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colouredbyd · 1 month ago

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Sweater Weather

Regulus Black x fem!reader

synopsis: Regulus, notoriously bad at expressing love, spends an entire fall knitting you the world’s ugliest sweater, yet you wear it anyway

warnings: fluff, insecurities, ugly sweaters, regulus being a love sick softie, and even more fluff

w/c: 4.7k

a/n: i love soft reg <3 (not proofread)

masterlist

There is a softness to winter mornings at Hogwarts that you adore, a kind of stillness that feels almost sacred. Frost clings delicately to the windows, tracing lacework patterns across the glass, fragile and intricate, as if the castle itself is caught in the delicate grasp of some ancient enchantment.

Breath mists in the chill of the corridors, curling like pale wisps of smoke, mingling with the warmth of whispered secrets and stolen laughter that flutters from the lips of students bundled in scarves and heavy cloaks.

You love it—the quiet magic of it all—the way the world seems to slow and hush beneath the weight of fresh snow, footsteps muffled and echoes softened, as though the very air is holding its breath. And you love how that magic seems to linger on your skin, settling there like snowflakes that refuse to melt, shimmering faintly in the early morning light, a fragile reminder that even in the coldest months, there is beauty.

Regulus hates it. You know this because he tells you, every single morning, his voice low and sharp-edged, threaded with the kind of irritation that never seems to thaw.

There is always something to complain about—the cold that seeps through stone walls and nips at his fingers, the brightness of sunlight reflecting off snowbanks like shards of glass, the way the castle seems to creak and groan with the weight of frost.

He mutters his grievances beneath his breath, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his robes, shoulders hunched against the chill as if the very air is an inconvenience meant solely to test his patience. His scowl is etched into those fine, aristocratic features, sharp and unyielding, like it was carved there long ago and never quite managed to fade.

And yet, despite his endless grumbling, he still meets you by the stairwell every morning, just as he always has, waiting with the sort of resigned sigh that makes you laugh when you catch it.

His presence is constant, unspoken, as if written into the rhythm of your days—the shadow that lingers just a step behind you, the steady heartbeat of winter mornings that would feel incomplete without him.

When you bound up to him, cheeks flushed from the cold, hair tousled by the wind, you greet him with a smile that is impossibly bright for such an early hour, eyes shimmering with the warmth he pretends not to crave.

And though he greets you with a grimace, lips pulled into something almost petulant, you have seen the way it softens when you are not looking. It is fleeting, barely there, the ghost of something gentle that flickers at the edges of his expression before he smothers it with a practiced indifference. But you catch it sometimes, that brief surrender to warmth, and it is enough to make you believe that maybe winter is not so harsh after all.

You met him through the Marauders. They were your closest friends, the ones who tugged you into their mischief and laughed with you until your sides hurt, but Regulus had been the curious exception.

Sirius had never been quite able to understand it, always watching the two of you with narrowed eyes, as if trying to solve a riddle that kept slipping out of his grasp. Remus would only chuckle and shake his head, while James insisted it was just “some sort of cosmic prank.”

But you knew better. You always had.

There was something that tethered you to Regulus Black, something unspoken but deeply rooted, woven through your days like threads of silver light. It lingered in the quiet spaces between conversations, in the gentle pauses where words were unnecessary, where silence became a language only the two of you could understand.

It was not grand or ostentatious; there were no sweeping gestures or declarations shouted into the wind. Instead, it was soft and unhurried, a kind of devotion that thrived in the delicate moments—those fragile, fleeting seconds where time seemed to hold its breath.

It was in the way his hand would linger just a heartbeat too long when he passed you a book, fingertips brushing against yours with a softness that felt almost accidental, yet always intentional.

It was the way he would walk on the outside of the pavement whenever you wandered through the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, his gaze sharp and watchful, his hand hovering near your back when the crowd grew too thick, like he was ready to pull you closer at the first sign of trouble. He never spoke of it, never gave name to the way his touch felt like a promise, but you felt it all the same—steady and unyielding, like the pull of the moon on the tide.

There was no need to pin it down with words, to shatter the fragile magic of it by making it solid. It existed in the spaces between breaths, in the glances that lingered just a moment too long, in the way his fingers would brush the back of your hand when he thought no one was looking.

It was there, unbreakable and steady, carved into the marrow of your days together, silent and certain as the turning of the seasons.

Regulus Black was a storm cloud personified—dark and swirling and distant—but you had always liked the rain. He once told you, during a particularly bitter October, that he adored your cheerfulness. You had only laughed, nudging his shoulder and remarking that his grumpiness was practically medicinal for you, like a tonic that kept your head from floating too far into the clouds.

He had not smiled, but his eyes had softened, just a bit, just enough for you to see it. It was the closest thing to affection you would get from him, and you had treasured it like a secret.

And perhaps that was why, despite the way he huffed and scowled and complained, he always waited for you by the stairwell every morning.

He would be there, hands stuffed into his robe pockets, expression fixed into that familiar look of begrudging patience, but he was there—always. And perhaps that was why you always came running, cheeks flushed and eyes bright, breath puffing out in soft clouds of frost as you bounded up to him as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world.

He would roll his eyes at your cheeriness, mutter something about "too much energy for this hour," but you had seen the way his shoulders relaxed the moment you came into view, the way his gaze would soften ever so slightly, almost imperceptibly, like the first thaw of spring.

And maybe that was why, even when the corridors were crowded and the air too frigid to feel your fingertips, the world seemed a little bit softer with him there, even if he would never admit it. You felt it in the way he would shift his books to his left arm just so his right could hover protectively at your side, guiding you through clusters of students without a word. You felt it in the way his gaze would flicker to your hands sometimes, brow furrowing if you forgot your gloves, and how, without fail, the next morning a pair would be waiting for you, no note, no explanation, just the softness of wool threaded with silent concern. He would brush off your thanks with a scoff, cheeks a touch pinker than usual, but the warmth lingered all the same.

But as the weather grew colder, so too did Regulus begin to act a little strange.

It was subtle at first—a missed breakfast here, a hurried excuse there, nothing glaringly obvious but enough to leave you tilting your head in quiet confusion.

His presence, once so steady and familiar, began to slip away like fog burning off with the morning sun. You would catch glimpses of him in the corridors, his gaze flickering away too quickly when you tried to meet it, his hands buried a little deeper into his pockets as if holding onto something secret.

He would disappear for hours, sometimes entire evenings, and when you asked him where he had been, his responses were clipped but gentle. "Busy," he would say with the smallest of smiles, brushing off your questions with a kind of practiced patience that left you with a thousand more. His eyes would soften, though, just for a moment, as if he wanted to say more but couldn’t quite bring himself to unravel that thread of secrecy.

More curious still was the time he had begun spending with Pandora. It was not unusual for them to share the occasional conversation—Pandora was sweet and curious, a bit like bottled stardust, fluttering around with wild hair and ink-smudged hands, always speaking in riddles that left you smiling and a little bit bewildered.

But now they seemed to be together constantly. In the library, heads bent over something you could not quite see. By the greenhouses, hands moving in gestures that spoke of plans and secrets. You would see them huddled together in the courtyard sometimes, her hands gesturing wildly as she spoke and his head bowed in concentration, nodding along with something you could not hear.

When you asked him about it, his gaze would flicker to you with something unreadable before he smoothed his features back into something softer, more familiar. "Nothing important," he would say, voice quiet and unyielding, before changing the subject with a soft sort of insistence that left no room for prying.

But you saw the way his hands would flex at his sides after you asked, the way he would glance at you out of the corner of his eye, like there was something caught in his throat that he could not quite bring himself to say.

And though you trusted him—you always had—a part of you could not help but wonder what secrets this autumn had coaxed from him, what fragile thing he held in his hands that he was too afraid to show you.

He still met you in the mornings, still walked you to your classes and stood with you in companionable silence by the frost-covered windows.

He was not distant, not cold—just different. A touch more secretive, a little more preoccupied, and when you asked him if everything was alright, he would only smile and tell you not to worry, and you would pretend that you were not worried at all.

Regulus shuffles his feet, cheeks dusted a delicate pink against the bite of winter’s chill, and his hands tighten around the fraying cloth bundle he cradles behind his back as if it is something precious, something breakable.

His eyes flicker to yours, soft and uncertain, before flitting away again, skimming over the frost-bitten hedges and the towering spires of Hogwarts that rise like shadowed sentinels against the pale, wintry sky. Snow drifts lazily around you, swirling in gentle spirals that catch on the hem of your cloak, the world hushed and still, as if holding its breath just for the two of you.

"I wanted to..." He pauses, the words slipping from his lips like fragile things, delicate and unsure, barely loud enough to be carried by the breeze.

His shoulders tense, and he straightens almost instinctively, like he is bracing against some unseen force, eyes dropping to the patch of snow between your feet. "I wanted to make you something. For the cold."

His voice is so soft, so uncharacteristically tender, that it takes you a moment to process it.

Surprise flickers across your features, warm and bright, your eyes softening with the kind of gentleness that always seems to unspool something tightly wound inside of him.

"For the cold?" you echo, your voice light with disbelief and something else—something softer, sweeter—that threads through the space between you like a whisper.

He nods, gaze still fixed on the snow as if it holds the answer to something unspoken. "You’re always complaining about being cold," he murmurs, so quietly it is almost lost beneath the whisper of the wind. "I thought… I thought maybe I could help."

There is a tenderness in the way he says it, a kind of careful vulnerability that makes your heart ache just a little. He shifts his weight, rocking back and forth with a nervous energy that is so uncharacteristic, his knuckles white where they clutch the bundle, fingers flexing as if bracing for impact.

"It’s... it’s not good," he rushes out, the words stumbling over one another in their haste to escape. "Not even close to good, actually. It’s probably the ugliest thing you’ve ever seen, and I wouldn’t blame you if you hated it. I wouldn’t—" He swallows, voice faltering just a little, his gaze still fixed on the snow at his feet.

"I wouldn’t even be upset if you didn’t want to wear it."

You watch him, the way his hands tighten and loosen around the bundle, the way his eyes flicker with that nervous, flickering light, and your heart softens with the weight of it.

He is bracing himself for rejection, for ridicule, and the realization makes your chest ache with something warm and tender.

You tilt your head, a soft smile curling at the corners of your mouth as you watch him ramble, his voice a little higher than usual, his hands fidgeting like he can’t quite find the right place for them.

"Regulus, my love," you say gently, and his eyes snap up to yours, wide and startled, silver flickering with something like hope and fear and every unspoken thing he’s never quite managed to say. "I’m sure it’s perfect."

His mouth opens, then closes, his gaze flickering away as if he is struggling to decide whether or not to argue. "I—no," he says finally, shaking his head with a furrowed brow.

"It’s really not, amour. It’s—Pandora helped me, but she said I knit like a drunk troll, and honestly, I think she’s right."

A laugh bursts from you, bright and sudden, the sound curling through the frostbitten air, and his expression softens just a bit, the corners of his mouth twitching as if suppressing a smile.

"A drunk troll?" you repeat, voice laced with mirth, and he rolls his eyes, cheeks flushing deeper, the pink spreading like watercolors beneath pale skin.

"It’s bad," he insists, voice dropping to a murmur, softer now, like a confession whispered against the edge of dawn, fragile and almost transparent in the chill of the morning. "Really bad. I just… I just wanted you to be warm."

You step closer, the snow crunching beneath your feet like the soft crackle of embers, and reach out without thinking, fingertips brushing against his knuckles where they grip the bundle with a desperation that is almost sacred. His hands are cold, trembling just slightly beneath your touch, and when he looks up at you, eyes wide and uncertain, it is like staring into something raw and unspoken, something delicate enough to shatter.

"You made something for me," you whisper, voice feather-light and trembling at the edges with wonder. The words settle between you, soft and gentle, curling into the spaces left empty by winter’s chill. "How could that ever be bad, Reggie?"

He blinks, and for a moment, it seems as if the frost caught in his lashes might melt from the heat in your gaze.

His blush deepens, spreading like the first flush of dawn to the tips of his ears, and the sight of it, of him standing there with snowflakes caught in his hair and cheeks dusted with pink, is something almost ethereal. Like a painting come to life, brushed in soft hues and fragile light.

"Because you deserve beautiful things," he says quietly, the words so soft you almost miss them, like they are meant for the snow at his feet rather than for you.

His gaze drops again, lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, and his grip on the bundle tightens, knuckles white against the fraying edges of the cloth. "And I don’t know how to make beautiful things."

His voice is so gentle, so unbearably tender, that it feels as though the air itself stills to listen. There is a vulnerability in his words, a kind of delicate confession that unfurls between you like petals in bloom, and for a moment, you cannot speak, cannot breathe, because Regulus Black is standing before you with frost in his hair and his heart in his hands, and you think you might never want to be warm again if it means staying in this moment a little while longer.

You want to tell him that he is wrong, that everything he touches is beautiful because he is beautiful, but the words tangle in your throat, heavy and aching. So instead, you just squeeze his hand, gentle and reassuring, and offer him the only thing you can: the softness of your smile and the unyielding warmth in your eyes.

"Show me?" you ask softly, and he hesitates, eyes flickering back to yours, searching for something fragile and unspoken. His hands tighten around the bundle, knuckles pale, and for a moment you think he might refuse.

But then he takes a breath, a trembling thing that ghosts white in the morning air, and nods.

"Yeah, sure, 'kay," he whispers, voice cracking just a little, eyes shining with something raw and tender. "Okay."

The cloth slips away slowly, unfurling like the petals of a flower, and there, nestled within the worn fabric, is a sweater.

It is not perfect—the stitches are uneven in places, and one of the sleeves is just slightly longer than the other, but it is yours.

It is your favorite color, threaded with hues that catch the winter light and turn it into something soft and gentle. There are places where the yarn loops a little too tightly, where the fabric bunches just slightly, but you can see the effort in every knot, the tenderness in every crooked seam.

He had made this for you, painstakingly, deliberately, as if weaving together the very threads of his heart.

Your hands move without thinking, reaching out to trace the fabric, fingertips brushing over the soft, uneven stitches with something close to reverence.

It is warmer than you expect, soft and inviting, and you look up at him with eyes that shimmer in the morning light, filled with something that makes his breath catch. He is watching you carefully, nervously, like he is afraid you might laugh or turn away, his hands now empty and fidgeting at his sides. His gaze is fixed on you, searching, waiting, as if bracing for rejection.

"Regulus," you breathe, voice feather-soft, and he stiffens, jaw clenching just slightly. "You made this for me?" The words are almost a whisper, delicate and fragile, as if saying them too loudly might shatter the moment entirely.

His gaze drops to his feet, and he nods, just once, barely more than a tilt of his head. "I—I know it’s not good," he murmurs, voice small and cracking at the edges. "I tried to fix the stitches, but it just… I couldn’t get it right. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t want to wear it."

You do not even let him finish before you are slipping it over your head, the fabric catching on your hair before settling around your shoulders, heavy and warm and perfect.

It smells like him—like cedarwood and parchment and the faintest hint of mint. You pull your hands through the sleeves, letting them hang just a bit too long past your wrists, and then you look up at him, beaming, bright and unrestrained.

"It’s perfect," you say, voice brimming with something soft and unyielding, something that catches in your throat and makes your heart ache.

"It’s perfect, Regulus." You twirl in place, laughing as the hem flares out just a little, catching the light like the glimmer of frost on snow. "I love it," you add, more earnestly, the words spilling from your lips without hesitation. "I love it so much!"

He stares at you, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, and for a moment, it seems as though he has forgotten how to breathe. But then his gaze drops to the sleeve, where your fingertips are brushing against a small, messy patch of thread—a sun, unevenly stitched, its rays crooked but unmistakably bright.

You pause, running your fingers over the stitches, and then you look up at him, eyes glimmering with curiosity and wonder. "A sun?" you ask, voice gentle, reverent. "Why did you…?"

He looks away, fingers fumbling at his sides, the blush creeping down his neck. "Because," he begins, voice low and unsteady, the words coming slowly, like he has to pull them from someplace deep inside his chest.

"Because you are my soleil," he says softly, eyes flickering back to yours, and his gaze is so earnest, so tender, that it makes your breath hitch. "Mon rayon de soleil dans l'hiver," he continues, voice turning delicate and fragile, like glass spun too thin. (My ray of sunshine in the winter)

And for a moment, everything else falls away—the snow, the cold, the distant towers of Hogwarts. It is just you and him, standing there in the hush of winter’s breath, the sweater warm against your skin and his eyes soft with something unspoken, something infinite.

His words wrap around you like the sweater itself, warm and fragile and threaded with something achingly tender.

Something catches in your throat, the soft ache of yearning and something deeper.

And when you look back up at him, beaming, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, he stares like he has never seen anything quite so beautiful in his life.

The sweater drapes over you like it was made from sunlight and spun with care, each thread a testament to hands that worked quietly and patiently in the stillness of winter nights. It is imperfect, a little rough at the edges, but you love it more for that—the way it hugs your shoulders, the way it spills just past your wrists, the way it smells faintly of cedar and parchment, unmistakably him.

When you look up, your smile is incandescent, eyes shining with something that catches the fragile morning light and makes it feel like the first breath of spring. Before you can think twice, you are in his arms, pulling him close with a burst of warmth and laughter that rings out like music against the frostbitten air.

Regulus stiffens at first, the way he always does when affection is given too freely, too brightly, but his hands find your back, tentative and soft, fingertips grazing the fabric he crafted with his own hands.

His touch is gentle, almost reverent, like he is afraid you might slip away if he holds too tightly. But you do not slip away. You hold on, and he melts into it, his breath warm against your shoulder, steadying himself in the cradle of your embrace.

You pull back just enough to see his face, and your smile only widens, brilliant and unrestrained, cheeks flushed with something deeper than the cold.

"I love it," you whisper, voice trembling with sincerity, and then louder, bursting with joy that cannot be contained, "I love it, Regulus! It’s perfect!" The words spill from your lips like sunlight through cracked glass, filling the space between you with something pure and unyielding.

"I absolutely love it," you insist, the words tumbling over each other, bright and breathless.

"It’s my favorite thing I’ve ever owned." You spin then, arms stretched wide, the sleeves fluttering like wings, and snow dusts the air around you in shimmering spirals. Laughter spills from you, ringing out across the courtyard, and you look so alive, so impossibly beautiful in your joy, that he is struck silent.

A blush blooms across his cheeks, crawling up his neck to the tips of his ears, and he turns his head away, gaze dropping to the snow at his feet.

But he cannot hide the way his mouth quirks up at the corners, the way his eyes soften when he looks back at you, just for a moment. "You—you don’t have to say that," he murmurs, voice so quiet it almost disappears into the crisp morning air, but you shake your head firmly, sending snowflakes scattering like stars.

"Are you kidding me?" you laugh, spinning once more for good measure, the sweater flaring around you. "I’m going to wear this every single day," you declare, your hands smoothing over the uneven stitches with the kind of tenderness reserved for something sacred.

"It’s beautiful, Regulus! I don’t care what you say. I’ve never loved anything more."

There is something in your voice, something bright and unyielding and real, that makes him pause. His eyes flit back to yours, searching, waiting for the catch, for the punchline, for the hesitation that never comes. You are looking at him with so much light, so much unguarded joy, that it sends his heart stumbling in his chest, unsure of its rhythm.

He shifts his weight, a flicker of nerves flaring in his gaze, but you do not let him pull away—not this time. You catch his hand in yours, fingers curling around his with gentle insistence, grounding him there with you, in this moment. And for once, he does not resist. For once, he stays.

You press up on your toes, hands still clinging to his sweater, and you kiss him. Softly, sweetly, the kind of kiss that is more sunlight than heat, more promise than demand. His breath stutters, and he freezes for just a moment before he melts into you, the tension unraveling from his shoulders like loose threads.

When you finally pull back, your eyes are sparkling, cheeks dusted pink, and you’re still holding onto him as if you are afraid he might disappear with the snow.

"Thank you," you whisper, and it is so gentle, so full of something tender that he forgets how to breathe.

"You’re… you’re really going to wear it?" he asks, voice cracking just slightly at the edges.

Your laughter spills out, bright and unrestrained, tumbling over itself like sunlight streaming through fractured glass.

"Are you kidding? I’m never taking it off. Not even in the summer. I’ll suffer just to wear it," you declare, eyes shining with mischief, voice threaded with a warmth that cuts through the morning chill.

The words are exaggerated and dripping with dramatic flair, but you mean them, every last syllable. He must know you mean them too, because the blush that sweeps across his cheeks blooms all the way to the tips of his ears, spreading like wildflowers beneath the frost.

And you don’t.

Through frost-laced mornings where your breath fogs the air in delicate tendrils, through snow-dusted afternoons where the sky hangs heavy and gray, you wear that sweater like it is armor, like it is a piece of him you get to carry with you.

Even as the threads begin to pull loose, even as the sleeves fray and unravel at the edges, you wear it proudly, shoulders squared and chin held high. It becomes part of you, woven into your everyday

And every time Regulus sees you in it—bright and beaming amidst the gray wash of January, cheeks flushed with cold and eyes alight with joy—it is like watching sunlight crack through a frozen lake.

He will never say it, not in words, but the way his gaze softens, the way his shoulders ease just a little, is enough. You are enough.

What you do not know is that Regulus begins knitting another one. This time in secret, this time with softer wool that glides smooth and easy over his fingertips, this time with the precision and patience of someone who has learned that good things are always worth waiting for.

His hands work in steady rhythm, each loop and pull a silent promise, each stitch woven with the quiet hope that this one will be better, this one will be worthy of the way you beamed up at him like he had hung the very stars for you.

He does not rush. He takes his time, lets the winter days bleed into each other as he perfects the weave, his fingers aching and his brow furrowed in concentration.

He pictures you in it sometimes, wrapped in its warmth, cheeks flushed with that same bright joy, and it is enough to make him press on, enough to make him believe that maybe, just maybe, he can make something beautiful after all.

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kissandtellus · 3 months ago

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𝚂𝚝𝚞𝚍𝚢 𝚂𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗

Synopsis: MC failed one of her Hunters test, and Zayne is not only her lover, but her tutor. So he has only one way of punishing his little Snowflake.

Warnings: Dom!Zayne, Use of the word ‘doctor’ in THAT way, spanking, choking, smut.

Your boyfriend was nothing short of a gentleman. You wanted to wear his coat outside because your forgot yours? Absolutely. You wanted to go to your favorite ice cream place after class? Completely fine! He'd even pay! You were his one true love and he would want nothing more then to be at your every beck and call.

Except on your bratty days.

When you didn't get your way or something inconvenienced you, it was a huge blowout. The Hunter test you got back was far below your expectations. That meant it was even further below Zayne's. Your lover offered to tutor you but you responded with a sharp, "I don't want to."

When Zayne took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of your nose, you knew you were in trouble. Your eyes roamed to the door and even thought your brain was telling you there was no way you could outrun the dark haired man in front of you, your inner brat purred with the thought of him chasing you.

Before your butt even left the seat, Zayne had you bent over his lap and your underwear hooked below the swell of you buttocks. "Oh my little Snowflake. You know I don't give you a lot of rules to follow." His fingers climbed your flesh and his palm outstretched on your ass cheek. He gave you a quick swat and you gasped in surprise. "My main rule is for your academics not to drop. Then you had the audacity to tell me no."

Zayne growled and gave you another spank, your feet dangled off of his legs and kicked fruitlessly. Zayne merely chuckled at your feeble attempts and struck your ass another two times. Tears pricked your eyes and you could feel your frustration bubbling near the brim. Zayne caught your frustrated gaze and lifted your chin.

"Y/n, tell me what's bothering you. I'm your lover first." You pouted your lip as Zayne helped you off of his lap and gently pulled your underwear back over your ass.

"I'm stressed. I-I just feel like I have so much pent up frustrations from class." You felt embarrassed telling the Medical Prodigy that you were feeling less than perfect. Being his other half had also put strain on you to hold yourself to the same standards as Zayne.

Zayne brushed your hair behind your ear and smiled kindly down at you. "It's alright to feel that way. I'm also here to listen to you. Now, how about we work on that stress, hm?" Zayne licked his lips and leaned in for a breathtaking kiss. His tongue easily encased your mouth and he picked you up effortlessly by the bottoms of your thighs.

He carried you over to his bed and laid you out like the sweetest desert ready to be devoured. He teased his hand over your throat and the way you arched into him, he knew you wanted nothing more then his long, slender fingers to cut off your airway. Zayne did just that and groaned at the look of pure ecstasy in your eyes.

"Let me be in control y/n. Let me take away this stress." Zayne trailed kisses over your neck and helped you remove the shirt you were wearing. His mouth wrapped around your perked nipples and he kept his fingers busy with the opposite one. To be under such a powerful man had your hormones screaming. Zayne swiftly removed your pants and undergarments in a single tug.

You clamored to tear off his shirt and white coat until nothing but rippling muscles were left for your eyes to behold. He twitched under your careful touch but snatched your hands and used his red tie to secure your hands together. "Don't forget I'm in charge Y/n. I'm always in charge. At school, in the bedroom, in your head..." he trailed off and used his index and middle finger to stretch your aching hole. He hushed your wanton cries and made sure he kept direct eye contact with you the entire process.

Zayne was a usually stoic man and was a stickler for times but being with you, he had opened his mind to so many to things. Never did he think he would be finger-fucking you open like some eager slut. But fuck, if he didn't love every second of it.

"Oh Snowflake , don't drool on my bedsheets. I'll have you hand wash them regardless. So go ahead and act like a drooling puppy." His simple touch was enough to drive you mad. Zayne sat his glasses on his nightstand and dropped his head between your quivering thighs.

God was this man skillful with his mouth. His tongue lapped and slithered in ways that had white flashing behind your eyelids. Zayne stared up at you with his intelligent, warning eyes that told you to not come from his tongue alone. You covered the face in shame and bucked your pelvis against his mouth. He followed your every movement with his mouth and the pleasure coiled in your stomach.

His large hands grabbed the underside of your thighs and nearly bent you in half. He moved down to your puckered hole and lapped between your cheeks. Your face exploded with a blush and you tried to push his head away with your tied hands.

"T-that's dirty, doctor!" He shook his head and his usually neat hair fell to disarray and he pulled back panting.

"You are foolish if you think you can tell me what to do, little one." He sunk his teeth into the plump part of your ass and you cried out. He pushed down his pants and boxers until they rested under his balls. He dropped your lower body and tapped his cock against your stomach. You swallowed the lump in your throat and moaned when his cock head pressed against your entrance.

He gave a few testing pumps and held down your shaking hips. He entered your dripping hole in nearly a single thrust. He filled you to the brim and it was almost earth shattering to feel him so deep in your guts.

Zayne strokes the hair back from your sweaty forehead and stilled himself. "You're so perfect. You feel amazing." You could see the wildness behind his usually calm eyes. Your tied wrist rest behind his neck and you pull him down for a sloppy kiss. He gives you little time before pounding your hole like a starved man.

The bed rocked with each powerful thrust. You swear you can hear his engines purr and his thrusts speed up to the point a hole begins to form on the wall. "Zayne, I can't wait to cum inside you. Just the thought of you w-wobbling around with my children, I-it's too much." Zayne grits his teeth and hides his face in your collarbones.

Zayne often talked about how many kids he would want after you graduated from the Hunters course this semester. He was what kept you sane, and you were what drove him crazy. Zayne groaned against your skin and kept his hands busy pleasing you elsewhere.

"Please Sir, please can I cum? A-ah please!" You were a whimpering mess and again, Zayne hardly ever told you no. He chewed on his bottom lip.

"Yes, yes God cum for me. Cum for me." Zayne snatched your throat and the combined pressure had you orbiting to cloud 9. Zayne wasn't far behind and emptied his load into you. Laying in the afterglow was always your favorite part. Zayne was a pro at aftercare and softly kissed each mark he had left.

Life was perfect, and hey, you weren't as stressed!

#lads #lads smut #lads x reader #love and deepspace #love and deepspace sylus #zayne x you #lnds zayne #zayne love and deepspace #doctor zayne #zayne x mc #zayne smut

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heartsriki · 4 months ago

Text

LOVE SOUNDTRACK⌇음악

FLIRT ALERT! series⌇NI-KI | Prev

pairing ᝰ ni-ki x fem!reader | word count: 2k+

⌇ … warnings & genre ↺ friends to lovers, lots of beating around the bush, no other warnings I think.

synopsis — Riki creates a playlist for you, each song reflecting your shared moments. As you listen, you uncover his hidden feelings and the confession tucked within the final track, leading to a sweet, music-filled moment where your love story plays out in perfect harmony.

lee's ₊˚⊹ ᰔ comment ┊the ot7 series is done :( BUT NOW I CAN WORK ON LONGER AND DETAILED PROJECTS HURRAYYYY, hopefully yall like those when they come out!

The playlist shows up on your phone one evening without warning.

You’re sprawled across your bed, textbooks pushed to the side, a half-empty coffee cup perched precariously on your nightstand. The dorm is quiet except for the distant murmur of voices in the hallway. You’re mid-scroll through your music library when you notice it—For Y/N.

Your thumb hovers over the screen.

Weird. You don’t remember making this.

Curious, you tap on it, and the first song begins to play.

A soft melody hums through your earbuds, and immediately, something tugs at your memory. You know this song. It’s the one that you played in your dorm last winter, the night you and Riki sat by the window watching the first snowfall of the year.

You close your eyes, and the memory comes back in vivid detail.

“You think it’ll stick?” you had asked, blowing on your hot chocolate. The glass pane beside you was fogged up from the warmth inside, but beyond it, the snowflakes swirled under the streetlights.

“Doubt it,” Riki had said, drawing random doodles on the glass window like a kid. He had been watching the snow too, his expression calm. Then, he smirked. “But hey, if it does, I’ll let you abuse me with snowballs as a reward.”

You had laughed, rolling your eyes. “Like I need your permission for that.”

Now, lying in bed, you wondered about the playlist and its meaning.

Wait how did it even get on your phone?

The next day drags by in a haze of half-heard lectures and restless thoughts.

You barely remember getting dressed, barely remember grabbing your bag, and now you’re here—seated across from Riki at your usual table in the campus café, fingers curled around a cup of coffee that’s gone lukewarm.

And he says nothing.

Not a single word about the playlist.

You watch him, searching for any sign that he’s waiting for you to bring it up. But Riki is as casual as ever, scrolling through his phone between bites of his croissant, occasionally glancing up to make some offhand comment about a ridiculous campus rumor or the professor who showed up to class with the worst fashion sense ever.

Meanwhile, your thoughts are a tangled mess.

The playlist. The songs. What do they mean?

Your heart slams against your ribs just thinking about it.

Does he know you listened? Does he want you to say something?

You grip your coffee cup a little tighter, clearing your throat. “So… did you do anything interesting last night?”

It’s a test. A chance for him to bring it up naturally.

Riki hums, still staring at his phone. “Not really. Just played some games with Jake, went to bed late. You?”

You blink. Your fingers tighten around the cup.

Seriously?

He’s going to act like nothing happened?

Your eyes narrow, and you wait—wait for the moment he cracks, for the smirk, for the teasing remark, for anything that shows he knows exactly what he did.

But nothing comes.

“Just slept,” you mutter, forcing yourself to take a sip of coffee, even though it tastes bitter now.

The silence stretches between you.

It’s unbearable.

Your mind races through possibilities. Maybe he sent it by accident. Maybe it wasn’t meant for you at all. Maybe—

Riki stretches lazily in his seat, his hoodie slipping off his shoulder. “Oh, by the way,” he says, and for a second, your breath catches. Finally.

But then—

“Wanna grab ramen after class?”

You stare at him, your stomach flipping.

That’s it? That’s all?

Your grip tightens on your cup as you force a nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

Riki grins, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside you.

And as he goes back to his phone, casually sipping his drink, you realize—

If he won’t bring it up, you might just have to.

but of course Riki doesn’t bring up the playlist over ramen either.

You sit across from him in the crowded little shop just off campus, the air thick with the scent of broth and spices. The steam from your bowl curls between you, but it does nothing to chase away the tension sitting heavy in your chest.

You’ve been waiting—waiting—for him to say something, to acknowledge what he sent you. But instead, he slurps his noodles like it’s just another night, like he didn’t put together an entire playlist filled with memories.

And it’s driving you insane.

“You’re quiet today,” Riki remarks, his chopsticks hovering over his bowl as he watches you. His tone is light, but there’s something in his gaze—curious, a little teasing. Like he knows something is up.

You set your spoon down a little too forcefully. “Am I?”

His lips twitch like he’s holding back a smirk. “Yeah. So weird too. You usually don’t shut up.”

Your jaw tightens. Unbelievable.

If anyone else had made that comment, you’d have thrown a napkin at their face. But right now, you can barely focus on coming up with a comeback.

Your stomach flips just remembering it.

The worst part? Riki looks normal. Like none of this is affecting him at all.

Fine. If he wants to play it cool, two can play that game.

You lean back in your seat, feigning nonchalance. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

Riki quirks a brow, tilting his head slightly. “That’s new.”

Your fingers tighten around your chopsticks. Say something. Bring it up. Ask him.

But just as you open your mouth, he reaches over, stealing a piece of your fish cake right off your plate.

You slap his hand, scowling. “Excuse me?”

He just grins, chewing obnoxiously. “What? You looked distracted. Figured you wouldn’t notice.”

You do throw a napkin at him this time.

And just like that, the moment passes. The conversation shifts to something else—an upcoming test, some campus drama, a new game he’s been obsessed with.

But underneath it all, the tension lingers.

Because you know the truth.

Riki put together that playlist for you.

And no matter how hard he tries to pretend it’s nothing, you know.

The only question is—when are you going to make him admit it?

That night, you give in.

You’re lying in bed again, phone resting on your chest, screen glowing softly in the dark. Your thumb hovers over For Y/N, heart hammering like it’s some kind of forbidden secret.

Riki still hasn’t said a word about it.

But you can’t let it go.

With a quiet breath, you press play.

The next song starts slow, familiar guitar chords filling your ears. The moment it plays, you recognize it—it’s from that weekend trip to the beach last summer.

Your lips part slightly as the memory washes over you.

The sun had just started to set, painting the sky in soft pinks and oranges. You and Riki had been sitting in the sand, sneakers discarded, the distant sound of waves blending into the music playing from his speaker.

“If I had to pick a favorite sunset, this would be it.” You had stretched your arms behind you, leaning back, letting the breeze tangle in your hair.

“You say that every time.” Riki had scoffed, but his voice was softer than usual.

“Because it always feels true in the moment.”

He hadn’t responded right away. You remember that part clearly. He had just looked at you for a second, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, instead of saying anything, he had reached over and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear before quickly looking away, pretending like he hadn’t just done it.

You had pretended, too.

Now, lying in the dark, you exhale shakily.

You’re not imagining this. You can’t be.

These songs—they’re not just random picks. They’re moments, his moments, things that must have meant something to him.

And the more you listen, the clearer it becomes.

You need to talk to him.

The next day, it happens by surprise.

Because of you.

You’re sitting outside the café on campus, staring at your untouched drink, mind replaying the song over and over, when Riki slides into the seat across from you with a lazy grin.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he teases, stealing one of your fries without asking.

You don’t respond. Just stare at him, long enough that the grin fades slightly from his lips.

“What?” he asks, chewing.

“Why won’t you admit that you made it?.”

His chewing slows. “Made what?”

You inhale sharply. “The playlist.”

Silence.

Riki freezes for half a second—so quick you almost miss it—before he forces a shrug, looking off to the side. “Yeah, so what? I made it.”

You blink, caught off guard by the casual admittance. “So what? You weren’t ever going to bring it up?”

He scoffs. “Didn’t know I had to.” Then, before you can say anything else, he pushes his phone across the table toward you, screen lighting up with his music app. “Just—listen to the last song.”

Your stomach twists. “Riki—”

“Just listen.”

And the way he says it—quiet, firm, almost nervous—makes you reach for his phone without another word.

You hesitate for only a second before pressing play.

The song starts slow, just like the last one—soft piano notes trickling in, delicate and familiar. It takes only a few seconds before you recognize it.

Your breath catches.

This song—it’s from that night.

The night it rained.

You remember it so clearly now, like the memory has just been waiting to resurface.

You and Riki had been caught in the sudden downpour, running through the empty streets, your shoes slapping against the wet pavement. You had been laughing, breathless, soaked to the bone, and Riki had grabbed your wrist, pulling you under the awning of a closed bookstore.

“We suck at checking the weather.” You had panted, pushing your dripping hair out of your face.

“No, you suck at checking the weather,” Riki had corrected, shaking out his arms like a wet dog.

You had rolled your eyes, shivering slightly. Without a word, Riki had tugged off his soaked hat, shaking off the rain before draping it over your head.

“Riki—”

“Just wear it,” he had muttered, avoiding your eyes. “Protects you from the rain a bit.”

The moment had stretched between you, heavy despite the laughter that had just filled the air. You remember how his fingers had brushed against yours when he adjusted the hat, how close he had been, how the rain had clung to his lashes when he finally looked at you.

And now—this song.

It had been playing from the small speaker outside the bookstore, blending into the sound of raindrops and your pounding heart.

Back in the present, sitting across from Riki in the café, you slowly set his phone down.

He’s not looking at you, gaze fixed on the table, fingers tapping against his cup.

Your chest feels impossibly tight.

“This song,” you whisper. “I remember it.”

Riki lets out a quiet breath, barely a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah? thought you wouldn’t with your short term memory.”

Your heart stutters. “Why—” You swallow. “Why put this one last?”

Finally, he looks at you. There’s something in his expression you can’t quite place—something cautious, something vulnerable.

“Because that’s when I knew.”

Your stomach flips. “Knew what?”

He exhales sharply, shaking his head like he’s frustrated with himself. Then, he meets your gaze, eyes steady.

“That I liked you.”

The words hang between you, weighty and real.

“Me too” you responded.

Series Taglist — prev

@saphiranishimurashan @elairah @baribaaari @m1kkso @letwiiparkjay @jellyluv4eva @manuosorioh @moontyun @mbsnow @taesanoreohair @tiny-shiny @glimmerinaaa @e-r-i-15 @starbyeol1512 @seyoungiesleeps @vrusha01 @enhaprettystars @luv-rizzimura

#enhypen #enhypen fluff #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #fanfic #fluff fic #enhypen niki #ni ki enhypen #ni ki x reader #ni ki fluff #nishimura riki #niki x reader #ni ki

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eu-nicola · 6 months ago

Text

christmas village

summary: a car accident leaves you and Rafe stranded during a snowstorm in a remote cabin in Woodstock.

warnings: nothing

word counter: 9315

author's note: english is not my first language, I LOVE CHRISTMAS

The car moved slowly along the snow covered road, the white landscape stretching out on either side like an endless canvas. Inside the vehicle, the atmosphere was far from calm. You were sitting in the passenger seat, arms crossed and eyes fixed on the window, deliberately ignoring the presence of Rafe Cameron at the wheel. Your parents had insisted you travel with him, arguing it was safer than going alone, but so far, it had only been a test of patience.

Rafe, his hands firmly on the wheel, wore an expression of boredom mixed with irritation. He didn’t seem particularly thrilled about the company, and it was hard to forget that you two had once been something more. The relationship had ended turbulently, and although time had passed, the tension lingered in the air. Every now and then, he broke the silence with some sarcastic remark.

“If you’re going to stay quiet the entire way, at least put on decent music,” he said, rolling his eyes when you didn’t respond.

You didn’t bother to look at him, simply adjusting the volume of the audio system slightly so the playlist you had chosen at the start of the trip kept playing. Of course, you knew he was doing it just to annoy you, but you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of reacting.

The snowstorm began as a light drizzle, but soon the gusts grew more intense. The car's windshield was covered with snowflakes that seemed to multiply by the second, and visibility started to decrease.

“This doesn’t look good,” Rafe muttered, adjusting the windshield wipers to their maximum setting.

“Can’t you drive slower?” you asked, your tone sharper than you’d intended.

He gave you a quick glance, his jaw tightening.

“I’m already driving slow. If I go any slower, we’ll finish the trip next year.”

You responded with an exasperated sigh, looking at your phone even though you knew there was no signal. The winding road seemed endless, and the treetops lining the way were starting to bend under the weight of the accumulating snow.

Suddenly, the car skidded. It was a brief moment but intense enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Rafe!” you exclaimed, gripping the edge of your seat.

He cursed under his breath, turning the wheel sharply to try to regain control. But it was useless. The car swerved to the side, and before you could react, it crashed into a snowbank by the roadside. The engine shut off, and the silence that followed was almost deafening.

Rafe slammed the steering wheel with both hands in frustration.

“Great. Just what we needed.”

“What are we going to do now?” you asked, trying to stay calm.

“First, we’re going to get out of here before the car freezes,” he replied. He opened the door, but the icy wind that rushed in almost made him retreat.

Both of you got out of the vehicle, facing the relentless cold. The storm had worsened, and it was clear you wouldn’t make it to the town on foot. That’s when Rafe pointed at something among the trees.

“Look, there. It looks like a cabin.”

Your eyes followed the direction he was pointing, and sure enough, a small wooden structure could be seen in the distance. It didn’t look like much, but at that moment, it was your only option.

“Let’s go,” he said, not waiting for a response.

You walked silently through the storm, trudging through snow that now reached your knees. When you finally reached the cabin, the door opened slowly, and the warmth inside immediately enveloped you, a stark contrast to the freezing cold you had endured outside. Inside, an elderly woman with gray hair and kind eyes looked at you in surprise, wrapped in a thick shawl. She seemed to have been sitting by the fireplace, as a blanket lay draped over a nearby chair and a cup of tea rested on a small wooden table.

“Heavens! What are you two doing out here in the middle of this storm?” the woman asked, her hands clutching the edge of the door as she scanned your faces for answers.

“Our car went off the road,” Rafe quickly replied, his tone tired but respectful. “The storm caught us, and we saw this cabin from the road.”

Still shivering from the cold, you added, “Sorry if we’re intruding. We didn’t have any other option.”

The woman shook her head and opened the door wider to let you in.

“You’re not intruding at all. Come in, come in! You can’t stay out in this cold.” She extended a hand toward you, as if to help brush the snow off your shoulders.

You stepped inside, grateful for the warmth provided by the small stone fireplace in the corner. The cabin was simply decorated but had a cozy feel. Knitted blankets hung over the backs of chairs, and the walls were adorned with old photographs and handmade Christmas garlands.

“How far is your car?” the woman asked as she grabbed another blanket from a chair and offered it to you.

“Not far,” Rafe said, shaking snow off his boots near the entrance. “It’s stuck in a snowbank by the road.”

The woman sighed deeply and nodded.

“The storm isn’t going to stop tonight. They’re saying on the radio that it could last until tomorrow afternoon. It’s too dangerous to go out now.”

“Is there any way to call someone to come get us?” you asked hopefully.

The woman nodded, her eyes lighting up.

“Luckily, I have a guest cabin just across the road. It has a landline you can use. You’re welcome to stay there tonight.”

“Are you sure it’s not a bother?” you asked, feeling a little guilty for accepting so much kindness.

“Of course not” she replied with a smile. “In fact, I wouldn’t feel right knowing two young people are stuck in this storm without a roof over their heads.”

After making sure both of you were bundled up warmly, the woman guided you to the guest cabin. The snow was still falling heavily, and the path was slippery, but the light from the flashlight she carried illuminated the way. When you arrived, she opened the wooden door, revealing a small but cozy interior with a fire already burning and an atmosphere that seemed straight out of a Christmas postcard.

You stepped inside eagerly, thrilled by the contrast between the cold outside and the warmth within. The first thing that caught your attention was a Christmas tree in the corner, decorated with bright lights and ornaments that looked handmade.

“Look!” you exclaimed, pointing at the tree with a genuine smile. “It has a decorated tree!”

Rafe, who was behind you, let out a mocking laugh.

“What, have you never seen a Christmas tree before?”

You turned to look at him, but instead of arguing, you simply ignored him, letting your enthusiasm speak for itself.

“It’s beautiful” you said, more to yourself than to him, as you walked closer to examine the details.

The woman smiled at your reaction.

“I decorated it a few days ago. I didn’t know if anyone else would see it, but I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s perfect” you said, your eyes still on the twinkling lights.

Rafe, meanwhile, dropped his backpack next to a chair near the fireplace, clearly less impressed by the tree.

“Perfect, sure” he muttered, though this time in a lower tone, as if he knew he wouldn’t succeed in annoying you.

The woman, ignoring the dynamic between you two, made sure you had everything you needed before saying goodbye.

“You can stay as long as you need. The phone is on the table, next to the lamp. If you need anything, my cabin is just across the way.

You thanked her sincerely as she left, closing the door behind her.

Silence settled in the cabin once you were alone, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the sound of the wind outside. As you hung your coat on a hook near the door, you felt Rafe’s gaze on you, but when you looked at him, he had already averted his eyes.

“I guess it’ll be interesting to see if we can survive without killing each other tonight” he said with a half-smile.

You sighed and sank onto the sofa in front of the fireplace, letting the warmth relax you.

“If you don’t talk too much, I think we’ll manage.”

Rafe chuckled softly and took a seat in a nearby chair. Although there was still tension between you, something about the warm, festive atmosphere of the cabin made the situation feel less unbearable than you had imagined.

The heat from the fireplace barely managed to chase away the chill still lingering in your bones as you approached the phone on the table. The oil lamp illuminating the corner cast flickering shadows across the cabin, giving the place an intimate, almost surreal air. But you didn’t have time to admire the details; you were anxious to contact someone, anyone, who could get you out of there.

Rafe stood behind you, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, watching you with a mix of expectancy and exhaustion.

“Do you even know who you’re going to call?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as you picked up the receiver.

“No, but someone has to know what to do” you replied, dialing your parents’ number first.

The line rang, but no one answered. You tried again, pressing your lips together in frustration as the repetitive sound continued without response. Finally, you hung up with a sigh and searched for another number on your phone.

“Any luck?” Rafe asked sarcastically, tilting his head slightly.

“Do you want to try?” you snapped, turning to look at him. “Cause if you’re just going to stand there making useless comments, you might as well help.”

He let out a short laugh and stepped closer, taking the receiver from your hands before you could react.

“Let me show you how it’s done.”

You frowned and crossed your arms, watching as he dialed a number. His confident expression shifted to annoyed when he too got a ringing line with no answer. He tried another number and then another, but the result was the same. Finally, he hung up forcefully, clenching his jaw.

“Great. Looks like no one’s available.”

“And now who’s unsuccessful?” you remarked, unable to resist the opportunity to throw his sarcasm back at him.

He turned to you, his blue eyes shining with something between irritation and defiance.

“Do you have some brilliant plan, or are you just going to stand there being annoying?”

You got up from the sofa, stepping closer to face him.

“Annoying? You’re the one acting like this is all my fault!”

“Because you always have to make things more complicated” he retorted, his tone louder than necessary.

“Complicated?” You laughed humorlessly, gesturing toward the phone. “I was the one trying to come up with solutions while you just stood there criticizing.”

Rafe took a step forward, closing the distance between you.

“Solutions? Like randomly calling people who clearly aren’t coming in the middle of a snowstorm? Great idea.”

“At least I’m trying something, unlike you, who just complains.”

The tension between you was palpable. His height and dominant attitude would normally intimidate you, but in that moment, the heat of the argument and your exhaustion pushed you to stand your ground.

“Look, princess, if you’ve got a magic plan to get us out of here, go ahead. Enlighten me with your wisdom” Rafe said with an exaggerated gesture, as if ready to hear something brilliant.

You glared at him, feeling frustration build in your chest.

“You know what? I’m not going to argue with you. Being stuck here with you is bad enough without having to deal with your crap attitude.”

You turned and went back to the sofa, letting yourself fall onto it with an exasperated sigh. Rafe remained silent for a moment, probably surprised by your reaction. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair and sank into the chair by the fireplace.

“This is ridiculous” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You stared into the fire, trying to calm yourself. The cabin, which had felt warm and inviting before, now seemed much smaller, as if the space was shrinking under the weight of the tension between you.

The silence stretched, broken only by the crackling of the firewood and the howling wind outside.

The quiet in the cabin was almost tangible, broken only by the crackle of the fire in the fireplace and the whisper of the wind rattling the windows. Both of you had fallen silent after your brief argument, each lost in your own thoughts. But you knew you couldn’t keep going like this; being trapped in the middle of a snowstorm was uncomfortable enough without adding the tension of your constant bickering.

You took a deep breath, letting the warmth of the fire soothe your frustration before speaking.

“Look, Rafe” you began, turning toward him. He was sitting across from you in the wooden chair, his head slightly tilted toward the fire as if studying it. His eyes flicked to you, glowing in the firelight, but he said nothing, waiting for you to continue.

“I don’t know how long we’re going to be here” you said in a calmer tone. “Maybe until tomorrow, maybe longer. But what I do know is that we can’t keep this up.”

Rafe raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of interest and skepticism.

“Keep what up?”

You sighed, leaning your elbows on your knees as you looked directly at him.

“Fighting over everything, throwing sarcastic comments at each other every five minutes. We’re stuck here, alone, with a snowstorm outside. If we don’t make an effort to get along, this is going to be unbearable.”

He let out a small laugh, though it didn’t seem mocking almost reflective.

“Getting along? You and me? Is that even possible?”

“It will be if we both try” you replied firmly. “And if you stop being so...”

“So what?” he interrupted, leaning forward with a lopsided smile that both annoyed and challenged you at the same time.

“So you” you said, crossing your arms.

He leaned back in his chair, letting out a soft chuckle.

“Fine, I deserve that.”

That took you by surprise. You hadn't expected Rafe to admit something like that so easily. You decided to take advantage of the moment.

“Then let's make a deal” you proposed, keeping your gaze fixed on him.

“A deal?” he repeated, tilting his head with curiosity.

“Yes, a deal” you reiterated. “While we're stuck here, we set our differences aside. No fights, no unnecessary sarcasm, no acting like kids.”

“That last part is directed at you, isn't it?” he teased, but his tone was lighter this time.

“At both of us” you said, rolling your eyes. “What I mean is, let's try to be... I don't know, civil. At least until someone comes to find us.”

Rafe looked at you silently for a moment, his blue eyes studying your face as if trying to read your intentions. Finally, he nodded slowly.

“Alright, deal.”

You extended your hand toward him, hoping to seal the agreement symbolically. Rafe glanced at your hand and, for a second, seemed to hesitate. But then he leaned forward and shook it with his own.

“Although” he added as he released your hand “I can’t promise not to be a little... me. It’s part of the charm, you know?”

“Sure, the charm” you muttered sarcastically, though there was a hint of a smile on your lips.

He leaned back in his chair again, relaxing a little more.

“Alright then, where do we start with this attempt to get along? Got any brilliant ideas, or are we just going to sit here in silence watching the ice melt off our boots?”

You looked at him, crossing your arms in a thoughtful gesture.

“We could start by not insulting each other every time we open our mouths.”

Rafe nodded slowly, as if considering your words with more seriousness than you expected.

“Fair enough.”

For the first time since entering the cabin, the atmosphere felt a little less tense. Despite how irritating Rafe could be, there was something almost amusing about the idea of trying to cooperate with him, even if you knew it wouldn’t be easy.

“Well, let’s see how long our deal lasts” you said finally, settling onto the sofa and gazing at the fire.

“That depends on you, princess” he replied with his typical smug smile, but this time, instead of annoying you, you just shook your head and chuckled softly.

Maybe, just maybe, you’d survive this storm together without going insane.

Night fell quickly, darkening the white landscape surrounding the cabin. The wind continued to lash at the windows, but the warmth of the fireplace created a cozy contrast inside the shelter. Both of you knew you needed to eat something, but neither seemed willing to take the initiative.

Finally, you broke the silence as you looked toward the small makeshift kitchen in the corner.

“Do you know how to cook?” you asked, crossing your arms as you looked at him with a mix of curiosity and challenge.

Rafe, sitting in one of the wooden chairs by the fire, glanced up at you with a teasing smile.

“Would it surprise you if I said yes? I learned after we ended things.”

“Interesting” you admitted, raising an eyebrow.

He stood up from the chair with an exaggerated display of confidence.

“Well, get ready for the best feast this cabin has ever seen.”

You followed him to the kitchen, skeptical. Together, you started rummaging through the shelves and the small pantry, which held only a few supplies: a package of pasta, a couple of cans of soup, some stale bread, and a bottle of olive oil.

"I’m not sure if this counts as a feast, but you can give it a try” you said, leaning on the counter as you watched Rafe examine the ingredients.

“Trust me, princess” he replied with a wink. “I’m about to turn this into culinary art.”

You just rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help but smile a little. Rafe got to work with an energy that seemed almost too much for the humble menu available.

“Can you pass me that pot?” he asked, pointing at an old saucepan on a high shelf.

“What happened to "please"?” you retorted, but you grabbed it and handed it to him anyway.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

He started boiling water for the pasta while you checked what was left in the cupboards. You found a small jar of spices and a can of crushed tomatoes.

“What about this?” you asked, showing them to him.

Rafe looked at them with an expression that tried to be serious.

“Perfect. Let’s call this... frozen cabin pasta.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, though you tried to hide it.

As you worked together, there were several awkward but almost amusing moments. When you tried to open the can of tomatoes, the can opener got stuck, and in your attempt to fix it, you ended up splashing yourself with some sauce.

“Impressive” Rafe commented, trying not to laugh too loudly as you shot him a glare.

“If you laugh, you’re cooking alone.”

“I’m already cooking alone.”

“I’m helping!” you replied, exasperated, as you wiped the sauce off your shirt.

“Sure, helping is splashing sauce everywhere” he teased.

Despite the sarcasm, you started noticing that the atmosphere between you was becoming a little more relaxed.

Eventually, you managed to put together something resembling a pasta dish with improvised sauce. You served it on the only two plates you could find in the cabin and sat down at the rustic table by the fire.

“Well, it’s not a feast, but it could be worse” you commented as you tried the first bite.

Rafe watched you closely, as if waiting for your verdict.

“Well?” he asked, leaning in slightly.

“Not bad... for someone like you”

you said, feigning a casual tone.

“Someone like me” he repeated, smiling. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You both ate in a silence that, surprisingly, didn’t feel awkward.

When you were done, Rafe got up to wash the dishes.

“What are you doing?” you asked, surprised.

“Washing the dishes. Or is that too noble for me?”

“I definitely didn’t picture you doing that” you admitted, smiling slightly.

“Well, I’m a man full of surprises.”

As you watched him work, you realized that, for the first time since the storm started, you didn’t feel as tense. Rafe seemed less arrogant, almost... human.

You leaned back in the chair, watching the storm continue to rage outside.

“Maybe this isn’t so terrible after all” you murmured, more to yourself than to him.

“What did you say?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Nothing” you replied quickly, looking away.

While the storm kept roaring outside, covering the world in a seemingly endless blanket of snow, the warmth of the fireplace remained comforting. But the cabin was still small and a bit cold, so you both knew you’d need more blankets to get through the night.

“Do you know where the blankets are?” you asked, as you checked one of the shelves near the fireplace, trying to find a cabinet or a place where they might be stored.

Rafe was nearby, looking at the makeshift beds, but he didn’t seem to find anything.

“I don’t know, maybe over there” he said, pointing toward the back of the cabin, where there was a door that looked like a small closet.

The two of you headed over without saying much. The space between you was small, but the atmosphere was different, as if something was hanging in the air a soft yet palpable tension that neither of you wanted to acknowledge. As you brushed past him, your shoulders accidentally touched, and a shiver ran through your body a small contact that, despite being insignificant, left a strange feeling behind. It was as if the air between you had become charged with electricity.

You both stopped almost simultaneously, staring ahead, avoiding eye contact.

“Sorry” Rafe said, his tone softer than usual, though there was no need to apologize.

“It’s fine” you replied, not looking at him, but with the feeling that something had shifted between you. The tension, though slight, seemed to linger, more present than before.

The two of you kept searching for the blankets, but every little movement felt strange. As you reached up to grab a blanket from the highest shelf, your fingers brushed against his for a second, and that spark that had been ignited didn’t fade it intensified. This time, neither of you said anything, but the air felt thicker, warmer, even with the storm raging outside.

Rafe was the first to pull away, handing you a blanket with a gesture rougher than he likely intended, and you began to wonder if it was all just a coincidence. But as you glanced at him briefly, you caught him looking away, as if he, too, was wrestling with the same feeling.

And as the storm continued its relentless howling, the two of you stood there, a little closer than before, the tension between you undeniable.

“Thanks for… the blanket,” you said suddenly, breaking the silence, and you realized that your voice had come out a little quieter than it normally would have been.

“You’re welcome,” Rafe replied in a tone that sounded almost sincere, although his face was still hidden in the shadows of the cabin.

A small sigh escaped your lips before you could stop it, and, upon hearing it, Rafe looked at you for a moment, but didn’t say anything. It seemed as if you were both caught in the same confusion, but not knowing how to continue.

The atmosphere was still electric, but neither of you openly acknowledged it. However, there was something different in the way you looked at each other. The space between you was not as full of hostile tensions as before, but something more subtle, more ambiguous, something that neither you nor he could define.

Finally, you both settled down on the floor, leaving the blankets over your bodies to try to get some warmth. No one else spoke, but the proximity was new and felt uncomfortable in an almost pleasurable way. Every time their arms or legs accidentally touched, a prickling sensation in the air seemed to follow them, without them being able to really ignore it.

The silence that followed was so thick that even the crackling of the fire seemed softer. They were both trying to rest, but they knew that the storm outside was not the only thing that kept the cabin in a state of restlessness.

The next day came with the same monotony of the storm that did not seem to let up. The snow continued to fall, covering the landscape with a thick, white layer that made everything even more isolated. The cabin, although cozy in its warmth, was still small, and they both knew that being trapped there with no company but each other was not the ideal situation.

The sun barely filtered through the small windows, making the light dim, almost gloomy. They both tried to distract themselves with simple activities: you walked over to the fireplace to add some more firewood, while he looked out the window, watching the wind push the snow into spirals. No one else had passed by all morning, and the radio, although tuned to different frequencies, brought nothing but static. The heavy silence between them was a constant, interrupted only by the sound of the wind outside or the crackling of wood under the flame in the fireplace.

At first, they tried to call each other on the phone, but the signal was nonexistent. Communication with their families was scarce, and the answer they both received from their respective homes was the same: "We're busy, we'll send help when possible, but we don't know when." That promise would take hours, even days, and frustration slowly grew within the two of them. Without a clear plan and with time at a standstill, all they could do was wait.

The first part of the morning was awkward. They both tried to find tasks that would keep them busy without having to confront each other too much. You sat in the corner reading one of the few books the cabin had, while Rafe checked the electronic devices once more, as if the batteries in his phone could magically fill the void between you. Every time your gazes met, something in the air tensed, and you both quickly looked away, as if you weren’t ready to acknowledge what had changed in the atmosphere between you.

As the day progressed, the atmosphere became slightly less charged. The need for coexistence made them both begin to share the space more naturally, although there was still an invisible barrier that neither of them wanted to completely break down. Lunchtime came without many options, but they tried to make the best of what they had. Together they prepared something simple, a warm soup from a can, and although neither of them felt too much like eating, they both knew they didn't have many alternatives. They ate in silence, sitting near the fireplace, the sound of the ladle against the can and the soft crackle of the fire creating an atmosphere of uncomfortable intimacy.

After lunch, they decided to try to explore the cabin to see if they could find some way to make the wait more bearable. But every corner, every nook and cranny of the place, seemed to be saturated with the feeling that nothing more was going to happen. Time continued to move with an almost unbearable slowness, but the storm remained the same, with no sign that anyone might come to rescue them soon.

Rafe began to move in a more restless manner, pacing back and forth, while you stood still, watching the tension build up in his shoulders. Sometimes he would stop to look out the window, as if he could make the wind and snow stop with a single thought. However, reality was relentless. Neither of you could do anything to change the situation, and that became an unspoken truth that hung in the air. At some point, you both decided to go out onto the small, snow-covered terrace, hoping that the cold air would clear your minds a little. You covered yourself with a coat, and Rafe, although more reluctant, followed you outside.

The snow fell relentlessly, enveloping the world in a blanket of silence and whiteness. The landscape seemed deserted, without footprints, without a trace of life. You stood at the door, watching the storm form patterns of mist in the air, while he leaned on the door frame, looking out at the horizon. Neither of them said anything, but the fact that they were outside, in the storm, with the pressure of the situation, made them feel that at least they were sharing something at that moment.

The rest of the day passed in a back and forth of small efforts to ignore each other and, at the same time, pass the time in the best way possible. At one point, Rafe suggested playing a game, as if they could at least transform the tense calm into something more bearable. They found a deck of cards on a nearby table and sat down to play, their fingers sliding clumsily across the cards, while the sound of the wind slid around the walls. Amidst the jokes and attempts at sarcasm, time began to flow in a more natural way, although there was still that strange spark in the air that they both tried to avoid.

The afternoon faded and night fell quickly again, covering them in an almost complete stillness.

The night had fallen with the same heavy calm as always, but this time, the silence was not so unbearable. As the storm raged on and the hours seemed to drag on endlessly, the cabin was safe in its warm shelter. They decided, after a while, to look for something to do, something that could break the routine and relieve the tension that had been hanging between them all day.

It was Rafe who finally opened an old cupboard in the corner of the living room, and with a slight grunt of disapproval, pulled out a dusty box. Opening it, they found an old board game, with worn wooden pieces and a board that was already showing signs of use. It was one of those classic games, the kind one finds in forgotten country houses, but at that moment, it seemed like a lifeline to both of them.

With a slight smile that barely managed to hide his surprise, Rafe offered the pieces to you, suggesting that you play. The game, though simple, was the beginning of a change in the atmosphere that neither of you expected. The rules didn't matter too much; what really mattered was the space the game took up in the room, and the way that, with each joke and each move, the two of you began to relax, even if only a little.

The first few rounds were clumsy and full of sarcasm. You both sat in front of the board, moving the pieces more roughly than necessary, and joking about how, apparently, neither of you were an expert at that type of game. However, as the game progressed, the jokes became more natural, and the laughs began to come out without either of you meaning to. Rafe even began to let out a few genuine smiles, something that would have been rare to see before.

At one point, during a silly turn where a piece almost fell out, you both burst out laughing, unable to contain yourself. It was a liberating laugh, as if the weight of the day and the situation had lifted a little, if only for an instant. There was something in the way you both looked at each other, as if, for the first time since you were trapped in that place, you felt a little more human, less disconnected.

The night went on, and the laughter continued. It was then that, checking the fireplace again, you realized that it had gone out a little. You tried to adjust the wood, but, as expected, you couldn't manage it alone. Rafe, who had been watching with a mocking look, stood up without saying much and came over to help you.

"Do you need help or would you rather make another mess?" he asked in a sarcastic tone, but without malice.

Without saying a word, you accepted his offer and together you tried to rekindle the fire. You both crouched down near the fireplace, moving the branches and wood with a little more urgency, and as you did, a small burst of ash flew towards you. You both let out a startled cry, and before you knew it, Rafe was covered in ash on his face, while you, equally surprised, also had a light layer of grey dust on your hair and shoulders.

At first, the moment was a chaos of nervous laughter and narrowed gazes, and the tense air was finally broken. The two of you looked at each other for a second, completely covered in dust, and the scene, in its clumsiness and unexpectedness, provoked more laughter. Rafe tried to brush the ash off his face, but only managed to spread it further.

“This is a mess,” he said between laughs, while shaking his shoulders.

“Don’t worry, you don’t look so bad anyway,” you replied between guffaws, trying to brush the ash out of your hair.

The situation was absurd, but for some reason, it was perfect. The sense of bewilderment and tension that had defined the whole situation from the beginning had vanished, and what remained was something lighter, a sort of awkward but sincere camaraderie. They both sat down again near the fireplace, much more relaxed now, and continued playing, with no one talking too much about what had just happened.

The mood in the cabin was changed. The laughter they had shared a few moments before, the accidental brush of hands while playing, all of that had created a different atmosphere between the two of them. The spark that had been left in the air, that unconfessed tension, had become something palpable, almost unbearable. They both knew it, although neither of them was willing to admit it. Silence filled the room again, but it was no longer awkward. It was a silence that vibrated with something else, something nameless.

They were sitting near the fireplace, the flames crackling softly, while shadows played on the walls of the cabin. Rafe was staring into the flames, his fingers drumming against the table, his breathing a little heavier than usual. You, on the other hand, couldn’t help but feel like there was something different about him, something that made you not want to look away. But, at the same time, you couldn’t allow yourself to give in to it. Not after everything that had happened between you.

Suddenly, without warning, Rafe leaned forward. The movement was so gentle and so sudden that you didn’t even have time to react. Before you could process it, his lips found yours, with a gentle but determined pressure. The kiss was unexpected, a clash of sensations that left you breathless for a second. It was something neither of you had planned, but at that moment, it seemed inevitable. The warmth of his mouth mixed with the coldness of the air around you, creating a tension in the air that enveloped you.

The kiss wasn’t tender or delicate. It was intense, full of everything that hadn't been said, everything that had been floating between the two of you since you met in the storm. It was like that kiss was trying to express everything that neither of you dared to say out loud. But, at some point, everything stopped. Time seemed to stand still, and in that instant, what had once been a mix of confusion and desire became something much clearer. You couldn't let things happen again. Not again.

Suddenly, a knot in your stomach made you pull away from him abruptly. The distance between you both became instantaneous, as if simply moving away from him could dispel what had just happened. You stood there, breathing heavily, looking at Rafe, who hadn't moved, but whose eyes reflected something you hadn't seen before: vulnerability, surprise, perhaps some regret.

You didn't know what to say, but the feeling in your chest was clear. You couldn't let things go back to the way they were. Not after everything you’d been through with him, everything that had happened before, when unspoken words had left scars. You couldn’t let that history repeat itself, couldn’t risk everything you’d learned to protect crumbling again.

“I don’t want to go through what I went through with you again,” you finally said, your voice shaking a little. The words came out stronger than you’d anticipated, and you were surprised that you could say them so clearly.

Rafe didn’t answer right away. His eyes didn’t leave yours, but there was something about his expression that unnerved you. You could see the conflict in his gaze, the internal struggle he was having, but it didn’t matter. You had been clear. You had stepped away, you had put up a barrier, and you weren’t willing to take a step back.

Silence fell between you again, heavier this time, denser. The fire in the fireplace continued to crackle, but the warmth of the room wasn’t enough to melt the cold distance that now separated you. Rafe finally moved, but only to get up and walk away to the window, looking outside as if that could give him the answers he couldn’t find in you.

The air in the cabin was still heavy with the tension of the unsaid, with the emotions neither of you wanted to face. But in that moment, you knew you had made the right decision, even if your heart was pounding and you felt empty inside. You didn’t want any more of that confusion, of those moments of desire and regret. Not again. And, although you couldn't predict what would happen next, you knew that the barrier you had put up was the only thing that could protect you.

The following days were a mix of awkwardness and uncomfortable silence. Although the snowstorm continued to lash against the cabin's windows, the weather inside was colder than ever. Even though circumstances kept them together, conversations became short, almost forced. The night of the kiss continued to weigh on both of them, like an invisible cloud, and although neither of them mentioned it, the tension was palpable in every small gesture.

They had breakfast together, but the conversation never went beyond what was strictly necessary. During the day, they tried to distract themselves, looking for some way to pass the time, but there was always something in the air that kept them at a distance. Sometimes, one of them would make a casual comment, but what had once been a simple chat now became uncomfortable. The simple act of looking at each other felt like a challenge, as if there was something invisible separating them.

Frustration began to build, and though neither of them would admit it, they both knew there was something they couldn't ignore any longer. The tension was building, like a taut thread about to snap.

It was on one of those afternoons, as they both tried to find something else to do in the cabin, when the bomb went off. They were looking through the few books the cabin had, looking for something to read, when Rafe, with his characteristic dismissive attitude, made a comment.

"You know, I don't understand why you can't just relax and enjoy this. It's like you're expecting everything to be awkward, like..." he paused, looking away, and then, with a sarcastic smile, added, "like you're expecting everything to be a romantic comedy or something."

The comment was the straw that broke the camel's back. There was something in his tone, something in the way he made fun of the situation, that made you lose patience. You couldn't let it go any longer. At that moment, everything you had been holding in, everything you had been trying to ignore, came to the surface.

“You know what? It’s not about that, Rafe,” you replied, your voice tense but determined. “It’s not about me wanting everything to be perfect, it’s about me not being able to stand you trying to make everything harder than it already is.”

The argument quickly began to escalate. The atmosphere in the room became charged with unspoken words, with pent-up resentments. You both knew there was something more, that what was between you was not just the awkwardness of the moment, but something much deeper, something neither of you dared to face.

Rafe, for his part, was not far behind. His face hardened, and suddenly, his mocking tone faded, giving way to a suppressed fury.

“Oh, no? So what do you expect from me? To apologize for everything I’ve done? To tell you that all of this hasn’t affected me too? Because it hasn’t, do you understand?” His voice became rougher, and for a second, the arrogant Rafe that everyone knew disappeared, revealing someone more vulnerable, someone who was also struggling with his own demons.

The impact of his words left you silent for a moment. It was the first time you saw Rafe so... human. That facade of a self-assured boy, of a boy who controls everything, was crumbling, and it was doing so in front of you.

But it wasn't just that. You felt the same too. You couldn't keep hiding what you felt, you couldn't keep pretending that everything was okay when it wasn't. The frustration of the previous days, the tension that had been left hanging in the air, was now almost unbearable.

“I don't understand it, Rafe” you finally answered. “All of this, this situation, you... you've never given me a reason to think that things could be different. Everything that's happened between us has been... a mix of misunderstandings, of things left unsaid. And I'm confused too, I don't know what to expect from you, or from myself.”

For a moment, both stayed silent. The noises from outside the wind hitting the windows and the snowstorm were the only things that could be heard in the cabin, while the weight of the words hung in the air.

Rafe looked down, his hands shaking slightly, not from the cold, but from something deeper. He was fighting with himself, with the part of him that he had never shown to anyone, that part that he feared, that felt vulnerable. After what seemed like an eternity, finally, his words came out.

"I never wanted things between us to be like this," he said in a low, but sincere voice. "I don't know how to handle it, I don't know how... how to deal with this. I've always been... well, I've always closed myself off, and I don't know how to make things different. But it scares me." I’m scared of what I feel, scared that this will all end badly, like it always does. I don’t know if I’m ready for that.

You were surprised to hear Rafe speak with such vulnerability. The boy who was always so sure of himself, so unflappable, now looked so… fragile. And, for a moment, something inside you changed. The wall you had put up, the one you had built to protect yourself, slowly crumbled.

“I’m scared too,” you admitted, feeling the words slipping from your lips, unable to stop them. “I’m scared that this is nothing more than a mistake, that we’ll end up hurting each other. But I’m also scared that if we keep acting like everything is okay, we’ll miss something that could be different. And I don’t want to live with that doubt.”

The air between the two of you changed, it became heavier, but also more real. For the first time, the two of you looked at each other without the barriers of indifference, without the defenses you had kept between you. At that moment, you both knew there were no easy answers, that what you felt was complicated, confusing, and terrifying. But what had just happened, what you had just shared, was the first step toward something more, something neither of you could control.

The tension that had defined the previous days was no longer as present, replaced by a shared vulnerability that connected you in an unexpected way. Though there were no words, there was something much deeper in your gazes, a silent understanding.

Rafe took a step toward you, his eyes still filled with that internal struggle he had just revealed. There was no more sarcasm, no more games. There was just him, without the layers of arrogance that used to define him. He was genuinely there, in that moment, and you couldn’t stand the distance between you, not when you felt so clearly what was between you.

With an almost imperceptible gesture, he took your hands, his fingers cold but soft to the touch. And before you could say anything, he moved closer. On his face, uncertainty was present, but there was also something else: a shared need, a force that was driving him towards you. And when his face leaned towards yours, it wasn't the rushed kiss from before. It was slower, more cautious, as if both of you were measuring every second, every inch.

The contact of your lips was soft at first, a touch that almost felt like a sigh. But that soon changed, as if the fear and doubts from before faded away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of desire and mutual need. Both of you let yourself be carried away by the emotion, by the intensity of what you had just shared. There was no room for anything but that connection.

When the kiss ended, both of you took a deep breath, almost as if you were waking from a dream. But the emotions didn't fade. On the contrary, they intensified. Rafe looked into your eyes, as if searching for something in your expression, something that would give him the answer he already knew, even if he didn't say it. And you felt the same: a mix of nervousness, confusion, but also a certainty. Something had changed between you, and there was no turning back.

Without saying a word, you came closer again, and this time the kiss was deeper, more urgent. The need to be close, to feel complete with each other, was too strong to resist. Rafe's hands began to explore your back, pulling you closer, while you hugged him too, losing yourself in the feeling of his body next to yours.

In the blink of an eye, everything fell apart. The barriers you both had put up fell like sand castles, and you found yourselves in the bed in the cabin, both with your hearts beating hard, your breath shortened by the emotion of the moment.

The cold of the storm outside didn't matter anymore. Inside the cabin, the heat between you grew more and more intense. Every touch, every caress, was an act of shared vulnerability, of desire that had been hidden beneath the surface for so long. And as their bodies met in a slow, emotionally charged dance, the confusion of the previous days faded away completely, leaving them with only what they truly wanted from each other: to be together, without fear, without reservation.

The first contact was timid, as if both were afraid that it would break something, destroy that fragile connection they had just discovered. But soon, the need grew stronger, and the movements became more confident, more intense. Rafe looked at you with eyes filled with something more than desire. There was something deep in his gaze, something that told you that it was not just desire that was driving him, but something deeper. And you, without being able to help it, reciprocated in the same way, with your heart racing, but without the same doubt.

Time seemed to stop. The reasons or the words that were left hanging in the air no longer mattered. The fear was gone, and in its place, there was only the presence of each other, in that bed, in that cabin, surrounded by the storm, but more connected than ever.

The hours passed without the two of them realizing it. The outside world ceased to exist, and only the warmth of the cabin remained, the accelerated beating of their hearts, and the feeling that what they had just shared was not only a physical need, but also an emotional one. The vulnerability they had shown each other, the words they had said and those they had not, were now present in every touch, in every look.

Finally, exhausted but closer than ever, they stayed together, side by side, the silence enveloping them, but without the heaviness that had been there before. The cold no longer mattered. Only the warmth they shared mattered, the space between them that, although charged with complicated emotions, now seemed to be the safest place for both of them.

As you both lay in bed, snuggled under the blankets, the air in the cabin seemed to have calmed down. The storm outside was still raging, but inside, the warmth shared between you was all that mattered. The sound of the rain against the windows and the wind howling outside failed to penetrate the small shelter that had witnessed so many changes between the two of you.

The silence was comfortable, but also fraught with slight awkwardness. Despite what had happened, despite the intensity of the moments before, it was still uncharted territory for both of you. Words didn’t seem enough to describe what you felt, and vulnerability was still hovering between you, never quite fading away.

Rafe was lying on his side, staring up at the ceiling, eyes half-closed and a small sigh escaping his lips. He didn’t say anything, but there was a palpable tension in his posture, as if he was waiting for the next step to come in some way he couldn’t control. Meanwhile, you couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of emotions. Everything that had happened seemed unreal, but the truth was that the two of them were there, and that changed everything.

Finally, you decided to break the silence. Glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, you said something, not quite sure how it would be received.

“I think this is the strangest thing that’s happened to me in a long time,” you said in a soft tone, almost as if you expected him to respond with one of his sarcastic jokes, the usual way he had always handled things between you.

Rafe, without taking his eyes off the ceiling, let out a small laugh, but it wasn’t his usual mocking laugh. This time it was a lower laugh, as if he was acknowledging something he couldn’t ignore. However, the next thing he said was unmistakably sarcastic, one of his classic responses.

“¡Help me, I’m feeling! It’s a lot for me,” he said, his voice heavy with irony, but there was a glint in his eyes that made it sound more like a way to try and lighten the mood rather than a taunt.

Immediately, you couldn’t help it. You laughed, not at him, but with him, because you knew that even though he was trying to hide his own fears and doubts with sarcasm, you decided to act instead.

With a goofy grin on your face, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around him, hugging him tightly. The laughter that came from your chest was warm and genuine, without the barriers that would normally have stopped you.

“Merry Christmas, Rafe,” you said, as you clung to him, the words escaping as if they were an unexpected gift, the first of many.

Rafe tensed for a second, surprised by your gesture, but before he could react the way he normally would, you moved closer, feeling the closeness of his body, the warmth that enveloped you. His expression went from surprise to bewilderment, and in that instant, without thinking too much, you leaned towards him. A soft and quick kiss, but full of meaning, slid between you. It was not an impulsive or hasty kiss, but something tender, a way of responding to what you both felt, without the need for words.

The contact of your lips against his paralyzed him for a moment, and when you separated, you stared at him. You were both breathing heavily, but this time it was not because of the tension. It was because of something much deeper, because of a shared feeling that neither of you had expected, but that was growing between you.

Rafe, for a second, didn't say anything. He was looking into your eyes, as if he were evaluating what had just happened. The softness of that kiss had broken some of the walls you had both tried so hard to put up for so long, but there was still confusion in his gaze.

“You have a way of making everything complicated, you know that?” he finally said, his voice a little lower than usual, but without the sarcasm he usually used to protect himself.

You pulled back a little, shrugging and smiling again.

“You’re an expert at making everything more complicated too,” you replied, but this time there was no harshness in your words, just an acceptance of what was happening between the two of you.

Rafe just stared at you for a moment, before letting out a sigh, his chest slowly rising and falling. And even though he didn’t say anything else, there was something in his gaze that told you he felt the same way too, though maybe he wasn’t ready to fully admit it.

The atmosphere between the two of you had changed once again. Now, without the weight of sarcasm and tension from before, there was something else. A bit awkward, yes, but also deeply human. You leaned against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his breathing, and for a second, everything seemed to make sense, as if the missing pieces of the puzzle of this strange relationship were finally starting to fit together.

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