am. Yeosang: You do belong. If you didn't, San wouldn't have added you. He's pretty selective.

You read that last sentence a couple of times. It was polite, neutral. But it got to you more than it should have.

San replied with a flood of dramatic stickers, so the conversation quickly derailed, but your mind stayed anchored there for a bit. On that "You do belong."

The four of you met up for dinner a couple of times. Nothing glamorous: a barbecue joint tucked away on a random corner, a ramen place with tiny tables and background noise. Jessie wore a cap and a mask; San and Yeosang had beanies, hoodies, and baggy clothes. And yet, a few curious glances always managed to slip their way.

The first time, you sat across from Yeosang, almost by accident. San took the seat next to you, Jessie stuck by Hongjoong when he was able to make it, and you ended up right in front of him, arms crossing the space every time someone reached for a plate.

Yeosang participated in the conversation just enough, but he laughed at San's jokes, played along with Jessie's sarcasm, and every now and then, he would throw a direct, short question your way, almost as if he were checking boxes on a mental form about you.

"Do you like spicy food?"

"Depends on the day."

"Do you prefer sweet or savory?"

"Savory."

"Does being in crowded places overwhelm you a lot?"

He would surprise you with questions like that, seemingly coming out of nowhere but neatly filed away in his mind.

And every time the conversation got too personal about you—like when San would tell some absurd story of yours—he would take a half-step back. He'd smile, but drop his gaze to his plate, or focus on grilling food for everyone else. Polite, but drawing an invisible line.

He wasn't distant.

He was... careful.

And you, even though you didn't quite understand why, sort of appreciated that caution.

One night, it was time for a sleepover.

Jessie showed up at your door with a massive bag slung over her shoulder, her blue hair tied up in a messy bun, and a hoodie three sizes too big for her.

"I brought wine, face masks, and comfy clothes." She lifted the bag like a trophy. "And I'm providing the internal drama."

"Come on in," you said, smiling.

It was late, but the atmosphere in your place was warm: soft lighting, a lit candle, blankets on the couch. You liked that it felt like that—like a sanctuary, especially for her.

The two of you sat on the living room floor, backs resting against the couch, wine glasses on the coffee table, and skincare tubs scattered around like you were about to perform a ritual.

Jessie took off her hoodie, leaving her in a tank top. You caught glimpses of ink on her arms and collarbones, but you didn't focus on them. They were just part of her, like the blue hair, like the way she sighed before taking her first sip.

"I needed this," she murmured.

"Rough week?"

"Rough week, rough month, weird year." She shrugged. "You know how it goes."

She didn't need to explain much more. You knew. You had pieces of the puzzle.

You both put on the face masks—a green one for you, a white one for her—and leaned back, heads resting against the edge of the couch, legs stretched out.

"Sometimes I feel guilty for complaining," Jessie started, her eyes fixed on the ceiling. "I have someone I love, who loves me, a job I like, friends... And yet, there are days when I wake up with a knot in my stomach just thinking about everything that could go wrong."

You knew she was talking about Hongjoong without saying his name. She had done it before. Not out of embarrassment, but out of sheer exhaustion from having to justify it to the whole world. With you, she didn't have to.

"You don't have to be strong all the time," you said softly. "Not with him, not with me. You're allowed to be tired."

Jessie let out a humorless laugh.

"He already carries so much..." She ran a hand over her forehead, avoiding the mask. "And I see him when the lights go out, when he takes off the perfect-leader mask. He's exhausted, you know? And yet, when he looks at me, he tries to smile like nothing's wrong. How am I supposed to dump my crap on top of that?"

"Because if you don't tell him, he's going to imagine things being much worse," you replied automatically, because you truly believed it. "And because you're in this too. Just because his job is more visible doesn't mean your feelings weigh any less."

She went quiet for a moment, letting the words sink in.

"Sometimes I wonder if I'm enough for him," she confessed at last, her voice barely a whisper. "With everything he could have... with all the people who look up to him... I'm just... me."

You turned slightly toward her. Even with the face mask on, you tried to make your gaze as steady and reassuring as possible.

"You are the person he chooses every single day, knowing exactly what else is out there," you said. "That right there answers your question."

Jessie swallowed hard, her eyes welling up a bit.

"And then I think about how he looks at me when he thinks no one is watching," she laughed softly, her voice cracking. "And I know that I am. I'm enough, and then some. But there are just days when that annoying little voice won't shut up."

You shifted closer to her and gave her shoulder a gentle nudge.

"When that voice gets too loud, you call me. And if I have to, I'll picture it with San's face and punch it." The mental image made you smile. "You're not alone in this, okay?"

Jessie laughed, and a tear escaped, rolling down her temple.

"I don't know what I'd do without you," she whispered.

"Probably get more sleep," you joked.

"Probably." She laughed harder this time. "But I like having you around, even if you keep me awake."

The two of you stayed like that, talking about everything and nothing. About projects, fears, and the little joys of daily life. The wine went down smoothly, your skin felt tacky from the masks, and your hearts felt a little lighter than when the night started.

Later on, with clean faces, brushed teeth, and the bedroom light dimmed, Jessie slid into the right side of the bed, just like she always did.

"Tell me something silly before we go to sleep," she asked, turning to face you.

You thought about it for a second.

"San was staring at me the other day when I was talking to Yeosang," you confessed, not entirely sure why you were bringing it up right now. "He had that look on his face, the 'I know something you don't' one."

Jessie adjusted the pillow under her head.

"And are you feeling something he knows about but you don't want to admit?" she asked directly.

You kept staring at the ceiling.

"I don't know yet," you admitted honestly. "I just... notice him. That's all."

Jessie made a thoughtful sound.

"Yeosang is complicated," she said, almost in a whisper. "But not in a bad way. He's the type who sees more than it seems. And he keeps a lot to himself. If you've caught his attention... that's already something."

"He hasn't looked at me in any special way," you defended yourself, purely out of habit.

"It doesn't have to be obvious." She shrugged a bit under the blanket. "But I know him. And I know you, too."

A brief, comfortable silence followed.

"If he ever hurts you," Jessie added, her voice soft but firm, "I'm down to help you punch his face in."

You burst out laughing, picturing the scene.

"Led by Hongjoong, I assume?"

"Obviously." She smiled. "But I don't think it'll come to that. Just... go slow."

"I always wanted a slow burn in my life," you murmured, half-joking, half-serious.

"Well, maybe it's right in front of you and you just don't want to realize it," she answered, already drifting off to sleep.

You turned onto your side and closed your eyes. And even though the conversation had started with Hongjoong, you ended up falling asleep with another deep voice in your head, repeating:

"I'm still gathering data. But so far, the forecast is good."

The following months rolled by.

Small get-togethers, impromptu dinners, and occasional visits from you to the practice room "just to see San"—even though it wasn't just about him anymore.

Yeosang was there more often than not when you dropped by. Sometimes practicing; other times sitting in a corner with his phone or a handheld game, resting between sessions.

San always put on his usual dramatic display.

"My best friend is here!" he would shout the moment he saw you, sprinting over to wrap you in a hug, completely unbothered by how sweaty he was.

"Get off me," you'd protest, giving him a weak shove. "You're gross."

"Don't talk that way about someone this handsome," he'd reply, looking offended. "Or you're going to lose your best friend, and I'll give the title to Yunho."

"You're already losing her," Yunho added, appearing from behind to give you a hug of his own.

Amid the laughter, shared glances, and inside jokes, the studio started feeling less and less foreign. You got used to the noise, the cheers when a routine went perfectly, the groans when something went wrong, and the breaks spent sprawled out on the floor surrounded by half-empty water bottles.

Yeosang was different in this environment, too.

He wasn't the quiet guy from the dinner table or the perfectly measured version of himself from the bar. While working, there was an almost fierce concentration in his movements. Every step was sharp and controlled, but there was a contained energy in his body that caught your eye more than you cared to admit.

Every now and then, during a break, circumstances would leave the two of you alone for a minute.

"Don't you get bored watching us repeat the same thing twenty times?" he asked one afternoon, wiping off his sweat with a towel, his chest rising and falling heavily.

"A little," you answered honestly, shrugging. "But it's also interesting to watch you guys practically kill yourselves just to make three minutes look perfect."

He let out a soft laugh.

"That sounds pretty accurate."

He sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the mirror, and lightly patted the empty space next to him—inviting you without saying it out loud. You hesitated for a split second but sat down anyway.

You weren't pressed against each other, but you weren't too far apart either. All it took was turning your head slightly to see his profile.

"San says you sometimes force him to stop," he commented in a calm tone. "When he goes overboard with practice."

"I don't force him. I just remind him he's human." You looked toward the center of the room, where the others were talking with the choreographer. "He forgets."

"We all do." Yeosang followed your gaze. "But him more than most."

There was a hint of affection in his voice that wouldn't be obvious to just anyone. But you, having seen them together quite a few times now, were starting to recognize those little details.

"And you?" he added after a beat. "Who reminds you that you're human?"

It caught you completely off guard. You looked at him, not knowing what expression to make.

"Jessie, I guess." You smiled faintly. "And San, in his own way."

"Good," he nodded. "They're good sounding boards."

You would overthink his words even after you went home.

Because that was his pattern: he said very little, but whatever he did say ended up getting stuck somewhere deep in your mind.

And yet, the moment the atmosphere tightened even a fraction of a millimeter too much—like when San would drop a comment hinting that you and Yeosang got along "a little too well for having just met"—Yeosang would instantly throw up a subtle but clear wall.

"We just get along fine," Yeosang would usually add in a neutral voice, cutting off any further teasing.

You would look down too, quickly changing the subject. You didn't know if it annoyed you, relieved you, or confused you. Honestly, it was probably all three at once.

That strange equilibrium held up right until the night everything shifted out of place.

Another celebration, another reserved venue, more familiar faces: staff members, a few close friends, a couple of people you had already seen several times.

You were used to this world in its private setting by now. You walked in naturally, greeted the guys with hugs, and sat wherever you felt like it. San was still jokingly jealous of anyone who monopolized too much of your time, but it was a shared inside joke now, not an actual complaint.

Jessie arrived late that night because of work. So you ended up at the corner of the long table, sandwiched between San and Mingi, with Yeosang sitting across from you again, looking a bit more relaxed than the first time you’d met him.

He was laughing more openly now. He joked with Mingi, threw subtle jabs at San, and even made quiet under-the-breath comments whenever Wooyoung exaggerated a story.

You had let your guard down too. The alcohol helped. You weren't drunk, but you were uninhibited enough to talk more, gesture more, and laugh louder.

At one point, someone brought up the topic of "who was the shiest at the very beginning" in the group.

"Yeosang," San said without hesitation, pointing his chopsticks at him.

"I wasn't shy," he shot back quickly. "I was just observing."

"He was shy," Mingi insisted, leaning over the table. "You couldn't get a word out of him to save your life."

"He only spoke when it mattered," Seonghwa added with a crooked smile.

The laughter kept rolling. Feeling entirely comfortable in the mix, you rested your elbow on the table and let slip something that, in any other context, you might have kept to yourself.

"Well, he still seems like the shiest one out of everyone," you said playfully, glancing at Yeosang. "At this point, I'm almost certain he's the shiest person I've ever met."

The table erupted. San burst out laughing, Mingi slapped his hand against the wood, and Yunho added a comment about "Mr. Kang's mysterious aura."

It took you a second to realize that amidst all the noise and laughter, there was one still point.

Yeosang wasn't laughing.

He wasn't angry. He wasn't entirely deadpan either. But his jaw was a fraction tighter than usual, the line of his throat sharp as he swallowed a sip of his drink. His fingers gripped the glass a little harder than before, his knuckles barely turning white.

His eyes locked onto yours for a brief instant. It was quick. Just long enough for you to notice something different in them—something you couldn't quite put a name to right then.

Then, as if nothing had happened, he averted his gaze toward Mingi and smoothly changed the subject with a trivial comment.

The conversation moved on. The alcohol kept flowing. Nobody else seemed to notice the shift.

But you did.

And though you didn't know it yet, he had filed that comment away too. And he would hold onto it carefully, waiting for the perfect moment to throw it right back at you.

The night ended, on the surface, just like all the others.

Laughter, empty glasses, someone singing terribly out of tune in a corner, San half-jokingly dragging you toward the door while rambling about junk food for the next day. Jessie sent a text saying she was sorry she couldn't make it in the end, hoping you’d had fun.

You had fun.

But you also left with something stuck beneath your skin.

In the taxi on the way back, watching the city lights blur into streaks against the window, the scene replayed in your head on a loop: your words, the laughter around the table, and that tiny shift in Yeosang’s face.

The clenched jaw.

The tight grip on his glass.

The look—brief, but strangely sharp.

It wasn’t open anger. It wasn’t a snub, or a rude comeback. It wasn’t... anything visible. And yet, your nerves, which had already learned to read his usual way of carrying himself, told you that you had struck a nerve.

You hadn't meant any harm by it. You hadn't even thought of it as a negative thing. It was just a half-drunk, half-honest comment born from the image you had of him up until that moment.

The image he had allowed you to see.

Lying in bed, you wondered if you had crossed a line without realizing it. If you had reduced someone to a label that was far too simple. If you would even like it if someone defined you so lightly that way.

You fell asleep late again, with a faint bitter taste in your mouth that had nothing to do with the alcohol.

For a few days, his reaction hung in your head like a balloon tied to a chair: still, but always right there in plain sight.

There were no immediate consequences.

The chat with San and Jessie stayed the same, packed with memes and complaints. The smaller group chat with Yeosang did too: he chimed in every now and then with short comments or dry jokes that made everyone laugh.

In person, when you saw them again at the practice room, he acted... normal.

He greeted you with a small nod and a faint smile. He offered you a towel when a soaking-wet San tried to jokingly hug you and you screamed in horror. He commented on the weather, a new game he had bought, and a movie he watched on the plane.

There was no coldness. There was no obvious distance.

But between sentences, there were tiny details that kept you on high alert.

When you were talking with the others, he seemed to be paying attention without getting too involved. When you spoke directly to him, he listened intently but smoothly shifted the focus whenever he noticed someone else glancing your way.

It was as if he had climbed up a step on the ladder of closeness... while simultaneously reinforcing the walls so no one from the outside could see it.

He was kind.

He was polite.

He was... unreachable, at times.

And far from dampening your curiosity, that only fueled it more.

Time kept moving forward.

There were more small dinners, more visits to the studio, and more nights of wine and face masks with Jessie—nights where she would tell you how exhausting and wonderful it was to love someone so exposed, and you would listen, hug her, and remind her that she was enough, that she always had been.

There were bad days for you too, days when you cried on her couch with a bowl of ice cream in your hands, and she was the one reminding you that you weren't "failing at life" just because you didn't have everything figured out, or because you weren't sure what you wanted to be doing a year from now. That your worth didn't depend on your productivity or your stability.

San, for his part, remained that intense sun that broke through every window.

"I miss you," he would send you in voice notes when you went two days without seeing each other. "I'm practicing something new, come over, I want to show you."

And you would go, because you loved watching him shine.

And time and time again, Yeosang was right there. Sometimes in the background, sometimes right beside you, sometimes crossing your path just long enough for a single sentence of his to stick with you for days.

The next big party arrived almost before you realized it.

Another celebration, another milestone in the group's career. Another reserved venue, another display of discreet security at the door, another elevator riding up to a high floor with warm lighting and crowded tables.

That night, right from the start, the atmosphere felt a little heavier than usual.

The alcohol started flowing earlier. The built-up exhaustion from all those months did too. The mix made the laughter louder, the hugs longer, and the confessions a bit more impulsive.

Jessie arrived early this time, her blue hair down in messy waves falling over her shoulders, her lips painted a soft color.

"I'm not leaving your side tonight," she said, linking her arm through yours as you walked in.

"You're so clingy," you shot back, but you leaned into her happily.

San greeted you both with a shout of joy, as always, lifting you off your feet as he hugged you and almost knocking Jessie over in the process. Hongjoong showed up shortly after, instinctively placing a hand on the small of her back and looking at her as if the rest of the world had ceased to exist for a few seconds. You looked away out of respect, but smiled to yourself.

Yeosang was in a corner of the room when you arrived, talking to Jongho and one of the managers. He was wearing a dark shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and black pants. Nothing particularly flashy. And yet, it took you longer than it should have to look away.

As if he had felt your gaze, he turned his head in your direction.

His eyes locked with yours for barely a second. He greeted you with a brief nod and a small smile, then went right back to what he was doing.

That calm normalness caught you off guard more than it should have.

The night moved on. You ate, drank, and talked about everything and nothing.

There were moments of shouting when someone put on an old song and everyone started singing along in a chorus. There were half-drunk speeches; there was a particularly clingy San, giggling, sticking close to you for a bit, then to Jessie, then to whoever happened to be nearby.

"I love you so much," he told you, resting his forehead on your shoulder while you tried to finish your drink. "You're the best accidental decision of my life."

"Stop getting drunk on emotions," you snorted, but you brushed his hair anyway. "I'm not dealing with you and your emotional hangover tomorrow."

"Yes you are," he shot back, sounding like a kid. "Because I'm your best friend. Remember that."

"Yeah, yeah." You smiled. "I'm not going to forget."

Jessie watched the whole scene from across the table with a fond, amused smile.

"Sometimes you two look like siblings," she commented once San went to grab more ice.

"Thanks, I guess," you said, laughing. "It's less weird than what you thought at first, right?"

"Way less." She leaned in toward you. "And I like seeing how he calms down when you're around. Even if he doesn't want to admit it."

By that point, the alcohol had loosened you up quite a bit. You weren't blackout drunk, but you were definitely at that stage where your tongue slips a little easier.

Every time you looked over at the other end of the table and saw Yeosang talking to someone, laughing, gesturing—more than he would have a few months ago—you felt a strange flutter in your chest.

You had gotten used to him. To his quiet yet grounding presence. To the way he drifted in and out of conversations. To that specific blend of kindness and reserve.

And yet, the idea of "shy Yeosang" kept looping back into your mind. You weren't sure if it was because you still saw him that way, or because his reaction last time had made it clear that, to him, things weren't that simple.

You weren't quite sure if you were trying to convince yourself... or push his buttons just a little more.

Around the middle of the night, the table was a delicious mess.

Open bottles, half-full glasses, leftover food, crumpled napkins. Mingi was telling an exaggerated story; Wooyoung was imitating someone from the staff; Yunho was laughing with his head thrown back.

You were totally relaxed now, laughing along with Jessie.

"Seriously, look at him," you said at one point, pointing toward Yeosang, who was listening intently to something, resting his chin on the back of his hand, his elbow on the table. "Don't tell me he doesn't have the shiest aura you've ever seen."

Jessie followed the direction of your finger, took a sip of her drink, and looked at you calmly.

"He has the aura of someone who overthinks," she corrected. "I don't know if that's shy or dangerous."

You laughed.

"Oh, come on, he's a soft teddy bear," you blurted out, half-joking, half-defensively, because thinking of him as something "dangerous" stirred up a feeling you preferred not to examine.

Someone—you weren't sure who—caught the comment.

"Are you guys talking about Yeosang again?" Mingi asked, dragging his chair a bit closer. "What's up? What are you saying?"

The alcohol did the rest.

"That he's the shiest one out of everyone," you repeated, with that easy confidence of someone who is in a great mood and isn't overthinking their words.

The phrase hovered in the air for a few seconds.

The table erupted into laughter again, just like last time.

"It's true!" Wooyoung joined in. "Our shy boy."

"I'm not shy," Yeosang protested in his usual calm tone, but without pushing it too hard, which only made a few of the others laugh more.

You looked over at him.

There it was again.

The faint smile on his lips.

The jawline cutting just a bit sharper.

His hand wrapped around his glass, fingers firm.

His eyes... holding a different shade, almost imperceptible, when they locked onto yours.

This time, he didn't look away so fast.

He held your gaze a second longer than what was socially comfortable.

There was no blatant tension, no dramatic gesture. Just a sort of silent message you couldn't quite decipher, but it sent a light shiver straight down your spine.

Someone changed the subject. The laughter kept going.

You tried to laugh along too. And you did.

But you were already way too deep inside your own head.

You wouldn't be able to tell the exact moment you started feeling overwhelmed.

Maybe it was when the music turned up a bit and the hum of voices grew thicker. Maybe it was when the heat of the room clung to your skin. Maybe it was when you caught yourself looking toward the bar and found, once again, Yeosang leaning there, talking to someone, and you surprised yourself by imagining what would happen if he got a little too close.

The point is, suddenly, your body was begging you to get out.

Air.

Less noise.

Fewer stimuli.

You leaned in toward Jessie.

"I'm going to go get some air, okay?" you told her, touching her arm. "Before I do something stupid."

She looked at you, her eyes bright from the alcohol but still lucid.

"What kind of stupid?" she asked with a half-smile, completely without malice.

"The kind I don't want to do in front of so many people," you joked, trying to lighten the mood. "I won't be long."

"I'll be waiting." She squeezed your hand. "If you take too long, I'm coming to find you."

You nodded and stood up.

The shift in posture made the world tilt a fraction of a millimeter. You weren't dizzy, but you felt light. You could feel the warm blood rushing to your face, your neck, the tips of your fingers.

You crossed the room, dodging chairs, bodies, hands reaching out to greet you. You smiled at a couple of familiar faces from the staff, nodded when someone called your name, but you didn't stop.

You spotted a side hallway, mostly in shadow, that led toward the bathrooms and probably a service exit.

Perfect.

You stepped inside, feeling the noise from the party muffle with every step. The lights were dimmer, the floor colder beneath your shoes. You leaned against the wall for a second, closing your eyes, taking a deep breath.

You needed this brief respite. A minute to sort through your thoughts, your sensations, the persistent tingling beneath your skin.

You didn't know how long you stood like that, maybe barely a few seconds, before you started walking toward the end of the hall.

That was when you felt it.

A hand closing around your forearm. Firm, hot.

You whipped around, your heart leaping into your throat, ready to snap a defensive "what are you doing?"—almost an insult—assuming it was some clueless drunk.

You didn't get the chance.

The tug was controlled, without hurting you, but deliberate enough to make you stumble back a step until your back hit the wall.

The impact wasn't hard. But the feeling of having no escape certainly was.

You looked up.

Yeosang was standing right in front of you.

Very close.

He didn't have his usual neutral expression. It wasn't the polite smile or the measured calm. There was something different in his eyes: darker, more intense, less willing to hide.

His body wasn't quite touching yours, but the distance was minimal. It was close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the trace of smooth alcohol and the night.

One of his hands was planted against the wall near the right side of your head, creating a sort of invisible cage. The other—the one that had gripped your arm—had slipped off your skin and now rested in his pants pocket, but the echo of his grip was still vibrating against your forearm.

His voice, when he spoke, sounded deeper than ever.

"So, you think I'm shy."

It wasn't a question. It was a statement thrown between the two of you like a challenge.

Your throat went a little dry. You could feel your pulse in your neck, in your wrists, in the pit of your stomach.

You tried to react, to lean into humor like you always did.

"I just said what everyone else was thinking," you murmured, unable to stop your voice from coming out a bit quieter than usual.

The corner of his mouth hitched up slightly. It wasn't exactly a smile.

"Everyone... or you?" he shot back, leaning in just enough to invade your space without actually touching you.

The hallway was quiet. The distant noise of the party came through muffled, as if you were in another reality, just half a step away from the rest of the world.

You could feel every single inch of distance between his body and yours as if it were something physical. A space charged with electricity.

"You observe a lot for someone who's so shy," you dared to say, in a desperate attempt to gain some ground back.

His eyes gleamed for a second, something akin to a dark amusement passing through them.

"I'm not shy," he said slowly, as if tasting every word. "I just choose who and when I stop appearing that way to."

The sentence hit you like a dart.

You swallowed hard.

"And right now...?" slipped out of you, barely a whisper. "What are you choosing?"

There was a silence that felt much longer than it actually was.

You could hear your breathing and his, mixing in the tight space between you.

Yeosang dropped his gaze to your mouth for a moment, just for a second, before snapping back to your eyes. He didn't try to hide it. Not this time.

When he spoke again, his voice carried a rougher edge.

"I'm choosing to stop being polite with you," he said. "At least for a moment."

Your back pressed a little flatter against the wall, as if you could melt right into it.

"And... what does that mean?" you had the audacity to ask, even though you were already starting to sense the answer in the way his fingers tensed against the wall.

His smile became a bit more visible. It wasn't sweet. It wasn't cynical. It was... hungry.

"It means," he murmured, leaning in another centimeter, just enough for you to feel his breath brush against your skin, "that if you keep telling everyone I'm the shiest guy you've ever met..."

He paused for a second, as if gauging your reactions—the gleam in your eyes, the way you slightly parted your lips.

"...I'm going to have to show you just how wrong you are."

The sentence hung between you, heavy and loaded.

You felt your stomach drop and flutter all at once. Your entire body was responding before your brain could even catch up to process it.

Your fingers gripped the wall behind you, searching for any point of support.

He noticed the gesture. You saw it in the minute shift of his expression.

His eyes dropped to your mouth again. This time, slower. He lingered there for a couple of seconds, observing the curve of your lips, the way your breathing had sped up.

When he met your gaze again, there was no trace left of the "shy" boy.

There was only someone determined, confident, holding back for far too long.

His voice was a deep whisper when he added, incredibly close:

"Do you want me to prove it?"

His face moved closer to yours, the distance shrinking to almost nothing. You could feel the warmth of his mouth a breath away from yours, the possibility of contact suspended in the air.

You were trapped between him and the wall, with nowhere to go, your heart hammering so hard it felt impossible that he couldn't hear it.

“Woah dude, why is there a car seat in the back?” Sam stopped in his tracks, raising an eyebrow at the floral pink booster.

Dean had just broken into his apartment like a serial killer in the middle of night, dragged Sam out into the street after somehow convincing him to join him on trying to locate their dead beat father, and now there is a missing infant.

“Great.” Sam thought, “Dean caused an Amber alert.”

“Shit!” Dean scurried to the impala, hoping - no, praying that his brother developed cataracts or something. “I told them not to leave the car.”

“Them?!” Sam followed Dean around the impala. “What are you talking about?!”

“I told her not to leave,” Dean angrily said while dialing your number, “and what does she do,” he puts the flip phone to his ear, “she leaves.”

“Dean,” Sam walked over to him, still being completely ignored, “hellloooo??” He waved his hands in front of his older brother. “Who are you talking about?”

“Pick up, pick up,” Dean ignore him, anxiously tapped his thigh looking around, waiting for the phone to stop ringing, and your voice to answer.

“Okay if you are about done now with your little tap routine, I’m going back-“ Dean grabbed Sam’s shirt pulling him back like a dog on a leash.

“They couldn’t have gone far-” He shoved the flip phone in his pocket, frantically searching the area with worried eyes. “Dean let go man…” “You take that direction and I’ll check this side, maybe if we..”

“Dean, sweetie did you find Sam?”

And is if the lights from heaven sent a giant satellite beam on you, Dean turned around blindly searching for your voice.

“Oh my dear cream of tartar where have you been?!” Dean flared his hands down looking at you like you’ve been missing for months.

“Okay what the actual fuck is going on?” Sam was close to just throwing his duffle bag at the window, heading back into bed, and taking a melatonin.

Dean waved him off unfortunately to his demise. “Not right now bowl head I just saw all of my lives flash before me.”

“You’re such a baby.” You commented. You held what looked like to sam a tiny sack of potatoes with a pink blanket covering it from the winds.

“Does that mean I get to-“

“NO!” Both you and Sam scream - both for different reasons but the same sense of warning nonetheless.

“Okay can someone explain to me what is happening right now?”Sam ran his hands through his hair desperately trying to contain a forming headache from all this mojo of chaos.

“Well my dear Sammy, while you went off to college I decided to adopt the brady brunch- what the fuck do you think happened?” Dean rolled his eyes in annoyance walking over to you and the baby.

Sam now able to adjust his eyes realized the sack of potatoes turned out to be a little baby with the rosiest checks ever.

“I didn’t think you would end up with child.” Dean groaned at Sam’s comment.

“What are we the England Monarch? No of course I didn’t plan on bringing a baby into this world but stuff happens..” Dean trailed off, shrugging his shoulders like it was no big deal. Sam on the other hand was having a whole mental gymnastics session trying to figure out how the hell things changed so fast.

“How is my little precious princess doing,” your husband pulled the blank down gently to see his daughter’s beautiful eyes peak out. She had the same sparkle and shape as yours to the point he could even see the tiny hew surrounding the pupil - she was beautiful.

“Sorry for leaving sweetheart,” you said to Dean, watching his cute reaction to his daughter gazing up at him. “She was getting fussy in the car waiting so I decided to take her on a little stroll.” You moved her down to your arms, cradling her into your chest.

“Would it have killed you to answer the phone at least?” Dean sighed as the rate of his heart finally matched his breathing.

“Sorry my phone died.” You knew your husband would be worrying about you but by the time you thought to call, you phone screen turned black with a red battery sign on.

“That’s okay just- I don’t know, shoot a flare gun or something just please don’t leave without telling me.”

“I won’t.” You smiled. He in return left a soft kiss to your check and a butterfly kiss to your daughter. She smiled at her father’s touch, making you both smile back; hearts so full with love, before the moment was ruined.

“So I have a niece?”

“No you have a pet goldfish, suprise!” Dean sparkled his hands around annoyingly, if he had known picking up his brother would be this tiring he might have just let Sam be stuck in his cob web filled books. . “How the hell you got into Stanford is beyond me.”

“That’s enough Dean,” you snickered as your husband rolled his eyes. “I think it’s nice to see you again Sam, although on different circumstances would have been nice.” You walked towards the impala, Dean already opened the back door for you as you hopped in with your little princess.

“Wow I just- I never took you as a father figure,” Sam looked down shocked, “I mean I didn’t even see you as one to settle down - no offense Y/n.”

“Umm very much taken Samuel.” You had been dating Dean since you both were 15, so to say he wouldn’t stick around after the shit show of high school was highly offensive.

“Everyone buckle up,” Dean readjusted his review mirror starring at you, as you buckled in your seven month old daughter. His whole life in the back of his car.

Sam clipped in his seatbelt, “Soooo am I going to have to interrogate the baby for answers orrr..”

“This is going to be a long car ride.” You smiled as Dean groaned.

Ateez had just finished their rehearsal and were waiting for their stage. You were sitting alone near one of the dressing rooms, scrolling through your phone while the members of your group chatted nearby.

Most idols used waiting time to socialize.

You seemed perfectly content sitting by yourself.

Yeosang understood that.

Maybe a little too well.

He wasn’t planning on speaking to you.

The problem was that you looked up at the exact moment he walked past.

Your eyes met.

And because both of you were painfully polite, you bowed at the same time.

Then bowed again.

Then awkwardly bowed a third time because neither of you knew how to stop.

By the time Yeosang escaped around the corner, Wooyoung was laughing so hard he nearly fell over.

“Did you just bow three times?”

Yeosang ignored him.

Ypu blushed.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the last time he saw you.

Or the second.

Not even the third.

Every music show seemed to place the two of you in the same areas.

At first your interactions consisted entirely of polite nods.

Then small smiles.

Then quiet greetings.

Exchanged “Good morning.”’s

That was just how it was.

Neither of you knew how to continue after that.

But somehow those tiny conversations became something Yeosang started looking forward to.

Weeks passed.

Then months.

The first real conversation happened because of coffe.

Specifically because you dropped yours.

Yeosang had been walking back from rehearsal when he heard a startled noise.

He turned just in time to watch your iced coffe slip from your hands and spill across the floor.

You froze.

Staring.

Looking absolutely devastated and embarrassed.

The drink wasn't even expensive.

But somehow he understood.

It wasn’t about the coffe.

It was about the inconvenience.

The mess.

The attention.

The eyes.

All the things shy people like you hated.

Without thinking, he handed you the unopened one he’d been carrying.

You blinked.

“What?”

“You can have it.”

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, really—”

“It’s okay.”

The two of you stared at each other.

Both too shy to win the argument.

Eventually you accepted the drink.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

A pause.

Then you broke the silence with:

“I like your stages.”

Yeosang nearly forgot how to breathe.

“Oh.”

You looked embarrassed immediately.

“I mean- I-" You stuttered over repeating apologizes, "I'm sorry. That was random.”

“No.”

His ears felt warm.

“Thank you.”

That conversation lasted less than a minute.

It then became his favorite conversation of the month.

After that things changed, slowly yet still somehow rapidly.

You started talking more.

Not a lot.

Just enough for people to notice.

Enough to discover that both of you preferred quiet places over crowded ones.

Enough to discover that both of you hated being the centre of attention.

Enough to discover that neither of you was very good at texting.

Your messages became a collection of short exchanges.

“Good luck today.”

“You too.”

“Your comeback looked great.”

“Thank you :)”

Simple.

Comfortable.

Neither of you felt pressured to be someone else.

For the first time in a long time, Yeosang found himself relaxing around another idol.

Most friendships in the industry happened quickly.

This one happened slowly.

Like the shine from the moon moving across a room.

Almost impossible to notice until suddenly everything felt calmer.

One evening after a recording, Yeosang found himself sitting beside you in a nearly empty waiting area.

The building was unusually quiet.

Most groups had already gone home.

You were eating snacks from a convenience store bag.

Without looking at him, you held one out.

Yeosang accepted it.

“Thank you.”

You nodded.

Neither of you spoke for several minutes.

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable.

If anything, it felt nice.

Safe.

Eventually you broke it.

“Do you ever get tired?”

Yeosang glanced at you.

“Of what?”

“Everything,” you paused, "of the schedules, the cameras, the expectations?"

“Sometimes.”

You looked down at the snack in your hands.

“Me too.”

For a moment neither of you said anything.

Then Yeosang quietly replied,

“It’s easier when there’s someone who understands.”

Your ears turned red.

You smiled.

A small one.

But a real one.

And somehow that smile stayed in Yeosang’s thoughts for the rest of the week.

Months later, everyone around you seemed to realize what was happening before either of you did.

The teasing began subtly.

A member mentioning your name.

A suspicious smile.

A raised eyebrow.

You both denied everything.

Mostly because there was nothing to deny.

You were friends.

Close friends.

Very close friends.

Friends who texted every day.

Friends who automatically searched for each other at award shows.

Friends who shared earbuds during flights.

Friends who saved seats for each other.

Friends.

Right.

That explanation worked until one rainy evening.

The two of you were leaving a broadcast station after a long schedule.

Rain poured relentlessly outside.

Managers were delayed.

Everyone else had already left.

The lobby was nearly empty.

You stood beside Yeosang watching the storm through the glass doors.

“It’s really coming down.”

“Yeah.”

Another pause.

Then you laughed softly.

Yeosang looked over.

“What?”

You shook your head.

“Nothing.”

“What?”

“It’s just…”

You looked embarrassed.

“It’s funny.”

“What is?”

You hesitated.

“Remember when we couldn’t even talk to each other?”

Yeosang smiled immediately.

“The coffee incident?”

“The bowing incident.”

“The triple bowing incident.”

You covered your face while it turned red.

“Please don’t remind me.”

His laughter filled the quiet lobby.

For a second neither of you noticed how close you were standing.

How naturally your shoulders brushed.

How comfortable it felt.

Then the realization hit at the same time.

The laughter faded.

The air changed.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Yeosang looked at you.

Really looked.

The warmth in your eyes.

The familiar smile.

The person who had quietly become one of his favorite parts of every day.

And suddenly the answer seemed obvious.

It had probably been obvious for a while.

You noticed it too.

Your gaze dropped first.

A nervous habit.

Cute.

Very cute.

Yeosang felt his heart race.

Which was unfair.

Because he was supposed to be the calm one.

“Can I tell you something?”

You nodded.

Slowly.

“I think…”

He paused.

Immediately regretted every life choice that had led to this moment.

You waited patiently.

Just like you always did.

Yeosang took a breath.

“I think I like you.”

Silence.

The longest silence of his life.

Then your eyes widened.

“Oh.”

His heart dropped.

Oh no.

Oh was bad.

Oh was very bad.

Then you laughed.

Not because it was funny.

Because you were relieved.

“I was trying to figure out how to tell you the same thing.”

Yeosang blinked.

“What?”

A shy smile appeared on your face.

“I like you too.”

For a moment neither of you moved.

Neither of you spoke.

You just stared at each other.

Processing.

Then slowly, impossibly softly, Yeosang smiled.

You smiled back.

And somehow that felt even better than the confession itself.

Outside, the rain continued falling.

Inside, two shy idols stood together in the nearly empty lobby, wondering why they had spent so long being afraid of something that felt so natural.

For the first time, neither of you had to wonder if the other felt the same.

And for the first time, the future felt a little less intimidating.

As long as you were facing it together.

Having Jung Wooyoung as an older brother was exhausting.

You loved him — of course you did. He was loud in every possible way, the type of person who filled every room before he even walked into it properly. He was affectionate to the point of suffocation, dramatic over the smallest things, and fiercely protective in a way that somehow managed to feel both comforting and deeply irritating at the same time.

And unfortunately for you, Wooyoung had decided somewhere along the way that his personal life mission was to make sure you didn’t stay single.

“You’re single,” he’d say casually, slinging an arm around your shoulders like he was about to deliver life-changing wisdom. “I’m fixing that.”

“I didn’t ask you to,” you’d reply every single time.

He never listened.

At first, it had almost been funny.

Almost.

There was the backup dancer who spent an entire dinner explaining his protein intake schedule in graphic detail while flexing his arms every few minutes. Another time, Wooyoung introduced you to an idol trainee who kept calling you noona despite the fact that you were literally born three months apart. Then there was the stylist’s cousin who accidentally brought his mother to coffee because she “didn’t want him travelling alone.”

That one had nearly sent you into cardiac arrest.

Every setup ended the same way: you embarrassed beyond belief, Wooyoung completely unapologetic, and the rest of ATEEZ witnessing the chaos like it was their own personal variety show.

———————————————

“This is harassment,” you told him one evening after escaping yet another terrible blind date.

Wooyoung gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “This is love.”

“This is a cry for help.”

San had nearly fallen off the sofa laughing.

———————————————

Despite all of it, though, you tolerated him. Mostly because beneath all the chaos, Wooyoung genuinely believed he was helping. He hated the idea of you being lonely, even if you kept insisting you weren’t.

And honestly… you were used to being overlooked romantically anyway.

You weren’t the type people noticed immediately.

You weren’t loud like Wooyoung or effortlessly charming like some of the people around him. You didn’t flirt naturally. You didn’t know how to command attention in a room.

You liked quieter things.

Soft conversations late at night. Sitting comfortably beside someone without feeling pressured to fill every silence. Sharing snacks. Listening more than speaking. Watching people carefully and remembering little things about them that everyone else forgot.

You smiled more than you talked.

And maybe because of that, Wooyoung had never really paid attention to what you actually liked.

Or who you liked.

———————————————

Until one particular afternoon.

After another disastrous setup — this time involving a DJ who insisted everyone call him “DJ Wolf” unironically — you ended up at the members’ practice room while they rehearsed.

The familiar sound of music echoed through the room as you sat cross-legged near the mirrors, quietly unpacking the snacks you’d brought. You liked being there during practices sometimes. Even if nobody was talking to you directly, the energy was comforting. Familiar.

Wooyoung eventually collapsed beside you in a sweaty heap, dramatically throwing himself onto the floor.

“Okay,” he announced breathlessly, “DJ Wolf was not that bad.”

You stared at him flatly. “He asked me what my favourite club was.”

“And?”

“I said ‘the book club.’”

Wooyoung barked out a laugh so suddenly he nearly choked.

“You did not.”

“I did.”

He shook his head, grinning. “That’s on him, then.”

You smiled despite yourself and reached into the bag beside you.

“Yeosang,” you called softly, “I got the honey butter chips you like.”

Across the room, Yeosang paused mid-stretch.

“…You did?”

His voice was quieter than everyone else’s usually was. Soft and careful.

You nodded, holding the bag out toward him.

“For you.”

Yeosang walked over slowly, almost cautiously, and sat down across from you. Not too close. Never too close. His fingers brushed yours for only a second while taking the chips, but you still noticed how warm his hands were.

And you definitely noticed the way his ears immediately turned pink.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

You smiled softly at him. “You’re welcome.”

Wooyoung, who had originally been focused entirely on stealing snacks from your bag, slowly looked between the two of you.

Then narrowed his eyes.

Interesting.

The rest of practice only made things worse — or better, depending on how you looked at it.

Yeosang kept drifting toward where you sat during breaks without seeming to realize he was doing it. Every time you spoke, his attention immediately shifted toward you like it happened instinctively.

At one point, you quietly teased him about his concentration face while dancing.

To everyone’s shock, Yeosang laughed.

Not the polite little smile he usually gave people.

An actual laugh.

Soft and warm and real, shoulders shaking slightly while his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Wooyoung stared at him in horror.

Because Yeosang almost never laughed like that around people outside the members.

And then he noticed something even more terrifying.

The way you looked at Yeosang afterward.

Gentle. Fond. Lingering just a second too long.

Oh.

Oh no.

———————————————

That night, Wooyoung cornered San and Yunho in the kitchen like a man uncovering government conspiracies.

“You’ve noticed it too, right?” he whispered urgently.

San blinked at him while eating cereal straight from the box. “Noticed what?”

“My sister,” Wooyoung hissed. “And Yeosang.”

Yunho looked confused for exactly two seconds before realization crossed his face.

“…Oh,” he said slowly. “You just noticed?”

Wooyoung’s jaw dropped.

“YOU KNEW?”

San burst into laughter.

“Everyone knows,” Yunho admitted carefully. “They’re painfully obvious.”

“They barely even talk!”

“They talk with their eyes,” Yunho replied seriously.

San nodded. “It’s honestly kind of poetic.”

Wooyoung groaned loudly, dragging his hands down his face.

“I’ve spent MONTHS trying to set her up with random men when the answer was literally right there.”

San patted his shoulder sympathetically. “To be fair, your methods were deeply concerning.”

“I need to fix this.”

Yunho immediately pointed a warning finger at him. “Please don’t traumatize them.”

Wooyoung straightened up confidently. “I can be subtle.”

Both of them stared at him in silence.

Then San laughed so hard he nearly dropped the cereal box.

———————————————

A few days later, Wooyoung announced there would be a “casual group hangout.”

That alone should’ve worried you.

“You’re coming with us later,” he told you while leaning against your bedroom door.

“Where?”

“Out.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Don’t be difficult.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously but agreed anyway.

———————————————

When you arrived at the café Wooyoung had texted you, though, your steps slowed immediately.

Because standing outside alone was Yeosang.

His hands were shoved nervously into the pockets of his hoodie, and the moment he spotted you, his eyes widened slightly.

“Oh,” he said softly. “Hi.”

Your heart fluttered embarrassingly fast.

“…Hi.”

You looked around.

“No one else is here?”

As if summoned by fear itself, Wooyoung suddenly appeared across the street beside San, waving aggressively.

“We’ll meet you later!” he shouted.

“Wooyoung—”

Too late.

He was already dragging a laughing San away down the sidewalk.

Silence settled between you and Yeosang.

Then, after a painfully awkward pause, you looked at him carefully.

“Did… did we just get set up?”

Yeosang rubbed the back of his neck, ears turning pink again.

“…I think so.”

You stared at each other for another second before unexpectedly laughing.

Not because it was funny, exactly.

More because somehow, for the first time in Wooyoung’s matchmaking history, this didn’t feel horrible.

It felt… nice.

You glanced toward the café doors.

“Do you still want to go in?”

Yeosang looked at you for a moment before nodding.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I do.”

And somehow, the date ended up being perfect in the simplest way possible.

No flashy plans. No awkward forced flirting. No trying too hard.

Just comfort.

You sat together in the warm café for hours, talking more easily than either of you expected. You discovered how many little things you had in common — your love for quiet places, late-night walks, soft music playing in the background while doing nothing important.

Yeosang listened carefully whenever you spoke, like every word mattered enough to remember later. And when he talked, you found yourself listening just as closely.

You learned he noticed little things too.

The way you stirred your drink absentmindedly while thinking. The fact you always pushed marshmallows to the side of hot chocolate because you liked eating them separately.

No one ever noticed things like that.

But he did.

At some point, you wandered into the tiny bookstore beside the café, slowly walking between crowded shelves together.

You paused near a display table, fingertips brushing across book spines while Yeosang quietly followed beside you.

When you glanced up, you caught him already looking at you.

“You look happy,” he said softly.

The honesty in his voice caught you off guard.

“I am,” you admitted quietly.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then Yeosang hesitated before carefully reaching toward you, fingers barely brushing the sleeve of your cardigan.

“Can I…” He swallowed nervously. “Can I hold your hand?”

Your chest tightened instantly.

Not because the question was dramatic.

But because it wasn’t.

Because he asked so gently, like your answer genuinely mattered.

You smiled before holding your hand out toward him.

“Yes.”

Yeosang’s fingers slipped carefully between yours, warm and steady despite how nervous he looked.

And somehow, standing there in the middle of a tiny bookstore holding hands with him felt more romantic than every elaborate setup Wooyoung had ever forced you into combined.

By the end of the night, both of you were smiling in that uncontrollable, quiet way people do when they know something important has shifted.

———————————————

Outside the café, Yeosang looked at you shyly.

“This was…” He paused. “Really nice.”

You laughed softly. “It was the best date I’ve ever been on.”

His smile widened instantly — small, but bright enough to make your heart ache a little.

“Me too.”

Across the street, hidden very badly behind a lamp post, Wooyoung watched with tears in his eyes.

Beside him, San sighed.

“For once,” he admitted, “you didn’t mess it up.”

Wooyoung wiped an imaginary tear from his cheek dramatically.

“I’m a genius.”

And honestly?

“Well, what about that one?” 

Rafe rolls his eyes, about to say that yes, he had indeed fucked whatever girl Topper was pointing at this time. Because he’d fucked all of them. Because of who he was. Because of what he was capable of. Because of the family he came from. Because of what being a mere notch on Rafe Cameron’s bedpost meant to every single slut he’d ran through. 

Except he doesn’t. Because Topper is pointing at you. And he’s never seen you before in his life.

You look so out of place, despite the fact you’re with a group of Pogues. And he knows you’re a Pogue. Like a shark with blood and a predator with its prey, he can always tell. And yet you stand awkwardly on the outskirts of the group, smiling yet not quite participating in whatever conversation is going on. You push your glasses up, straighten your skirt, pretend to look for something in your book bag. You’re shy. Self-conscious. Insecure. Rafe smiles.

“Who is she?”

“Aha! You haven’t slept with her!” Topper cheers like he’s won the fucking lottery. Sometimes Rafe wonders why he’s friends with him.

“Who is she?” He repeats like he hasn’t even heard him.

“She’s the new chick,” Kelce says, “except she’s not exactly new in town.”

“I heard she was home-schooled,” Topper snickers, “That’s why she’s fucking weird and has no friends. Even the Pogues don’t want her.”

Rafe observes you some more. Watches the bright smile on your face, how you try to chime in to whatever conversation the girls around you are having. They nod at you politely yet dismissively. They’re not your friends. As Topper said, you don’t have any. 

Insecure. Weak. Vulnerable. 

He licks his lips.

“How long?”

“Huh?”

He runs a hand through his hair impatiently, “How long do you wanna bet it takes me to get her into bed?” He nods in your direction.

Topper raises an eyebrow.

“You can’t be serious, man. She looks like she doesn’t even know what sex means.”

Kelce laughs, “She looks like she can’t even say it. Like she spells it out every time, s-e-x.”

They’re right. You look very innocent, but all that does is incense him. Rafe’s used to easy sluts who spread their legs after one drink or a ride on his motorbike. But you. He can tell you’d be harder to crack. But there’s something so fucking hot about how naive you look. How shy and sweet you are. How ruined he could leave you. Splayed out on his bike, legs quivering, all sweaty limbs and shy pants after he’s done having his way with you—

“How long?” He repeats, not in the mood to waste time and already getting hard picturing innocent little you with your tiny skirt flipped up and his head buried between those soft thighs, your sweet little confused cries because no one’s ever touched you like that, and— 

“A week.” 

“Mm?”

“A week to fuck her. With proof.” 

Rafe stands up and stretches, licking his lips as he watches you retreat to a small bench, getting your little book out and burying your nose in it. 

“That’s too easy. What do I get when I do it?”

“If you do it, you can decide what you get then. But as I said before, we’d need proof.” Kelce says.

“Yeah, proof,” Topper echoes, a glint in his eye as he looks over at you, “Pictures.”

Rafe shrugs, already kind of bored, “Sure.” He’d taken plenty of pictures of his conquests in the past. Him and his boys had a group chat where they shared that kind of shit. And the idea of taking pictures of you in such a vulnerable position gets him harder than anything. Sweet little freshman baby fucked dumb by the big bad senior, posing for pictures afterwards all teary-eyed but submissive. They all got submissive for him, even after he was done using them.

You flip a page, completely engrossed in your book and looking every bit the naive baby he’s imagining you as. A little lamb who has no idea she was in the presence of a fucking lion. And he bets you’re a virgin. Homeschooled with no friends? Forget virgin, you probably haven’t even had your first kiss. And that gets him so fucking horny, right there in the middle of the campus courtyard. The idea that you’re so pure, so untouched. So happy, so unassuming. A little fucking baby.

He’d have fun ruining you.

***

“You sure do love reading, don’t you?” 

It’s the following day when Rafe finds you sitting by yourself in the corner of the library, with nothing but your book to keep you company.

You jump like a little mouse, pushing your glasses up your nose and gulping up at him, fear briefly flitting across your face before you force a small smile. And he likes his girls jumpy, he likes them slightly afraid of him. He knows he has that effect on people in general, but he wonders who’s told you about him.

“Sorry, were you — uh — were you talking to me?”

Rafe smirks, “Yes. Who else would I be talking to?”

“Oh, uh, I’m not sure…”

“It was a rhetorical question.”

“Oh, of course,” you look embarrassed, and he watches you squirm under his gaze for a good few seconds. “I… um…” 

“You find books more interesting than people?”

“Huh?”

He chuckles, pulling up a chair next to you, noting how your eyes widen as he takes a seat, “Why are you always reading?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just like to read,” you shrug. 

“You sure do.” He wonders if he could get you to read your precious book out loud while he went down on you, licked your virgin cunt while you cried because it felt too good. And then he’d spank you if you stopped or messed up a word, and like a stupid dumb fucking baby, you’d sniffle and wail through each paragraph, hold back your moans while he went to town on your little pussy till you wet yourself, and he’d suck your—

“Are you making fun of me?”

You pose the question so innocently— hell, you practically whisper it, and it knocks Rafe straight out of his daydream to find you blinking up at him with Bambi eyes. 

“What?”

You bite your lip, “I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m not so good at understanding if someone’s joking or not. I’m not… uh… I’m not used to being around so many people, and it makes me nervous and I can’t tell if someone’s being genuine or if they’re making fun of me.” 

“You were homeschooled, huh?” Rafe stares at you intently, noting how you play with your hair nervously, and your fingers tap against the hard cover of your book. How you can barely make eye contact with him for longer than a few seconds. 

“Yes. My mom taught me and my older brothers.”

Rafe nods, taking his time to answer. He looks at you some more, enjoying how it makes you uncomfortable. You fidget nervously, and it amuses him every time you peek up to meet his gaze before a look of alarm crosses your face and you divert your eyes down to your book once more. 

“You’re a shy little thing, aren’t you?” He says finally, chuckling at the embarrassed look on your face.

“I… I guess. I do want to make friends but it’s pretty overwhelming.”

“I’ll be your friend.” 

He does a good job of hiding his predatory, wolfish smile. And he wonders if you can see the glint in his eye as he mentally undresses you. You look so small and weak, especially compared to him. Gullible too. Too innocent for your own good, the way you gape up at him as if he’s offered you gold on a platter. It makes him want to stroke your soft cheek, pat it and tell you what a good little girl you are. For being so naive. 

You shake your head as if trying to straighten out your thoughts. He can tell, he has that effect on women too. 

“Oh, you don’t have to, I uh—”

“Rafe Cameron?! In the library?!” An annoying, high-pitched voice shrieks, making you jump as it cuts you off mid-sentence.

It’s a kook girl. A cheerleader. Rafe can’t be fucked to remember her name but he’s sure he’s hooked up with her. She’s one of those ones, the ones that hang out at the country club and try to catch his eye. One of the desperate sluts who thinks if she spreads her legs enough times for him, that he’ll make her his girlfriend or some stupid shit like that. 

“Rafe, what are you doing here?” The cheerleader sidles up to him, her hand on his chest and batting her lashes in his direction in some pathetic form of seduction. She ignores you, and you shrink into yourself, hastily burying your face in your book.

“What do you want?” He asks, not quite as interested in her answer as he is in continuing to stare at you. How you try to act like you don’t care, but he knows you’re hurt from being ignored, from being treated like you’re invisible.

“Nothing. Just wondering what you’re up to.” But she flashes him her fuck me eyes, her nails scraping suggestively against his chest. Rafe yawns, considering it. He has time before his next class (not that he could be fucked to turn up to class half the time) and his dick’s hard from talking to you. And since you probably don’t even know what the word blowjob means… 

“Go in there,” he nods at one of the private study rooms in the far end of the library, and the fucking slut nearly trips as she scrambles to obey him. Rafe takes his time, stretching his legs before slowly getting up.

You peek up from your book, “Are you guys gonna go study in there?” 

He could’ve bust a nut then and there from how fucking innocent you sound. Batting your little eyelashes at him like you’re trying to seduce him without even realising it. He knows he’ll be thinking about you, weepy and on your knees, while the kook girl blows him. Fuck, and if he plays his cards right, he’d have you by the end of the week. And he always plays his cards right. 

“You could call it studying.”

You nod, “OK, well, goodbye then.” You look back down at your book, but risk a glance up at him again, which he finds very amusing. 

“What’s your name, homeschool?” 

You tell him.

He sounds it out, before shooting you one last smile, “Well, I’ll see you soon. Won’t I?”

You give him a puzzled look, but it’s replaced by your usual wide-eyed Bambi stare when he pats your hand, his thumb lingering, stroking your skin. He wonders if you’ve ever even touched someone of the opposite sex before. Judging by how your breath hitches softly, he doubts it. 

Fuck. He can’t wait to ruin you. Play the slow game and enjoy that sweet virgin snatch before any other man ever could. 

That’s what he’s thinking of when he’s got the cheerleader on her knees in front of him. That sweet little look on your face, the look of curiosity mixed with shyness and that little hint of indignation. Fuck, he wants to ruin you. And he would. With proof.

***

Day two. Rafe finds you walking down the hallway, your books clutched to your chest and eyes trained to the floor. Cutest little skirt making your perky ass pop, winking at him enticingly with every step as if you’re deliberately seducing him. Makes him want to slap your cute little ass, reprimand you for teasing him and half the men on campus without even realising it. He wonders what you’d say if he just did it. Spanked you in front of everyone. You’d probably start blubbering like a little baby. He has to forcibly stop picturing it before he gets uncomfortably hard.

You’re alone. As usual.

“Hey, homeschool,” he falls into step beside you, eyebrow raising in amusement when you don’t slow down nor look at him.

“Oh, h-hello, Rafe.” 

“What’re you up to today?” 

“Nothing, just going to my next lecture.”

He grabs your wrist, watching as your breath hitches, and yet you still don’t look at him. Damn, what had gotten Bambi so scared?

“You’ve got time to talk to me, don’t you?” He asks, but it’s not really a question. And you know it, judging by how you swallow harshly.

“I’m so sorry, I don’t want to be late—” You attempt to tug your little hand out of his grasp but you’re so small and weak that it barely has any effect. 

“C’mon, homeschool. That’s no way to treat your one and only friend.”

He’s walks you into a corner, and he likes how you gape at the wall before turning and looking up at him. He’s so much taller than you, bigger than you in every single way. 

“Rafe, I…” you sigh, shifting from one foot to the other, “My friends said some things…”

“Friends?” You don’t have any.

“Some of the girls I know. They saw us talking yesterday at the library and they…” you sigh, “They said you were probably just playing a joke on me.”

Fuckin’ jealous pogue bitches. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. They said there’s no way you’d talk to me for any other reason apart from as a joke. And they…” you bite your lip, looking so cutely distraught and it goes straight to his dick. “They said some other things… about you.” 

Of course they fuckin’ did. Always talking behind his back, but never to his goddamned face. Nothing but a bunch of jealous, gold-digging whores.

He doesn’t say anything, just merely looks at you as if he expects you to tell him. And he knows you will. You’re too innocent to keep secrets.

“They said that you… that you’re scary sometimes.”

Rafe remains impassive, waiting for you to continue. 

“That you… that you pick on a lot of us Pogues. E-Especially the boys. That you and your friends bully them.”

He snorts. Bully. What a juvenile word. Sure, he pushed the dipshit Pogues around here and there. They deserved it for all the trouble they ran around town causing, disrupting the natural order of shit. And he could fuck their girls better than they ever could. Especially that fuckin’ idiot JJ Maybank…

“They also said that… never mind.” Again, you try to tug away from him but to no avail.

“Tell me.” He likes how you struggle under his scrutinising gaze.

“It’s… it’s not appropriate.”

“Say it. Now.” 

You lower your voice, “They said you like to use the girls. The pogue girls. Th-That you have a kink for them.” 

The scandalous words have hardly left your mouth before you duck your head down as if embarrassed. God, you were so fucking innocent. Rafe wonders how he should play this. 

“Huh. Is that so?”

“Y-Yeah. One of the girls I talk to… She said that you…” you swallow, biting your lip, “that you’ve been with her and all her friends too. That you tell them all the same thing but it’s always a lie and you just end up using them.”

Rafe nods, “Hmm.”

“I’m sorry, Rafe, but I don’t think we should—“

“That’s funny. I thought you were smart. You know, with all your books and the glasses and shit.”

You blink, “What?”

He shrugs, “I didn’t think you’d go ahead and pass judgement on someone without even getting to know them first.”

“It’s not that–”

“I mean, here I am, wanting to be friends with you. And I’ve been nothin’ but nice, haven’t I?”

He’s still got you backed into a corner, and he watches as you flinch when he emphasises his words. He knows people get intimidated by his intensity, but there’s nothing he hates more than people talking shit behind his back. Especially low-life Pogues. And he likes how scared you look right now, pouty lips all downturned and alarm in your eyes.

“I asked you a question, homeschool.”

“Yes, you’ve been nothing but nice! It’s just, I heard all these things, and–”

“And you chose to believe them.” He steps back abruptly, “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

He walks away, about to count to three in his head but you beat the count before he can even begin.

“Rafe, wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to judge you.”

He stops, allows you to catch up.

“You’re right, I…I shouldn’t listen to other people.”

“You shouldn’t.” Rafe agrees, easily taking your heavy textbooks from where you’ve been balancing them in your arms. You gape, but he just continues smoothly: “Where’s your next class?”

You tell him, “But you don’t have to walk with me or anything–”

“I’m your friend, homeschool. That’s what friends do.”

*

Day 3. You’re eating your lunch on a bench outside all by yourself. Rafe’s heading to his car with his friends. They usually cut classes most days to hit the beach or the country club. Rafe doesn’t see the point of college anyways, not when he was poised to inherit all of his father’s businesses, money and property. And with the ideas he had, he’d expand tenfold on whatever Ward was doing now, make a shit ton more money than his old man ever did. That would show him…

 ”How’s the bet coming along, Rafe?” Topper asks.

“Wait till the end of the week.” Is all Rafe says. He doesn’t need to give progress reports to his dumb fuck ass follower friends.

“That means he’s nowhere near cracking that virgin pussy.” Kelce chuckles. “No worries, brother. She looks like she’s got a stick up her ass anyways. Not loose like the rest of the Pogue whores.”

He ignores them as they laugh. But they’re right. You’re not like the rest of the Pogue girls. They’d grown up wild, promiscuous, loose. Trained to catch the attention of a rich Kook like himself, filled with self-serving motivations to marry into money. But he can already tell you’re different. With your cute little outfits and respectful, quiet demeanour. You look like you’d fit in where he was from.

Too bad he was only going to fuck you before discarding you like he did the rest of them.

“I’ll catch you guys later.” He says, making a beeline for you.

“Hey,” he chucks you under the chin, smirking when you jump.

“Oh, hey Rafe.” You look beyond his shoulder, “Your friends are all leaving.”

“Yeah. The waves are good this time of day.”

You gape, “But don’t you have classes?”

He takes a seat next to you, making sure to stretch out while you shrink into yourself. Still so nervous around him. He snickers, “You gonna tell on us?”

You look aghast, “No! I would never–”

“I’m just kidding, homeschool.”

“Oh,” you look embarrassed, “Sorry. Sometimes I–”

“Can’t tell if someone’s joking or not,” Rafe completes, “I remember. I’ll be more straight up with you.”

You nod, and he can tell you’re trying to think of something else to say. But you’re too nervous, too awkward. And so you just bury your head in your book again, all while he watches you. You’ve got a bottle of apple juice and a half-eaten sandwich of some kind on the table next to you. Cut up into little triangles. He bets you’ve done it yourself. Fuckin’ cute.

“You dress cute.” He says, and again, widened Bambi eyes stare up at him. He chuckles, “You know, the little skirts and plaid and shit. It’s cute.”

“Thank you.”

“You do it on purpose?” He can’t help but ask, because he wonders if a part of you knows what you’re doing. Knows you’re dressing like a sexy little angel out of his wettest dreams. All little and cute and innocent, so much smaller than him. Weak. All pastel and pretty, like you’d look so fucking sexy on the back of his bike. On his arm. On his dick.

“I don’t know what you mean by that,” you say, sounding every bit as innocent as you look. Damn, homeschool must’ve done a number on you. But he likes how sheltered you sound. It gets him so fucking hard, and a part of him almost feels sorry for how primed you are to be taken advantage of. “I wear my mom’s old clothes, or stuff I find in the charity shops.”

He’d had maids and housekeepers who shopped in places like that. He remembers him and his siblings giving them their old clothes once they’d grown out of them.

He nods, “You look pretty.”

Your breath hitches, and you really don’t know how to respond to that, because you slam your book shut and stand up, “I, uh, I have to go. I don’t want to be late for my next class.”

He watches you leave, distracted by your ass again but not enough to miss the little smile that quirks on your lips as you bid him farewell and walk away.

*

On day 4, Rafe walks up behind you in the busy hallway, pressing his huge hand on your lower back and pushing you into another secluded corner. He smirks when you squeak, but he likes how easily he can push you around because of how weak and small you are.

“Hey.” He told himself he’d take it slow (well, as slow as he could take it in the span of one week) and yet he can’t help but press into you a little bit. It’s innocuous enough, but your eyes widen as per usual, and the feel of your hot little body against his much larger one is enough to give him a boner. It’s how he could easily push you into an empty lecture hall and have his way with you if he so wanted to. Sure, you’d cry and resist at first, but they all gave in in the end. And if someone caught them, he’d pay them off.

Rafe Cameron owned the world. Nothing could stop him.

“Hello, Rafe.” You breathe, and he loves how his name sounds when you say it. He imagines you moaning it when he has you on his lap, pressing you down on his dick while you cry and whimper because it’s too much, it’s too big. But your greedy little virgin pussy would take every inch of his fat dick, and he’d do all the work, of course. You’d be too busy crying, and he’d bounce you up and down on his dick while you grabbed at his arms, his hair, his face. He’d tell you to scrape your nails down his back, leave a fucking mark or two so daddy could remember you.

“Come for a drive with me? I’ll buy you lunch.”

Despite your shyness, a fire flashes in your eyes, “I can buy my own lunch!”

He raises an eyebrow. As if on cue, you lower your gaze.

“Sorry, I mean… thank you for your offer, Rafe. But I can buy my own lunch.”

Surprisingly though, you agree to the drive. And he still has his hand pressed against your back, guiding you out to where his car’s parked. You ogle at it, probably never having seen anything as expensive. He wonders if your family even owns a car, or if you even know how to drive. It would be hot if you didn’t, it made you look even more helpless. In need of someone like him to protect you, take care of you. Someone powerful and wealthy like himself.

“Wow, I’ve never been on this side of the island before!” You say, oohing and aahing as you stare out the window. Rafe’s never seen anyone so easily excited by the neighbourhood he’d grown so used to. But he supposes the mansions, sports cars, country clubs and private beaches would be impressive to anyone who hadn’t grown up with easy access to all of that.

“No?”

“No, but my brother’s friend works there, I think.” You point to the vast golf course at the back end of one of the clubs. “He says the tips are really good.”

Rafe frowns. You were talking to other men? No, not you. You were too sweet, too innocent. He was sure he was the only man you spoke to. Or even if you were speaking to others, he doubts a golf caddy pathetically running after balls would be much competition. And yet, he bristles, wanting to change the subject.

“Do you have a job?” Rafe asks.

You shake your head, “No. I sometimes tutor some kids in the neighbourhood but nothing permanent. I’d love to have a part-time job with proper wages like the country club or library or something, but my family’s kind of protective of me.”

“Mm?” He’s deliberately being quiet, wanting to hear you talk, wanting to learn more about you.

“Yeah. That’s why I was homeschooled. My mom’s scared someone’s gonna take advantage of me.” You pause, before giggling, “It took a lot to convince her to let me apply for colleges, but I think she’s finally starting to see me as an adult who can make my own decisions and protect myself.”

The irony isn’t lost on Rafe, but he finds himself leaning closer. You have this way of talking, so soft and breathy, yet energetic and full of life at the same time. Like you’re a storybook character, like you’re someone out of this world. Like an angel dropped down from heaven and sent just for him. You’re his type to a tee. God, he wants to fuck you so bad.

“What would your mom say if she knew you were out with me?” His hand creeps up to rest on your knee. You’re wearing jeans, which he doesn’t approve of but he decides to give you a pass since it’s windy today.

You don’t notice his touch anyways; you’re too busy pondering over his question. But there’s a glint in your eye, “Sh-She wouldn’t approve. But that’s only ‘cause she doesn’t know you.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, his thumb rubbing circles against the denim of your jeans. “And you do?”

You swallow, finally realising he’s got his hand on you. Surprisingly, you don’t move. It’s almost like you’re frozen, those big fuck me Bambi eyes making a comeback, “Uh…I…We’re friends, aren’t we?”

He smirks, “Yeah. Friends.” His hand creeps up higher, stroking your thigh softly, wishing you were wearing one of your little skirts so he could feel your bare skin. But it’s thrilling anyways, touching your quivering body while you’re defenceless inside his car. He could lock the doors and have his way with you right now. Hell, people outside would get quite the show but it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked in public.

Poor little you. Losing your virginity in the front seat of his car. He’d drag you into his lap, bounce you up and down on his cock. But not before making you beg for it first. And you’d cry so fucking bad, because it would hurt. Because he’d promise he’d be gentle but he knows himself, he knows he’d lose control like he always did. Fuck you so goddamned hard, he’d have to lay you down in the backseat afterwards because you wouldn’t be able to stop shaking. Then drive you back to his house, carry you into his bed and have his way with you again. And again. And again.

“Rafe?”

“Yes?”

“You’re not hanging out with me because you feel sorry for me, are you?”

That grabs his attention, “Why would you think that?”

You shrug, “No reason. I just… Well, you have so many friends. I guess I don’t quite understand why you’re hanging out with me.”

“I like you.” He shifts even closer, his hand steadily stroking your leg while you remain stiff, “Do you like me?”

“H-Huh?”

“You heard me, homeschool.” And yet he knows you’re distracted by his fingers tracing shapes on your thigh. Not random shapes, though. It’s his initials. Over and over again. R.C., he wonders if you can tell.

“I, uh, y-ye–” You’re having trouble getting your words out, and it amuses him. He can see you visibly shaking, and he wonders if it’s out of fear or anticipation. Or both. He leans down, bringing his face close to yours.

“I didn’t quite get that.” He licks his lips at how weak and intimidated you look. “Say it again.”

It’s an order, and you clear your throat, shake your head as if to clear your thoughts.

“Yes,” you whisper, as if it’s something scandalous, “Y-Yes, I like you.”

He pulls back abruptly, leaving you gaping at him.

“Let’s get something to eat. I’m starving.”

He buys you a panini from a little artisan bakery, with a strawberry iced tea and a packet of chocolate hearts with a cherry cream filling. You protest at first, unzipping your bag to pay for yourself, but he’d sooner roll over and die than let a woman pay for anything.

“Toss me one,” he says, and you throw a little cherry-filled truffle at him. He catches it between his teeth, and your eyes light up, clearly impressed.

“Wow, that was cool!”

“C’mere, you’ve got a little something…” He grabs your chin gently, pulling you forward before rubbing his thumb against the side of your lip, wiping away a bit of chocolate. “Messy girl.”

Your breath hitches, but you stay still for him like a good little girl. His thumb lingers, and he wants to press it into your mouth, make you suck the chocolate off it. Then tell you he had something else for you to suck on. Push you down and make you warm his cock with your mouth while he drove you back to campus. One hand on the steering wheel, the other pressing your head down, making you take his big cock despite you whimpering and panicking because you can’t breathe.

He rubs your lower lip with his thumb for a moment before pulling away. You clear your throat, snapping out of whatever reverie you’ve been in, straighten up against the seat and put your seatbelt on. You still look like you’re in a daze, however, and he wonders if you’re wet from him wiping your face clean.

“I-uh-we should head back please, if that’s okay?” you say, voice slightly shaky as you avoid eye contact with him. “I don’t want to miss my afternoon class.”

He grins, “You a teacher’s pet?”

That makes you smile, and you shrug shyly. It almost enamours him.

He gets you back to campus on time, and you give him a little wave before you jump out of his car and walk inside. And god, it’s insane how hot you are. Even in your jeans, which have cute little embroidered flowers on the butt. Makes your ass look insane. Like it’s begging to be grabbed, smacked, fucked.

He breathes out heavily through his nose, slumping back against his seat. His dick is uncomfortably hard. God, you didn’t even realise how much you’d teased him tonight. Sitting tight and pretty in the passenger seat of his car, so quiet and pretty. So innocently impressed by Figure 8, and by him. How shy you’d been when you’d admitted that you liked him…

He gets his phone out, blindly texting one of the desperate girls on his phone. He needs a release. And he’d be thinking of you the whole time.

*

On day 5, Rafe tells you to give him your number. From his peripheral, he can see a bunch of Pogues whispering and watching while he takes your phone and puts his number in.

“Have your little friends been talking more shit about me?”

You flinch. He can’t help the intensity of his tone sometimes, and he’s noticed you never swear and, like a jumpy little mouse, probably feel intimidated when he does.

“No, I haven’t really spoken to them in a while.”

Rafe grins, “Yeah?”

“Yes. I’ve been busy with schoolwork.”

He saves his number on your phone before pressing it into your back pocket for you. You gape, eyes darting around to see if anyone saw. He wonders just how prim and proper you are, and how quickly he could get you to come undone once he got you comfortable and behind closed doors.

“You’re not too busy to text me, right?”

You smile, looking down and fidgeting with your binder. He notices you’ve got little stickers on it, like cupcakes and hearts and shit. What a fuckin’ baby.

“Text you? I don’t really– I have to a test tomorrow that I need to study for.”

But he knows you’ll text him. They always did. You weren’t any different.

“What are you smiling at?” Kelce asks, pulling up beside him as Rafe watches you head into your next class.

Immediately, he straightens his face, “Nothing man.”

“You falling for that homeschool freak Pogue?”

He snorts, “You wish. I have standards.”

“You sure about that?”

He whips his head sharply to stare down at his friend, “You want me to repeat myself?”

Rafe doesn’t miss the flicker of fear in Kelce’s eyes. They’d never admit it, but he knows his friends are afraid of him. Of his mood swings, his unpredictability. He doesn’t care. In fact, he prefers it this way. They weren’t like him, they were weak-minded, beneath him. He kept them around because of semantics, because of who their parents were and who his dad was. And because they proved to be minorly useful sometimes when he needed help to get shit done.

All the girls he’d been with had been afraid of him too. When he fucked them, he often lost control. But it turned him on, how they’d swallow their fear in case they offended him, or set him off. Once, he’d fucked a girl who just wouldn’t stop shaking. Sure, he’d showed her his gun right before he’d bent her over, but it was her problem if she was frightened by something as mundane as that.

You weren’t scared of him. Yet. Intimidated, sure. But he’d kept that side of him well under wraps when it came to you. You were too sweet, too pure. And you were a good girl, incapable of crossing him in any form. He didn’t have to scare you to get what he wanted from you. No, you’d give it to him, like the good little girl you were. Naïve, innocent little girl.

*

Rafe: Hey.

Y/N: Hi, Rafe. How are you?

He finds himself smiling at his screen. There’s a party going on downstairs, but Rafe couldn’t care less. It’s the same thing every other night. His friends showing up at his house and bringing along a whole entourage of people he doesn’t give a fuck about. Sarah used to do it a lot before she moved out, invite her fuck ass Pogue friend group into his house as if they were ever welcome there.

Rafe didn’t want any Pogues inside his house. Unless they were girls that he intended to sleep with. But he appreciated it when they showed themselves out once he was done using them.

Rafe: What are you up to?

A minute passes by, then another one. Fuck, he hates that you’re making him wait. What a fuckin’ tease. He wonders for the hundredth time if you’re doing it on purpose. No, not you. You’re too innocent.

Y/N: Nothing, I just finished cleaning my room. Wbu?

It’s insane how the visual of that gets his dick hard in less than a second. The thought of you doing something as domestic as cleaning. The good little college girl, who went home straight after school and spent her evenings dusting and vacuuming or whatever it was that cleaning entailed. Unlike the Kook sluts his friends were probably fucking downstairs. They were pathetic party girls who’d easily spread their legs for a line or two.

He calls you, losing patience with this texting bullshit. He runs a hand through his hair impatiently when you don’t immediately pick up, huffing and gulping down the remaining whiskey in his glass. Slamming it down on his desk when you still don’t pick up. Fucking tease. He grabs a baggie from one of the drawers, prepares a neat line; despite promising himself he wouldn’t do it tonight. Fuck that. Ten seconds have passed; you still haven’t picked up. He snorts it quickly, about to throw his phone out the fucking window, except you choose that moment to pick up.

“H-Hello?”

“Hi,” he sounds slightly breathless, but who the fuck cared. He refills his glass with more whiskey, taking a sip to calm himself down. “Took your time to pick up, huh?”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say hastily, “I got distracted.”

He feels a sudden surge of jealousy so violent, he doesn’t know how to act for a moment. Distracted by fucking what?

“The lights went out, so I had to go reset them,” you explain, and he barks out a laugh. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Y-You sound kinda breathless, Rafe,” you say, “Is everything okay?”

“Why wouldn’t it be okay?” He downs his drink and sets it aside before his hand slips down. God, you sound so hot. All breathy and innocent, even just over the phone. “Tell me what you were doing.”

A pause, and then you force out a chuckle, “I told you, I just finished cleaning.”

“What like vacuuming and shit?”

“Yes.”

Over the years, Rafe had slept with a number of maids Ward had hired on multiple occasions. He’d fucked Wheezie’s babysitter a few years ago, the housekeeper too. His father had a knack for hiring hot Pogue girls, and maybe that’s where Rafe’s kink for them started.

He could imagine you working for him – he’d make you wear the sexiest little barely-there maid outfit. You wouldn’t question it because you were too innocent. With your little feather duster, trying to clean except you’d be too small to reach certain areas. Fuck, he wouldn’t last five seconds in the same room as you. And he wouldn’t have to because you’d be his hired help, his property. He’d have you bent over his desk, fuck you so hard till you couldn’t stop shaking, till you were crying like a baby and apologising for not focusing on cleaning all while he carried you up to his bedroom. Locked you up in there so nobody else could see you. His girl. All his.

“Uh, Rafe?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says.

A pause.

“Really?” You clear your throat, “Where are you? I can hear music.”

“Shit, yeah. Like, there’s a party or whatever going on downstairs. My friends came over unannounced.”

“Oh.” He can sense a level of dejection in your tone. He bets you’re thinking about it, thinking how it’s just a reminder that he has his own group of Kook friends. And you’d never be one of them. You’d never truly fit in. You were either one or the other. Hell, Sarah had proven that when she’d transitioned into the slums. But maybe there was a way to bring you into his world, a way that would stick.

He has to forcibly shake his head to remind himself you’re just part of a stupid bet.

“I’d rather speak to you than them.”

 “That’s not true, Rafe.”

“I like how you say my name.” He’s palming his dick now, knowing he’s treading over the line and could easily scare you off now if he’s not careful. But fuck being careful. He’s never really been careful before in his life. He hasn’t had to be. “An’ I’m serious. I told you, I like you.”

“Rafe, I… I just can’t shake the feeling that–”

“That what?” He spits into his palm before resuming touching himself. And shit, he doesn’t know if it’s the drugs or if it’s really just the sound of your voice that’s got him so goddamned horny. He wonders if you’ve ever touched yourself before. If you even knew how to.

“That you’re just playing a big joke on me. I mean, even the people from the Cut think I’m this weird, homeschooled freak.” You laugh, but he can tell you don’t find it funny, “It’s just hard to believe that you’d want to be my friend.”

“They think I’m a freak too,” he says, being honest for once. “Only difference is they don’t talk shit about me because they know I’d kill them.”

“You’re funny, Rafe.”

You’re too innocent to realise he’s not kidding. Not in the least.

“And if anyone says anything about you, I’ll kill them too. I’m serious.” Fuck, he feels like his dick’s gonna goddamn explode. The thought of protecting you like that, like he was responsible for you. Like you were all cute and helpless and he was the one taking care of shit, the one protecting you. That’s all he’s done his whole life, take care of shit and get shit done. And nobody’s ever fucking appreciated him for it.

“Well, thank you, Rafe. I’ve never had anyone stick up for me like that.”

He likes how you keep saying his name now that he’s told you he likes it when you say it. Means you’d be real good at taking instructions. He can imagine telling you what to do when he finally has you in his bed. Order you to get on your hands and knees. Then he’d spread your cute little ass, eat you from the back while you moaned his name over and over, thanking him for taking care of you, weeping how much you appreciate him, how much he means to you. How much you need him.

“A-Are you still there?”

“Shit, yeah. Yeah, I am.” His dick’s red and painfully hard, and he’s still trying to pump it steadily but now he’s imagining your tight little virgin cunt wrapped around it. Soft like velvet, warm and wet. Pulsating around him. Never had even a finger up there but you’d take his big dick, because he owned you, because he was your protector, because you were too weak and helpless without him, and–

“Could you, uh, fuck, say my name again,” he orders you, not caring in the least if he scares you off.

“Rafe?”

He cums into his fist like a goddamned teenage boy, biting down to keep from making any noise. God fucking dammit, you’d listened again. What a good fucking girl. He wants to tell you that, tell you how good you were for him just now, how obedient and submissive you were without even realising it.

“If you’re busy, it’s okay and you can go,” you say softly.

“No, wait…” he clears this throat, grabbing a bunch of tissues from his desk. He can’t believe you hadn’t caught on to him jacking off. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

“Do you want to come over tomorrow? To hang out?”

“Like, uh, at your house?”

“Yeah.” He needs you in private, needs you on his turf where he can control just about everything. God, was it even about the bet anymore? Or just this newfound fucking irrevocable need to fuck you just for his own personal satisfaction? Maybe both.

“I don’t know, I’ve never been to a guy’s house before.”

That just makes him even more determined to be your first.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun. We can go after your classes finish or whatever, and I’ll drive you home afterwards.”

“Rafe…”

He shuts his eyes for a moment, savouring the sound of your voice. He wonders if he can get you to call him daddy. God fucking dammit, just the idea of that was getting him hard again.

“Look, we’ll order some food, watch TV. Whatever you want. It’ll be fun. And it’s what friends do.”

That last part gets to you. He can tell. He knows how badly you want to have friends. He knows you’ve never had any. Not good, permanent ones like you saw in movies and TV shows. Hell, Rafe’s not sure he himself has real friends. But he doesn’t care. The idea of friendship means nothing to him. He’s best when he’s on his own because nobody else could be trusted. But what is important is having a girl like you in his bed. A girl like you who looks up to him with shining eyes, like he’s your goddamned entire world. A girl he plucked up from poverty and saved, and you’d appreciate him more than anyone in his dumb fucking family ever did.

“Say yes,” he all but orders you, but he already knows the answer before you say it.

“O-Okay, yeah. Yes, that sounds like fun. I’d love to come.”

*

“What do you mean you’re not coming?” Topper frowns, crossing his arms over his chest, “You were supposed to bring the, you know…”

Rafe rolls his eyes, wondering why he’s friends with a fucking loser who can’t even say the word coke. That’s why nobody on the goddamned island wanted to sell to Topper. Hell, even Barry refused to.

“I have plans.” Rafe answers, checking his watch for the tenth time. Your final class of the day was due to end any minute now, and he couldn’t wait to get you into his house.

“What plans? You were gonna help me with Sarah tonight.” Topper was a whiny fucking bitch, but even Rafe had to admit he was a better fit for his sister than that lowlife John B.

“I’m not helping you with shit, man.” He mutters disinterestedly, although he had promised a few nights ago that he’d help him. He’d been high as a fucking kite, though. So it didn’t exactly count. “Look, she’ll get bored eventually when she realises his broke ass can’t provide shit for her. Then she’ll come crawling back.”

Topper shakes his head, “No, Sarah’s not materialistic like that.”

Rafe smirks, “You don’t know her.”

“Well, speaking of broke, how’s it going with that homeschool girl? You guys sure seem to be hanging out a lot.”

“Do you have brain damage, Topper?”

“What?”

Rafe corners his friend against a wall, relishing the immediate fear in his eyes, “I seem to remember you placing a bet a week ago.”

“Well, yeah, but –”

“So why the fuck,” he hits the locker lightly behind Topper’s head, “are you asking me about hanging out with her a lot?”

“Chill, dude. It’s just,” he looks hesitant, scared as he’s barely able to make eye contact, “It’s okay if you like her, you know?”

Rafe feels a wave of emotion, something he can’t quite pinpoint. And that makes him mad, because what the fuck was he feeling? He has to clench his fists by his side to stop from slapping the taste out of Topper’s mouth. Why did him bringing you up irritate him so much? Jesus, reign it the fuck in.

He takes a deep breath and steps back, forcing a chuckle, “You think I’m gonna slum it like that?”

Topper grins nervously, as if Rafe hadn’t had him pinned against a locker like a little bitch just a second ago. He straightens up, “I mean, it’s not exactly a secret what your type is.”

Rafe laughs, and Topper relaxes and joins in after a moment or two. That’s when Rafe slams him against the locker again.

“Get it through your thick fucking skull, Topper. I may fuck a Pogue but I’d never date one. Got that?”

“Yes, okay, Jesus Christ, man.” Topper pushes Rafe off him and backs off, “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

That’s when Rafe starts laughing again. “I will, pussy.”               

Topper fucks off after that. Sometimes, Rafe wonders what his deal is. He acted up in front of the rest of the group, then tried to act all sensitive and understanding in private. Like Rafe had time for that shit. And how dare Topper insinuate that Rafe had feelings for you? Hell would freeze over before he ever caught feelings for a Pogue.

He realises a bunch of people are staring at him. Goddamit. Fuck all of them. When he was younger, Ward had sent him to see a therapist once a week. He’d quit going once he’d realised it was everyone else who was the problem, and not him. But one thing the shrink had taught him that had stuck was to breathe slowly and count to ten whenever he felt angry or overwhelmed.

That’s what he’s doing when you arrive.

“Hey, Rafe. I’m sorry I’m late. The professor held me back.”

“Why?” He barks out before he can contain himself. He’s already on edge, and now some dumbass professor is keeping you back in class because you undoubtedly get his old, shrivelled dick hard and you’re too innocent to even realise it.

You blink, “He really liked the essay I submitted last week. He even said he wants to use it as an example for his other classes!”

“That’s great,” Rafe plasters a smile on his face but he’s only half listening, “Let’s go.”

He calms down some as he guides you out of the hallway and toward the parking lot. He almost grabs your hand when it gets a bit too crowded, but remembers himself just in time. He couldn’t be caught holding hands with a Pogue. It was too intimate, and like he’d said to Topper, he’d never let it get to that point with a Pogue. Instead, he places his hand on your lower back and pushes you forward. You smile at him, and it goes straight to his… well, not his dick, surprisingly. But it goes somewhere within him, and he feels it again. Something he doesn’t really recognise or know how to deal with. So he forcibly pushes it back inside himself.

“You look cute,” he says once he’s got you outside and there’s more room to breathe. You look like an angel in the afternoon sunlight, dressed in the cutest little sundress he’s ever seen. It’s this pinkish-orange, like the colour of the sunset, and you’ve got matching ribbons in your hair. Like you’ve really made an effort to get all dressed up just to go to his house.

“Thanks,” you look down as if you’re embarrassed, like you don’t know how to take a compliment, “It’s my mom’s dress.”

“It’s really pretty,” he says softly, before clearing his throat and looking away.

He gets you to his car, lifting you up by your waist and helping you into it. And that turns him on so much, how small and sweet you look. Like a little fairy in his arms. None of the other girls were like you. Not at all. He wonders what you’re wearing underneath, and feels his cock thicken in his slacks with anticipation when he realises he was probably going to find out today.

You don’t say anything when he pulls up into the driveway of his house. Ward had fucked off on some business trip and taken Wheezie and Rose with him so he had the place to himself. That’s how he liked it best, it gave him space to think and breathe without the constant noise of his family. Well, Wheezie was an exception. He didn’t mind her too much.

“Wait here,” he says, getting out the car and walking around to open the door for you. You allow him to lift you out again, this time your hands landing on his shoulders. And it’s fucking insane how that tiny, voluntary touch does things to him that no other girl has ever done before.

Now, he doesn’t think twice before grabbing your hand and pulling you down to the large, ornate wooden double doors. You’re distracted anyways, eyes wide as saucers as you ogle the mansion that Rafe’s never thought twice about. But he reckons it’s a step or two above whatever shacks the people from the Cut lived in, so he allows you to remain silent and let it sink in.

Finally, you exhale slowly, “This is… uh… wow. I can’t believe there’s people in this world who live like this.”

Rafe smirks, squeezing your hand, “Yeah. Do you want a drink?”

He leads you to the bar in the corner of the living room, again lifting you up and placing you on one of the stools. You giggle, “I can climb on myself, you know.”

“Yeah? You seem to like it when I pick you up, though.”

He winks, and notes how you duck your head and smile shyly, your hands wringing together on your lap like you’re nervous. God, you were so fucking cute.

“What’s your usual drink of choice?” He asks, going behind the island to inspect the liquor. His friends had gone through a lot of it at the party the night before, but the house help had restocked everything this morning.

You blink, “Um, water?”

He stifles a laugh, pouring himself his usual whiskey with ice, “You’re a good girl, huh?”

“I tried some of my mom’s wine once but it tasted horrible,” you shrug, “I don’t know why people like it so much.”

“Try this.” He pours you a Peach Schnapps with lemonade and ice, “It’s sweet like you.”

You hesitate, but end up taking it. And he watches as you take a tentative sip, and he knows you like it because you take another one. And then another. He can’t help but feel proud for introducing you to your first alcoholic drink.

“You’re not as bad as people say you are,” you say out of nowhere, and his expression immediately sours.

“People have been talking about me to you?”

“No, it’s just the stuff I’ve heard. Like what I told you before. But it can’t be true, because you’re so nice to me so it just doesn’t add up.”

He grips his glass tight, about to lose it because yet again people were talking shit about him behind his back and never to his fucking face. Because they were all a bunch of pussies who knew he’d beat the shit out of them or kill them if they said anything to his face. But then you speak again.

“Do you always drink after school?”

“Huh?”

“Like, alcohol. Do you drink a lot? Like every day?”

“No.” He lies. “Only sometimes.”

He takes you out to the patio, where the sun is shining and you look so fucking pretty in your little sundress. Like you fit right into his world, next to the pool with a drink in your hand, sat next to him and looking at him with sparkling eyes as if he was your god. He wonders if you’ve naturally grown more comfortable with him through the course of the week, or if it’s just the alcohol. Probably the alcohol, since no one was ever really comfortable around him.

Either way, he puts his hand on your leg just like he had a few days ago in his car. Your breath hitches, but you don’t make a move to stop him. Instead, you opt to take another sip of your drink, and he wonders if he can get you drunk tonight. Shit, did he even want to? It was no fun fucking a drunk girl.

“Tell me more about you,” he strokes the soft skin of your bare thigh, feeling your goosebumps underneath the pads of his fingers. “You ever had a boyfriend or anything?”

Your eyes widen, “No. I, uh, you don’t tend to meet any guys when you’re homeschooled.” Embarrassed, you giggle before looking away. He reaches out, grabbing your chin lightly and making you look at him again. Fuck, your lips were so sexy. So pouty and perfect, begging to be kissed. “What about…what about you? Have you had any girlfriends?”

He shrugs, “A few.”

You nod, “Of course you have. That was a stupid question. Sorry, I forget not everyone’s as far behind in life as I am.”

“You’re not far behind.” He says, although you are and he prefers it that way.

“I am. Every other girl my age has had all the experiences you’re supposed to have. Drinking, partying, boys, all of it.” You sigh, “Sometimes I feel like I’m so far behind that I’ll never catch up.”

Rafe inches his hand upwards, till he reaches the hem of your dress halfway up your thigh. He plays with the fabric, and he can tell you’re acutely aware of what he’s doing. You don’t make a move to stop him, but you do press your legs together.

“There’s still plenty of time to catch up,” he says softly, “I can help you.”

You smile up at him, holding up your drink, “You already have. I’d never drank with friends before now.”

“Congratulations,” he says, clinking his glass with yours, “To one of many firsts.”

He downs his drink and so do you, and he’s quick to get a refill for both of you. He’s guessing you’re a lightweight, and again the thought of getting you drunk crosses his mind. But that would be way too easy.

“I’m capping you after this one,” he says, handing you your second Peach Schnapps.

You giggle, “Are you gonna cap yourself too?”

“No.” He chucks you under the chin again, “But, see, I’m not a baby.”

“Hey!”

He kisses you. And shit, he hadn’t planned on catching you so off-guard. Hell, he’s caught himself off-guard. But he couldn’t help it. Couldn’t help how kissable your lips looked, all pouty and bitten. And you taste like cherry lip gloss mixed with peaches and lemonade, and you’re so pliant underneath him, and he’s kissed a shit ton of girls but it’s never felt like this.

You pull away with a start, shocked as you stare up at him. Breathing hard and biting your goddamned lips before they turn into the shape of an o.

“I’m sorry,” Rafe says, although he’s not, “I’ve been wanting to do that since the day I first saw you.”

Your breathing is shallow, and with a shaky hand you put your glass down on the crystal table in front of you. “I’ve never, uh, I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

“Well, it’s easy. I could show you.”

You swallow, “I don’t want this to be like, a pity thing.”

Rafe exhales slowly, “You’re here in front of me in this tiny fuckin” dress, acting all cute and innocent and you think I want to kiss you out of pity?”

Your jaw drops, “Hey, it’s not tiny!”

He kisses you again. And sure, maybe he should’ve asked permission since it’s, well, your first kiss. But frankly he’s never had to ask permission to do anything in his entire life, and he wasn’t about to start now. The way he sees it, you wouldn’t have worn a slutty dress and agreed to come to his house if you didn’t want him to make a move on you.

Again, you pull away, “Rafe, I– don’t… I don’t know how to kiss, I’m sorry–”

He cups your face in his hands, pulling you closer and pressing his lips against yours again. Just to feel your soft, quivering lips against his confident ones. He kisses you once, twice, three times. Coaxing you to open your mouth, to let him in. Fuck, a part of him just wants to shove his tongue down your fucking throat, show you what it means to really be kissed. But he’s already pushing his luck right now.

“I’ll teach you,” he says, “But you need to do exactly what I say, okay?”

He can’t believe his goddamned luck when you nod. God, you were just so fucking hot, prancing around his house in your little dress, all impressed by his riches and shit, drinking your drink he made you like a good little girl, and now here you were, agreeing to whatever he said.

He taps his leg, “Get on my lap.”

Your eyes nearly bug out of your head, “Wh-What?”

Rafe smirks, “Didn’t you just agree to do exactly what I say?”

He’s surprised with the amount of patience he has with you. If you were another girl, he’d have thrown your ass out to the curb for asking too many annoying questions. Or bent you over, shoved your face into a pillow to shut you up and had his way with you. God knew he’d done that more times than he could count over the years. He was aware of how much bigger and stronger he was than you and every other girl, and that fact turned him on more than anything. The fact that he could, if he wanted to, completely take advantage of you however he wanted. And all you’d be able to do is cry and beg him to stop, which would just turn him on more.

“I did, I’m sorry, but I don’t–”

Easily, he grabs your hips and lifts you up onto his lap, makes you straddle him with one leg on either side of him. Your dress is just about long enough to still cover your modesty, but now he’s acutely aware of your panty-covered pussy just inches away from reach. Fuck, he wonders what kind of panties you’re wearing, and if you’d let him look…

“There. Comfy?”

“Well, I guess, but…”

He pulls you into another kiss, this time catching you mid-sentence so he’s able to slip his tongue into your mouth. And you’re so fucking shy, just rigid while he explores your mouth. But he doesn’t mind. You taste so fucking sweet, and it’s getting him so hard, knowing he’s the first man you’ve let touch you like this, kiss you like this.

He can feel your breath hitch as he strokes your face, his thumbs running across your cheeks before his hand tangles into your hair. He yanks you closer, grazing his teeth against your plump bottom lip. You gasp, and he chuckles into your open mouth. His tongue plays with yours, coaxing you to kiss him back, but not really caring too much if you don’t.

And god, he wants to thrust up into you so bad. You’re sitting right on top of his fucking hard dick, and you don’t even seem to realise it. In fact, you shift around, that cute little peachy ass rubbing against his boner, and he wonders if you even know what a boner is.

When you pull away this time, your eyes are bright and excited. And he loves how he’s kissed the gloss off your lips, and how he can still taste you on his tongue.

“Wow, that was…” you giggle, breathless yet excited from finally having your first kiss, “I don’t have anything to compare it to, but that was good!”

Rafe has to crack a smile at your innocence, and his hand lands on your bare thigh, tracing his initials on it again, “Yeah? You like kissing me?”

“I…um… yeah I do,” you say shyly, before closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, “Could we uh, could we try again? Could I try?”

Well, shit. He’s never devoted this much time and energy into just kissing a girl, but his dick grows even harder at how you’ve plucked up the courage to ask him that. And so he simply nods and sits back, lets you figure out what it is you want to do.

Your cute little hands hold on to his broad shoulders shyly. And you lean up, fluttering your eyes closed like it’s some kind of fairytale for you and you’re the little princess kissing her prince charming. It’s part enamouring, part pathetic. But Rafe feels it again, that unfamiliar feeling bubbling up in his chest. He shakes out of it, focusing on your plump lips that hesitantly press against yours.

He sits still; lets you explore his mouth. Your tongue pokes out, swipes against his. And the feeling goes straight to his dick. And then he’s kissing you back, because he doesn’t have the goddamned willpower to just sit there and do nothing. There’s an animal inside of him and you’ve awoken it, more than any drug or alcohol ever could.

And he gets rougher, biting your lip till you gasp into his mouth. His hands slip up and down your bare arms before he takes your hand, squeezes it before pressing it down on his chest, wanting you to touch him, feel how much bigger he is than you.

“Good girl,” he mutters when you don’t move your hand, and then he fingers the hem of your dress. “Gonna let me touch you a little bit?”

“Rafe, maybe not too much–”

“C’mon, princess, you have to touch while you’re making out, right? That’s lesson number two.” He distracts you with another rough kiss, grabbing your jaw and squeezing while he brings you closer to his mouth. Kissing down your jaw and neck before returning to your lips, smirking when you squeak out a little involuntary moan. That’s when he slips his hand up your dress and cups your ass. Perfect little handful of your bubble butt, and he gives it a little squeeze to test the waters. You’re too distracted with kissing him, and so he squeezes harder. God, so fuckin’ soft and pliable, just like how he’d imagined.

“Nice ass,” he murmurs against your lips, and that’s what jolts you out of it. He curses inwardly when you pull away, pushing against his chest when he doesn’t immediately stop. And a part of him knows how easy it would be to just pin you down on this fucking sofa and have his way with you. Tell you how it’s your fault for wearing this fucking dress, your fault for seducing him in his own home, acting so sexy and innocent and getting him so riled up. Teasing him with your shy little kisses and squeaks till he had no choice but to hold you down and fuck you.

“I’m sorry,” you say as you slide off his lap, straightening your dress, “I just… I got overwhelmed.”

He blinks, and he’s this close to pulling you back on top of him, telling you he didn’t give you permission to stop, that you had to listen to him because this was his house and he’d been kind enough to invite you over. And he could make you feel so good, if you just stopped being a goddamned little prude.

Instead, he forces a smile, “You’re a pretty good kisser for someone who claims she’s never done it before.”

You beam, relaxing immediately, “Oh, you’re just saying that. I bet I was really bad.”

“My memory’s kinda foggy, I think you’re gonna have to remind me,” he pulls you back into him, and you giggle as he presses light kisses on your lips, his arm going around your shoulders while your hands tangle into his hair.

It doesn’t go any further than that, though. You stop him when he tries to touch you again, and a part of him wants to slam his fist down on the glass patio table in frustration. And yet, something stops him from just overpowering you and taking what he wants. No, that would be too easy. He’s about to crack you, he can tell from the way you look at him with those big eyes, now full of trust and comfort. He just needs more time.

Too bad he only had one day left to complete the goddamned bet.

“You should come over again,” he says when he’s done up your seatbelt for you in his car. He finds he likes doing all that shit – opening the door for you, lifting you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt into place, all of it. A stark difference from other girls, where often he’s tossed their clothes at them and motioned for them to leave after he’s done hooking up with them.

“That sounds nice,” you say, waiting for him to come round and get into the driver’s seat, “And I told you; you don’t have to drive me all the way home. I could’ve just got the bus.”

He blinks. He didn’t realise buses even functioned in Figure 8, but either way, he can’t have you on a public bus. Especially not in that dress, where every man would be leering at you and you’d be none the wiser about it. The control freak in him is itching to be let out, to tell you exactly what you were and weren’t allowed to wear in public, tell you how you weren’t allowed to speak to any men except him. And you weren’t allowed to argue or contest any of this, because he was in charge of you now, and–

“No buses,” he says firmly, his hand resting comfortably on your thigh as he drives, “Anyways, come over again tomorrow. We can go in the pool or whatever.”

He feels you go rigid, “Th-The pool?”

He glances at you, “Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

You laugh nervously, “Uh, I’m not too great with water. I don’t really swim or anything.”

Rafe has to do a double-take, “You realise you live on an island?”

Even he knew that every child born in Kildare could swim before they could even walk. It’s just the way it was. They were surrounded by water. Rafe doesn’t even remember learning how to swim; it was almost like he knew how to do it by default.

“I know how to swim, I just don’t like water,” you say, and there’s something off about your tone. Something he can’t pinpoint, but you turn to the side and look out the window. Silent for the rest of the drive. Rafe doesn’t push it, although your odd behaviour has piqued his curiosity.

It’s only when he’s pulling up into the pitiful dirt road of a street where your house is situated that you clear your throat.

“Look, Rafe, you’re my friend now. And I don’t really like keeping secrets from you. I’m sorry I was so quiet just now.”

Cute. He likes how much you apologise to him. It shows how respectful you are, how much you respected him as an authority figure.

“That’s okay,” he says.

You take a deep breath, “I used to go out in the water a lot when I was younger. With my dad. He had a boat, and I would help him. But…”

Your voice trails off for a moment. Rafe thinks he knows where this is going, and a part of him is touched you’d share something like this with him. A tiny, obscure part of him, that is. He can’t help but squeeze your leg reassuringly, and you clear your throat again and blink several times. Like you’re trying not to cry. And Rafe’s never had the patience for emotional chicks, but it’s different with you.

You force out a little laugh, “I don’t want to go into details. But one time we were out pretty far, and the weather was bad. Like, really bad. The waves were rough and…” You swallow, looking down into your lap and wringing your hands together, your chest rising and falling rapidly, “And… Well, I was fine but… my dad…”

Shaking your head, you don’t say anymore. You don’t have to. Your eyes are wet and glistening, the muscles in your face working overtime to stop the tears from coming out. He parks the car in front of your house, turning to face you. He’s never been in a situation like this before, and he’s not sure how to act.

Fiercely, you wipe away the one or two rogue tears that have escaped down your cheeks, “It happened so long ago, I barely remember it. But I’ve been scared of the water ever since.”

He nods, “It’s just you and your mom now?”

“Yes. And my brothers. But they’re always working, so it’s just me and her. That’s why she’s so protective of me… I, uh, I don’t have a dad anymore.”

Rafe knows what it’s like to lose a parent, but he can’t fathom ever talking about it or voicing his feelings on it or some shit like that. His loser therapist had tried to get him to talk about his mother, but he hadn’t. He couldn’t. It was just muscle memory at this point, to force any thoughts of her straight out of his mind. It was easier that way. And now, it was like he could barely remember her. And he hated it, but it made it easier too.

He’s never been good at comforting anyone else. And a part of him is glad you’re not sobbing your eyes out right now, because he’s not sure how he’d handle that. So he’s happy when you clear your throat again and smile up at him.

“I’m not sure why I told you that, I’ve never had a friend to tell that to before. I guess I just feel comfortable with you, Rafe.”

What the hell had he done to make you so trusting of him in the span of less than a week? God, you were like an innocent little angel, sitting in his car all tiny and vulnerable. Making him feel like a goddamned fucking monster for the thoughts he had towards you, what he planned to do with you. Suddenly, the bet feels so stupid and insignificant. God, this was why Rafe didn’t speak to the women he fucked. They went all emotional on him, and now he wasn’t sure how to act.

“I feel comfortable around you too,” he says carefully. He’s never been great with his words, but he grabs your hands that continue to wring nervously together. His big, warm hand dwarfing your tiny ones, and he realises you’re shaking. And there’s a part of him that wants to protect you against everything. Take you back to his place, lock you up in his room so he could keep an eye on you and keep you away from anything and anyone who could ever hurt you and make you cry.

Even if the only person who could hurt you the most right now is Rafe himself.

You leave after that, thanking him again and again for giving you a lift home. He wants to walk you to your door, but you run off quickly, and his mind’s too distracted to follow you. He drives off once he sees you’ve safely closed your front door behind you, his mind moving a million miles per minute.

Jesus Christ, why’d you have to go and open up to him like that? This would be so much fucking easier if you hadn’t done that. He hates that he should know better, that he knows that he should leave you alone. You were too innocent, too vulnerable for his bullshit; to be caught in the middle of some dumbass bet he’d made with his friends. God dammit, he hates himself for agreeing to that stupid bet, seems so fucking juvenile looking back. Wished he’d picked a different girl at the very least, someone not as lovely a you.

Most of all, he hates himself because he knows that despite everything he’s just found out about you, he still has every intention of fucking you. Daddy issues and a phobia of water. It was almost like fate was handing you to him on a silver platter. He had to fuck you. He’d figure out the rest later.

*

Kelce: One day left, loverboy.

Topper: Can’t wait to see the pictures.

Rafe mutes the groupchat before throwing his phone aside. He’d goddamn throttle his friends if they were in front of him right now. Sometimes, he gets these violent tendencies. He doesn’t really know what to make of them except it feels good to have some kind of release. Usually that comes in the form of pushing around a sorry ass Pogue, but that option’s not really available right now.

Instead, he searches blindly for the coke he’s stashed in his bedside drawer. Again, he’d promised himself he’d cut down, but this was just to take the edge off. It didn’t count. Not really.

He wonders what you’d think if you knew how often he took drugs. Well, you wouldn’t because he’d keep you well away from that part of his life. Even when he made you his girlfriend, he’d keep you separate from all the partying. And he’d never allow you to even look at any type of Class A drug. And who knows, maybe he’d become better for you, maybe he’d go stone cold sober if you wanted him to.

That makes him laugh. Going sober for a Pogue. It was insane of him to even consider it.

Again, he has to remind himself to take his emotions out of it. All you were was a stupid Pogue, and a part of a bet he was going to goddamned fulfil. And he wouldn’t allow himself to think anything more of it. He may have had a momentary lapse of judgement yesterday, but today was a new day, the last day of the week he had to fuck you.

How? He wasn’t too sure. Reports of a storm meant you couldn’t come to his house again like how he’d planned. Even now, Rafe could hear the harrowing winds outside. Like a goddamned cyclone. And the rain pelting down unforgivingly, and the distant roar of the sea, waves crashing like they’d taken on a life of their own.

The weather on the island was usually all sunshine, but once in a blue moon a storm would hit like now. Residents were always told to wait it out and stay inside. For Rafe, that meant copious amounts of drugs and alcohol. Sometimes a girl or two to keep him company. But the idea of fucking anyone that isn’t you right now makes him sick.

He thinks about texting you, but what would be the goddamned point? If he couldn’t physically be with you today? He knows the weak, pussy part of his mind just wants to talk to you in whatever form he can. But he needs to bury that bullshit down deep inside him and never back, and–

His phone vibrates. It’s you. And he hates how he feels his heart jump to his fucking throat. You’ve called him all on your own, which means you were thinking about him like how he was thinking about you.

“Rafe?” You sound sexy like you always do, all breathy and weak and needy. A bit panicked too.

“Hey,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “What’s up?”

“I’m sorry I called you, I just… How are you?”

He raises an eyebrow, “I’m fine. You wanna talk?”

“No. I mean, yes. Oh, I… Rafe, I’m sorry. You’re probably busy.”

“Hey, calm down.” Rafe barely recognises the gentle quality of his voice as he straightens up, “What’s wrong, princess?”

“I’m scared.”

You say it so softly, with an air of embarrassment and shame, that at first he doesn’t quite get what you’re saying. But then he does, and something kicks in inside him. This innate need to protect you. You sound so small and needy on the phone, and you called him. You need him.

“What happened? Did someone hurt you?”

“No, no. Oh, Rafe, it’s the storm. It keeps getting worse.”

He chuckles in relief that you weren’t in any immediate danger, “Well, shit. Yeah. Looks pretty wild, huh?”

“I hate it,” you whimper softly, “and I’m sorry I called. But my mom’s stuck at work, and my brothers are crashing somewhere else. So it’s just me, and, and…”

“Hey, calm down. It’s okay, you’ll be okay.” He’s never had to comfort anyone before, but it comes naturally with you. “As long as you stay inside, the storm should pass. Just watch TV or something.”

“The lights are gonna go off any second,” you sniffle, “They always do when the weather gets bad.”

They did? Rafe never noticed shit like that. Then again, he doubts you had the luxury of backup generators where you lived. He pauses.

“Gimme twenty minutes. I’ll come over.”

“No!” You say quickly, “Rafe, it’s too dangerous.”

He snorts. He’d been in far more dangerous situations than a little bad weather. But the less you knew about that, the better. “I think I’ll be okay, princess.”

“B-But we’re not allowed out. You’ll get a fine.”

Rafe can’t count on one hand how many times he’d been fined by the dumbass police on this goddamned island over some petty bullshit reason or another. A fine meant nothing to someone with money. He was above the law, and most people on this island knew it.

“Stay put. I’ll see you soon.”

Rafe actually enjoys driving in the storm. The roads are deserted, and he can speed without worrying about anything else. And he does speed, and he runs more than one red light too. Gets to your house quicker than he thought he would. Past all the other tiny shacks all boarded up because they weren’t built well enough to withstand the storm.

“Rafe! You came!”

You sound like a fucking needy little baby, but something pulls at his heart when you hug him harder than you ever have before. And you’re so small, on your tippy toes so your arms reach around his neck. Automatically, his arms wind around your waist and he holds you close, and he can feel you trembling, your face buried in his chest as you hold on to him tightly.

“Yeah. Roads were empty. Didn’t take long.” He mutters, looking around the inside of your house. Pitiful. And pitch black, because you were right, the power had gone out. He hates that you live here. You’d fit in so much better at Tannyhill, in a pretty pink silk dressing gown and dripping with diamonds he’d buy for you. And you’d be so thankful for him, tell everyone that he saved you, how well he took care of you. How he gave you everything you could ever want, and how much you appreciated him.

At that moment, a clap of thunder makes you jump and squeal. Quickly, you pull him inside and shut the door. That’s when he notices that you’re crying.

“Hey, it’s okay. C’mere.” He pulls you into another hug, and he’s never seen another human being look so scared, so vulnerable. It makes him feel so powerful, like the man he knew you needed. “You’re safe now, I’m here.”

It feels natural, his lips pressing a kiss into your hairline. Like you’re his little baby, like he’s been trusted with something so precious and now he has to protect you. And you’re too scared to be your usual jumpy self, and you just snuggle closer into him. A flash of lightning lights up the whole room, the storm relentless against the weak confines of this sorry excuse of a house.

“Maybe we should head back to mine.” He suggests, but you whimper again.

“No, no, we can’t go out there. It’s not safe. Rafe, please.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen another human being so scared before. Not even when he was fucking that one girl after he’d showed her his gun. Even now, he consciously tucks his gun further down the waistband of his chinos. Of course he’d brought it with him, he wasn’t going to enter the Cut without a piece on him.

“Okay, okay. We’ll stay here. When’s your mom coming home?”

“Not till tomorrow once the storm’s died down.”

He licks his lips. It was too good to be true.

You’re still holding on to him as you lead him into your bedroom. He wonders why you’d take him straight there, but he guesses it’s your safe place. And you’ve got candles lit up, and they brighten the room enough for him to notice how small it is. The size of a shoebox, with a single bed covered in pink sheets and a bunch of stuffed animals.

Despite everything, his dick hardens.

“You’re a really good friend, Rafe.” You say honestly, “Nobody else would’ve come over like this.”

He shrugs, sitting on the edge of your bed and patting the mattress next to him. It’s not even his house and yet he feels like he needs to take control. And you obey, taking a seat next to him. But you’re preoccupied with your own fear, doing that thing where you fidget with your hands in your lap.

“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, biting your lip like you can’t quite believe what he’s said, “I-I’m not special, Rafe, I–”

You’re cut off by another clap of thunder, this one so loud it makes the whole house shake. You scream bloody murder, and honestly, if you were anyone else Rafe would’ve laughed. But it’s you, and so he just watches. It’s fascinating, the way you clutch onto him like he’s your saviour, and he wonders just how this opportunity had basically just fallen into his lap.

He pulls you into his lap, knowing you won’t protest. Not in the state you’re in. You’re wearing a pair of black leggings and a little white tank top. No bra, because he can feel your nipples, hard and poking out from the fabric of your top. He can feel them against his chest as he hugs you again, and he can also feel you shifting on top of him. Your peachy little ass rubbing against his dick like you’re a fucking tease except he knows you’re none the wiser, that you have no idea the effect you have on him.

He’s so turned on, it feels like he might explode.

“I’m sorry,” you apologise for the umpteenth time, “It’s just so scary. Wh-What if the storm gets worse, Rafe?”

“It probably will,” he says, feeling slightly wicked. He holds you tighter against him, wanting to feel the brush of your breasts against his chest again. Fuck, he wants to cop a feel so bad. “They were saying something about a severe weather warning on the news. Not like anything we’ve ever seen before.”

“Noooo,” you moan like a goddamned baby, cuddling into him even more.

“It’s okay,” he says, running his hand up and down your back, “You ever, uh, you ever think of distracting yourself from the storm?”

You hiccup and blink up at him with wet eyes, “Nothing works, Rafe.”

He smirks, “I could distract you.”

“H-How?”

He runs his thumb over your lips. They’re wet with your salty tears, and yet like muscle memory, you part them for him. You watch him in wonder, your breathing shallow as he pushes his thumb into your mouth, his other hand holding you in place by your hip.

“Suck.” He instructs gently, and your eyes are as big as saucers. But in your frightened, vulnerable state, you obey immediately. And it feels like he’ll bust a nut right there, watching as you suck his thumb on command like a little fucking baby. Like he’s your daddy.

“Good girl,” he says, stroking your hair out of your face so he can watch you better. “Now listen to me, I can help you. I can distract you so that you forget all about the storm. Do you want that?”

You nod slowly, almost like you’re entranced by him. Not that he needs the green light from you, but it’s hot to see you agree so easily to whatever he’s saying. Fuck, you really were just like an angel fallen straight from heaven and into his lap. Perfect for him in every single way. So soft, so impressionable. Completely untouched. Ready to be ruined.

“That’s good,” he mutters vaguely, thinking of everything he was going to do to you. He takes his thumb out of your mouth, noticing how you pout involuntarily, like you’d gotten used to the feeling of sucking on it. Fuck, he could give you something else to suck on. “Give me a kiss.”

“H-Huh–”

“Do it. Just like how I taught you yesterday. You remember our lesson, don’t you?”

You nod, “Yeah, but will that really work? I mean–”

It’s like God himself is on Rafe’s side because there’s a loud boom of thunder at that exact moment. And you jump in his lap, tears welling in your eyes. Your chest rises up and down, and you bite your lip again, your gaze zeroing in on his mouth. Slowly, you lean up, shyly pressing your lips on his. But there’s a desperation to it, and Rafe’s returning kiss completely envelopes you whole.

He makes out with you for a while, smirking through your little pants and moans mixed with a whimper every time the weather gets especially brutal outside. He’s never been with such a goddamned scaredy cat baby before in his entire life, and it turns him on beyond belief. In the state you’re in, he could get you to do anything.

Rafe’s hands slip up to grab your little top, tugging it upwards. And this time, he almost loses it in frustration when again, you stop him.

“Rafe, Rafe no stop.” You push his hands off, straightening your top back over your midriff. “Couldn’t we just… just kiss?”

He presses his lips together in a thin line, “You trust me?”

“Of course, I just don’t know if I want to–”

“Look, didn’t I say I would distract you? I mean, shit, I could just leave.”

Your jaw drops, a flash of fear glimmering in your eyes. Instinctively, you grab onto his bicep with your tiny hands, a pleading look on your face, “No, don’t!”

He smirks, “I won’t leave. But you need to trust me to do what I need to do to distract you. Because the storm’s just gonna get worse.” He grabs your chin when you avert your gaze, forcing you to look at him, “Hey, c’mon. Who has more experience with this shit, you or me?”

“Y-You.”

“Yeah. And who’s older?”

“You are.”

“That’s right. Which means you need to trust me to make these kinds of decisions, because I know what’s best for you. That’s why you called me over, right?”

You don’t say anything, but this time when he tries to take your top off, you don’t protest. And Jesus fucking Christ, he was right. You’re not even wearing a bra, almost like you were deliberately trying to seduce him. Acting like a whiny little damsel in distress, pulling him into your pitiful little pink room, all candlelit and shit, on your little bed with your stuffed fucking animals.

Your nipples are hard, and he can’t help but cup your breasts. They’re so tender, so soft just like you. He’d imagined this exact moment many times over the course of the week whilst he’d jacked off to you, but nothing could compare to now. The way you tremble beneath his touch, knowing no one’s ever touched you like this before. He squeezes gently, watching how your breath hitches.

He’s overcome with animalistic instinct in just a second, and leans down to take your breast into his mouth. Sucks your nipple sweetly, before biting down. You cry out, arching your back so prettily, feeding him more of your nipple as you push it into his mouth. He bets you probably don’t even understand why it feels so good, having never been touched like this ever before.

He pinches your other nipple and you gasp. He smirks and does it again, looking up at you to see you gazing imploringly down at him.

“Th-That hurts,” you say pitifully.

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” He takes your hands in his, bringing them up to his hair. Like a good little girl, you get the message. Your hands fist into his hair as he continues to play with your tits, licking and sucking all over them, pushing them together, biting your nipples and sucking the sensitive skin around them, wanting to leave his mark everywhere.

“Rafe, I, that… oh… oh my–”

“Stand up, baby.”

You squeak at the pet-name that falls so naturally from his lips, and he can tell you like being called that. It’s from the way your eyes widen, and how you scramble to obey. God, you were a little tease but you took instructions so fucking well.

You stand between his legs, and it gets him so fucking hard that you’re still barely eye level with him even when he’s sat down.

“Take your leggings off.”

You open your mouth to argue, but this time he just flashes you a look and you’re quick to shut the fuck up. That, and he distracts you with his hands running up and down your sides, squeezing your waist, then your hip. Finally landing on your ass with a light slap as if to tell you not to keep him waiting.

You push your leggings down and step out of them, till you’re standing between his legs in just your pink flowery panties and nothing else. And he feels a hunger he’s never ever felt before, looking down at you ravenously as if you’re a piece of meat and he’s a goddamned starved lion. A part of him just wants to grab you and stick his cock inside you while you scream and thrash and beg him to stop while you secretly enjoy it and cum again and again.

“Turn around,” Rafe says slowly, because despite his animalistic thoughts, he wants to savour this. And you do, letting him see your sexy butt adorned in just your panties. He hooks his thumb under the elastic, snapping it against your skin and laughing crudely when you yelp. “God, you’ve got such a perfect ass. I knew that since the moment I saw you.”

“Wh-What?”

“You heard me. You’re always wearing the cutest little outfits, like you were showing it off just for me.” He grabs your left ass cheek, squeezing it hard while you moan in pain or pleasure, right now he doesn’t really give much of a fuck. His other hand palms his cock through his pants at the sight.

“I wasn’t!” You say indignantly, as if he’s accused you of the absolute worst. “I wasn’t showing off, Rafe!”

“Sure you weren’t,” he snorts, “Now bend over, lemme see it better.”

He can’t believe it when you don’t hesitate this time, almost like you’re seeking his approval. Like you’re under some kind of submissive spell now, making everything even easier for him. You bend over, and your cute little ass is directly in his face. He pushes your panties to the side, gives the soft flesh a feather-light kiss before spanking you again. You yelp all cutely, but stay in position for him. What a good fucking girl.

“Stand up straight, look at me again.”

You turn back around, biting your lip as you look at him anxiously. Around you, the whole room seems to vibrate as another boom of thunder strikes. You make a noise in your throat, before grabbing onto his bicep again. You keep doing that, and it makes him feel strong, big, important. Like you’re a little baby seeking protection from her daddy.

“I’m gonna take your panties off now, okay?” He doesn’t know why he tells you before he does it, but he watches as you relax. There’s a war going on behind your eyes, he can tell. He knows part of you is liking how he’s making you feel, and part of you is desperate to distract yourself from the storm, and it’s battling the part of you that wants to keep your modesty, the part that knows this is a bad idea, that itching fear that he’s not a good guy, that he’s taking advantage of you.

Slowly, he slips your panties down your shaking legs, and you keep holding on to his arm like you’re scared to let go. Like the storm would come and get you the moment you stopped holding him like a little baby. He lets you, liking how weak you feel against him.

And then you’re completely naked in front of him, stepping shyly out of your panties that are left on the floor in a heap along with the rest of your clothes. And he’s still fully dressed, and that juxtaposition turns him on beyond belief. He can smell your pussy, and it’s driving him crazy. Makes him want to just pin you down and have his way with you. It incenses him in a way he’s never really experiences before.

His hands grab your hips, yanking you closer. He feels a wave of impatience, pushing you down till you’re sitting on the bed. He gets up, pushing your legs apart with one of his own. You gasp, and he sinks down to his knees, pressing a soft kiss to the skin just below your belly button.

“It’s time for lesson number three, baby,” Rafe murmurs softly, “this is how I’m gonna distract you, okay? Shit, I’m gonna make you feel so good, you’ll forget all about the storm. You gonna let me do that?”

You swallow, “H-How, Rafe?”

God, you were absolutely clueless. Made him feel like a fucking monster for taking advantage of you like this. But he liked it, liked how good and sweet and innocent you were, even now when he had you naked on your pretty princess bed with your legs spread for him.

“I’m gonna kiss you down here for a while, alright baby?”

“Down there?” You suck in your breath prettily, as if the very idea of that sounds so insane to you. God fucking dammit, just how much had your mother sheltered you?

Instead of explaining further, Rafe spreads your folds with two of his fingers, smirking when he sees you glistening and wet. And God, what a pretty and perfect pussy you had, all slippery and wet, like it was begging to be fucked. And even now, as you sit there breathing heavily, your pussy seems to get wetter just by him spreading it. You’re leaking down onto your pretty pink sheets, and it’s all because he’s merely touched you there.

You’ve gone silent, the storm seemingly already forgotten as you just watch him. Your chest rises up and down, and it’s like every other part of you is frozen in place. In awe, until he notices a slight movement in your pelvis. Involuntarily, you hump the air, like your poor pussy is begging for some type of contact or friction. He smirks.

“You have an accident, princess?”

You look absolutely aghast, “No!”

Rafe leans forward, inhaling deeply. And you smell so goddamned sweet, and he can’t wait any longer. He lays his tongue flat against your virgin cunt, and he can feel you throbbing with anticipation. He licks upwards, and you grab onto his hair, tugging hard as you yelp.

“Oh my God–”

He looks up, “Not God, baby. Just me.” Absentmindedly, he flicks your clit with his thumb and your entire body jerks. He chuckles, “And there’s another thing I’m going to need you to do.”

“What?”

“You’re going to call me daddy while I eat your cunt, okay?”

For the fifth time this evening, your jaw drops, and you gaze down at him in indignance, “What? But Rafe, you’re not my–”

“Your daddy? I mean, you do want me to take care of you, don’t you?” He smiles when you don’t immediately respond, “That’s why you called me today. Because you felt unsafe, like how you’ve felt your whole life ever since you lost your real daddy, isn’t that right?”

He half expects you to shove him off you, scream, lose it, slap him, kick him out of your house for going there, for trying to take advantage of your obvious daddy issues. But it’s like you’re in a trance, and he keeps going, “You want someone to take control, to reassure you that everything’s gonna be okay. That’s why you’ve let me take care of you this whole week, right? Because you need me, you like how I make you feel.”

He softly strokes your bare thighs, noticing that you’re shaking under his touch. And you look like you’re about to cry, in your most vulnerable state in front of him. And yet he keeps going, his voice like a calm lull, almost hypnotic with how you look at him with your huge, unblinking eyes.

“I can be your new daddy, princess. You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?”

Rafe doesn’t wait for your response. Instead, he grips your thighs harder, spreading them as far as they’ll go. He spits on your mound, watching his saliva drip down to your pussy. You’re watching too, with stricken, hooded eyes. Like you’re frozen in time and space, and he’s the only constant.

Leaning forward, he envelopes your clit between his lips, giving it a harsh suck. Your entire body convulses, and you moan the loudest he’s ever heard you. Thunder claps at the same time, but you’re louder than it, and your hands grab on to his hair, and you press your cunt into his face, practically smothering him but he fucking loves it.

“Tell daddy to lick your cunt,” he orders, his voice deeper and lower than it’s ever been, and a slight threat in his tone, “say it, or else I’ll stop everything.”

“L-Lick it, please,” you beg so prettily, keeping your voice barely above a whisper. Rafe sits back, looking at you expectantly till you make the prettiest little noise of impatience. You shoot him a pleading look of desperation, but he doesn’t let up. You cry out, gripping his hair harder before ducking your head in shame, “P-Please, okay? Please lick my cunt, daddy.”

Rafe could’ve orgasmed right there at the sound of your sweet, delicate voice pleading with him, finally addressing him as daddy. Instead, he sucks hard on your sensitive, engorged clit, and you scream bloody murder. He snickers against your soaking folds, grabbing your thrashing hips, stilling them slightly but allowing you to rock them against his face till it’s shining with your wetness.

“Messy little girl,” he mutters, “excited, aren’t you? Never had this virgin pussy eaten, huh?” he grows sloppy, messy with his licks. Tonguing your sensitive nub till you’re a writhing mess above him, incoherent little gasps and moans tumbling out of your mouth as you continue to hump against his face because you’re a goddamned virgin who doesn’t know how to act because you’re feeling so good.

Rafe’s practically making out with your pussy, and he’s never enjoyed going down on a girl as much as he is right now. It’s how responsive you are, it’s how this is all so new to you so you don’t even know nor care to hold anything back. You’re rubbing your pussy on his face like all you can think of is how good he’s making you feel. And he fucks you with his tongue, unable to quite believe how sweet you taste. Like an angel, his angel. All his.

“It’s…It’s too much, Rafe!” you cry out, and yet you’re rolling your hips with abandon, riding his tongue while he sucks and licks you out like he’s starved.

“You can take it,” his voice is muffled, and you try to wrap your thighs around his head except his grip on them is too strong. It’ll leave bruises in the shape of his fingers all over your soft skin, but he likes that. He wants to bruise you, mark you, make you his in every way possible. So next time when you wore a slutty little sundress, every goddamned man on this island would know you’re taken. Fuck, he’d get his name tattooed on your goddamned pussy, and–

You cum, squeaking so prettily he wants to bottle up the sound and keep it safe in his memories forever. Your first orgasm, and all it took was a couple of minutes of him eating your cunt. And your muscles squeeze around his tongue, and you cry and moan like you don’t even know what’s happening. Your grab at his hair, pulling so hard because you’ve probably never felt like this before.

And Rafe doesn’t stop, his tongue swirling circles while you hump and grind against his mouth, riding out your orgasm, moaning his name over and over again. Outside, the weather gets worse, and at one point he notes the whole room shakes as if the goddamned roof’s about to blow off. You don’t give a fuck though, and he doesn’t either.

“Oh, Rafe, oh, oh oh, it’s too much!”

Now, you’re trying to push him off you, but selfishly he keeps tongue-fucking you. His thumb rubs your engorged, sensitive clit. He knows it’s too much for you, but he’s too fucking turned on to stop.

“C’mon, baby. Don’t be like that. Lemme give you another one.”

“No, I-I can’t, I, oh fuck!”

He slaps your clit, and a squelching sound fills the room. You gasp, and he just snickers, having entirely too much fun with you. And again, you twitch your hips, inadvertently pushing your cunt into his face again. You’re out of breath and sensitive from your first orgasm, and yet your greedy little pussy wants to give him another one.

“You like it when your daddy slaps your cunt?”

You’re such a shy little thing, gaping at him as if he’s said the most insidious thing on earth. And yet, your cunt squeezes around his tongue, and he you up as you continue to leak into his mouth. He looks up at you, “Tell me you like it.”

“I, uh, I like it, uh… daddy, oh gosh!”

It takes just one more spank and you come undone, cumming all over his face and he licks you throughout. Long, languid stripes of his tongue flat against your wet folds, then he switches to fucking you with it, and your fuckhole’s so goddamned tight, his tongue barely even fits a little bit, but it doesn’t stop him. He’s got one hand slipped down his pants, jacking off because this is the hottest thing in the world he’s ever witnessed. Innocent little baby crying after orgasming from getting her pussy spanked by her daddy.

He feels like a lion closing in on the fucking lamb, forgetting himself for a second as he gets up. Aggressively pushing you down till you’re lying flat on the bed, surrounded by your stupid stuffed animals. In a second, he’s on top of you, breathing hard like a man possessed. God fuck, all he had to do was shove it inside you, hold you down and tell you to take it. Maybe press his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming too loud. Not that it mattered. Nobody could save you from him tonight.

But you blink up at him so prettily, so unaware of his intentions, your eyelashes wet with tears. Your lips bitten and pouty, face shiny with sweat. Your hands grab his arms again, squeezing like you’ve grown used to doing.

“R-Rafe, that was… wow.” You say breathlessly, so blissfully innocent, not realising at all that he’s moments away from holding you down and fucking you, that he’s planning how he’ll do it in his head this very moment. “I never… I never thought it could feel that good.”

Rafe finds himself feeling that again, that weird feeling that kept bubbling up inside his chest from time to time whenever he was with you. He still doesn’t have a name for it; he can’t even properly describe it. But looking down at you now, watching you stare up at him with those shining eyes of yours. All he can do is push a piece of your hair out of your face, and smile slowly down at you.

“What do you even know about sex, baby?” He breathes, his face so close to yours.

“Oh, well, uh… Not that much. I mean obviously I know how it works. I just… I didn’t know you could call someone da– that.”

He smirks, tapping your cheek condescendingly, “You mean daddy?”

You look embarrassed, “Yeah.”

“I need you to keep calling me that, okay?” Rafe says gently, “It’s completely normal and I told you I’d take care of you from now on. You want that, don’t you?”

Again, he nudges at your lips with his thumb, making you suck it. Which you do, and the feeling goes straight to his dick. He wants to fuck you while you suck his thumb, gently rock his hips into you, your tight pussy squeezing his huge cock while you whimper around his thumb, sucking it while you cried and just took it, took whatever he gave you and then said thank you, daddy like the good little girl you were.

He starts kissing you again, unable to help it. And your response is so enthusiastic, he feels like he might explode. You’re getting more confident with all the kissing stuff, and Rafe likes that it’s all because of him.

“You ready for the next lesson, baby?” He asks between kisses, his hands everywhere all over your naked body. Squeezing your breasts, playing with your ass. Loving that you’re naked beneath him and so willingly too.

You swallow harshly, “I don’t think I’m ready–Oh!”

He takes your hand, pressing it inside his slacks. Right on his hard, throbbing dick. And fuck, it feels so small, so weak against his pulsating cock. He bites his lip hard to keep from thrusting into your hand.

“Take it out.”

“N-No!”

He exhales loudly through his nose, holding your hand tight against him when you try to snatch it away. “Baby, what did I tell you about doing what I say?”

“I-I know but… but I’m scared.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” he says, “but you need to do this, alright? Didn’t I make you feel good just now?”

“Well, yes, but–”

“So just trust me. I’ll make you feel good again, okay baby?” He kisses you lightly once, twice, three times till you smile, “You’ve been such a good girl tonight. So brave for me....”

You hiccup, looking up at him with those goddamned saucer-like eyes again, “R-Really?”

He strokes your cheek, innately aware of your hand relaxing against his cock, “Yes. Such a brave, good girl. You forgot all about the storm outside, didn’t you?”

As if on cue, you whimper and cuddle into him more. He smiles like a goddamned wolf, feeling evil yet desperate at the same time, “Call me daddy again, princess.”

You don’t even fucking hesitate, “d-daddy, I–”

“Take daddy’s cock out, baby. It’ll distract you, I promise.”

You do exactly what he says, and he helps you. He can’t help but hiss when you free his dick from the confines of his slacks, and you gasp too, dropping it immediately when you see it.

“Shit, gimme your hand,” he murmurs, and he doesn’t wait this time. Snatching your hand in his, he spits down into your palm before pressing it on his dick. “Stroke it.”

You pull back, “I don’t know how, I don’t–”

“Do it or I’ll leave right the fuck now.”

 In your helpless daze, you whimper before placing your hand back on his dick. And it’s so red, about ready to explode the moment you touch him. He exhales slowly, and it feels so fucking good, and he covers your hand with his, guiding it, making you stroke him up and down.

“That’s so good, baby. You’re so good.”

“I am?”

“Shit, yeah, just keep doing that. You’re such a good girl for me, aren’t you?” He notes how you grow more confident, rubbing his dick and jacking him off like a good little girl. His hand leaves yours, instead cupping your face as he pulls you in for another kiss. He can’t help kissing you, you taste so fucking sweet and it’s insane because he’s never particularly enjoyed kissing anyone this much before. But he loves kissing you, leading you through it, guiding you. Loves how responsive you are, loves how you listen to him even when you feel all scared and hesitant. As if you know that at the end of the day, he was the one with all the power, the one in charge. The only one who knew how to take care of you.

“You ever seen a cock before this, princess?” He asks crudely between kisses.

Your eyes widen, “N-No, Rafe– I mean, uh, daddy.”

“No? Good girl. That’s so fuckin’ hot.” He bites your pouty bottom lip, and you gasp, squeezing his dick in your hand and it makes him moan straight into your fucking mouth. What a naughty girl.

“It’s, uh, it’s so big,” you say quietly, so quietly that Rafe almost doesn’t catch it. But he does, and he smiles, pulling back slightly.

“Yeah?”

Shyly, you duck your head, “Yeah, daddy.”

God, you were so fucking irresistible. He couldn’t take it anymore. He takes your hand, which was still steadily pumping his dick, and holds it tightly. Holds both your hands by your sides as he nudges your legs apart again, and watches as you take a deep breath, as if you know what’s coming.

Lowly, he whistles at how wet you are, your juices having leaked down to stain your pink sheets again. Rafe’s never had a virgin before but he knows how eager they are, how easily turned on they get. He can imagine how slippery wet and snug your snatch would be around his dick. Now, he swipes a finger down your slit, gathering your wetness while you squirm under him.

“Aww, look how excited your pussy is, princess.” He snickers, bringing his finger up to your lips, smearing them with your wetness, getting it all over your face too till it shines and you’re all messy. “Tell me, what’s got her so wet?”

‘I don’t know.”

SMACK.

Rafe finds he quite enjoys slapping your cunt, especially when it’s so wet and throbbing. You cry out, quivering and shaking underneath him. He flashes you a look, “Answer the question.”

“You,” you breathe, blinking up at him, “You, daddy.”

“Yeah? I get your pussy wet?” He’s working himself up, his dick nudging against your folds and he doesn’t know why he doesn’t just shove it in there. “Tell me why.”

You moan pleadingly, “R-Rafe, please!”

“When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it properly,” he says, enjoying himself a bit too much. It was payback for all the times you’d teased him without even realising it this past week. Flaunting your sexy little body, blinking up at him with those fuck me eyes, as if you were just begging for it in your own little innocent way.

You swallow harshly, and despite everything he can see you thinking carefully, as if you want to give him a real proper answer to impress him. Cute.

“I, uh, I like how big you are,” you stutter slowly, “you-you’re a lot bigger than me.”

He grins wolfishly, pushing his hair out of his face before pressing a greedy kiss to your lips, which you respond to fervently. But he pulls away all too quickly, looking down at you as if he expects you to continue.

“I like how strong you are,” you’re looking anywhere but at his face, he guesses because you’re too shy. He sponges kisses down your jaw, your neck, down to your chest. Kisses all over your tits, presses them together and licks them, bites at your nipples while you moan between your words. “You make me feel safe, daddy.”

Rafe pauses, and it’s there again. That stupid fucking feeling that he doesn’t understand, nor does he care to understand it right now. Nobody’s ever felt safe with him before. Everyone’s always been afraid of him or hated him or screwed him over because they didn’t trust him. No one’s ever looked at him how you’re looking at him and it makes him feel things he’s never felt before.

But he shoves those feelings straight back down, clears his throat before pressing his finger down between your folds. You shiver and moan, hips bucking up before he pins them in place. He tries pushing his pointer finger inside you, but is met with resistance despite how soaking wet you are. Fuck.

“Tightest pussy I ever had,” he mutters, “but she’ll take daddy’s dick, won’t she?”

It’s more of a statement than a question, and he ignores your soft cries as he forces his finger up your cunt. Till it’s finally knuckle-deep, and he bets you can feel the cool silver of his ring against your warmth. And your pussy’s so fucking snug, gripping his finger like a vice, and even he has to wonder how he’d possibly fit his big dick inside you.

“So full,” you breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. But he shuts you up soon enough when he starts fingering you. One singular finger, because that’s all that fits. But he moves it in and out, curving upwards till you moan, thrusting your hips in rhythm like you can’t even help it.

“Gonna add another one, okay baby?”

‘W-Won’t fit, daddy.”

“Shh, yes it will. Daddy’s gonna make it fit.”

Rafe makes it fit. He has to hold you down while you cry like a baby, but soon he’s got his index and middle finger shoved inside you, finger-fucking your tight, virgin cunt while his hard dick slaps against his stomach, and he’s so fucking turned on. More than he’s ever been in his whole life.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He murmurs into your ear, nibbling at it, licking inside it and making you jump. And fuck, you’re so jumpy, and he has to keep you pinned down while he fingers you, and a sick part of him wonders if he’s drawn blood already.

“H-Hurts,” you whimper like the goddamned little cry-baby you are. “R-Rafe please slow down.”

“Come on, don’t tell me to slow down,” he continues pumping his thick fingers up your slippery wetness, feeling like you’re swallowing them up whole every time, “Not when you’re drippin’ all over your sheets like a little–”

“But it hurts!”

“That’s okay, it’s supposed to hurt,” he explains slowly, like you’re dumb, “it’s because you’ve never done this before, so that’s why I gotta stretch you out like this first, okay?”

A lone tear meanders down your cheek, “I-I don’t think it’s gonna fit, Rafe.”

“I made ‘em fit, didn’t I?”

“Nooo, you’re, uh, I mean your…” You sniffle helplessly, a wild look in your eye that looks half scared, half confused as he bets your body’s starting to betray you.

Rafe feels a smile creep up on his face, “You already thinkin’ about my cock, sweetheart? How it’s gonna feel when it’s up your virgin cunt?”

You shake your head vehemently, but you’re a little angel slut because your hips are bucking up to meet his fingers. “Rafe, no. Your f-fingers, they’re already too much, I don’t think I can take…”

“Didn’t I just tell you I’d make it fit?”

You grip his arm tightly, pleadingly “Y-You’re too big, I-I don’t think I can handle anymore…Oh fuck!”

He knows he’s hit that spot inside you because your whole back arches, and you let out the hottest moan he’s ever fucking heard in his life. Complete abandon, head thrown back, digging your nails so hard into his arm that he’s sure you’ve broken through his skin.

“That’s right, baby girl. Just fuckin’ take it,” he mutters, increasing his pace, wondering if he can fit a third finger in. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking your daddy’s fingers like a champ. God, look at your little virgin cunt, swallowing ‘em up like a greedy little slut. Didn’t think you’d turn out to be so fuckin’ slutty, baby.”

You clench around him, moaning his name and he can’t believe how much his dirty talk is having an effect on you. His thumb rubs at your clit while he continues to finger fuck you, wanting to draw another orgasm out of you because you’re so fucking gorgeous when you cum, and he wants you to make a mess all over his fingers before he finally takes you with his cock.

“Too much, too much, oh, oh, oh,” you’re half delirious, humping against his fingers, letting him fuck you with them, and he knows you must feel so full. And it feels like heaven for him, being inside you (even if it is just with his fingers). You feel so soft, so wet, so warm. Your muscles tensing and relaxing around him as he builds you up.

“Take it,” Rafe repeats, “bet it’s never felt this good huh? You ever finger yourself, baby girl? Touch yourself late at night when you think everyone else’s asleep?”

You gasp at his words, but he feels you clench around his digits.

“Mmm, not such a good little girl after all, huh? Fingering yourself when you think your mommy’s asleep,” he grins wickedly at the horrified look on your face, increasing pace, “but it’s never enough, is it? Your fingers aren’t as big as mine, so you could never make yourself cum.” He laughs, “this whole time, all you needed was a man like me to take care of you. Say it, say you need me. Say it.”

“N-Need you!” You cry out, delicious tears streaking your face, “I need you, daddy. I-I…Oh fuck, please! Please, I don’t… I just… I–“

You squirt all over his hand. And it’s insane; Rafe’s never seen anything like it before. He gazes in wonder, caught off-guard for once. You completely come undone, crying and panting his name, rocking your hips against his hand as you ride out your third orgasm of the night. And who knew it would take just a little bit of dirty talk to get you to squirt? God, you were so fucking hot, so full of surprises. So perfect for him, it was unbelievable.

“Good girl,” he strokes your head like you’re his little pet, taking his wet fingers and pressing them into your mouth, and you’re so hot when you automatically suck on them. “Such a good girl, baby. That was so fuckin’ sexy.”

All you do is clutch at him and cry, so spent and overstimulated from your orgasm. Rafe licks his lips, feeling both protective yet predatory at the same time. You’re at your weakest, most vulnerable state. Outside, thunder and lightning strike over and over again as if they were paid to do so, and the room lights up and goes dark, it shakes and shudders, and the winds howl like a pack of possessed wolves. And yet you look so pretty in the dim glow of the candlelight.

It's the perfect night for you to get ruined. His perfect little baby. Pristine and innocent and at his mercy.

Rafe’s cock is so hard it hurts, throbbing as he grabs it by the base, pumps it as he hovers over you. On his knees while you lie beneath him, looking so deliciously scared. He presses his whole length against your stomach, and watches your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He knows he’s big, but compared to your tiny frame, he’s massive. And he gets off on that, gets off on how much bigger he is than you. He smears his precum against your stomach, smirking as he watches you swallow and try to be brave.

“Listen to me,” he grabs your chin, forcing you to meet his eyes, “You like my cock, baby? You like looking at it, huh?”

The way you lick your lips gives it away, and he laughs cruelly, tapping your cheek like you’re his little pet. “Say it, then. Say you like it. Beg me to put it inside you. C’mon, baby, look at your pussy, she’s crying for it. Beg me.”

He knows you’re at war with yourself, and you shake your head tearfully, opening your mouth to speak. But a clap of thunder sounds just then, so loud it makes the whole room shake. You cry out so pitifully, it makes his heart throb a little. You grab at him, and he falls down on top of you, kissing you, kissing your salty sweet lips and your tears. Kissing you all over while your desperate hands tangle into his hair.

That’s when he nudges the tip of his dick against your folds. And it already feels like fucking heaven, your wet warmth practically begging him to shove it inside you. He presses his tip on your puffy, sensitive clit and you jump, your eyes widening and then you push at his chest.

“R-Rafe, please, I don’t think–”

“Shh, c’mon, baby. Let daddy fuck you,” Rafe urges softly against your lips, “gonna make you feel so good again, mhm?”

“Nooo…”

He tries to ignore your soft cries, the way your palms press weakly against his chest.

“Shit, just relax,” he coaxes, knowing he could just hold you down and force it in, and yet…

He kisses you, tasting salt on your lips. You try to kiss him back, but he can feel you gulping for breath. He can feel your heart hammering against your chest. He can feel your limbs pushing at his body, but he’s just so much fucking bigger than you that it doesn’t even make a difference, and yet…

“Rafe, I… please…”

“Baby…”

His dick feels like it’s going to explode, and he runs it up and down your soaking slit, and you moan. And your face looks turned on beyond belief, and yet scared at the same time. Nervous, frightened, vulnerable. It’s a heady mix, and he doesn’t know what to do, and–

“Please, Rafe. I’m not ready, I-I can’t, Rafe. Please…”

“Fuck.”

Something comes over him, and Rafe feels it again. That bubbling, intense feeling inside his chest. Like a rush of an emotion he doesn’t know if he’ll ever understand. All he knows is he can’t, he fucking can’t. You’re so sweet, so kind, pure like a flower and he just can’t bring himself to pluck it. Tear it apart. Ruin it like how he ruined everything else he touched.

He rolls over, lying beside you while you quiver next to him. Both breathing hard. And outside, the wind howls and howls almost like it’s mocking him. Laughing at him for being a goddamned pussy. And there’s another clap of thunder, and he hears you crying softly.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Rafe finds himself gathering you in his arms, holding you against his chest, “Hey, look, don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

“I-I thought I could but…” you hiccup between your tears, and your eyes look like there are a thousand stars shining wetly inside them, and he knows he’s never seen anything so beautiful. “I’m sorry, I thought I could do it, I thought–”

“It’s okay,” he repeats, cupping your face and making you look at him, his thumbs swiping away your tears, “Don’t cry, okay? Shit, it’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

“Y-You’re not mad?”

He strokes up and down your back, soothing you while he wonders whether he is. But the only thing he feels right now is this strange, innate need to protect you. To reassure you. Hold your quivering body close till you stopped shaking. It’s insane, because he doesn’t feel like himself, because he’s never felt this before. It’s alien. Completely, utterly fucking alien.

“No,” he answers quietly, pressing a kiss to your hairline, “No, I’m not mad.”

“You pr-promise?”

“I promise.”

He feels like a different person as he tucks his dick back into his slacks. Like someone else, like someone he doesn’t recognise. But it feels so natural, holding you so close that your heartbeat feels like his. And the storm outside feels like a million miles away. Like it’s just you and him on a different planet and nothing else exists, nothing else means anything except you.

You fall asleep in his arms, spent after everything. And Rafe doesn’t even feel frustrated in that moment, because all he can focus on is how peaceful you look. Your tears dried on your cheeks, your chest rising and falling rhythmically. You trusted him with everything. And it made him feel like someone important.

The wind laughs and laughs all night.

*

The morning is calm, tranquil. Almost like the storm never even was. And Rafe wakes up well rested, with you cuddled on his chest, his arm around you and his thumb in your mouth. The room dappled in sunlight, the candles all blown out or melted away.

Slowly, he detangles from you, making sure not to wake you up. You look so peaceful, so innocent. So soft and pretty, in your little shack of a house on the Cut. He frowns as he looks around. In the morning light, your room looks even more pitiful. It’s clean, and you’ve made it pretty with notes and posters and fairy lights. But he can see the paint peeling off the walls, the fact it’s smaller than his closet back home.

Rafe can’t believe he’s woken up on this side of the island.

He has the sudden urge to leave. To run. Hastily, he types out a text to you.

Rafe: Hey. I thought I’d leave in case your mom came home and saw us. Didn’t want to wake you. Talk to you later.

He has to get home. Gather his thoughts. Recalibrate. Think about what the fuck came over him last night, when he’d had you right where he fucking wanted you. And then he’d pussied out of it. Rafe Cameron never pussied out of anything.

What the fuck did that mean?

His gaze shifts to you again, so pretty and sound asleep. Naked because you’d so willingly shed your clothes for him, spread your legs for him. And he could have had you. Hell, he could have you right now. Force himself into you while you were still asleep, and you’d wake up crying and sobbing, all confused and sleepy while he held you down and ordered you to just take it.

That’s what he should’ve done last night. So then what the fuck had stopped him?

Now, he lightly runs his fingers over your bare thigh, humming lightly at how smooth you feel. So soft, like an angel. A powerful, almost all-consuming feeling overtakes him. A wave of possessiveness coursing through him like a tidal wave of dark poison. You were his. All his. He could do what he pleased with you. Your body was his. You’d all but served it to him on a silver platter last night, in your pathetic little room with the candles.

Rafe feels like he’s having an out of body experience. He gets his phone out, ignoring any small, decent part of him that was sending warning signals to his brain. You were his. He had every right to do this.

Silently, he takes the pictures. And a sick part of him gets off on it, gets off on the fact you’re asleep and none the wiser to what’s happening. But this was the least you could do, you’d left him hanging last night. After he’d been so patient, so understanding. Fuck that. Why had he been like that? Like he was weak?

“You make me feel safe, daddy.”

Your words from last night ring in his ears, bouncing around in his brain till it gets too much, till they start to echo and get louder and louder. Till he feels the urge to punch the shit out of your bedroom wall. It was all too much. He had to get out of here.

He tucks his phone into his pocket, pushes the cotton covers up till your chin, and then leaves without looking back.

*

“There he is! The loverboy himself!”

His friends gather around him the next morning like he’s the second coming of Christ himself.

“How was she, Rafe?” one of them slaps him on the back, “That is, if you fucked her.”

“Yeah.” Kelce stands in front of him with his arms crossed over his chest, looking at Rafe expectantly. They all are. “Did you fuck her?”

Rafe scoffs, “Is that even a question.”

He’d waited all day yesterday for you to respond to his text. Like a pussy ass little bitch, he’d waited for you to say something. Growing angrier and more paranoid by the second when you didn’t. Staring at the pictures he’d taken of you like a man possessed, his thumb hovering over the delete button a handful of times before he’d thrown his phone angrily across the room. Hating how you were making him wait. Hating how his heart had leapt up to his fucking throat when you finally had replied: I’m so sorry for being such a scaredy cat yesterday. Thank you for coming over.

He'd discovered something then. He was obsessed with you. And he hated it.

“Pictures or it didn’t happen,” Kelce grins, cutting straight to the chase. Next to him, Rafe sees Topper’s eyes light with interest, as well as the others too. Fucking desperate losers, trying to catch a glimpse of something that belonged to him. Because they’d never get to see you like that, ever. No one else would. He’d make sure of that.

“It did happen.” Rafe says calmly, “Like I said it would.”

“Okay well, that’s great brother but we’re gonna need proof.” One of the clowns pipes up.

“You don’t need shit,” He shoots back.

“You didn’t take pictures?” Topper asks.

Rafe runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “I did.”

“Then show us. That was the deal.”

He wants to beat the shit out of all of them for daring to ask to see intimate pictures of you. As if you were anything like the other whores he’d fucked in the past, the type of stupid girls him and his friends used every week. You were different, and you were his, and they had no fucking business looking at what was his.

“Look. I don’t give a shit if you don’t believe me.” He mutters, completely over the dumb ass bet and over his friends too. They’d forget about it by tomorrow, ready to become his willing followers once more. They always did.

“C’mon man, you can’t bring our hopes up like that. Either you never fucked her or,” Kelce’s eyes glint when it registers, “Or you’ve gone soft for her. You’ve–”

Rafe grabs him roughly by the collar, a sudden anger coursing through him like he’s been electrocuted. “Listen, you fucking moron. Don’t ever insinuate I’ve gone soft for a goddamned Pogue.”

He spits that last word out like it’s venom, and yet he tried to ignore how hollow it feels. When he realises people are staring, he quietly lets go, smoothing Kelce’s shirt while his friends stare at him fearfully in that way he’s grown used to people looking at him.

“I fucked her,” Rafe says plainly, his tone switching from aggressive to calm in a split second, almost like he’s slipped on a mask, “I fucked her just like I’ve fucked every other Pogue bitch who’s thrown herself at me before her. And it wasn’t anything special. She acts all innocent, but it was easy to get her to spread her legs for me just like I told you it would be.”

He hears a thud, and then a little gasp behind him. So soft, it barely registers. Except it does, and he turns around.

And immediately locks eyes with you.

And then it feels like it’s just him and you. And nobody else is there. And there’s no sound, like both of you have stopped breathing. You stand there, frozen, stricken. Your books on the ground in front of you. Only a few steps behind him, well within earshot. And he sees something break in your expression, porcelain features twisting in hurt, shock, dismay, disbelief.

“Oh shit,” Topper mutters from somewhere behind him. A few of his friends snicker, but Rafe can’t hear them. No, he’s frozen, staring at you as if he can’t quite believe it. And he sees the tears welling in your eyes.

A little broken sob falls from your lips, and then you turn and run. And Rafe wants to chase after you but it’s like he’s frozen in time and space. Watching you run off while he just stands there.

Stands and watches as you run away from him, your hands reaching up blindly to wipe at your face. And that feeling returns tenfold. That feeling that Rafe can’t quite put his finger on, that feeling which he wants to push back down because it suffocates him, and he doesn’t understand it. The feeling consumes him from the inside out, till he feels like he can’t breathe.

And he just stands there and watches until you’re gone.

𝘼/𝙉: OOF. Okay, I finally posted it! Please let me know what your thoughts! Literally any reaction, predictions, favourite parts etc. All of it, ANY of it would be so appreciated! Also please forgive any spelling or grammatical errors. Here's some questions in case you want to answer them (you don't have to!! you can comment/reblog whatever you want, i just always post questions at the end of my fics)

Does Rafe genuinely care for reader?

Should reader forgive Rafe?

Favourite scene/part?

She hadn’t even heard him enter.

Slowly, she turned to face her husband, a faint crease forming between her brows. “My love, you spend all day in council, and the first thing you do after not seeing me for hours is talk more about the council?” she teased lightly, though there was a hint of tiredness beneath it. She turned back to the mirror, picking up her hairbrush and dragging it gently through her hair.

“Well, love, this isn’t about the council. Technically,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “It’s about Aang. He needs our help.”

“Our help?” She turned again, confusion softening her features as she rose from the vanity. Her green satin nightgown draped elegantly over her figure, the gold stitching catching the candlelight with every movement. The most prominent change, however, was the gentle, undeniable curve of her stomach.

“You knocked me up, dummy,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips as she approached him. Her hands slid to his shoulders, then to the ties of his robes, beginning to loosen them with practiced ease. “Or did you forget already?”

He laughed softly, the sound low and fond, allowing her to help him out of his robes as the fabric slipped from his shoulders.

“How could I forget?” he murmured, turning toward her.

His gaze drifted over her slowly, appreciatively, before settling on the curve of her stomach. His hands followed, almost instinctively, coming to rest there, warm, steady, protective. His thumbs brushed gentle circles over the satin, as if he could feel something deeper beneath it.

“When you carry the future of the Fire Nation inside you?” he said quietly, his voice softening. “A little piece of me…”

His eyes lifted to meet hers, something tender and unguarded flickering there.

“And all of you.”

She hummed softly, rising onto her tiptoes as her arms slipped around his neck, drawing him down to her. Her lips met his in a gentle, fleeting kiss, soft, familiar, almost teasing.

But when she tried to pull away, he didn’t let her.

His hand tightened at her waist, the other still resting protectively against her stomach as he followed her retreat, capturing her lips again before the distance could grow. Even as her heels lowered back to the floor, he bent with her, closing the space she had tried to create.

This time the kiss deepened, slower, warmer, lingering in a way that stole the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t soft either; it carried weight, intention, something unspoken between them.

His thumb brushed lightly against her side as he tilted his head, pressing closer, as if memorizing her. The world beyond them seemed to fade, the council, the letter, everything, leaving only the quiet crackle of candlelight and the steady rhythm of shared breath.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far, just enough for their foreheads to rest together, his lips still ghosting over hers, reluctant to let her go.

“I can’t get you pregnant again, can I? Double pregnant,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at him. “Oh, you’ve certainly tried,” she replied, her voice laced with amusement. Her hand lingered briefly against his chest before she stepped back, just enough to create space between them. “But don’t try again, I need this thing out of me first.” "I don't know if I love you referring to our child as a thing."

She separated from him fully then, turning slightly as if to busy herself, though she didn’t miss the way his shoulders subtly slumped at the loss of contact. The warmth between them lingered in the space she left behind, unspoken but felt.

Her fingers adjusted the sleeve of her gown absentmindedly, her expression softening for just a moment before she glanced back at him over her shoulder. There was still a hint of her earlier smile there, though now tempered with curiosity.

“Now,” she said, more gently this time, “tell me what Aang wants.”

"That can wait for the morning." He mumbled, his eyes never leaving her lips as he pulled her back into another kiss.

“A village?”

Zuko sighed, steadying Appa’s harness as he helped his wife climb aboard. “Why would he possibly want us to go to a random village?” And why would he say pack a coat? We're going to a mountain aren't we?" she huffed, gripping the edge before finally pulling herself over with a bit more effort than she liked. "I hate mountains."

He lingered below for a moment, looking up at her, concern etched into his features. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go? You can stay—I’ll be back in a couple days.”

She leaned over the edge slightly, brows knitting. “Aang needs the second-best earthbender with him, Zuko. I’m not disabled—”

She winced mid-sentence, her hand instinctively going to her stomach before she turned toward Toph. “Sorry.”

Toph shrugged easily. “Hey, I’m just glad you finally admitted I’m the better earthbender.”

“I give you your flowers when they’re due,” she shot back with a small smile.

Toph grinned, but it slowly faltered, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something no one else could hear. "Your heart must be beating really fast." "Is it?" The princess quirked her head confused. "Why else am I hearing two heartbeats coming from you?”

Katara gasped, her hands flying together in delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re pregnant! I thought your coat was just oddly bulky but you're pregnant! Oh my Gosh!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing forward to wrap the Fire Princess in a tight hug. “I thought they were just rumors, because surely you and Zuko would’ve told us!”

The princess blinked, caught off guard, before her gaze slid over to her husband, who was just now hauling himself rather ungracefully into Appa’s saddle.

“Zuko,” she said slowly, one brow arching, “I thought you told them.”

Zuko froze mid-step, staring back at her blankly. “I thought you did.”

There was a beat.

“Oh my gosh.”

“I mean, it was only a matter of time,” Katara chimed in, smiling knowingly. “You two have never exactly been subtle. And Zuko practically insisted on marrying you the moment he could.”

Toph snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, honestly? I’m surprised it took this long. Thought for sure you’d have a whole lineup of heirs by now if Zuko could keep his hands to himself for more than, what? two minutes?”

Zuko nearly choked, his face flushing a deep, unmistakable red. “That’s— I—” He cleared his throat, straightening awkwardly as he avoided everyone’s eyes. “That’s not— we’re not—”

The princess, however, looked entirely unbothered.

In fact, she looked amused.

“Well,” she said lightly, smoothing a hand over her stomach as she glanced at him, “he does have a bit of a… lack of restraint.”

Zuko snapped his head toward her. “You’re not helping.”

Katara laughed, covering her mouth. “I mean, you can’t blame them. You’ve both been—” she hesitated, searching for a polite word before giving up, “—like that since the beginning.”

Toph grinned wider. “Please. ‘Like that’ is putting it nicely.”

“Toph,” Katara warned, though she was still smiling.

“What?” Toph shrugged. “I’m just saying—half the time, I didn’t even need my feet to know when they were in the same room. The tension alone was loud enough.”

The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re all incredibly annoying.”

Zuko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we please focus on the actual reason we’re here?”

“Oh, no, no,” Toph continued, clearly enjoying herself. “You deserve this. All those nights you two kept everyone awake—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” the princess cut in quickly, though a smile tugged at her lips. She glanced at Zuko, amused. “He can’t get any redder. He’s about to turn into a tomato.”

Zuko let out a quiet, embarrassed huff, but didn’t argue, instead shifting closer and settling against her side, seeking some sense of refuge.

She softened slightly at that, her expression gentler as she let him.

“Let’s just go get Sokka,” he muttered, still avoiding everyone’s gaze.

The princess had shrugged off her coat minutes into the trip. They weren’t even close to Aang yet, and the extra weight had her uncomfortably warm, a light sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The shifting air currents around Appa did little to help.

Katara, however, had not left her alone once.

The questions came one after another, gentle but relentless, curiosity shining in her eyes.

“How far along are you?”

“Five months,” she answered, offering a tired but polite smile.

“What’s the gender?”

“No clue.”

“Any baby names lined up?”

“We’re trying for something that blends earth and fire,” she said, glancing briefly at Zuko, “but nothing’s stuck yet.”

Katara brightened. “That’s so sweet—”

“Are you going to have more?”

The princess didn’t even hesitate. “Have you met my husband?”

Katara blinked, then laughed, covering her mouth.

Zuko, meanwhile, coughed into his fist, his ears burning all over again.

Through it all, his hand never left her, resting protectively over her stomach, thumb brushing slow, absent circles as if grounding himself in her presence. Every so often, his grip would tighten slightly whenever Appa shifted, like he could somehow steady both her and the child at once.

“Careful,” he murmured under his breath at one point, guiding her subtly as the saddle dipped.

“I’m fine,” she replied, though she didn’t pull away from him.

By the time the icy waters and familiar structures of the Southern Water Tribe came into view, the air had grown colder, sharper against their skin. Snow dusted the ground below, and the distant figures of Water Tribe members began to gather, pointing up at Appa’s descending form.

They didn’t have to search long.

Sokka was already striding across the snow toward them, boots crunching loudly with each step, his grin widening the second he took them in.

“Well, well,” he called, arms spreading like he was welcoming honored guests. “Look who finally decided to show up. Took you two long enough.”

His gaze flicked between them, lingering, calculating, before it dropped.

Then paused.

“…Whoa.”

Zuko stiffened immediately. “Don’t.”

But Sokka was already circling them, slow and deliberate, like he was inspecting something fascinating. “No way. No way. You’re serious?”

The princess raised a brow, unimpressed. “Very.”

Sokka let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face before pointing straight at Zuko. “I mean, I knew you two had issues with personal space, but I didn’t think you’d go and make it this… I don't even know the word for it. You two are freaks."

Zuko groaned, already regretting coming. “Sokka.”

“What?” Sokka shrugged, smirk growing. “You expect me to ignore this? This isn't even groundbreaking it's just expected from you both knowing you. This is, this is what happens when you two get even five minutes alone, isn’t it?”

Toph let out a quiet snort.

Sokka leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it worse. “Actually, scratch that. Five minutes is probably generous.”

Zuko made a strangled noise. “Okay.”

Katara slapped a hand over her face. “Sokka—”

“No, no, I’m just connecting the dots,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “All those times you disappeared during meetings, all those ‘private discussions’ yeah, makes a lot more sense now.”

The princess tilted her head, completely unbothered. “You’re being very bold for someone standing this close to me.”

Sokka grinned. “I’m just impressed, honestly. You two had so much tension it was practically a natural disaster, and now—” he gestured vaguely toward her stomach, “—this is the aftermath. Surprised it took you this long."

Toph laughed outright at that.

Zuko looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Sokka wasn’t done.

“I mean seriously,” he added, folding his arms, “if this is what happens when the Fire Lord gets a little too… distracted, I’m shocked there’s not a second one already on the way.”

Zuko choked. “That’s enough.”

“Hey, I’m congratulating you!” Sokka shot back. “Just saying, next time, maybe let people know before you two go off and—”

“Sokka.”

“—expand the royal family.”

Katara shoved him lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But not wrong,” he corrected smoothly.

The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, he’s not entirely wrong.”

Zuko turned to her, betrayed. “You’re encouraging him.”

“We've been married for eleven months and I've been pregnant for five of them, you lack restraint Zuko” she stated bluntly, though her smile gave her away. He shook his head leaning close so only he could hear her. "Who suggested riding me in the throne ro-" "Okay hush now."

Sokka clapped his hands together once, satisfied. “Great. Now that we’ve established the Fire Lord has absolutely no self-control—”

“Sokka.”

“—can someone please tell me why Aang is dragging us to some random village?"

The teasing was warranted, deserved, even.

The Fire Nation had taken your father, your brother. Zuko’s redemption didn’t erase that. Not to you. He had hunted you, cornered you, forced you into survival more times than you could count. While the others learned to trust him, to laugh with him, to move on… you hadn’t. Not so easily.

So yeah, there had been tension.

A lot of it.

It just… hadn’t been resolved in a way anyone else approved of.

His lips brushed slowly along the inside of her thigh, unhurried, deliberate, testing, teasing. The touch alone was enough to pull a quiet, unwilling sound from her, her breath catching despite herself.

“Just do it already,” she muttered, more breath than voice, her fingers tightening against the sheets.

Zuko clicked his tongue softly, unfazed. Another kiss followed, closer this time, but still not quite where she wanted, where she needed.

“Not until you say please.”

Her head tipped back in frustration. “Why would I have to say please?” she shot back weakly. “You said you were atoning for everything your nation did. Consider this part of your apology.”

A quiet huff of amusement left him, warm against her skin. “I’ve been atoning for two months now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful.

Another slow press of his lips, lingering.

“And yet,” he added, “every morning I wake up and you’ve already taken my portion of breakfast because, apparently, ‘murderers don’t deserve to eat.’”

She exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and something softer. “Well, when the Fire Nation killed my family, I couldn’t afford breakfast—”

“I know.” His tone shifted immediately, the teasing giving way to something heavier, sincere. His hand stilled, grounding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, the air between them tightening, thick with everything unsaid.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it,” he continued quietly. “For what I did… for what I stood for.”

His placed a long kiss to her core, a soft moan (against her will) escaped her lips.

“Let me try,” he said, voice gentler now. “Even if it’s not enough.”

“I’m glad you all could make it, this village needs our help with—” Aang began, pulling back from Katara mid-sentence.

His eyes flicked across the group.

Paused.

Then widened.

“…Are—did—?”

He leaned toward Katara, lowering his voice into what he clearly thought was a whisper. “Am I allowed to ask people if they’ve gained weight?”

Katara’s eyes widened. “No, Aang. We’ve been over this.”

Aang nodded quickly. “Right, right. No asking.”

“…They’re pregnant,” she added quietly.

Aang blinked.

Then looked back at them.

Then back at Katara.

“…Zuko’s pregnant too?”

Toph snorted.

Sokka immediately burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah, Fire Lord had a lot to do with it actually.”

Zuko’s face flushed instantly. “That’s not—”

“I’m pregnant, Aang,” the princess cut in, voice flat.

“Oh!” Aang straightened immediately, relief flooding his face. “Oh, that makes way more sense.”

There was a beat.

“…Congratulations!” he added, a little too late but entirely sincere.

Then his expression shifted, concern creeping in.

“Wait, are you sure you should be here?” he asked, glancing between her and Zuko. “I mean, with everything going on… I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Zuko immediately nodded. “Exactly.”

She sighed.

“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said, crossing her arms lightly. “I can still help.”

Toph smirked. “Told you.”

Katara smiled gently. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Just in case.”

Sokka grinned. “Yeah, someone has to make sure Zuko doesn’t give himself an aneurysm trying to watch after the princess.”

Zuko shot him a glare.

Aang hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I trust you. Just… be careful, alright?”

She gave a small, confident nod.

“Always.”

Aang clapped his hands together once, refocusing. “Right, so. The village has been dealing with a spirit. It’s been acting aggressively, and I think it’s tied to something in the mountain.”

The princess exhaled slowly. “…So you did drag us out here for a mountain.”

Aang winced. “Technically… yes.”

Zuko sighed. “Of course.”

Toph cracked her knuckles. “Good. I was getting bored.”

Sokka looked between them, grin already returning. “Alright, angry spirit, pregnant Fire-Earth Princess, and Zuko on edge. This should go great.”

She leaned slightly into Zuko’s side, her hand brushing his.

“Next time,” she murmured, “we ignore the letter and go to Ember Island."

He huffed softly. “…Agreed.”

She hadn’t even heard him enter.

Slowly, she turned to face her husband, a faint crease forming between her brows. “My love, you spend all day in council, and the first thing you do after not seeing me for hours is talk more about the council?” she teased lightly, though there was a hint of tiredness beneath it. She turned back to the mirror, picking up her hairbrush and dragging it gently through her hair.

“Well, love, this isn’t about the council. Technically,” he replied, stepping further into the room. “It’s about Aang. He needs our help.”

“Our help?” She turned again, confusion softening her features as she rose from the vanity. Her green satin nightgown draped elegantly over her figure, the gold stitching catching the candlelight with every movement. The most prominent change, however, was the gentle, undeniable curve of her stomach.

“You knocked me up, dummy,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips as she approached him. Her hands slid to his shoulders, then to the ties of his robes, beginning to loosen them with practiced ease. “Or did you forget already?”

He laughed softly, the sound low and fond, allowing her to help him out of his robes as the fabric slipped from his shoulders.

“How could I forget?” he murmured, turning toward her.

His gaze drifted over her slowly, appreciatively, before settling on the curve of her stomach. His hands followed, almost instinctively, coming to rest there, warm, steady, protective. His thumbs brushed gentle circles over the satin, as if he could feel something deeper beneath it.

“When you carry the future of the Fire Nation inside you?” he said quietly, his voice softening. “A little piece of me…”

His eyes lifted to meet hers, something tender and unguarded flickering there.

“And all of you.”

She hummed softly, rising onto her tiptoes as her arms slipped around his neck, drawing him down to her. Her lips met his in a gentle, fleeting kiss, soft, familiar, almost teasing.

But when she tried to pull away, he didn’t let her.

His hand tightened at her waist, the other still resting protectively against her stomach as he followed her retreat, capturing her lips again before the distance could grow. Even as her heels lowered back to the floor, he bent with her, closing the space she had tried to create.

This time the kiss deepened, slower, warmer, lingering in a way that stole the breath from her lungs. It wasn’t hurried, but it wasn’t soft either; it carried weight, intention, something unspoken between them.

His thumb brushed lightly against her side as he tilted his head, pressing closer, as if memorizing her. The world beyond them seemed to fade, the council, the letter, everything, leaving only the quiet crackle of candlelight and the steady rhythm of shared breath.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far, just enough for their foreheads to rest together, his lips still ghosting over hers, reluctant to let her go.

“I can’t get you pregnant again, can I? Double pregnant,” he teased, a grin tugging at his lips.

She let out a soft laugh, shaking her head at him. “Oh, you’ve certainly tried,” she replied, her voice laced with amusement. Her hand lingered briefly against his chest before she stepped back, just enough to create space between them. “But don’t try again, I need this thing out of me first.” "I don't know if I love you referring to our child as a thing."

She separated from him fully then, turning slightly as if to busy herself, though she didn’t miss the way his shoulders subtly slumped at the loss of contact. The warmth between them lingered in the space she left behind, unspoken but felt.

Her fingers adjusted the sleeve of her gown absentmindedly, her expression softening for just a moment before she glanced back at him over her shoulder. There was still a hint of her earlier smile there, though now tempered with curiosity.

“Now,” she said, more gently this time, “tell me what Aang wants.”

"That can wait for the morning." He mumbled, his eyes never leaving her lips as he pulled her back into another kiss.

“A village?”

Zuko sighed, steadying Appa’s harness as he helped his wife climb aboard. “Why would he possibly want us to go to a random village?” And why would he say pack a coat? We're going to a mountain aren't we?" she huffed, gripping the edge before finally pulling herself over with a bit more effort than she liked. "I hate mountains."

He lingered below for a moment, looking up at her, concern etched into his features. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for you to go? You can stay—I’ll be back in a couple days.”

She leaned over the edge slightly, brows knitting. “Aang needs the second-best earthbender with him, Zuko. I’m not disabled—”

She winced mid-sentence, her hand instinctively going to her stomach before she turned toward Toph. “Sorry.”

Toph shrugged easily. “Hey, I’m just glad you finally admitted I’m the better earthbender.”

“I give you your flowers when they’re due,” she shot back with a small smile.

Toph grinned, but it slowly faltered, her head tilting slightly as if listening to something no one else could hear. "Your heart must be beating really fast." "Is it?" The princess quirked her head confused. "Why else am I hearing two heartbeats coming from you?”

Katara gasped, her hands flying together in delight. “Oh my gosh, you’re pregnant! I thought your coat was just oddly bulky but you're pregnant! Oh my Gosh!" she exclaimed, immediately rushing forward to wrap the Fire Princess in a tight hug. “I thought they were just rumors, because surely you and Zuko would’ve told us!”

The princess blinked, caught off guard, before her gaze slid over to her husband, who was just now hauling himself rather ungracefully into Appa’s saddle.

“Zuko,” she said slowly, one brow arching, “I thought you told them.”

Zuko froze mid-step, staring back at her blankly. “I thought you did.”

There was a beat.

“Oh my gosh.”

“I mean, it was only a matter of time,” Katara chimed in, smiling knowingly. “You two have never exactly been subtle. And Zuko practically insisted on marrying you the moment he could.”

Toph snorted, crossing her arms. “Yeah, honestly? I’m surprised it took this long. Thought for sure you’d have a whole lineup of heirs by now if Zuko could keep his hands to himself for more than, what? two minutes?”

Zuko nearly choked, his face flushing a deep, unmistakable red. “That’s— I—” He cleared his throat, straightening awkwardly as he avoided everyone’s eyes. “That’s not— we’re not—”

The princess, however, looked entirely unbothered.

In fact, she looked amused.

“Well,” she said lightly, smoothing a hand over her stomach as she glanced at him, “he does have a bit of a… lack of restraint.”

Zuko snapped his head toward her. “You’re not helping.”

Katara laughed, covering her mouth. “I mean, you can’t blame them. You’ve both been—” she hesitated, searching for a polite word before giving up, “—like that since the beginning.”

Toph grinned wider. “Please. ‘Like that’ is putting it nicely.”

“Toph,” Katara warned, though she was still smiling.

“What?” Toph shrugged. “I’m just saying—half the time, I didn’t even need my feet to know when they were in the same room. The tension alone was loud enough.”

The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You’re all incredibly annoying.”

Zuko groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Can we please focus on the actual reason we’re here?”

“Oh, no, no,” Toph continued, clearly enjoying herself. “You deserve this. All those nights you two kept everyone awake—”

“Okay, that’s enough,” the princess cut in quickly, though a smile tugged at her lips. She glanced at Zuko, amused. “He can’t get any redder. He’s about to turn into a tomato.”

Zuko let out a quiet, embarrassed huff, but didn’t argue, instead shifting closer and settling against her side, seeking some sense of refuge.

She softened slightly at that, her expression gentler as she let him.

“Let’s just go get Sokka,” he muttered, still avoiding everyone’s gaze.

The princess had shrugged off her coat minutes into the trip. They weren’t even close to Aang yet, and the extra weight had her uncomfortably warm, a light sheen of sweat clinging to her skin. The shifting air currents around Appa did little to help.

Katara, however, had not left her alone once.

The questions came one after another, gentle but relentless, curiosity shining in her eyes.

“How far along are you?”

“Five months,” she answered, offering a tired but polite smile.

“What’s the gender?”

“No clue.”

“Any baby names lined up?”

“We’re trying for something that blends earth and fire,” she said, glancing briefly at Zuko, “but nothing’s stuck yet.”

Katara brightened. “That’s so sweet—”

“Are you going to have more?”

The princess didn’t even hesitate. “Have you met my husband?”

Katara blinked, then laughed, covering her mouth.

Zuko, meanwhile, coughed into his fist, his ears burning all over again.

Through it all, his hand never left her, resting protectively over her stomach, thumb brushing slow, absent circles as if grounding himself in her presence. Every so often, his grip would tighten slightly whenever Appa shifted, like he could somehow steady both her and the child at once.

“Careful,” he murmured under his breath at one point, guiding her subtly as the saddle dipped.

“I’m fine,” she replied, though she didn’t pull away from him.

By the time the icy waters and familiar structures of the Southern Water Tribe came into view, the air had grown colder, sharper against their skin. Snow dusted the ground below, and the distant figures of Water Tribe members began to gather, pointing up at Appa’s descending form.

They didn’t have to search long.

Sokka was already striding across the snow toward them, boots crunching loudly with each step, his grin widening the second he took them in.

“Well, well,” he called, arms spreading like he was welcoming honored guests. “Look who finally decided to show up. Took you two long enough.”

His gaze flicked between them, lingering, calculating, before it dropped.

Then paused.

“…Whoa.”

Zuko stiffened immediately. “Don’t.”

But Sokka was already circling them, slow and deliberate, like he was inspecting something fascinating. “No way. No way. You’re serious?”

The princess raised a brow, unimpressed. “Very.”

Sokka let out a low whistle, dragging a hand down his face before pointing straight at Zuko. “I mean, I knew you two had issues with personal space, but I didn’t think you’d go and make it this… I don't even know the word for it. You two are freaks."

Zuko groaned, already regretting coming. “Sokka.”

“What?” Sokka shrugged, smirk growing. “You expect me to ignore this? This isn't even groundbreaking it's just expected from you both knowing you. This is, this is what happens when you two get even five minutes alone, isn’t it?”

Toph let out a quiet snort.

Sokka leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it worse. “Actually, scratch that. Five minutes is probably generous.”

Zuko made a strangled noise. “Okay.”

Katara slapped a hand over her face. “Sokka—”

“No, no, I’m just connecting the dots,” he continued, clearly enjoying himself. “All those times you disappeared during meetings, all those ‘private discussions’ yeah, makes a lot more sense now.”

The princess tilted her head, completely unbothered. “You’re being very bold for someone standing this close to me.”

Sokka grinned. “I’m just impressed, honestly. You two had so much tension it was practically a natural disaster, and now—” he gestured vaguely toward her stomach, “—this is the aftermath. Surprised it took you this long."

Toph laughed outright at that.

Zuko looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Sokka wasn’t done.

“I mean seriously,” he added, folding his arms, “if this is what happens when the Fire Lord gets a little too… distracted, I’m shocked there’s not a second one already on the way.”

Zuko choked. “That’s enough.”

“Hey, I’m congratulating you!” Sokka shot back. “Just saying, next time, maybe let people know before you two go off and—”

“Sokka.”

“—expand the royal family.”

Katara shoved him lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

“But not wrong,” he corrected smoothly.

The princess let out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Unfortunately, he’s not entirely wrong.”

Zuko turned to her, betrayed. “You’re encouraging him.”

“We've been married for eleven months and I've been pregnant for five of them, you lack restraint Zuko” she stated bluntly, though her smile gave her away. He shook his head leaning close so only he could hear her. "Who suggested riding me in the throne ro-" "Okay hush now."

Sokka clapped his hands together once, satisfied. “Great. Now that we’ve established the Fire Lord has absolutely no self-control—”

“Sokka.”

“—can someone please tell me why Aang is dragging us to some random village?"

The teasing was warranted, deserved, even.

The Fire Nation had taken your father, your brother. Zuko’s redemption didn’t erase that. Not to you. He had hunted you, cornered you, forced you into survival more times than you could count. While the others learned to trust him, to laugh with him, to move on… you hadn’t. Not so easily.

So yeah, there had been tension.

A lot of it.

It just… hadn’t been resolved in a way anyone else approved of.

His lips brushed slowly along the inside of her thigh, unhurried, deliberate, testing, teasing. The touch alone was enough to pull a quiet, unwilling sound from her, her breath catching despite herself.

“Just do it already,” she muttered, more breath than voice, her fingers tightening against the sheets.

Zuko clicked his tongue softly, unfazed. Another kiss followed, closer this time, but still not quite where she wanted, where she needed.

“Not until you say please.”

Her head tipped back in frustration. “Why would I have to say please?” she shot back weakly. “You said you were atoning for everything your nation did. Consider this part of your apology.”

A quiet huff of amusement left him, warm against her skin. “I’ve been atoning for two months now,” he murmured, his voice low, almost thoughtful.

Another slow press of his lips, lingering.

“And yet,” he added, “every morning I wake up and you’ve already taken my portion of breakfast because, apparently, ‘murderers don’t deserve to eat.’”

She exhaled sharply, somewhere between a scoff and something softer. “Well, when the Fire Nation killed my family, I couldn’t afford breakfast—”

“I know.” His tone shifted immediately, the teasing giving way to something heavier, sincere. His hand stilled, grounding. “I know. And I’m sorry.”

There was a pause, the air between them tightening, thick with everything unsaid.

“I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it,” he continued quietly. “For what I did… for what I stood for.”

His placed a long kiss to her core, a soft moan (against her will) escaped her lips.

“Let me try,” he said, voice gentler now. “Even if it’s not enough.”

“I’m glad you all could make it, this village needs our help with—” Aang began, pulling back from Katara mid-sentence.

His eyes flicked across the group.

Paused.

Then widened.

“…Are—did—?”

He leaned toward Katara, lowering his voice into what he clearly thought was a whisper. “Am I allowed to ask people if they’ve gained weight?”

Katara’s eyes widened. “No, Aang. We’ve been over this.”

Aang nodded quickly. “Right, right. No asking.”

“…They’re pregnant,” she added quietly.

Aang blinked.

Then looked back at them.

Then back at Katara.

“…Zuko’s pregnant too?”

Toph snorted.

Sokka immediately burst out laughing. “Yeah, yeah, Fire Lord had a lot to do with it actually.”

Zuko’s face flushed instantly. “That’s not—”

“I’m pregnant, Aang,” the princess cut in, voice flat.

“Oh!” Aang straightened immediately, relief flooding his face. “Oh, that makes way more sense.”

There was a beat.

“…Congratulations!” he added, a little too late but entirely sincere.

Then his expression shifted, concern creeping in.

“Wait, are you sure you should be here?” he asked, glancing between her and Zuko. “I mean, with everything going on… I don’t want you getting hurt.”

Zuko immediately nodded. “Exactly.”

She sighed.

“I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” she said, crossing her arms lightly. “I can still help.”

Toph smirked. “Told you.”

Katara smiled gently. “We’ll keep an eye on you. Just in case.”

Sokka grinned. “Yeah, someone has to make sure Zuko doesn’t give himself an aneurysm trying to watch after the princess.”

Zuko shot him a glare.

Aang hesitated, then nodded. “Okay. I trust you. Just… be careful, alright?”

She gave a small, confident nod.

“Always.”

Aang clapped his hands together once, refocusing. “Right, so. The village has been dealing with a spirit. It’s been acting aggressively, and I think it’s tied to something in the mountain.”

The princess exhaled slowly. “…So you did drag us out here for a mountain.”

Aang winced. “Technically… yes.”

Zuko sighed. “Of course.”

Toph cracked her knuckles. “Good. I was getting bored.”

Sokka looked between them, grin already returning. “Alright, angry spirit, pregnant Fire-Earth Princess, and Zuko on edge. This should go great.”

She leaned slightly into Zuko’s side, her hand brushing his.

“Next time,” she murmured, “we ignore the letter and go to Ember Island."

He huffed softly. “…Agreed.”

Zuko set aside much of his concerns for the time being and embraced the kindred fire of first light as they braved the clouds. He had not wanted to—he felt he did not deserve to—yet was unable to stop himself from succumbing to relief, for what a long arduous battle it had been.

"This marks another win for team Avatar!" Sokka exclaimed breathlessly as he landed unceremoniously beside Zuko. He threw his arm over the railed edge of Appa’s saddle and deflated from the aftershock of nearly free-falling to his death.

"And what exactly did you contribute?" Toph queried.

"O you know, brains and brawn. Saved yalls butts twice! Not forgetting how my spectacular no bending invention single-handedly restored peace and balance to the world"

"You think you could use that no bending skills to save me from the wrath of my wife?”

Silence.

Sokka's head whipped toward Zuko whose face had shifted in an instant from calm serenity to petrified realization.

“I didn’t tell her I was leaving,” he muttered under his breath, staring into the sun as if it might offer him mercy.

Toph chortled, “Goodluck with that”

Sokka furiously shook his head. “Don’t drag me into this”

Aang, perched atop Appa’s head, looked back, glad he had not been in Sokka’s—or, worse yet, Zuko’s—stead because he, like the rest, had known your fiery temperament and had been subjected to its terrifying nature before, close enough to understand it wasn’t just talk or a joke passed over lightly.

Even Katara who could silence a room with a glance had never made him feel quite like this: that uneasy awareness of having already chosen the wrong side of a coming conversation.

He swallowed, suddenly very aware of his torn clothes, and looked away from Zuko. He was taken back to that one time during a stealth mission when Sokka and Zuko’s simple bantering had turned a quiet mission into near disaster.

It was a few years after Firelord Ozai’s defeat, when the plans for Republic City were still ink on paper and the world was trying to stitch itself back together.

They ran on exhaustion more than certainty, moving between rebuilding efforts, negotiations, and the precarious work of keeping the nations—set in their ways of war—from tearing at each other again.

The group had split in two. Probably not the smartest of plans. Aang was to take Sokka and Zuko, stake out a camp, trace patrol patterns, count soldiers, gather whatever intel they could, and await the signal.

But with three hours gone and still no sign of movement, Zuko, who wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place, shifted from stillness into irritation. And with Zuko, irritation never stayed small for long.

Sokka noticed, of course. And Sokka—well, Sokka had never met a tense situation he couldn’t make worse on purpose.

“We’ll age out here before we see a single soldier. Look, Zuko’s already balding,” Sokka said, poking at a branch at Zuko’s feet with his boomerang.

“If you would stop talking, we might actually hear something useful.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Sokka shot back, louder, “I didn’t realize Fire lord grumpy here was conducting a listening ceremony.”

The air tightened.

Aang had glanced between them, already sensing the shift before either of them fully committed to it. “Guys... maybe—”

And just like that, their bickering grew harsher, loud enough to have alerted an unseen passing patrol. “It’s the Avatar!!”

“You guys did it again!” Aang snatched up his staff in one motion. Air lifted him upward as he rose above the bushes, frustration flashing across his face. “Every time you argue, someone shows up and I'm always the first one noticed!”

Troops had plunged from the canopy of trees, emerging one after the other from the dark crevices of the forest with no end in sight.

Aang landed to help Zuko and Sokka.

But they were steadily driven back into a position where the enemy had gained the upper hand.

Like fury incarnate, earth had suddenly surged up in twin walls from the ground, folding the attackers in and cutting off every escape, and then water followed—an erosion, swift and precise washed through the space, locking every step in place as it hardened around their feet.

Every threat was flattened in a single, controlled strike.

The chaos gone as quickly as it had escalated.

You stood there afterward with a flat, unreadable expression, sweat clad and breathing heavier from the strain of such coordinated yet strenuous bending, your disappointment settling over them like stone.

Aang visibly shivered, his body reacting as the memory surfaced.

He could still feel it: the pressure of your words pinning them in place more effectively than any Earth Kingdom soldier ever had.

Since then, he had avoided anything even remotely reckless within your orbit. If something looked like it might spiral, he was already halfway out of it.

If Sokka started arguing, Aang found air.

If Zuko started pacing, Aang found distance.

If a plan felt even slightly like it might become “that kind of situation again,” Aang was suddenly, urgently needed somewhere else. Anywhere else.

He let out a small breath, rubbing the back of his neck as if it could ease the memory away.

“Yeah,” he muttered to himself, glancing off toward the horizon. “Not doing that again.”

Katara had heard the whole thing.

She didn’t feel sorry for them. Not really. They made their choices, and choices had consequences, therefore they should own up to it. Simple as that. Still, there was something faintly amusing about the way they spoke of you, like your presence alone had rewritten the rules of survival.

Katara had seen real fury before. Water crashing, storms breaking, emotions spilling over in waves.

And you…you were rational. That was all.

You were control. And control when it turned toward them felt like standing still in deep water as the current decided where one would go.

You were calm, collected, even when you reprimanded them. Somehow, that was exactly what made it worse. Because you didn’t raise your voice. Like every situation wasn’t an emotional mess to be shouted through—but a problem to be solved, with consequences carefully considered.

She sighed, shaking her. “Deserved.”

Toph nodded in agreement. Boys were stupid. Brainless. Rash. They had tendency to ruin most of what they touched… and didn’t touch.

Sokka spoke first, very carefully. “She once looked at me like I had personally offended the concept of intelligence.”

“You did,” Toph and Zuko replied in unison.

Sokka glared.

“You’re all ridiculous.” Then, almost absently, Katara added, “She doesn’t scare me.”

“And me,” Toph raised her hand.

Aang blinked. “Really?”

Katara rested against Appa. “She’ll be angry—and it's within her right to be. You left without telling her.”

Zuko looked toward the horizon, where messengers and rumours always seemed to travel faster than wind.

“And after what just happened,” she added, quieter now, “news of the scale of the wreckage will reach her soon.”

Sokka patted Zuko’s shoulder with forced sympathy. “You're going to have to deal with this one yourself buddy”

Zuko’s expression didn’t change. “You’re coming with me.”

“Nope.” Sokka's leg hooked lazily over the other, letting the slight breeze catch him as if he had already emotionally checked out. “This is a royal problem. Fire Nation business. Husband wife stuff.”

Toph snorted, pointedly removed from the conversation in the exact way Sokka had hoped to be.

“Sokka”

“What Katara? I value my life.”

Aang shifted uncomfortably as Appa readied to land. “In her… condition. I don’t think she’s going to just—focus on one person.”

Zuko’s eye twitched. He clearly caught the implication, but swallowed it down with visible effort. “…You’re all coming,” he said flatly.

Sokka pointed at him. “That’s not how protection works!”

Appa touched down near the city center with a thud that rippled through the streets below.

“It's been a while. We could do with a visit” She smoothed a hand over Appa’s fur, a smile written across the corners of her mouth.

“Sweet.” Toph shrugged, entirely unbothered. “I’ve got nothing better to do.”

With Katara and Toph in agreement, the decision was already made.

Zuko would be returning home regardless, so his vote counted for nothing.

As for Aang and Sokka…they weren’t given a choice.

With much still to be done in the wake of the destruction left behind, Sokka suggested they remain in Republic City for the day, where they would clean up, rest, and handle a few lingering matters before setting out for the Fire Nation the following morning.

This time, his opinion had been heard and agreed upon.

Zuko was grateful, albeit hesitant. He told himself it was better to return home fully rested and composed than to arrive in torn clothes, injuries half-healed, and every weakness laid bare for scrutiny.

•.‿︵˖⤿🐦‍🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•

Steam curled lazily along the stone walls.

Zuko submerged himself under the hot water longer than necessary. When he resurfaced, it ran over his shoulders, down his arms and chest as if it could rinse out more than just soot and sweat.

The day replayed itself in fragments. Then went further back to when his hope for redemption sparked and brought him to this point. Then even further back—deeper into the memories of his childhood when he'd been taught the history of his Nation, their climb to dominance and success…to the demise of the Air Nomad. Aang's people.

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the tub, his arms resting along its curved edges.

His chest rose with the steam, then eased back down—steady as the flicker of candlelight in a still room.

“What troubles you, My Lord?”

A ghost of a touch brushed his shoulder where a deep incision had been healed to a dark bruise. Another sensation had followed shortly, a softer collision against his shoulder.

“Why? Do you plan on kissing my troubles away?”

He had found himself smiling.

“Oh, I can do a lot more than that…” you replied, voice warm with that familiar spark—the kind that didn’t burn outwards so much as it simply refused to go dim.

His hand had rested on your hip, fingers idly tugging at the absurd amount of layers in your dress as if grounding himself in something real.

“Thank you…”

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” you mused, tilting your head to capture his lips in a simple kiss before tucking his hair behind his ears.

But Zuko had meant it in all honesty. “For being here”

“Even when it got hard. Even when everything changed… when it was an upheaval and adjustment for you.”

You had become his calm, the push and pull of water, steadying him when everything else felt uncertain.

And yet, despite the water that flowed through your veins, making you strong, composed, and grounding, there was a fire breathed beneath it.

It was obvious in the way you moved through the world—quick to flare, quick to speak, quick to challenge anything that stirred too comfortably around you.

“Those eyes look as if they could do no wrong,” your finger traced the slope of his nose, slow and unhurried, like you had all the time in the world to map him out, to revitalize the memory of him.

It lingered there for just a moment too long—enough to blur the line between thought and touch—before drifting down, over the heat of his cheek, across his jaw to pinch his chin.

His breath caught, subtle but sharp.

He didn’t move at all, caught between the instinct to step back and the more dangerous urge to stay exactly where he was.

“But it’s not enough to get you out of trouble,”

His body jolted upright.

The bathwater around him swayed at the suddenness. The illusion broken instantly, like heat breaking through glass.

He dragged a hand down his face. Once. Firm.

Exhaustion. That was all it was. A tired mind pulling shapes out of absence just to fill the missing and overexertion and the hunger.

Nothing more.

He pushed up through the water, muscles tightening as cold air met damp skin. Heavy droplets clung to him, sliding slowly down his shoulders and legs, tracing paths to corners touched by your heat.

For a moment, he stood there letting the realization settle back into something he could control. Then he stepped out of the tub.

The towel came around his waist in practiced motion. Water hit tile in uneven rhythms behind him as he dried his hair, wringing it out before clipping it back and walking into the room he'd been given.

Soft bedding, muted light, walls too clean to feel familiar. Comfortable, but not home. Not anything that could anchor the feeling he’d just shaken off. He crossed it anyway.

He dressed in silence, awkwardly folding each movement into the next like he'd long forgotten how to do it himself.

By the time he lay down in bed, at last, the room was dark except for the faint spill of city light through the window.

Sleep didn’t come quickly, and so he stared at the ceiling, listening to the distant ensemble of Republic City—too alive to feel entirely restful. His mind drifted anyway: plans, routes, conversations yet to happen, versions of tomorrow that all ended in the same place.

Zuko closed his eyes. And eventually, after a long stretch of misery—sleep finally took him.

•.‿︵˖⤿🐦‍🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•

The sun wasn’t even up yet. Sokka stared into oblivion with a bag slung under his arm, blinking slowly like sleep itself was personally refusing him entry.

Toph flicked a pebble at him. It struck him square in the forehead.

“OW—hey!” Sokka yelped, stumbling sideways and nearly taking himself out on a crate. “What was that for?!”

“Keeping you awake,” Toph said. “You were starting to look peaceful. It was disturbing.”

Zuko stepped past them, passing Aang the last of the supplies before climbing up onto Appa with the efficiency of someone ready to get back home.

“I feel like I should’ve been consulted on this,” Sokka muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Katara didn’t even turn around. “You were.”

“I would remember being consulted.”

“You were informed,” she corrected. “Then you complained.”

“That is not the same thing.”

“It is exactly the same thing.”

Toph lifted herself onto Appa, joining Zuko and Katara. “You’re coming. Stop whining.”

“I am not whining—this is strategic concern for my continued existence.”

Katara was unimpressed.

“I hate when the group consensus is ‘we suffer together.’”

“Oh, don’t be such a dramatic shrimp fry. You’re the only one acting like this is a funeral march.” Toph laid down and pulled a blanket over herself and lay down.

With the long journey ahead, she might as well catch up on sleep

“I’m not being dra—” he yawned mid-word, staggering slightly, “matic.”

“Sure.”

Aang tightened his cloak against the early morning chill. “Everyone ready?”

Zuko nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Appa, yip yip”

Appa shifted beneath them with a low rumble, then launched into the air.

︵ঌ︵

The flight home filled with an anticipation Zuko had yet to process.

It was not the first time he'd been away from you this long.

Between diplomatic missions, routine territory checks, and military assessments, distance had become a familiar part of his life. But this time was different.

This was the only time he had left without telling you where he was going. And that sat with him miserably.

There was much to think about—beyond the worry for you and his children. It was what lingered beneath that, something he had long claimed to have moved past. And yet, still kept him awake.

Years had passed. He had healed. He had… He had tempered those stubborn irrational flames that drove him. Gained loyal allies, true friendship, married the love of his life, named his first born through strength and legacy.

Why couldn’t he forget the years shaped by hate and obsession?

He had once believed capturing the Avatar would prove his worth. That it would earn back his father’s love, his respect. But somewhere along that path, his ambition had twisted—and the that which he hunted had turned, and hunted him in back.

His honour had never known the golden glory of which existed so strongly today, at the same time, his heart sunk unbearably beneath the guilt such honour carried.

As a full day passed since they left Republic City, Appa flew as though time itself were pressing forward.

Aang could feel the anticipation build in the air surrounding Zuko, he and his bison shared the same understanding—faster was better. The sooner they arrived, the sooner everything could finally settle.

With the second sunrise creeping over the horizon, Sokka and Toph snored their way through the early hours in complete disregard for dignity or altitude.

Katara and Aang sat closer together, speaking in low voices, their conversation soft enough to fade into the wind. Zuko remained near the edge of Appa’s saddle. He looked away from them.

He traced the familiar shapes of mountains and rivers as they passed beneath him, each landmark drawing him closer to home—closer to you, and he counted the minutes.

Quite literally.

Though how accurate he was, he couldn't tell. Only that home was getting closer.

When they crossed into Fire Nation territory, the land was scarred by craters of old destruction, softened now by layers of green grass and scattered wildflowers.

Time had not erased them—only made them appear less frightening.

Sokka stirred at last.

He sat up, squinting at the light. He took in his surroundings, let out a long yawn, then moved closer to Zuko who watched as shapes began to form in the distance.

The roads grew more ordered. The settlements more structured. A different world unfolding as they neared the capital.

“Amazing,” Sokka breathed, genuine admiration softening his voice.

Things had changed since he was last there.

Zuko felt pride swell in his chest. It had taken all of them… but most of all, it had taken you. The Fire Nation was no longer something to fear. It was thriving.

By the time they arrived at the palace, the sun was high overhead, drawn near its peak.

They were all momentarily pulled from their grievances, awestruck by the bright banners stretched across the streets below, and the sound of voices rising in organized waves—chants, cheers, a welcome that rolled through the capital.

Their arrival had been expected, it seemed. Likely your doing.

They offered their waves in return, Sokka a little more enthusiastic once he realized this wasn’t a public execution.

Toph tilted her head. “What’s happening?”

“They’re cheering,” Aang said.

“Yeah, I got that. What does it look like?” she shot back dryly.

“Cheerful… alive,” Katara answered, an understatement to the welcome they received.

Appa stuck his landing with heavy force, wind rushing outward with a strong gust that sent he robes and banners snapping.

The members of court straightened immediately, then bowed in unison as their Fire lord stood to his full height.

And there he saw you. At the forefront, fury that rivalled his flames—no smile, no softness, nothing but your gaze focused squarely on him.

Zuko descended from Appa, his feet meeting cold concrete, his shoulders poised.

He approached.

Even with a scowl firm upon your face, you were—without question—the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"My love" his voice lowered, tone of command gone, replaced with reverence of worship.

Behind him, Katara felt her chest tighten just slightly, warmth blooming as she watched it unfold—this quiet, undeniable proof of how far he had come from the boy who once burned too quickly for his own good.

But all good things must meet reality eventually—or in this case, a wife reminding her husband he was still in trouble, and no victory or sweet tone would get him out of it.

“Welcome home, Fire lord Zuko”

His breath hitched for the smallest fraction of a second, not enough for anyone to call it out. Composure followed a half-beat late.

Behind you, his Advisor and Chamberlain stood rigid, guilt practically written into every wrinkle on their faces.

The court, usually so accustomed to political tension, held a bated breath for an entirely different reason now.

It wasn’t fear of their Fire Lord that alerted them, it was the controlled fury of their Lady that unleashed when she saw her husband.

"Do you care to explain yourself, or shall I have the divorce papers drafted?"

Zuko’s collar suddenly felt tighter than it had any right to be. The fabric pressed against his throat like it had shrunk in the heat of the moment. His posture stayed upright out of habit, but something in him had clearly faltered.

“Aang needed my help,”

The courtyard seemed to forget how to breathe.

The attendants stiffened altogether; one advisor’s scroll slipped slightly in his grip before he caught it too late, the rustle sounding far too loud.

Katara’s stifled her amusement while Sokka made a small, strangled noise like he was deciding whether to laugh or pray.

Toph smirked faintly, head tilted as if listening to the emotional damage in real time.

Even Aang, somewhere in the group, looked personally betrayed by his own name being used as justification.

And at the centre of it all, the air between you and Zuko sweltered.

"Is that an excuse I hear?”

“No—”

“Someone’s in trouble.” Sokka said with a grin that suggested he was enjoying this far too much.

It lasted exactly until Katara struck him lightly on the back of the head, silencing him mid-smirk.

“I was going to tell you—”

You side-stepped your husband mid-sentence. No hesitation.

They had all frozen, the Fire lord reduced not by battle, but by the displeasure of his wife.

“Katara”

Your voice noticeably changed first. The warmth returned like nothing had happened. Like it had all been folded away in an instant and replaced.

Katara didn’t hesitate as she crossed the space and pulled you into a tight embrace. Sisters through water, war, and everything that came after it.

Sokka, who had been raving in fear of your reaction was pulled into a hug too, which surprised him.

“Wow. Pregnancy has changed you" he said before he could stop himself.

Katara immediately pinched him.

“Battle wounds? No. More like survival wounds from you violent people.”

Sokka barely had time to finish before Katara pinched him again, harder this time.

“OW—okay, okay!” he yelped, recoiling and rubbing his arm. “I’m kidding! Mostly kidding!”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It’s fine. Pregnancy has been messing with me, but I’m in a good mood.”

“You're lying” Toph chuckled.

“I'm trying to be in a good mood,” you corrected. “I haven't seen you guys in a while… A visit must've fell from your list of priorities”

Toph gestured to Appa. “Not all of us have a flying bison or a fleet of airships, you know.”

“Mhm.” You looked sideways. “Zuko won't have an airship for a while either.”

That earned a quiet exhale from him.

He stepped closer toward you, but you moved away anyway.

A beat passed. Then Aang stepped forward last, a smile that hadn't truly reached his eyes.

You embraced him tightly.

“You look worse for wear" you said.

“Getting better” he breathed out.

That seemed to ease something in you.

You stepped back, one hand resting over your stomach as your eyes moved across them—taking in all of them at once.

The whole mess. The whole family. Back in one place, even if briefly.

Above you, Momo suddenly darted in a tight circle, chittering excitedly around your head.

“Hello to you too, Momo,” you said, amused. “And Appa as well.”

You motioned once, and your lady servants quietly withdrew. “I've had someone prepare your rooms. I'm sure you'll want to rest. The kitchen has prepared a light meal—we can meet for dinner tonight”

Zuko exhaled halfway then stopped when you turned to him, and the breath he’d started to release stalled completely in his chest.

“And you…”

“The Avatar needed my help. I didn't know things would—”

“You had the whole court lie for you!”

A beat.

The officials shifted first. Then the attendants. Then the guards.

Zuko raised a hand.

The courtyard moved. Footsteps scattered and scrambled. Armor clinked. Doors shut too quickly.

“He lets them run but tells me to face my death with honour.” Sokka whispered to Toph.

“That makes you less of a coward.”

Katara didn’t hesitate when she grabbed Sokka by the ear and Toph by the forearm.

“Aang!” she called sharply.

Aang blinked then hurriedly followed, leaving you and your husband alone in the courtyard.

“Are you really mad?” He asked softly, catching your face and tilting so your eyes met his.

“Oh rest assured, Honourable Fire Lord—” you swat his hand away, “I am furious!”

You walked first. And he shadowed your every step.

No argument. No pride. Just footsteps behind you, matching your pace through the palace halls, through archway and past carved pillars.

When you finally reached the bedroom, the door shut behind him with a firm click.

You pulled the headpiece from your hair—the one he had given you—and set it down onto the vanity harder than necessary.

“I am not some weak women who can't handle knowing her husband is needed for some greater purpose,” you said. “I do not need constant coddling for every matter you think might cause even the slightest negative reaction. I will not fall apart and I will not beg you to stay when Aang needs you…

But I am your wife!”

His arm came around you carefully, folding over your swollen stomach first, grounding himself there as if that was the most honest place to start. His hold was warm, steady, deliberate.

"You are..." he affirmed with pride—with certainty, submission and subservience that wasn’t defeat but devotion.

He leaned his forehead briefly against your shoulder. “You are my wife. And I know that.”

You slapped his hand. It stung, but he just refolded then into place again.

“Let go”

“No”

You looked one sentence away from losing patience entirely. For a brief second, you even looked like you might hit him again.

Zuko, infuriatingly calm, smiled like he could read the thought forming. Then he pressed a light kiss to your shoulder, unbothered.

“I’ll let go if you stop being angry.”

“Not a chance”

You elbowed him in the gut, easily manoeuvring out of his hold, slower but no less familiar with the way your body had been trained to move.

“Feisty woman,” he rasped, hunched over.

He said your name. No answer. Repeated it again.

You slammed your hands down on the table. “What were you thinking!?”

“I'm sorry”

“You hear that, little one? That’s what we call a half-hearted apology. A lie. Your father pulled that one straight from his ass.”

He was sincere—not just because he knew he’d upset you, or because you deserved an apology, but because he knew better. He knew better… and still doubted himself.

“I am sorry… but I—”

“Left. You left. With lies. With people keeping me in the dark because you thought it was best.

Where is your honour in that, Zuko?”

Your voice cracked.

The baby, as if sensing your distress, delivered a series of sharp kicks to your abdomen. You pressed your palm over your stomach, trying to soothe the movement, but the ache lingered.

“What if you died? You would’ve left without a proper goodbye. I would’ve known nothing. Nothing.”

Zuko finally moved—like he was forcing himself not to recoil from the hurt in your voice. “…I didn’t think further than what had happened last time”

The memory surfaced, uninvited. A civil war breaking out across the Nation. Smoke on the horizon. Orders lost in the collision. And you—pregnant, close to term, already carrying more weight than anyone should have had to.

There had been a complication then. One that had nearly forced him into a choice that still didn’t feel real even years later—he was on the ground mid-battle when they told him. A decision he had never forgiven the world for making him consider.

So when Aang’s summons came—impossible to ignore—he had hesitated.

He had told himself he was protecting you by not telling you. By leaving quickly. By avoiding panic, avoiding stress, avoiding anything that might tilt the balance again.

But standing there now, watching your hands press into the table, watching the anger that came from love rather than distance, he understood what he had actually done.

He hadn’t protected you.

He had repeated the mistake in a different way.

His throat tightened.

“I thought—” he started, then stopped. Because there was no version of that sentence that didn’t fall apart halfway through.

“…I was wrong,” he said instead. “I should have told you. I should have trusted you with it.”

A pause.

“It was foolish to leave. It was even more foolish to think I could have the entire court lie to you… keep you in the dark until things blew over… I was foolish.”

"You were."

"I was…"

No deflection. No attempt to soften it.

You hated him. But you couldn't deny him. He had tried, but he was still only human. Human in his mistakes, human in the way he carried them, and human in the way he sometimes let fear speak louder than trust.

Neither of you moved. But then you stepped forward.

Zuko raised his arm, and you walked into his embrace, your forehead pressing into his chest as your breath caught like you’d been holding it in for too long.

“I’m here,” he murmured, meant only for you.

His hand brushed along your jaw as he leaned in—slow enough to give you time, to let you pull away if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Your breath met his first. Then your lips.

Zuko left soft, lingering pecks along your bottom lip, unhurried, testing, like he was relearning something he had no right to rush.

Then, slowly, he deepened the kiss.

His hands came up to cradle your neck, warm. Always warm.

You swore he ran hotter than any fire bender alive. Not just heat, but presence.

Something constant, something that pressed into you without burning—unless you let it.

He was warmth in every sense of it. Like the thick summer air that clung to your skin, heavy and inescapable…

And like a fire in the dead of winter, steady, consuming, offering comfort the moment you stepped too close to the cold.

He stroked your earlobe while his other hand found the inner corner of your robe, easing it from your shoulder.

Zuko hummed, pleased by the way you inclined toward his touch.

But you sooner pulled away, telling him to go ahead to the bath chamber.

When you joined him, towel set aside, your fingers found his belt, undoing the knot with practiced ease.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

His eyes traced your every move while you carefully avoided his gaze.

You pushed his robes from his shoulders, letting the fabric fall away and onto your forearm.

Zuko he stepped back to remove his boots then the rest of his clothing, until nothing remained between him and you.

“Could you…” you gestured toward the water.

“Of course,” he mused.

Zuko lifted his hand, and with an effortless breath, flame sparked to life in his palm. The water responded instantly, steam rising in soft curls with a gentle hiss, the surface rippling before it settled.

You sat on the low stone slated edge of the bath as he lowered himself into the water.

“…You’re not joining me?” he asked.

“Waters too hot for me," you replied, reaching for a cloth.

You dipped it, then dragged it gently over his chest, over the bruises no water could heal.

Zuko had eased almost instantly under your care, the tension in his neck and shoulders unwinding as he rested his head against the stone.

His eyes closed, letting you take care of him.

︵ঌ︵

His face sank into the plush mattress, inhaling the faint trace of your scent that lingered in every crease of the sheets.

A low groan escaped him as his body finally registered how tired it was. His arms stretched out loosely, then went still, like even moving felt optional now.

“Where’s Atsumi?”

“Asleep. She’s been running a terrible fever.”

Half-lidded eyes shot open. Halfway through getting up, you pressed a hand firmly to his chest and pushed him back down.

Zuko's breath hitched.

“She hasn't slept well in two days. She needs rest…”

“Then I should—”

You didn’t let him.

“Carry on,” you said flatly.

Zuko exhaled through his nose, tension easing in reluctant stages. His shoulders sank back into the mattress, the fight draining out of him.

“She’s going to hate that I didn’t check on her immediately,” he muttered.

“I spent two nights consoling her cries all while dealing with this little Firestarter in my stomach kicking and acting up. You’re not going to wake her.”

He cupped your thigh as you came to straddle him, thumb rubbing circles.

“I should’ve been here,” he said quietly.

“You are here now.”

“That’s not the same.”

“No,” you agreed. “It’s not. But because of you, we're still here”

“…Is she really alright?”

“As alright as any child with your temperament could be” you said.

That earned the smallest, tired curve at the corner of his mouth.

“She’s more like you…”

She was. But she looked exactly like him.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” you replied softly, running your fingers through his hair… a little insecure of it.

Zuko kissed your clothed inner-thigh before he smoothly flipped your positions.

He lifted your leg to wrap around his waist, lowering you into the position he was just in. Then, like he couldn't help himself, he face invaded your personal space—no such thing existed between you.

A kiss to your cheek, your forehead, then the bridge of your nose. His hand found yours, fingers threading tightly with yours against the sheets before he raised them above your head.

“You have nothing to fear,” he whispered.

“Beside my husband sneaking off on suicide missions.”

“Aside from that…”

Zuko caressed the back of your hand, his touch slow and deliberate, before lifting your joined hands to his mouth.

Your leg tightened around his waist. He made a low sound in the back of his throat, half a grunt and half pleading. He looked at your through his eyelashes—in worship… with unveiled devotion.

You skimmed your fingers up the column of his throat—over the thick pulsing vein—pausing at his scar.

He went still as you kissed it.

The heat flourished in his cheeks, not just embarrassment or shyness, but something far more vulnerable—enough to bring him to tears.

He kissed you before they ever fell—before he could retreat into his pain instead of his heart.

•.‿︵˖⤿🐦‍🔥 ঌ˖︵‿.•

The last remnants of the day had begun to flee when you, flushed and exhausted, pulled yourself out from beneath the blanket and sank back onto your pillow. Zuko's insatiable hunger followed instinctively—too close, too heated.

You pushed at his shoulder before he could hover over you completely.

He laid a kiss onto you stomach, the gesture reverent. The baby kicked which warmed his heart.

Lowering himself until his ear rested against it, nuzzling his nose against the stretched skin.

Endearments whispered his love—the ache in your bones a testimony to it.

“We should get ready for dinner…” you mumbled weakly.

“Not obliged to attend,” Zuko replied, unmoving, still half-lounged against you like he had no intention of letting go.

“Courtesy…” You sat up.

He muttered something incomprehensible under his breath before sitting up properly, dragging a hand through his hair to reset himself into something resembling a Fire Lord again.

But the softness didn’t fully leave his face. Not when he stared at you.

You rolled your shoulder with a wince, working out the tension still lingering there.

Without a word, he crossed the space between you.

His silk robe draped over your shoulders, adjusted it gently, fingertips brushing briefly as he made sure it covered well.

“As you wish.”

And so he did.

From the bath to the cloth, from lifting you in and out and carrying you about, from laying out your dress and seeing you fit for the hall—Zuko had done it all.

By the time you entered the dining hall, the others were already seated.

Zuko led you in with your hand set light upon his forearm. His hair bound up neat and proud, the Fire Nation emblem set through it, gold catching the lamp-light and casting a warm gleam over the room’s high beams and carved stone.

You took the first step in. Then, just as you had almost reached the table, a small blur sprang from Aang’s lap and darted across the room in a flash of light and laughter.

Zuko dropped at once to one knee, swift as a striking hawk, and caught the child with ease before she could collide with his legs.

“Papa!” she cried, laughing so hard it came out like a squeal.

At the sound, Zuko’s heart was pried open with joy.

His arms closed around her small body without hesitation, his entire composure shifted in an instant to her father.

Katara’s face softened at once, and Aang watched her with a look that held both warmth and wonder. You saw it.

And you smiled just slightly as you took your seat.

Sokka, already halfway through pouring a drink, slid a glass toward you with exaggerated seriousness.

“For the Lady of the Fire Nation,” he said, trying—and failing—not to look smug about the chaos he was witnessing.

Zuko lifted her with ease as she tugged at his collar and pointed at nothing in particular with the absolute certainty of a child who believed everything belonged to her.

“I found him,” she announced proudly to no one and everyone.

“You always do,” Zuko said, almost amused, pressing a brief kiss to her hair.

Zuko sat beside you, his daughter in his lap. But she stayed no longer than a minute before she was up and dangling onto Sokka's shoulder.

With everyone seated and settled, though “settled” was a generous word for it. You began to eat.

Your daughter—who by all means should have been limp and fever stricken—had decided otherwise.

She clung to Sokka’s shoulder one moment, nearly toppling over into his plate of food the next. He yelped, simultaneously catching her and his plate.

“Hey, hey… tiny tyrant, sit down!”

But she had slipped from him like water, already darting after Momo, who chittered in alarm and delight as he took flight just out of her reach.

Aang winced. “Momo, don’t encourage her—!”

Too late.

She spun again, quick as a spark, and made her way to Toph’s side. A small hand reached. A piece of food vanished.

Toph didn’t even move.

“You’re lucky I like you,” she said, chewing slowly, though the faintest smirk tugged at her mouth.

“I got it,” your daughter declared proudly, already halfway gone again.

Zuko watched her with a mix of disbelief and quiet awe, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to intervene or admire the sheer force of her will.

“She was sick?” he murmured under his breath.

You shrugged.

Atsumi, after several laps around the dining table, finally slowed and squeezed her way between Katara and Aang, picking up the little bison stuffed toy she had left in their care earlier.

Conversation had found its rhythm. Old friends catching up. Distant family telling tales.

You listened. You replied. You added where needed.

But eventually, almost without noticing, the conversation had deepened.

“…And the damage?” you asked.

Zuko’s hand stilled slightly beside yours.

Aang glanced up. Katara’s posture straightened just enough to be noticed. Even Sokka quieted, though he tried to hide it behind a bite of food.

“Later then,” you glanced at Zuko.

Sokka, ever the first to recover, leaned back on his hands. “Great. ‘Later.’”

Toph snorted. “You act like you’re the one in trouble.”

“I am in trouble,” Sokka shot back. “I was there. I participated. I enabled—”

“If anyone’s in trouble… it’s Zuko,”

Zuko shot her a look of warning immediately—but there was no real bite to it.

He was just grateful you were currently occupied with redirecting your daughter away from Momo’s tail before she discovered yet another way to test the limits of her mothers patience.

“…She shouldn’t have this much energy.”

You huffed, sitting down with her.

Aang smiled faintly at that. “I remember someone else who didn’t know when to stop.”

“…You chased me across the world.”

Zuko pursed his lips.

Sokka pointed between them. “Everyone here has a history of making questionable decisions but I’m always the liability?”

“You are the liability,” Toph said flatly.

“I am the glue of this group.”

“You’re the gum that gets stuck under my barefoot,” she shot back.

You and Katara shared a laugh.

“So what will happen now?” you asked, looking over your daughters head as she climbed into your lap without permission and then dove into her fathers lap when he sat.

He was breathing heavy.

Atsumi had made him chase her around the room, laughter echoing between the tables until even the guards had started pretending not to watch.

You argued it was dinner and he had already eaten half of his meal, but Zuko didn’t know how to say no to her—especially not when she looked at him like that.

Aang set his bowl down before answering, his tone thoughtful, already a step ahead in planning. “We’ll head back to Republic City. There’s still work to be done”

Sokka groaned softly. “Ah yes, more work. My favourite.”

“You don’t do the work,” Katara said.

“I supervise the work.”

“You eat during the work.”

“I fuel morale.”

Toph flicked a raisin at him.

Ignoring them, Aang concluded. “After that… I’ll be taking the new Acolytes to the place Sonan mentioned.”

Zuko glanced between them before speaking. “I can have airships prepared by morning, if you'd need it.”

Aang nodded in quiet appreciation. “That would help.”

Katara glanced at him. “You’re sure about this?”

“It’s time,” Aang said simply.

Zuko considered that. “Let me know what you need. Supplies. Support. Anything.”

Aang met his gaze and nodded once.

“I will.”

Eventually, you had the table cleared and replaced with light desserts and tea because no one seemed ready to head to bed yet. The atmosphere was warm. Unrushed. The company welcomed.

And in that small pocket of noise, you leaned slightly toward Zuko.

Your voice dropped—low enough that it belonged only to him.

“You should go with them.”

He stilled.

“You want me to leave again?” he asked quietly.

You smiled, faint yet certain. “I want you to see there’s still hope.”

Your words sunk in—finding places within his soul that had learned to never complain again. The past was not something he spoke of often, but it lived in him all the same.

The Fire Nation had taken everything from Aang’s… and even now, it still kept him up at night—haunting thoughts that never went away no matter how much time had passed or how much he had tried to make right what could be made right.

It was part of the reason he had moved so quickly when Aang’s message arrived.

And though he had not been the one to begin it, he had once chased its ending for all the wrong reasons.

That guilt had never quite left.

Your hand brushed lightly against his beneath the table.

“That isn’t yours to carry alone, nor is it his” you added, looking across the table.

Aang laughed boisterously at something Sokka had said.

“You think I can help with that?”

You didn’t hesitate.

“I know you can.”

Zuko’s eyes flicked toward him.

Toward the future being built in small, stubborn pieces.

“Uhm… guys— just letting you know… she's really hot," Sokka said, wide-eyed as she clung to him with alarming determination.

“Atsumi” Zuko called.

Her fever must be returning.

At once, she looked up. And just as quickly—faster than she ever listened to anyone else, faster than when you called—she broke away from Sokka and returned to her fathers side.

No hesitation. No protest.

“I’ll take her to get her medicine”

Zuko stood for the hundredth time that night.

He bent down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. There was still too much left unspoken behind his eyes, too many thoughts he hadn’t yet sorted into words.

He lifted your daughter carefully into his arms as if she were the most natural extension of himself.

Then he turned—already halfway gone in his mind. Tethered only by habit, by love, by everything he had built and still didn’t quite believe he deserved.

And you watched him go.

Your incandescent.

⥁Copyright © 2026 by halahxze — I claim no ownership of any referenced materials beyond my original writing and ideas. No part of this publication may be reproduced, republished, translated, or transmitted into Ai nor onto any other platform.

Your early days with your gang were rocky to say the least. Not just because of your bending, but your personality as well. To be clear, you had the best relationship with everyone! They adapted to your stubbornness, but that wasn't just what you had going for you; you were confident and always stood your ground. The only time you "crumbled" was when Zuko finally joined. At first, you didn't like him, no one really did honestly.

But when he finally proved his worth and showed kindness in his own ways, that's when it started. That's when your eyes always lingered towards him, even when you didn't want them to. Why? because you never ever wanted him to notice whatever feelings you had for him. For some reason, within the group, he was the one person who hung out with you the least.

You were closer in age to Katara, so being the only other female in the group with similarities is what made your bond so strong. Being the same bender as Toph, not to mention a slight similarity in personality, you both stood strong together. Sokka, well its Sokka.. But with his very charming personality, in his own way, he always placed a smile on your face. Aang, is Aang! Everyone always got along with him because of his carefree personality.

And Zuko? Well, he, for some reason, always avoided you. It wasn't like you did anything to him. You thought maybe because he noticed how different you acted with him, maybe your soft side took a toll on him, even though you barely showed it to him. You just wanted reasons to use to explain why he never looked in your direction.

You were never a jealous person, either. As time passed, he grew closer to the others, and you stood in the awkward light. The one time he went out with Katara, you knew it was important for both of them, not only to build their relationship but to learn about each other's pasts, but for the first time, you felt a weird feeling in your chest. You didn't hold any negative feelings for either of them, and to be honest, when they came back, you ran straight to Katara, a smile on your face as she mirrored it.

And as you turned to Zuko, he briefly looked at you before turning to Katara, then the others as they came up. Your smile then dropped. You watched as he interacted with the others, but not with you. Later that night, you decided to confront him. You made it into his tent, obviously scaring him.

You didn't "crumble" in front of him; in fact, you stood as the big boulder blocking him from leaving his tent, all with this stern expression on your face. Your eyes pierced through his slightly troubled own, as if he was finally caught in the lights.

"Is there anything you need?" He slightly muttered, looking up at you.

You, on the other hand, didn't waste any time; in fact, you headed straight to the point.

"Do you hate me?"

"What?" He blurted out.

Your arms folded, your eyebrows creased as you didn't accept his answer.

"Answer me."

.

.

He looked around for a bit, shutting his eyes and inhaling deep before exhaling. He opened his eyes and looked at you, dead in your eyes, and finally answered.

"Yes, I do."

Your expression didn't change, you didn't "crumble," but everything inside you did. Maybe that's why you didn't catch on that he didn't look at you with anger or disgust. But what your ears heard, it heard that instead.

When Zuko stared back at you, he didn't see anything change, which he wasn't hoping for. He has his own hidden feelings he wished to not shine light on, but he felt that after this night, there will be no light or feelings anymore.

After that night, you decided to never ever speak to him, look in his direction, or do anything with him. But what if the other asked as to why?

"Because he said he didn't like me."

As the years passed by, obviously, you all grew and finally ended the war. As celebrations began, you were called into an empty room. Your eyes lingered on this person with the audacity and saw none other than Zuko himself. Your relationship with him was already beyond repair, because you'll never let him get past you. Not after blatantly telling you off without a reason. So why now? You wanted him to start it, explain what he wanted to say so that you can go back with everyone, and forget this ever happened.

But his reasoning reminded you of why you even had this crush on him. He sat you down, yet avoided eye contact. He felt soft, in a way, compared to your demeanor. A sigh left his lips as he finally let his feelings out.

He explained that he didn't hate you; he never did. In fact, it was very much the opposite. He developed small feelings for you, but your strong-headed personality scared him a bit. It didn't fear him to the point of always avoiding you; it was one of the reasons why you pulled him in. It was the fact that he knew he had something going on with another back at home. He was scared that if you found out, your anger might grow, and not only would you hate him, but something more.

The night you cornered him, he didn't know what to say, how to explain anything, and the stern look you gave him caused him to blurt out the only thought in his head.

As you listened to his story, you understood everything he said, maybe felt the need to falter a bit, because you numbed the feeling you had towards him, but didn't get rid of it. You still liked him. But he has to work for it. Like he did with everyone else.

Fortunately, as he had to repair the fire nation, he wanted your help as there were colonies from the Earth Kingdom. So you decided to help, decided to stay with him for a bit, and that was his moment to finally build what he wanted with you. When everyone left, to help everyone from the aftermath of the war, no one knew you decided to join Zuko. No one knew that you both even had that chat to begin with.

You both came to an agreement that you will stay with him for a while, helping him rebuild his nation. You both had very different views: you wanted to help him genuinely, then go back to your kingdom, and Zuko wanted to fix your relationship. But he didn't know how much workload he would receive from fixing a kingdom.

Days passed by, and the morning sun rested on your bed as you stood by the window. You were getting ready for the day until some guards knocked on the door. Your neck turned in the direction, softly allowing them to enter.

"Good morning, ma'am, the Lord is calling you for a matter he needs assistance with." They stated.

A sigh left your lips as you nodded, walking out of the room with the guards guiding you. With Zuko in charge now, the people were left with mixed reactions; some were happy, some were not, which was understandable. But you've noticed that those who mostly favor Ozai the most as their Lord were slowly crossing that barrier of respect towards Zuko.

Your heels echoed through the halls, but halted when the giant doors of his office came into view.

"You can leave now, thank you." You ordered as you pushed open the door, leaving the guards behind.

Your eyes landed on the man seated behind the table, head in hand, but perked up at the sound of the door opening. His eyes softened a bit when it landed on you, but he quickly looked away as your strong gaze held long, going through him.

"You summoned me." You stated, walking up towards the table.

"I did, here, the plan I had before, I don't know what to do. Aang and I almost fought over it." He muttered, handing over some papers.

"Is it about the colonies?" You asked, as your eyes scanned the paper in your hand.

Your ears caught the squeak of his chair as he rose to take a short walk around.

"It is, they have been here for over a hundred years, some even have families here, but there are some that are mixed with the people here. It doesn't feel right to just remove them and separate their families." He explained, his voice sounding upset and lost.

You looked up, eyes following his every movement.