“Oh, no, doll.”

Rafe’s hand seizes your jaw, with a brutal squeeze, twisting you to face him. His breath hits your cheek, metal tip of his boot presses hard, to your ankle, as he leans in, close close close—

“C’mon, baby. You knew it was me.” He declares, grin ever-so-knowing. “You knew it. You knew it. Everyone else knew it. What other poor bastard could it’ve been?” He drawls, revelling the way you’re quivering in your fuckin’ heels. How you thrash, like a butterfly pinned by a needle.

Wings fluttering so helplessly, one-of-a-kind. Fragile. Just begging to be snapped shut and stamped inside a collectors’ book.

“‘Cept my pretty baby defended me to her last, dying breath.” Rafe hums, eyes hooded, mouth open, as if the mask is still on. You wish it was. “Y’just didn’t wanna see it. Ooh, fuck. You look so pretty making that face.”

Fuck. He loves it. Loves this, the look in your eyes. Whites rimming the black, blown quiver of your pupils.

“So fuckin’ dumb. So trustin’. So..” Easy. As long as he’s got i’mself sunk into you, huh? Willing to overlook the dried bloodstains speckling his car boot as long those weren’t the only stains he was leavin’, thanks to you.

Ain’t that right?