☆ warnings! ☆ 18+ · SMUT · obsession · jealousy · toxic behavior · manipulation · angst · unhealthy dynamics · other bad stuff · MDNI · proceed with caution.
☆ he gets under your skin; you haunt his thoughts. neither of you mean for it to happen, but it does. it's impossible to ignore and even harder to escape. it's something neither of you can really name, but you don't have to, because the quiet between you already has. ☆
☆ timeline! ☆ based VERY loosely on the original plot, i cherry picked · don't squint too hard or it won't make sense. everyone in this story is over the age of 21, small age gap between rafe and reader.
☆ hints of jj maybank x reader, sarah doesn't really exist! ☆
⎯ this story is kind of written as a montage of sorts, a little blocky, a little fast, but it still tells a story. this is the first time i’ve ever committed to writing a story. it’s not perfect, but it’s mine. pls be nice!!!!
⎯ i will link each chapter as it gets posted to this list!
it’s in the way people don’t quite look at you when you walk past, like they’ve already seen enough. conversations don’t stop, but they shift. they dip and bend, recover too quickly. someone gives you a small, tight smile that doesn’t ask how you are, just acknowledges that you’re here. it feels like pity.
you keep your head down and move like normal.
you pick up a rag, start wiping down the console, fingers moving in a rhythm you’ve done a hundred times before. the motion is automatic, steady, something you can hold onto while everything else feels… off. you tell yourself it’s nothing. that you’re reading into it. that last week was just… bad timing, bad luck, nothing more. but then you straighten, and you see her.
sofia, already looking at you.
she’s not across the dock. she’s not calling you over. she’s closer than that. just off to the side, positioned like she’s been waiting for the exact moment you’d notice her. coffee in hand, posture easy, shoulders relaxed like this is just another morning, just another conversation.
her smile comes a second later.
“hey,” she says, soft, warm in a way that feels almost practiced. “can i grab you for a second?”
you don’t answer right away. you wipe your hands on your shorts again, even though they’re already clean, and walk toward her because there’s no version of this where you don’t.
she turns slightly as you approach, angling both of you toward the dock instead of each other, her shoulder almost brushing yours. it’s subtle, the way she places you, like you’re standing with her, not in front of her. like you’re part of something instead of the center of it.
“everything okay?” you ask, keeping your voice even, trying to keep this small, contained.
she hums softly, like she’s considering that.
“yeah,” she says. “i just- i wanted to follow up on something.”
the words settle wrong.
you nod once. “okay.”
she takes a sip of her coffee, slow, unhurried, and you watch the way her fingers curl around the cup, steady, controlled. when she lowers it, her eyes flick over your face, not searching, just… confirming.
“so,” she starts, voice still light, still easy. “i talked to ward this morning.”
your stomach drops before she even finishes the sentence. it’s quiet. barely a shift. but your body knows before your mind catches up. you don’t say anything. you just wait. she tilts her head slightly, studying you like she’s checking how much you already understand.
“he’s had some concerns,” she continues. “about the way things have been going here. about… boundaries.”
your fingers curl into your palms.
“i don’t know what that means,” you say, because you need her to say it clearly. because if she doesn’t, maybe you can still pretend this isn’t what it feels like. she nods, like she expected that too.
“it just means,” she says carefully, “that this might not be the right fit for you anymore.”
the words land soft, too soft like they’re meant to slide past without resistance.
“what?” you blink at her. “no, i- i’ve been here. i’ve been doing my job. if there’s something wrong, you can just tell me and i’ll-”
“i know you have,” she cuts in, gentle, almost reassuring. “this isn’t about effort.”
your throat tightens.
“then what is it about?”
she looks at you for a second, then her eyes move just over your shoulder. you don’t want to turn, but you do anyway. rafe is far, but not far enough to be unaware. he’s not looking at anything else. not at the boats, not at the water, not at the people pretending not to watch.
just you.
for a second, just a second, your breath catches. because he knows. he sees you standing here. he said he’d handle it.
your chest tightens, something hot rising up behind your ribs, fast and sharp and disorienting. it overlaps with everything at once, her voice from last week, quiet and smiling as she told you it’d be a shame if the wrong person started asking questions. his voice in his room, low and certain, telling you you weren’t nothing. the way he looked at you like he meant it.
the way he’s looking at you now. and doing nothing.
you turn back to her too quickly, like looking at him any longer will make something crack open.
“i need this job,” you say, the words coming out thinner than you want them to. “i’m in school, i- i can’t just-”
“i understand,” she says softly.
you almost laugh at that. almost.
“do you?” you ask, because your voice doesn’t feel like yours anymore. “because it doesn’t feel like it.”
she doesn’t react. not really. just watches you with that same composed expression, something cooler sitting just beneath the surface of it now.
“this isn’t personal,” she says.
your stomach turns.
“seem like it is.”
“i’m sorry it feels that way,” she replies, and there’s something in the phrasing that makes your skin crawl. “but this is coming from ward. not me.”
that lands harder than anything else. because she doesn’t even have to own it. she gets to stand here, calm and collected, and deliver it like a message that just happened to pass through her hands. your vision blurs for a second, not enough to cry, just enough to burn, to make everything feel a little too sharp.
“so that’s it?” you ask quietly. “i’m just… done?”
she nods once. “effective immediately.”
the dock feels too open. too exposed. you’re suddenly aware of everything: your clothes, your hands, the way you’re standing, the fact that people are definitely listening now even if they’re pretending not to. heat crawls up your neck, settles in your cheeks, and you hate it. you hate that they can see it. you hate that she can see it.
you swallow, hard, and your eyes flick past her shoulder to where rafe stands further down the dock again. sofia's gaze slides sideways once more, finding him across the distance before returning to you. it's purposeful, a message: i know he's watching. i know he knows.
and that's somehow worse than if she'd never acknowledged it at all. because it means she's not afraid of him stepping in. it means she knows he won't. but you wait anyway. you don't even realize you're doing it. you just… wait.
for him to close the distance.
for him to say something.
for him to do anything at all.
but he doesn't move.
his gaze holds yours for a second longer, then drops, just barely to the space between you and Sofia, like he's calculating something you're not part of. like he's weighing options and finding them all wanting. and that’s when it hits. not sharp. not loud. just a drop like missing a step you didn’t see.
“okay,” you say, because your voice has to do something. because if you don’t speak, you’re going to stand here forever waiting for something that’s not coming. she gives you a small, polite smile.
“we’ll make sure you get your last check,” she adds, like this is a normal conversation. like this is something you’ll look back on and understand. you nod. once. twice. you’re not sure.
your body moves before your brain catches up. you step back, then turn, the walk down the dock stretching out in front of you longer than it's ever felt. every step feels wrong, too loud, too noticeable. you don't look at anyone. you don't look at him.
you make it to your car on autopilot, hands shaking as you grip the steering wheel. for a moment you just sit there, staring at nothing, trying to process what just happened. then you reach for your phone. you call kie, she doesn't answer. it rings until it goes to voicemail. you don't leave a message.
you call jj next. he picks up on the first ring.
“yo?” there’s wind in the background, something hollow and open, like he’s outside.
your voice doesn’t come out right the first time. “hey.”
there’s a pause, just long enough for him to hear it.
“what’s wrong?” he asks, softer now.
you close your eyes for a second. “are you with kie?”
“yeah. we’re out on the water.” you hear something shift on his end, like he’s shifting, giving you space even before you ask for it. “why, what’s up?”
your throat tightens. “can i come?”
no hesitation.
“yeah,” he says immediately. “yeah, come out. we’re just past the point. you know where.”
you nod even though he can’t see you. “okay.”
“you want us to come get you?” he adds.
“no,” you say quickly, “i’ll meet you.”
“we’ll be here.”
the drive to the point feels both endless and too short, your hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough that your knuckles ache. you don't turn on the radio. you don't do anything but drive, your mind circling back to the dock, to sofia’s smile, to the way rafe just stood there.
when you pull up to the point, you can see the boat already docked, jj and kie visible on the deck. jj's leaning against the railing, and kie's sitting on one of the bench seats, both of them turning to look when they hear your car.
you turn the engine off and step out, your legs feeling unsteady beneath you. the walk down the dock stretches out in front of you, weathered planks creaking under your feet. jj straightens when he sees your face, and you watch something shift in his expression. concern, maybe, or the recognition that something's wrong.
"hey," he says as you reach the boat, extending a hand to help you up. his grip is steady, grounding, and you let him pull you aboard.
kie's already moving toward you, her sharp edges softening the second she gets a good look at you. "what happened?" she asks, straight to it, the way she always does.
you settle onto one of the seats, your body feeling heavy, wrung out. jj sits beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushes yours, and kie perches on the edge of the bench across from you both, waiting.
“i got fired,” you say, and the words sound strange coming out of your mouth, like they belong to someone else’s life. “sofia came to find me this morning and just… told me. said ward decided to let me go. effective immediately.”
jj’s jaw tightens. “what? why?”
you shake your head. “she didn’t say. not really. just that it was decided.” your voice cracks slightly, and you have to stop, swallowing hard as your eyes drop to your hands. “everyone just kind of stood there.”
the silence that follows feels heavy, weighted with all the things none of you are saying. jj's hand finds yours, squeezing gently, and kie leans forward, her eyes sharp with something that looks like anger on your behalf.
"that's bullshit," kie says flatly. "and she didn’t even tell you why?"
the tears slip out before you can stop them, sudden and frustrating, and you let out a small, embarrassed breath, swiping at your face too quickly as you shake your head. it’s a partial truth, but not the full one.
“hey,” jj says, softer, his arm tightening just a little around you, pulling you back against his side so you’re not hunched over anymore. “c’mon.”
you shake your head, laughing once under your breath like you’re annoyed at yourself. “i’m fine, i just-”
“nah,” he cuts in gently, tipping his head so he can catch your eye. “you’re too pretty to be cryin’ like that.”
you blink at him, caught off guard, and a small laugh slips out before you can stop it.
“shut up,” you mumble, wiping your face again.
“i’m serious,” he says, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “can’t have you out here lookin’ all sad.”
“he’s right,” kie adds, softer now, leaning forward, her voice warm instead of sharp this time. “seriously. you’re better off without that place.”
you huff out another breath, the tightness in your chest easing just a little at the way they say it, like it’s obvious, like it’s not the end of something.
“i liked it,” you admit, quieter.
they both look at you.
you shrug, staring back out at the water. “it was good money. easy. and i-” you stop, catching yourself before the rest of that thought goes somewhere you can’t take it back from. you shake your head slightly. “i needed it.”
jj nods, understanding settling in his expression. “shit, for school.”
“yeah.” this part comes easier. “i can’t keep up with everything just from the shop. i was finally like… okay, you know? not stressing all the time.” your hands move as you talk, restless, picking at nothing. “and now i just- i don’t know how i’m supposed to cover it.”
the words start coming faster again, that edge creeping back in.
“i’ve got tuition coming up and books and i just-” you cut yourself off, exhaling hard, hand rubbing your face like you can scrub the last hour away. jj watches you for a second, quiet.
then he shifts, leaning back just slightly, still close enough that his arm stays around you. "we'll figure it out," he says, and there's a certainty in his voice that makes something in your chest loosen just slightly. “the club’s hiring,” he continues, easy, like he’s not dropping something that feels this big into your lap. “i’ve been working there here and there since before midsummers. they always need people.”
kie nods. “i heard it’s not bad either. good tips.”
you frown slightly. “the country club?”
jj shrugs. “yeah. i can talk to them. get you in pretty quick.”
you stare at him, the idea taking a second to settle. another job. just like that. no weird looks. no vague reasons. no feeling like you’re being pushed out of something you didn’t even understand. just… help.
“you’d really do that?” you ask.
he looks at you like it’s a dumb question. “yeah. obviously.”
you let out a small breath, something in your shoulders relaxing just a little.
“okay,” you say.
it feels strange, but not wrong. jj grins, satisfied, like that’s that, like the problem already has a solution now. kie leans back again, her expression softer, less tight around the edges. the boat rocks gently beneath you, the water stretching out in every direction, the sun dipping lower, everything quieter out here than it was on land.
jj’s arm stays around you, warm and steady, not asking anything, not expecting anything. and for the first time since this morning, you don’t feel like you’re about to fall apart. you lean into it.
nothing’s fixed.
not even close.
but… held.
the water gets quieter the longer you sit in it.
the three of you settle into a comfortable silence while you spend the rest of the day in the sun. it’s the kind of silence that only comes from people who've known each other long enough that words aren't always necessary. kie's head tips back toward the sky, her eyes closed. the boat rocks gently beneath you, and for a moment, you let yourself breathe.
your phone buzzes. once. twice. then again. and again.
it's a small sound, barely audible over the lap of water against the hull, but it cuts through the quiet like a knife. you feel jj tense beside you, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in that way he does when he's trying not to say something he probably should.
"whoever that is," he starts, voice tight with restrained irritation, "they're not givin’ up."
you let out a breath that's almost a laugh but not quite. "yeah."
kie makes a sound somewhere between a hum and a sigh. "you want me to throw it in the water for you?"
this time you do laugh, short and sharp and a little broken around the edges. "tempting."
you don't reach for it. you don't check it. you just leave it in your pocket as the hours pass.
eventually, the sky changes from blue to pinks and oranges, deepens to purple, then indigo, and the first stars start to prick through the darkening canvas above you.
it should feel like home. it does feel like home. but there's an ache underneath it now, something hollow and raw that wasn't there earlier today.
the sounds of the marsh come alive with crickets and frogs and the distant lap of water against the shore. you can smell the salt stronger now, can feel the humidity settling on your skin like a second layer, can taste the faint bitterness of the beer jj had handed you earlier still lingering on your tongue.
his shoulder presses more firmly against yours, a silent gesture of solidarity, and kie's head rests on yours, her skin warm through the fabric of your shirt. you're here, you're surrounded by people who showed up for you without you having to ask, who sat with you in your anger and your hurt and didn't try to explain it away or make it smaller than it was.
your phone buzzes again, a single long vibration that feels almost plaintive, and then it goes quiet. you don't pick it up. you don't check it. you just sit there between your friends as the stars come out one by one, feeling the distance between you and him stretch wider with every passing minute, every unanswered message, every moment of silence that says more than words ever could.
"you're gonna be okay," he says again, quieter this time, like he's reminding himself as much as he's reassuring you.
you want to believe him. you want to feel the certainty in his words settle into your bones and make a home there. but all you can feel is the weight of your phone beside you, silent now, and the hollow ache in your chest where something used to be.
eventually, though, reality creeps back in. you check your phone for the time, not the notifications, just the time, and see that it's past ten. your dad's probably asleep by now, but he'll notice if you're not home when he wakes up. the thought of leaving makes something in your chest tighten, a reluctance that feels almost physical.
"I should probably head out," you say quietly, breaking the comfortable silence that's settled over the three of you.
jj sits up, brushing off his shirt. "you sure? you can crash at mine if you want. couch is all yours."
the offer is genuine, and you're tempted. but you shake your head, pushing yourself to your feet. "my dad'll worry."
kie stands too, stretching her arms overhead with a soft groan. "we’ll walk with you."
the three of you walk together in easy silence, your footsteps crunching on the gravel drive. the street light casts long shadows across the ground, and you can see the outline of your car waiting in the darkness beyond. when you reach it, jj pulls you into a hug without warning, his arms wrapping around you tight and sure.
"seriously," he says into your hair, "you're gonna be fine. and if you're not, we'll figure it out. that's what we do."
you nod against his shoulder, not trusting your voice. when he releases you, kie steps in for her own hug, briefer but no less meaningful.
"text when you get home," she says, and it's not a request.
"I will."
you climb into your car and start the engine, watching them in your rearview mirror as you pull away. they stand there together, jj's arm slung over kie's shoulders, both of them watching until your taillights disappear around the bend. the image stays with you the whole drive home, a reminder of what's real, what matters, what won't abandon you when things get hard.
the house is dark when you pull into the driveway, just the porch light left on like always. you kill the engine and sit there for a moment, hands still gripping the steering wheel, staring at the familiar shape of home. your dad's truck is parked in its usual spot, and you can see the faint blue glow of the TV through the living room window. he probably fell asleep watching the news again.
you text kie first, then grab your bag and head inside, moving quietly through the house. the floorboards creak under your feet no matter how carefully you step, but your dad doesn't stir in his recliner. his head is tilted back, mouth slightly open, the remote still clutched loosely in his hand. you grab the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over him gently before heading up the stairs to your room.
it's only when you close your bedroom door behind you and pull your phone from your pocket that the weight of the day hits all at once. you've been ignoring it since you got on the boat. felt it buzzing against your leg in the car, ignored it then too. now you hold it in your palm like it might burn you, and the screen lights up immediately.
14 notifications.
they sit on your screen, stark and undeniable, and your stomach drops. you swipe to unlock it, and his unsaved contact fills the entire display. texts, missed calls, voicemails. they're stacked one on top of the other, a timeline of desperation that spans from early afternoon all the way to twenty minutes ago.
Unknown: Where are you
no punctuation, no context. just the question, blunt and demanding.
ten minutes later:
Unknown: Answer me
then, at 2:17 PM:
Unknown: You seriously ignoring me?
you stare at that one longer than the others, feeling something hot and bitter rise in your throat. he'd done nothing at all besides stand there and watch you get humiliated. why wouldn’t you ignore him?
the calls started around four. three in a row, all unanswered. then more texts:
Unknown: You think I wanted this?
Unknown: Just tell me where you are
Unknown: Come on.
the timestamps march forward relentlessly. 4:30. 5:15. 6:03. each message more insistent than the last, his frustration bleeding through the screen.
Unknown: We need to talk
another call at 6:44. then 7:01. then 7:56.
Unknown: Where the fuck are you?
Unknown: Answer the phone
you scroll through them all, watching his composure fracture in real time. by nine pm, the messages have shifted from demanding to something that almost sounds like pleading:
Unknown: Just let me explain
Unknown: Please.
that last word sits on your screen like a wound, raw and exposed. you've never seen him say please before. never heard him beg for anything. and some part of you, the part that still remembers what it felt like to wake up in his bed this morning, to wear his hoodie, to feel his hand at your back, wants to respond, wants to give him the chance to explain, to make this make sense.
but then you remember.
you remember standing on that dock with sofia’s practiced sympathy washing over you like acid. you remember the way your hands shook as you tried to process what she was saying, the way your vision blurred at the edges, the way the world tilted sideways and threatened to dump you into the water.
and you remember him.
standing close enough to understand exactly what was happening. close enough to see you falling apart. close enough to step in, to say something, to do literally anything.
and he didn't.
he just stood there and watched.
Unknown: I know you're getting these.
you sit down on the edge of your bed, phone clutched in both hands, and feel the full weight of it finally crash over you. not just the firing, not just the humiliation, but the betrayal. the abandonment. the reality that when it mattered, when you actually needed him to be more than just a secret, more than just a transaction, more than just a boy who fucked you in hidden corners, he chose himself.
he chose his comfort, his image, his carefully constructed world where you exist only in the margins, only in the dark, only when it's convenient.
and now he's angry that you won't answer. now he's desperate for your attention, flooding your phone with messages and calls, demanding explanations and conversations like he has any right to either.
like he didn't just prove exactly what you are to him.
you set the phone down on your nightstand and stare at it, watching the screen go dark. your hands are shaking again, but this time it's not from shock or fear. it's from anger. from hurt. from the crushing weight of realizing that you let yourself believe, even for a moment, even in the smallest, most secret part of your heart that he might actually care.
that he might actually choose you.
the room is quiet except for the sound of your own breathing, harsh and uneven in the darkness. you can hear your dad snoring softly down the hall, can hear the old house settling around you with its familiar creaks and groans, can hear the distant sound of the marsh through your open window.
and somewhere on the other side of the island, rafe is alone with his phone, still waiting for a response that isn't coming.
the thought should feel satisfying. it should feel like power, like control, like the upper hand.
instead, it just feels like loss.
the distance between you feels infinite now. not just physical distance, but something deeper, something that can't be measured in miles or minutes. it's the distance between who you thought he might be and who he actually is. between what you hoped this could become and what it's always been.
you lie back on your bed, still fully dressed, and stare at the ceiling. the ring is still around your neck, resting against your chest, warm from your skin. you reach up and touch it with your fingertips, feeling the weight of it, the reality of it, how he made you his in every way that mattered to him.
but when it came time to stand beside you, to be seen with you, to risk even the smallest fraction of his carefully maintained image, he let you fall alone.
the tears come quietly, slipping down your temples and into your hair. you don't sob, don't make a sound. you just lie there in the darkness and let yourself feel it all: the hurt, the anger, the grief for something that never really existed in the first place.
your phone buzzes one more time on the nightstand.
☆ 18+. MDNI. smut. oral (f receiving). dub con (if you squint). drinking. manhandling. swearing. emotionally toxic dynamic. choking. jealous/possessive behavior. kissing. fingering. power imbalance (if you squint). control. emotional manipulation. cheating-adjacent. harsh language. other bad stuff. ☆
word count: 7.4k
now playing... 𝄞⨾💿✮˚.⋆ i wanna be yours - arctic monkeys
sorry for such a LONGGGGG wait!!!! i just wanted this chapter to hit and i couldn’t get it there. hopefully this is better! would love to hear feedback and thoughts from you guys! i also went back and tweaked the previous chapters as well so they don’t ick me out as much and i can actually enjoy writing this story again haha. enjoyyy <333
˖°🌊🎐𓇼⋆🦪₊˖°🌊🎐𓇼⋆🦪₊˖°🌊🎐𓇼⋆🦪₊˖°🌊🎐𓇼⋆🦪₊˖
you've always understood there are places you don't go with rafe cameron. in fact, most places are places that you don't go with him, and inside his house is one of them. you keep your lives divided on purpose. work stays work, outside where it belongs. nights stay elsewhere. his room stays his. you've never asked to go. in fact it had never crossed your mind until tonight. you've learned the shape of his rules through the spaces he leaves untouched. but, tonight, he tells you to come anyway.
you park, engine cutting off with a soft click that feels louder than it should. the house is dark from here, tannyhill looming in silhouette against the trees, too big and too awake even when it’s quiet. your nerves hum, that familiar buzz settling just under your skin as you grab your phone and tell yourself, again, that this doesn’t mean anything. you’re not breaking rules. it’s just a visit. just a night. just a choice you’re making with your eyes open.
your phone lights up before you've even shut the door.
UNKNOWN // 1:32 AM
Walk to the left. I'll meet you.
there's no greeting, no explanation, nothing but the instructions themselves. you weren't even entirely sure of how he knew you were there already, but he did.
you step out into the night and make your way onto the property, gravel crunching under your shoes, and you follow the path he's laid out without thinking about why you trust it. the air smells like warm earth, cicadas loud enough to mask the sound of your breathing. at first you don't see him anywhere in the darkness. then he's there, stepping out from the shadows and detaching from the dark like he was always part of it, like he'd been waiting there the entire time.
rafe's hand closes around your wrist immediately, firm and grounding, his thumb pressing once like he's checking you're real. it's not rough, but it's urgent, like he doesn't want to risk you hesitating. he leans in close, mouth near your ear, his voice pitched low enough that it feels like it's meant only for you.
"parked too close," he murmurs like it's a private correction, not a scolding.
you open your mouth to argue, but he's already moving, already pulling you with him. he leads you across the property with practiced ease, cutting through shadows and blind spots like this is something he's done a hundred times before. his hand never leaves you, not really. sometimes it slips from your wrist to the small of your back, sometimes it's just his fingers hooked into your sleeve, but the contact is constant.
you pass dark windows, lights glowing faintly in distant rooms, and he steers you around them without looking, body angling instinctively between you and the house. the closeness is almost unbearable. every step puts you just a little more inside his space and he's making sure you feel every second of it.
the back door is already cracked open.
you notice it just as he does, his grip tightening briefly like confirmation instead of surprise. he eases it wider with his shoulder, guiding you through before pulling it shut again with careful precision. the lock clicks softly into place.
the silence stretches between you, heavy and charged. neither of you moves right away. you can feel the heat of him still close behind you, his breath steady but deliberate, like he's forcing himself to stay calm. his hand remains at your back, warm and steady, fingers spread wide like he's anchoring you there.
you're standing in his house now. his space. somewhere you were never supposed to be, somewhere he clearly wanted to bring you anyway. and the thought settles in, he didn't just make room for you; he was waiting.
inside, the house feels even bigger. everything smells clean and polished and untouched. the floors gleam faintly under low lights, the walls stretch higher than they need to. it feels less like a home and more like a place designed to be impressive from a distance.
you're suddenly aware of yourself in it. your shoes. your breath. the fact that you don't belong here in any way that's simple or explainable.
rafe moves ahead of you without a word, already halfway across the room before he realizes you're not keeping up. he slows instantly, glancing back, something unreadable flickering across his face. he steps closer again, his hand hovering at the small of your back again as you start up the stairs. he doesn't touch, not quite, but it's there, ready, like a reflex he's keeping on a leash.
each step echos quietly beneath your feet and the sound feels intrusive. the hallway upstairs is darker and quieter, the kind of quiet that presses in on you instead of settling. rafe stops in front of one door and doesn't open it right away.
you notice it in the way his shoulders tense, the way his hand hovers over the doorknob without turning it. the hesitation is brief, but real, like he's bracing himself for something. when he finally looks at you, there's something exposed in his expression that you don't see often. not fear. something closer to being seen.
"just," he mutters, then stops, clearing his throat. his jaw works like he's chewing on the words before he lets them out. "don't be weird about it."
it comes out half defensive, half embarrassed, like the words are a shield he's not entirely sure he needs. he looks away as he says it, hand reaching for the knob with care, like he's giving himself a second to breathe. you shake your head once, your response lingering on your tongue as if you're no longer sure of what to expect. "i won't."
he opens the door and steps aside, letting you in first, then shuts it behind him. the realization lands quietly, but hard. that it's not just a room. it's the one place he doesn't let anyone be careless with, contrasting all of what you know rafe to be. you step inside slowly, like the room might change if you move too fast.
it doesn't look the way you expected. it's not sharp-edged the way his reputation makes him seem. it feels… lived in, like someone who uses the space but never really rests in it.
there are trophies along one wall, lined up on a shelf that looks more obligatory than proud. they aren't polished. some are tilted, others pushed too far back like they were set down and forgotten. they feel heavy somehow. less celebratory and more like reminders that never seemed to stop asking something of him.
a couple medals hang off a hook near the dresser, tangled together, not displayed so much as stored like proof he doesn't want to look at unless he has to. personal things are there, but hidden: a watch tucked into a drawer left slightly open, folded papers shoved beneath a stack of shirts. sentiment disguised as clutter. things that matter carefully misfiled so no one can accuse him of caring.
the bed is unmade. sheets twisted, comforter half on the floor. it looks like sleep happens only when there's no other choice.
you don't realize you've stopped moving until he speaks.
"you're really lookin' at everything," rafe says from behind you, and there's something uncomfortable in his voice. not quite defensive, but close. like he's aware of being studied and doesn't know what to do with it.
you glance back at him. he's leaning against the doorframe now, arms crossed, but his posture is tighter than usual. less casual. his eyes move away from yours almost immediately, landing somewhere over your shoulder instead.
"it's just a room," he adds, quieter. like he's trying to convince himself as much as you. like the space suddenly feels smaller with you in it, cataloging every detail. "nothing special."
but there's something in the way he says it, a crack in the deflection. he knows you're seeing things he doesn't usually let people see. and it's making him uncomfortable in a way that has nothing to do with anger and everything to do with exposure.
"i know," you say gently. "just… didn't expect it to feel like this."
he scoffs, but it's quieter than usual. "like what."
you hesitate. choose your words carefully. "i don't know. it just feels like… a far away version of you."
his jaw tightens. barely. but you see it.
you turn back to the room, eyes catching on a small picture frame half-hidden on a shelf. it's old. the edges worn. a younger rafe, all limbs and crooked grin, standing beside his sister, both of them sunburned and happy in a way that looks unguarded.
your fingers brush the edge of the frame before you think better of it.
his voice cuts in, low and controlled. "don't-"
it isn't sharp or angry, just controlled in a way that almost hurts to hold back..
you freeze, then pull your hand back immediately. "sorry. i didn't mean to."
"i know," he says, too quickly. then he exhales and pushes off the doorframe, running a hand through his hair like he's trying to reset. his eyes flick away from you, landing somewhere on the wall. "those things just don't mean what people think they do."
you glance at him. "what do they mean, then?"
he doesn't answer right away. his eyes flick back to the trophies, the photo, the bed. everything. like the room itself is answering for him.
"nothing. they're just things." he says finally, voice rough around the edges. "that's it."
he almost looks like he doesn't mean it, and you don't believe him. not really, but he doesn't take it back. if they meant nothing, if they were just things, they wouldn't be there. "they mean nothing?"
he looks at you for a moment like he's debating on whether or not to accept your quiet challenge, lips quirking before glancing elsewhere. "no, they do," he corrects himself exhaling sharply like the gears you're forcing him to turn are exhausting. but he's being honest, and something about that makes your shoulders relax just a little. "but, sometimes i don't remember. keeping them makes me feel less guilty for it or whatever the fuck."
you meet his eyes, a small twitch flicking at your lips. you don't show a smile, but you'll acknowledge that you relate to rafe on a real level, despite how different your lives are, how different you are. and something about that feels comforting, even if you don't admit it to him. "yeah, i understand that."
something shifts. not tension easing, but something quieter. like permission. he doesn't tell you to stop looking anymore after that. he reaches into a drawer without looking and tosses something at you. you catch it against your chest automatically. one of his shirts. soft, worn thin, oversized enough that the hem brushes your thighs.
"no outside clothes on the bed," he says it like it's a rule that's always existed. you roll your eyes and cross your arms, and his mouth quirks when he sees your expression. "seriously? and what about all the times you climbed into my bed with yours on?"
"yeah, so what?" he says easily. "shit's different here. take 'em off."
you hesitate for half a second, then lift the shirt. "turn around, then."
"s’nothing i haven’t seen before," he starts, voice edging toward teasing.
"rafe." you cut him off cleanly and he holds your gaze for a beat, then turns away with exaggerated patience, shoulders broad beneath the dim light. he doesn't go far, just enough to pretend.
you change quickly, peeling off your clothes and pulling his shirt over your head. it smells like him, laundry soap and something warmer underneath. when you're done, you clear your throat softly and say, "okay. you can turn back now."
he turns back and his eyes drag over you without trying to hide it this time. the way the fabric hangs off one shoulder. the way it makes you look smaller in his space like you belong there more than you should. he looks away first, jaw working like he's biting back whatever thought just crossed his mind. he doesn't say anything, but the way his gaze flickers back to you for just a second says enough.
rafe strips off his own shirt and swaps his shorts for a pair of sweats, worn and low on his hips, movements easy. when he pulls on an old t-shirt, the room settles into something domestic..
you watch him grab a bottle from the dresser, dark, already half gone. he twists the cap off and takes a pull, throat working as he swallows. then he glances at you, quieter now. "you want some?"
"i'll mooch," you climb onto the bed before he says anything else and the mattress dips under your weight, sheets cool against your legs. you sit back against the pillows, suddenly aware of how exposed you are. how much space you're taking up. the vulnerability of it hits all at once. being here, in his space, wearing his clothes.
he joins you in bed and shifts closer without making a thing of it, putting a movie on his laptop somewhere in the process. the bottle passes between you, he takes a pull, then hands it over. you drink, the burn sharp and immediate, and hand it back. the rhythm settles into something easy. his arm finds its way behind you, not quite around you, just there. the bottle keeps moving between your hands and his fingers brush yours when you take it. neither of you acknowledges it.
the heat of him seeps through the thin fabric of his shirt. the room feels smaller with both of you in it, the air thicker. you can feel the alcohol starting to blur the edges of things. your thoughts, the space between you, the rules you're supposed to be keeping.
the laptop glow casts soft shadows across the walls, the movie hums quietly, voices overlapping with the distant sounds of the house settling around you.
"this movie's kinda embarrassing," he says after a minute, eyes still on the screen. his tone is casual, but there's tension under it, like he's bracing for something.
"i like embarrassing movies." you shrug with a smile. his knee shifts, brushing yours accidentally. except it doesn't move away afterward. the contact is light, but it's there. unmistakable.
"ward hated this one," he continues like the thought won't let him go. this time, he sounds more serious. "said it was pointless. all feelings, no payoff. told me it was a waste of time to sit around watchin' people figure themselves out."
you wait. you've learned not to rush him when he talks like this.
"used to tell me if i wanted somethin', i should just take it," he adds. "that movies like this make people soft. make 'em hesitate."
his jaw tightens. you can see it in the way his mouth presses flat for a second, like he's fighting the instinct to shut down.
"but you liked it anyway,"
he shrugs, but it's not dismissive. "yeah. guess i did." a beat. "liked that it didn't rush. that nobody won right away."
your shoulder drifts closer before you realize you're moving. not on purpose. just following something familiar. when you settle against him, the fabric of his shirt brushes your cheek, warm and faintly smelling like laundry soap.
he goes completely still and you feel it. the way his breath changes, shallow for a second before he forces it steady. his arm tenses beneath you, muscles tight like he's deciding something in real time.
"you okay?" you murmur, barely loud enough to compete with the movie.
he swallows. "yeah."
he doesn't move you away. slowly, carefully, like he's afraid of spooking the moment, his arm comes up behind you, a line of heat at your back. his hand rests against the mattress near your hip, close enough that you're aware of it constantly.
your body responds anyway, relaxing into the contact, breathing syncing with his without you trying. the closeness feels dangerous in its own quiet way. like something old slipping back into place.
neither of you looks at the screen anymore.
you can feel his attention on you even when he pretends it isn't. the way his gaze drops to where your legs are folded beneath you. the way it lingers at your shoulder, your hair, the collar of his shirt hanging loose against your skin.
he catches himself once. pulls his eyes away too quickly, jaw flexing like he's annoyed with himself. you don't say anything.
minutes pass. maybe longer. time feels weird here, stretched thin. the movie plays on, forgotten. your head shifts slightly, resting more fully against his chest now. you hear his heartbeat. steady, a little too fast.
his arm tightens just a fraction. it's almost hesitant, like he's afraid if he holds you too firmly, the moment will collapse under the weight of it.
"you get comfortable fast," he murmurs, voice low, almost teasing.
you hum. "well, you did invite me."
"did i?" he says, but there's no bite in it.
you tilt your head just enough to look up at him. "you could've told me to leave."
he meets your eyes then, really meets them. something unguarded flickers there, but is gone almost as soon as it appears.
"yeah," he says quietly. "i could've."
he shifts closer, just enough that your sides are pressed together now. his hand stays where it is, still restrained, still careful. but the choice has already been made. the first one of the night.
you wait longer than you should before speaking. the movie keeps playing, your head is still against his shoulder, his arm still behind you, close enough to feel like something and restrained enough to ache.
"can i ask you something?" you say finally.
"you already are."
you shift, careful, like you're handling glass. "it's just..." you stop. start again. "what's going on with you and sofia?"
the change in him is immediate. his arm pulls back completely this time, body going rigid. when he speaks, his voice is flat and controlled in a way that's worse than anger.
"that's what you wanna talk about?"
you sit up, creating space. "i just..."
"what, you jealous?" he cuts in, sharper now.
your stomach twists. "no." it comes out too fast.
"bullshit."
you swallow. "it's not. i just don't know where i fit."
he laughs, humorless and cold. "funny. you're real concerned about where i fit when you've got jj in your room."
"what?"
"don't play dumb," he says, jaw working. "i called you after."
the timing clicks. the insistence in his voice that night.
"you were watching," you say slowly.
he doesn't deny it. doesn't even blink.
"are you serious?" your voice rises. "everyone was there, rafe. kie, pope, jj, john b— we were watching a fucking movie. i didn't do anything wrong."
"didn't say you did."
"then what the fuck are you saying?"
he stands, and you do too, instinct putting you on your feet. the space between you feels dangerous now.
"i'm sayin’ i don't want him near you," rafe says, voice low and tight.
"that's not fair," you shoot back. "he's my friend. they're all my friends. i can't just..."
"you think i give a fuck about fair?" he cuts in, stepping closer.
"obviously not," you snap, anger flaring hot now. "sofia gets to be on your arm at every party, every event, everywhere that matters. but i'm supposed to what, cut off my friends just because you're jealous?"
something flashes in his eyes. "careful."
"no," you say, pushing. "you don't get to do this. you don't get to act like i'm the one breaking rules when you parade her around like..."
"like what?" he interrupts, voice dropping dangerously low. "like she means something? she doesn't. she's nothing."
"then why keep her around?"
"because my dad needs the optics," he snaps. "because it keeps shit clean. because she's useful and that's it."
"and me?" the question comes out smaller than you meant it to.
"you're not nothing."
"then what am i?"
he doesn't answer. his jaw flexes, hands curling into fists at his sides.
"that's what i thought," you say quietly.
"don't do that," he warns.
"don't what? ask questions you can't answer? want something you can’t give me?"
"you want something?" he says, voice rough. "then say it. stop hiding behind this shit."
"i'm not hiding..."
"you are," he cuts in, stepping closer. "you're standing here asking about sofia like you don't know exactly what this is. like you haven't already decided."
your pulse hammers. "decided what?"
"that you want something from me," he says, flat and certain. "that you don't wanna share. that you're fuckin' jealous and lyin’ about it."
heat floods your face. "you're the one who brought up jj..."
"because you asked about sofia first," he fires back. "because you're standin’ in my room wearing my clothes asking where you fit like you don't already fuckin’ know."
"i don't know," you say, voice shaking now. "that's the problem. i don't know what this is, i don't know what you want..."
"i want you to stop lying," he says, voice cutting. "to me. to yourself."
the words hit like a slap. your hands shake. you take a step back. "i can't do this."
"what?"
"this," you say, gesturing between you. "whatever this is? i can't."
you turn toward your stuff to gather it, but his hand catches your wrist before you take two steps.
"don't," he says, voice low and dangerous.
"stop it."
"no." his grip tightens, not enough to hurt but enough to stop you. "you're not leaving."
"rafe..."
he pulls you back, not rough but firm and, guiding you toward the bed. you stumble slightly and he steadies you, hand still locked around your wrist as he moves you backward until your knees hit the mattress.
"sit," he says.
"honestly, i don't wanna talk about this anymore,"
"i don't give a fuck," he cuts in. "sit down."
you sink onto the edge of the bed, heart hammering. he follows immediately, looming close enough that you have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes.
"this is too much," you say, voice breaking. "i need to—"
"need to what?" he interrupts, leaning in closer. "go back to pretending? go back to lying to yourself about what this is?"
"i'm not lying."
"you are," he says, flat and certain. "you came here. you asked about sofia because you're jealous and you can't stand it."
"stop..."
"no," he says, voice dropping lower, meaner. "you wanted honesty. you're breakin’ your own rules and you can't even admit it."
you shift back on the bed, trying to put distance between you, but he follows. his hand releases your wrist only to plant on the mattress beside your hip, caging you in.
"move," you say.
rafe doesn't move and he doesn't look away.
"tell me you don't care then," he says, eyes locked on yours. "tell me sofia doesn't bother you. tell me you're not sitting here feelin’ exactly what i'm feelin’."
you can't. the words won't come.
"that's what i thought," he says quietly.
"you don't get to do this. you don't get to trap me here and..."
"trap you?" he interrupts, voice sharp. "you came to my house in the middle of the night. you climbed into my bed. you're wearing my shit right now. don't act like i forced you."
the truth of it lands heavy. you hear footsteps on the stairs, breath catching. rafe's eyes flick toward the door for half a second, then back to you.
"you asked me to come. and let's be honest," you say finally, voice barely above a whisper. "you didn't text me at 1 AM because you wanted to fuck. you texted me because you didn't wanna be alone anymore,"
his reaction is immediate. "don't- say shit like that," he says, jaw tight. "like you understand. like you see me. don't fucking do that."
but you do see him. and he knows it.
"i just... i don't wanna share," you admit quietly, the words breaking something open inside you. "i don't want to feel like an afterthought." his hand is still planted beside your hip. you can feel the heat of him, the tension coiled in every line of his body.
"you're not," he says.
"then what am i?"
he doesn't answer. just looks at you like the question itself is the problem. neither of you moves. downstairs, ward's voice carries faintly through the house.
"jealous." he answers, quieter this time.
"yeah. i am."
his mouth curves, sharp and dangerous. "good."
"good?"
"means you're finally bein’ honest," he says, shifting closer on the bed, close enough that you're forced to lean back slightly, elbows sinking into the mattress. "means you're breaking your own rules. means you feel it too."
"feel what?"
"that this isn't casual anymore," he says, voice low. "that it hasn't been for a while."
your breath catches.
"you tried to leave," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "but you're still here. still sittin’ in my bed. still wearing my clothes. still lookin’ at me like that."
"like what?"
"like you already decided," he says. "like you're staying."
you don't answer because you can't. his hand comes up to your neck, fingers settling against your throat. not squeezing, just there like a warning. his thumb traces your jawline while his other fingers rest against the side of your neck, feeling your pulse hammer beneath his touch. not gentle. testing.
the rule doesn't break. but it bends quietly, unmistakably, under the weight of the way he's looking at you now, like you're already written into him whether he likes it or not. the admission is still hanging between you like smoke. you reach for him before you can talk yourself out of it.
your hand comes up to his jaw, fingers settling there. his eyes flick to you instantly. sharp, dark, already decided. you lean up and kiss him, and the response immediate.
his grip on your neck tightens and he pulls you closer with a roughness that steals your breath. his mouth crashes against yours with no hesitation, no gentleness, just hunger and control. his lips move with bruising pressure, claiming rather than asking, and when you gasp he uses it, tongue sliding against yours.
his free hand grips your hip, pushing you back further on the bed. you're forced to follow the pressure of his grip, your body angling how he wants it. he guides you down until you're lying back against the mattress, his hand never leaving your throat. his fingers flex against your neck, a reminder as he settles over you, his body caging yours.
"you admitted it," he mutters against your mouth, voice rough and taunting.
"you don't wanna share," he continues, pulling back just enough to look at you, keeping your head tilted toward him, eyes dark and resolute. something has shifted in him. something that decided the second you confessed. "so don't."
he kisses you again, harder this time, all teeth and tongue and the taste of your own surrender. his mouth drags down your neck, biting hard enough to bruise, sucking marks into your skin that you won't be able to hide tomorrow. a sound escapes you, too loud, and his grip on your neck firms..
"quiet," he breathes against your ear, voice low and dangerous. his hand stays firm around your neck as his other hand slides beneath your shirt, shoving it up roughly. "you tried to leave," he murmurs, teeth grazing your earlobe. "tried to walk out."
you nod against the pressure of his grip, heart hammering.
"but look at you," he continues, fingers hooking into your lace underwear and dragging it down your thighs. "in my bed. wearing my clothes. letting me touch you."
his hand finds your jaw forcing you to look at him. "you gonna stay quiet?"
you nod again, throat tight.
"good." he releases you and settles between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips as he positions you exactly where he wants you. "because if you don't, if they hear you, they're gonna know exactly what you are."
"rafe," you start, but he cuts you off.
"lie back," he says, and it's not a request.
somewhere in the distance, his father's voice carries faintly through the house.
rafe's mouth curves. "better be quiet."
"said you didn't wanna share," he murmurs, eyes locked on you as his hands grip your thighs, spreading you open. "now you're gonna understand why."
his mouth descends without warning. the first touch of his tongue makes you jolt, but his hands tighten on your thighs, holding you exactly where he wants you. there's no gentleness in it. just consumption. he licks a slow stripe through your folds, tongue flat, savoring you before circling your clit with focused pressure.
"oh fuck-" you gasp, hands shooting down to tangle in his hair.
"what'd i say?" he mutters against you, the vibration making you whimper into his palm. "you want 'em to hear? want my dad to come up here and find you like this?"
you shake your head frantically, eyes squeezed shut.
"then shut up and take it," he says, removing his hand only to grip your hip hard enough to bruise.
his tongue works you with ruthless precision, alternating between broad strokes and focused attention on your clit. when he sucks it into his mouth, you have to bite down on your own lip to keep from crying out. the wet sounds of his mouth on you seem impossibly loud in the quiet room.
rafe doesn't stop. two fingers push inside you without warning, curling hard against that spot that makes your vision blur, stretching you open. the intrusion is sudden and intense and you soon have to press both hands over your mouth to muffle the sound that tears from your throat.
"that's it," he breathes, voice rough with satisfaction. "y'feel that?"
your hips buck against his mouth but his grip tightens, keeping you pinned, keeping you open. he works you with single-minded focus, tongue lapping like a man starved and fingers moving in tandem, dragging you higher with every stroke. when you try to close your legs he forces them wider, arms hooking beneath your thighs to pull you closer to his mouth.
you hear footsteps on the stairs and your eyes fly open, terror flooding through you.
rafe lifts his head just enough to meet your gaze, fingers still working inside you. "don't move," he whispers. "don't make a sound."
you're shaking, heart thundering so hard you're sure he can feel it.
"you scared?" he asks quietly, adding a third finger, stretching you wider. the pressure makes you gasp into your palm, giving a nod of admission. "good." he lowers his mouth again, tongue flicking against your clit with brutal efficiency. the combination of his fingers curling inside you and his tongue working you is too much, the pressure building too fast, too intense. panic flares in your chest, not just from the fear of being caught but from how close you are, how he's taking you apart completely.
"wait," you gasp against your hand, trying to pull back, free hand pushing at his shoulders. he doesn't stop. his fingers curl harder, tongue moving faster. "i can't." your voice breaks into a whisper. "i need to. we need to stop."
"no, we don't,"
"rafe." you try again, but he cuts you off before you can finish the thought.
"you tried to leave," he says, lifting his head just enough to look at you, mouth glistening with your slick. "walked right to that door like you were done with this. with me. remember?"
"i didn't mean—" you start, but his free hand comes up to grip your hip, holding you down when you try to shift away.
"yeah, you did," he interrupts, voice hard. "got scared of yourself and tried to run." his fingers don't stop working inside you, thumb pressing against your clit now, and the pressure makes it impossible to think clearly. "now i have to show you," he murmurs, eyes locked on yours. "look at what you're letting me do."
you shake your head, throat tight. "i can't."
"you can." his voice drops lower, meaner. "so fucking desperate for this, you don't even care anymore, do you?" heat floods your face, shame and arousal twisting together until you can't tell them apart. rafe's eyes don't leave yours as he adds pressure, stretching you wider. "say it," he repeats. "you need it, don't you."
"you're," you try to find the words, try to hold onto something. "you're being—"
"mean?" he finishes, mouth curving into something sharp. "i'm honest, unlike you." his fingers curl hard and your back arches involuntarily. you have to bite down on your knuckles to keep from crying out. the pressure is too much, coiling too tight. working you with brutal efficiency. "can't even stop now, can you. you’re just as fucked as i am."
"oh god," you gasp finally, the words torn from you, muffled against your hand. "fuck—"
the orgasm hits like a breaking wave, violent and inescapable. your body clenches hard around his fingers as you come, the sound ripping from your throat muffled by your hand pressed tight over your mouth. he doesn't stop. he draws it out, tongue working you through every aftershock, fingers still moving inside you until you're shaking and oversensitive and trying to pull away, until the last tremor fades, until you're boneless and gasping for air.
only then does he ease back, dragging his tongue slowly through your folds one last time, collecting everything with a low satisfied groan that makes your stomach clench. he crawls back up your body, grip strong on your jaw as he forces your mouth to his. he makes you taste yourself on his tongue, makes you feel what wanting him tastes like. when he pulls back his eyes are dark and heavy-lidded, mouth wet and swollen.
"knew you weren't goin' anywhere," he murmurs, voice low and rough, thumb tracing your bottom lip. he presses inside briefly before he kisses you again, harder, meaner, making sure you understand exactly what you've done. "tried to tell me this went too far. but you didn't mean it. just got scared of how much you want it." he says quietly, almost conversational.
you can't answer. can't deny it. "thought so."
————
when you wake up, it doesn't feel wrong at first. it's almost hard to bring yourself back to full awareness after the sleep you'd just had. the first thing you register is light. the thin, pale morning sun slipping through the edge of the curtains, striping the wall, the floor, the side of the bed. the second thing is weight. your limbs feel heavy, loose in a way that makes it hard to tell where you end and the mattress begins. there's a dull ache behind your eyes, not painful yet, just there. waiting.
you blink and turn your head. rafe's room.
the realization lands soft at first, then all at once. the bed beneath you isn't yours. the sheets smell like him. your clothes are all wrong too, his shirt is twisted around your waist, collar loose against your collarbone.
you sit up too fast. the room tilts and your stomach drops. a phone is on the nightstand. not yours. his. yours is face down beside it. you grab it, thumb clumsy as you unlock the screen, and the time hits you like a slap.
"shit," you breathe, already scrambling, legs tangling in the sheets as panic surges up your throat. your heart starts racing before your feet even hit the floor. "fuck, i'm gonna be late."
"relax."
his voice cuts in easy, unbothered. rafe is already up and dressed, calm in a way that feels almost insulting. jeans, clean shirt, hair still damp like he showered while you slept. he's leaning back against the dresser, arms crossed loosely, watching you pace like it's interesting, almost fond.
"you're fine," he says, like it's obvious. "you've got time."
"no, i don't," you snap, dragging a hand through your hair, already spiraling. "what the fuck, rafe! you didn't wake me up? i can't go to work like this.”
"hey." his tone sharpens just enough to get your attention and you stop pacing without meaning to. "you're fine."
he pushes off the dresser and crosses the room in a few long steps, holding out a hoodie worn soft, heavier than it looks.
"put it on," he says. "you're good."
you take it, hands shaking just a little as you tug it over your head, then put on the pants you’d worn the night before, nerves buzzing. "this is your fault," you mutter. "you let me sleep."
he huffs a quiet laugh. "you passed out. what was i supposed to do?"
you glare at him, tugging the sleeves down. "you could've woken me up? jackass."
"nah," he says easily. "you needed it."
you scoff, grabbing your bag and shaking your head. "i hate you."
"no, you don't," he replies, moving toward the door. "you take the back stairs. stay left of the hedges and don't go near the pool." you follow him, heart still racing, nerves buzzing again as reality creeps back in. right before the patio door, you hesitate, and he glances back at you with that infuriating calm. "you're not coming?" you ask quietly, like part of you already knows the answer but needs to hear it anyway.
he lets out a low laugh under his breath and shakes his head, like the idea is almost funny. "you serious?" you swallow, trying to find the words. "i just..." but he cuts you off, not unkindly but with the weight of certainty behind it. "imagine how that looks," he says. "you and me walkin' out together? at this hour?" he opens the door for you, stepping back, and his voice drops into something steady and certain. "you'll be fine."
you nod, even though your stomach twists. you slip outside, the morning air cool against your skin, the world already awake and moving without you. you don't look back right away, but you can feel him watching you as you go, standing in the doorway with his eyes locked on your back until you disappear around the corner. the house looms behind you, pale in the early light, windows still dark except for one on the second floor. you keep your head down, hoodie pulled tight around your ribs, shoes soft against the grass. every step feels exposed, like the morning itself is watching.
"hey."
the word stops you cold. sofia stands directly in your path, positioned between you and the exit like she planned it. coffee mug in hand, posture relaxed but deliberate. she's blocking you without making it obvious, forcing you to either stop or walk around her. you stop. she looks perfect—hair smooth, makeup light, dressed like someone who belongs here. her eyes move over you with surgical precision, cataloging every detail. the hoodie. the bare legs. the sleep crease still visible on your cheek.
"didn't expect to see you this early," she says, tone pleasant but smile sharp. "long night? you look exhausted," the implication hangs in the air between you, unmistakable. your pulse kicks hard against your ribs, and you manage to say you've got work, but the words come out thin. “maybe, i guess? i’ve just been… busy. hard to catch up on sleep.” you rush through your explanation, and she listens, taking a slow sip of coffee, eyes never leaving yours. she hums like she's considering that.
your throat tightens and the silence stretches too long. her smile sharpens at the edges like she’s sensing blood in the water. "that rafe's hoodie?" the question lands like a slap. direct, pointed, no pretense of politeness anymore. heat floods your face. your fingers curl tight around your bag strap, searching for something to say, anything that sounds believable, but your mind goes blank under her scrutiny.
"hey." rafe's voice cuts through the tension, low and controlled. thank god. he appears from the side path, moving into the space with calmness. he doesn't touch you, doesn't stand too close, but his presence shifts everything. his jaw is tight. his eyes lock on sofia first, then flick to you like he’s checking, assessing, before returning to her. "my dad's looking for you," he says evenly. "needs you before he leaves."
sofia doesn't move. her gaze slides from rafe to you, then back to rafe, calculating, measuring the distance between you, the way he positioned himself, the protective edge in his voice. "he didn't mention anything to me," she says slowly, testing him. rafe's tone doesn't shift, but there's steel underneath when he replies. "well, he's mentioning it now." sofia's smile returns, colder this time. "interesting." she takes another sip of coffee, eyes still moving between you both, studying, reading the dynamic like she's solving a puzzle.
she holds his gaze for a long moment, then looks back at you, and her smile sharpens slightly something that makes your skin crawl. "you know, it'd be a shame if the wrong person started asking questions.” the threat is clear, unmistakable, no context needed. your heart hammers so hard you're sure she can hear it.
rafe's hand flexes at his side, jaw working. sofia takes a step back, finally clearing the path, but her eyes stay locked on you with predatory satisfaction. "be careful," she says, and it sounds like a warning wrapped in concern.
she turns and walks toward the house, unhurried, confident. as she passes, rafe's hand comes to rest briefly at your back, just for a second, grounding you, before he pulls it away. "go," he murmurs under his breath, voice tight. "i'll handle it." you don't look back because you don't trust yourself to. you just move, steps quickening until the house is behind you and the air feels less suffocating, replaced with soft morning breeze and the smell of sea salt.
you go straight to the dock.
you don't slow down or detour. you throw yourself into work like it's something physical you can outrun. tying lines. wiping surfaces. hauling equipment back and forth until your shoulders burn and your palms sting.
people talk to you. you answer automatically. you smile when it's expected. you laugh once at something a coworker says and immediately feel strange about it, like the sound didn't belong to you. you don't see rafe. not once.
with every passing hour, the anxiety tightens. sofia's eyes. the way rafe stepped in. the way he told you he'd handle it and then vanished. you replay the morning over and over, searching for cracks you might have missed, wondering what was said after you left.
mid-afternoon, you catch sight of them in the distance. rafe and sofia stand near the far end of the dock. too far away to hear anything. rafe's posture is rigid, jaw tight, one hand flexing at his side like he's holding something back. he looks pissed. sofia faces him, head tilted, arms crossed like she's probing.
you can't hear a word which somehow makes it a million times worse. you turn back to your work, but your hands feel clumsy now. your focus keeps slipping, dragged back to the image of them until you force yourself to look away.
by the time your shift ends, you're exhausted in a way that isn't just physical, but also completely and utterly mentally wrung out. your body sore, your head heavy with everything you didn't say.
you meet kie and the guys at the chateau later. the noise hits first when you arrive. the music, the laughter, the overlapping voices, the easy chaos. it's jarring after the long day, but then something loosens, and you finally let yourself sink into it. laughter comes easier than you expect. you crack jokes and relax into familiar rhythm.
everything feels almost normal, but there's this quiet ache you can't shake. you keep thinking about rafe. about how he didn't walk you out, the way he still showed up exactly when it mattered, the hand at your back, the calm definitive tone in his voice.
by the end of the night, as the laughter fades and the air cools, you realize the want has changed shape. it's heavier now. denser. and you don't know if it's because something shifted or because you finally stopped pretending it hadn't already.
someone else requested a slavic rafe story too! i started writing it and it was so delicious but it got SOOOOO long and i got a little intimidated at the thought of finishing it i really do wanna post it tho!!! what kinds of ideas did you have for slavic!rafe??
▌⚠︎ content warnings ⚠︎ mdni. +18. dead dove, do not eat. manipulation. power imbalance. unhealthy & coercive dynamics. dubcon. emotionally vulnerable reader. authoritative/paternal-esque figure (their relationship is not specified, use your imagination). mentions of notable differences in age. kissing. suggestive touching. mentions of alcohol. rafe being kind of icky.
▌this fic is not for everyone. if you're not into reading any of the things mentioned above, or topics that may appear with those warnings, do not read. you've been warned <3
▌1.7k word count. (roughly)
it always starts with your boyfriend’s tone. short and irritated in a way that makes you feel like you're wrong before you even open your mouth. he tells you you’re too sensitive, that you’re making a big deal out of nothing, that you always do this. you try to explain. you’re patient, gentle, careful with your words. but he talks over you until your sentences lose shape. by the time you leave his place tonight, your chest aches and your eyes burn, and you’ve apologized for things you didn’t do just to keep the peace.
rafe told you from the beginning that he didn’t like him, and he didn’t cushion or soften it either. he said it once, like past experiences should've already done the math for you. he didn’t like the way he spoke to you. how you came home quieter than you left, or how it seemed like you’d been trained to walk on eggshells.
you told him it was different, that he didn’t know him like you did. but rafe looked at you, something quiet and earnest in his voice and said, “i know you.”
and now, sitting in the driveway with your hands tight on the wheel, eyes glassy and cheeks tear-stained, you realize he wasn’t guessing. he was waiting for you to catch up.
you walk inside without announcing yourself. you don’t slam doors or cry. you just move slower than usual, shoulders rounded like you’ve been carrying something heavy all day and finally ran out of places to set it down. the tv is on, but it’s so quiet it may as well be muted.
rafe is on the couch, legs spread, settled deep in the cushions like he’s earned the space. there’s an ease to him that comes from years of knowing his own weight. jeans worn thin at the knees, shirt loose at the collar, sleeves pushed up over forearms thick with muscle and old scars. his knuckles are scraped and bruised from work, and they wrap around the neck of a beer bottle slick with condensation. he looks solid. tired.
his eyes lift to you and drag down slow. they start at your face, linger on the shine in your eyes, then move down your body like he’s assessing damage. almost like he already knows what it means.
“take your shoes off,”
you hesitate, then bend and slip them off. they hit the floor softly.
“come sit.”
your head shakes before you can stop it, feeling embarrassed and tired from the emotional stress. “no, it’s okay,”
rafe doesn’t answer right away. he just watches you, patient and steady, like he’s waiting out weather.
“’m not askin’.”
you walk toward him because it feels like the next step of something that's already decided. when you’re close enough, his hand comes up and grips your waist, warm and calloused, fingers pressing into you like he already knows where you fit. he pulls you down onto his lap with a single, controlled movement, guiding instead of forcing.
“sit. right here,” he says quieter.
you do, even though it feels wrong the second you settle. his thigh is solid beneath you. his arm comes around your back, forearm resting there like a boundary and his hand settles on your thigh, palm flat, full contact, pressing you into place. it shouldn’t be there, but the warmth of it sinks into your skin anyway, and something about the touch triggers another quiet sniffle that threatens to turn into tears.
“easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and even, like he knows exactly how to reach you. “tell me what happened.”
so you do. you talk because stopping would mean thinking. and you don't wanna think. not right now. you tell him about the fight, about what was said, about how stupid it made you feel. you soften it out of habit, laughing once like it wasn’t that bad even though it was. rafe listens without interrupting, his thumb moving slowly against your thigh in the same measured rhythm, keeping you anchored while you ramble.
“i had a feelin’,” he says when you finish, nodding once as he takes a quick swig from the sweating bottle in his hand.
“’s why y’need someone who knows better,” he adds calmly, his eyes dipping briefly to your mouth before lifting again. you ask him what he means by that, voice thin but threaded with curiosity despite yourself. “you weren’t made to carry that kinda mess,” he says evenly. “you understand?”
rafe doesn't say it outright, but it's there in the way he looks at you. that you're too soft. too delicate for a world like that. too easily bruised to hold something so sharp without bleeding. you understand. and you nod, gazing at him through wet lashes.
his hand slide higher, callouses brushing rough against your skin. he doesn't move it far, just enough for his fingers to slip beneath the hem of your shorts. it’s precise. intentional. wrong in a way that tightens your stomach.
“you don’t need him,” he says, shaking his head slightly, eyes burning into you like the words are meant to take root. “jus’ need me.”
you shake your head and shift like you might pull away, like your body remembers itself too late. his grip tightens immediately, fingertips pressing into the soft skin of your thigh without urgency. it feels firm. corrective.
“'don’t— ‘m not finished with you,” he says, low and gruff, like it’s something he’s said before which earns a soft, barely audible 'i’m sorry' from you.
his hand leaves your thigh and comes to your jaw, thumb settling beneath it as he tilts your face down to get a better look at you, eyes drinking in how soft and broken you look sitting in his lap. “y’gunna behave f’me aren’t you? gunna be good?”
“i’ll be good,” you whisper softly, nodding your head though you’re not entirely sure what you’re agreeing to. his hand then moves to the back of your head to cradle it, fingers threading into your hair to hold you steady. you don't dare look away. you can’t. he looks at you like you’re fragile, like he’d taken responsibility for you a long time ago.
“good…” he pulls your face closer and leans in to kiss you before you can protest. “i knew you would.”
he doesn't ask, he just takes it. his mouth is cool from the beer. you feel the scrape of his stubble against your skin and the weight of his arm holding you there when your body tenses. you don’t kiss him back. you just let him do it.
when you pull away, breath uneven, he doesn’t follow. he just waits, watching. he looks at you for a long moment, eyes dragging to your mouth again, slower this time. you stare at him for a second too long, breath caught, cheeks warm with something like shame. your eyes drop, then flick back up, searching his face like you’re waiting for him to take it back.
“hey— ’s alright. don't be embarrassed,” he says quietly, voice low and gravelly like he’s trying to calm something in you. “this'll make it better, i promise. y’trust me, yeah?” his hand moves just the slightest bit higher beneath your shorts, and you can feel him caressing your thigh like it's meant to ground you.
“i trust you.” the words come soft, like you know you’re supposed to. he can feel you melt just the slightest bit in his lap, watching your face inch forward like you know you shouldn't but want to anyway. he sees every bit of it, and uses it to egg you on, his voice turning thin and raspy.
“yeah, that’s it… let me make it better.”
you hesitate, just long enough for the wrongness to flare again, then you kiss him. this time your lips move with his. the kiss deepens. the claiming, sloppy slide of his mouth against yours makes you sigh quietly, warming something low in your core. his lips guide yours like he’s in charge of the rhythm. he does it slow like he's trying to taste every inch of you, like he's teaching you his way. the right way.
a low sound slips from him, a soft groan against your mouth, like this is the last thing he needed to finally unwind after a long day of work. the sound settles deep in your chest. you taste beer and heat on his lips, a faint trace of cigarette smoke clinging to him, and something about it feels grounding. comforting, even though you know better.
he sets the beer bottle aside without looking and pulls you further into his lap so that you straddle his waist, both hands firm on your hips you until you feel the solid press of his chest against yours. you let your body sink into his warmth, settling there like it was all you'd ever wanted to know.
his tongue swipes slow against your lower lip, and when you part your mouth just enough, he follows with the same steady control, guiding the pace like he’s showing you where to soften, when to give.
the kiss stretches on, turning wet and languid. soft smacking sounds fill the air with time and he grips your hips harder to press you against his lap. your breathing turns shallow without you noticing, soft little inhales catching too fast in your chest. your hands drift up and settle against him like you’re bracing yourself there. one palm splayed over his chest, the other resting at his abdomen like you’re already leaning into what comes next. he holds you in place, his mouth still deciding when to move, when to linger, when to pull you back in.
“there you go,” he mutters after pulling back. he lifts a hand and tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, the gesture careful, almost habitual, his thumb lingering at your temple like he’s steadying something fragile. you go still at the touch, like your body recognizes it before your mind does, and the praise settles warm and heavy in your ribs. you look at him with softened, dazed eyes as something loosens, relief slipping in with the affirmation.
“good girl,” his words draw out just enough to sink in, his eyes flicking to your lips once more and back again, taking in his work. they're reddened now and a little swollen, still glistening from when your mouths met. a small, satisfied smirk ghosts the corner of his mouth before he smooths it away, and his hand slides lower to the curve of your ass to hold you there, fingertips pressing in like they belong there. “that’s better, isn't it. jus' needed t'see it for yourself, yeah?”
“mhm.” the sound hums low between you, a soft, pliant nod following after like punctuation. his hand other hand stays firm at your back, anchoring you there as he watches you, eyes steady and assessing, like he’s making sure you’re exactly where he wants you.
“mm, i know, baby. ’s why ’m here,” he adds, voice calm and approving, his hips lifting beneath you and shifting just enough to sink deeper into the couch. the movement changes the angle between you, bringing him closer where your legs frame his hips, and the new pressure beneath his jeans pulls a soft breath from you before you can stop it. “to show you what’s right,”
your weight tips forward instinctively, just a fraction, adjusting to the way he’s settled, like your body’s trying to stay aligned with him and still feel more of what he’s offering between your thighs. you still yourself as soon as you realize you’ve moved, waiting to see if he’ll correct you. rafe notices all of it. he always does.
“i’m doing it right,” you breathe, because he already decided that you were, and it feels safer once he’s already said it.
“yeah, you’re doin’ real good.” he murmurs, eyes steady on your face as you hold there, close and wanting. his thumb comes up to your mouth briefly, dragging your bottom lip down slow, his face showing a flash of restraint. the sight of it makes his cock twitch beneath you. you lift your face toward his without thinking, already moving back into him.
additionally if you guys didn’t know, this is me!! i kind of soft launched this page bc i’d hope to write more like dark fics, but i wanted it to be separated from this account. if you’re into that def feel free to send requests n what not!! i’ve been working on some things here and there for that page :)
hi my luvsssss!! so sorry for falling off the face of the earth!!
i got super busy with school again after winter break and i’d kind of come to the realization that i hit a road block with his space his rules.
which is crazy because my dumbass is the one who added the chapter in 😀 but i just felt like i couldn’t get it right. i have like two different long ass versions of the chapter and i think i’ve just gotten super into my head about it. they’re WAY too long and neither version was really hitting. then i went back to reread everything starting from tannyhill to kinda recalibrate and i got the ick soooo bad LOL
i have been seeing your comments and consistent love and i wanna just say it means so much that you guys have been enjoying the story so far and that you’re wanting updates from me, it means so much and is super encouraging :,)
i’ve got a little over a month left of classes but i am planning to visit the chapter to see if i can make it over this lil writer block thing i have going on. hopefully i’ll be able to have it out for you guys within the coming weeks, but no promises
