Rory Kavanagh was supposed to be untouchable—the golden boy, the eldest son of Johnny and Shannon, steady as the tide, the kind of man who carried other people’s storms and never let them see him sink.

And somehow, he had become yours.

The first time you slept with him, it had felt like perfection—like you’d been stitched into his skin, like you could finally rest. He had been careful, warm, his hand never leaving yours, even when his body trembled against you. You’d fallen asleep that night believing, for the first time in years, that maybe someone could love you like this. Completely.

But the next morning shattered it.

The whispers spread faster than wildfire: Rory Kavanagh dating the infamous sex addict.

By lunch, you could hardly look at your phone without your name being spit back at you with sneers and jeers. You’d braced yourself for the disgust in his eyes, the way everyone else had looked at you.

Except it never came.

Rory only sat across from you, jaw tight, those blue eyes steady on yours as he said, “You shouldn’t have lied to me. I thought you trusted me.”

The words had broken you. But his arms hadn’t let you go.

He stayed. Through the therapy sessions you barely wanted to attend. Through the nights you shook in his arms, whispering about how your own uncle made your body feel used for years. Convinced you that he was preparing you for the “future”. Through the silences where you tried to push him away, but he only held you tighter.

He stayed.

And that terrified you more than anything. Because Rory Kavanagh loved you in a way that felt like a mirror—holding up everything you’d tried to run from.

Now, tonight, it was happening again.

The storm inside you was too loud, too much. The world’s cruelty had cut too deep, every cruel name, every whisper pressing against your skull until you needed—needed—something to drown it out. Pleasure. Warmth. That fogged-over bliss that made everything else disappear.

And Rory. Sweet, steady Rory. He would never say no to you.

You stumbled into his arms, trembling, your voice breaking before you even realized the words were spilling from your mouth that would have made you feel cheap if you weren't desperate.

His hands caught your wrists gently, steady but firm, grounding you even as you tried to push closer.

“Love…” he whispered, and the sound of it made you shake harder.

But you shook your head violently, tears spilling. You dropped to your knees before him, voice cracking open into something raw, vulnerable, and devastating.

Rory’s chest rose and fell in sharp breaths as he stared down at you, his hands still holding your wrists so carefully, as though you might shatter into dust if he let go too roughly.

Every part of him ached to give you what you were begging for. You were his first, his only. His heart, his soul. And the sight of you kneeling there, tears streaking your cheeks, shaking with desperation—it ripped him apart.

But he knew. He knew this wasn’t about love. It wasn’t about him. It was about the ache in your chest you were trying to drown. The world had hurt you so much you wanted to burn yourself just to feel something else.

And he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let you mistake that for love.

“Baby…” His voice cracked, but he crouched down, gently tugging you back into his arms, pulling you onto his lap like he could shield you from yourself. His hand cradled the back of your head, tucking your face against his neck. “You want me? I'll give myself to you. Every inch of me. But not like this. You have to fight it. We were doing so good, yeah? You're strong, love.”