stop fucking saying that trump should've been a comedian instead of president, stop humanizing him. he should be in jail! he should be paying for all the crimes he committed, and the people he hurt. when u say he should be a comedian, ur saying what he says is funny, when they're racist, misogynistic, xenophobic and ignorant comments that comes out sounding absurd. nothing about that is funny! he is a cruel, evil and bad man who doesn't learn from his consequences and he will continue to be that person!
if u voted for trump, I mean this in the most disrespectful way possible, I do not want anything to do with you. Not only did you vote against basic human rights and equality, you decided rascism, homophobia, islamophobia, transphobia & misogynistic behavior wasn't a deal breaker. i do not want your follow or support ! thank you.
Imagine being the first one to show Mattheo what gentle love is.
Teaching him that not everything has to be rough, hurtful or sexual.
Soft, innocent touches, brushing his hair back and stroking his cheek. Letting him rest his head on your stomach or chest, raking your hands up and down his back soothingly.
Ugh I just want to love him and take care of him so bad :(
but with you, he wants you to. not because he needs them to approve, or because he necessarily thinks they deserve to meet you - but because he suddenly feels the need to be vulnerable. he has never been so stressed in his life. on one hand, the idea of it makes him sick go his stomach, but on the other, he knows it’ll make you closer in the long run. rafe enjoys the thought of being able to bring you to the fancy events and galas. he dreams of the day he can watch you walk up to the stand with him to accept the passing of his father’s company onto the oldest son. if anything, it’ll make life a whole lot easier for you both. but shit, if he isn’t terrified of what they’ll say and do. sure, ward can be charming when he needed to, but he has never really respected rafe. and now that he has a real, serious relationship, he doubts it’ll even be taken seriously. yet when he sees you all dressed up, fancy attire hugging your curves and a sweet, bright smile on your face, he knows it’ll all be okay. the whole night he has his hand on your hip, waist, back - lips on your forehead and cheek and - you get the point. even once he realizes that his family love you, he still feels an underlining protectiveness. like he’ll need to save you from them at any given moment - but you don’t mind his clinginess. throughout all this stress, he knows it’ll be worth it in the end when he’ll get to see the proud look in your eyes when he finally accepts his first introduction into the business world. it’ll be worth it when he’ll get to understand that as long as you’re with him, he’ll always have someone who is proud of him no matter what.
it’s the way your sweat covered hair sticks to your skin, wet and dripping with condensation. the towel hugs tightly around your body as you wipe at the back of your neck, breathing heavily. he’s glad that it’s only you two in here - after all, he did pay the owners enough to let you have a private room. rafe watches as you lean back on your hands, your neck stretching as you tilt your head up, your lips parted as you try to get some oxygen in. he can’t help himself when his eyes trail down your legs, or when they land on the top of your towel, tracing down the curve of your chest, taking a peak at the crevice in between the towel and your torso. he feels himself strain against the towel around his waist. all it takes is for one look from you, and he’s on you, kissing and nipping at your skin. it’s too warm and sweaty, but you two find yourselves not caring. something about it makes it all the more fun - all the more erotic. the panting, the sweating, the lack of oxygen. he slowly pulls your towel off, and when you feel the hit wood touch your legs, it honestly only spurs you on. he grips your hair, holding the sweaty strands out of the way so he could have more access to your skin. you’re just lucky nobody else would dare walk in. especially not after hearing the noises you make in there.
it's a whole different vibes from the thing i've read just before but the writing is still serving in the best way !! the sauna was such a great idea, the fact you put all the details of how relaxing and messy can be a sauna session with rafe, i just need to experiment this (especially in that pretty cold season that coming). the moodboard skzkskz, so hot. the little blurb was so good, sensual and erotic, picturing it as the sweet slice of life 🥰
«the panting, the sweating, the lack of oxygen. » oh god, you're the one who take my break away i fear
eeee thank you omg. i remember my inspo being the day i was alone in the sauna and i was literally like waaiiitt it’s so empty in here and i went home and immediately wrote this
obsessed with the idea of rafe’s first real girlfriend having to teach him how to really kiss, because it’s way more than just that…
up until he met you it was only impersonal hookups & people he was afraid to be vulnerable with. couldn’t imagine something as passionate as slotting his lips between their own, so having sex face-to-face was always out of the question.
then you came along.
every sweet, delicate and heaven sent bit of you fell right into rafe’s lap and suddenly he was hooked on anything having to do with love. he needed to feel every inch of you pressed against him, needed you to gasp into his mouth while he praised you for being so good ‘n so pretty. and his kisses were sloppy and rough in the beginning. a mess of tongue and sometimes teeth that would have you whining and nearly shying away. you had to remind yourself— rafe is just desperate for any kind of genuine affection.
so with that in mind, you willingly took his face in your hands. grounding him and forcing him to savor every second of your gentle yet simmering kisses, all while you were pinned underneath him. he stutters on his breath between each smooch with his lips wobbling and trembling agaisnt your own… because he’s been able to afford a lot of things in his life, but being able to take it slow and be soft was never one of them.
it was a privilege that was always out of reach, and ultimately deemed as unnecessary as he grew more bitter. causing him to miss out on the little things and lean on bad habits for support that was never really there. never again— he decides without you knowing. never again will he miss out on moments like this.
➸ summary: rafe has to find a way to apologize after an argument ends in tears
➸ warnings/notes: fingering, oral (f!receiving), tears?, very slight religious imagery at the end sorry
word count: 1.3k
————————
IT WAS STUPID. So, so stupid. He just never knew when to leave something alone - when to swallow his pride and let the argument fizzle out.
Rafe was taught that backing down from a fight meant he was a coward. In his mind, ‘being the bigger person’ was admitting defeat. Even though he knew he was in the wrong he just couldn’t find it in himself to apologize. He kept going and going, until you were left a teary mess in his bedroom, gently wiping at your face so that he wouldn’t notice your sobs.
But he did. He did and he felt fucking terrible.
Making people feel like shit was all he was good at. He had never been in a serious relationship before - he had never cared about anyone enough to try. You were different. You made him want to be good, and thoughtful, and kind. However in this moment he was none of those things.
His mind was hazy as he knelt down below the bed. Rafe wasn’t good at this. He wasn’t used to saying sorry and making amends. His fists usually did the work for him, and obviously in this case, that wasn’t an option.
Promises and apologies died on his lips as he saw your frowning mouth and glossy eyes. He really hated himself in times like these. How could he hurt the only good thing in is life? All you were trying to do was help, and he threw it back in your face. What an asshole he was.
Fingertips brushing across your knuckles, he kissed them over and over. Plump, pink flesh tickled your skin as he left marks of love everywhere he could reach.
He was so careful as he laid you back, a stark contrast to the harshness of his words earlier on. Nothing was spoken as he finally reached your lips. His tongue that spouted obscenities and yells was now massaging your bottom lip as he slowly explored your mouth. It was never his intention to be mean. It just always, somehow, managed to happen.
Every touch of skin was a silent ‘sorry’. He held you like you would break at any moment, and when he lifted his thumb to wipe at a stray tear, you only sighed breathlessly in response.
“Lemme take care ‘f you,” he mumbled, buzzed head lowering to kiss down your jaw. “Show you how much I love you.”
All he needed was a nod from you, your voice still shaky from crying. You were so pretty, and he hated seeing your eyes so red and puffy. The only time you should be crying is when his head is in between your thighs, not when he was riled up and screaming at you for something that wasn’t your fault.
Brows pinched together, Rafe held onto your hip tightly as he continued trailing his lips across your throat. He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell you how sorry he was, that he would do better next time - but he knew it was no use. Ever since he could remember people treated him like a bomb ready to blow, and now he knew why. Now that he was the cause of your tears he finally understood why people were afraid of him. Nothing good came from being around him. You shouldn’t be wasting your -
“Rafe,” your whine interrupted his self-deprecating thoughts.
He lifted his head from your collarbone, a slight pop sounding in the silent room. He had barely noticed that he was leaving purple marks in his wake. Even when he wanted to be gentle, he managed to mar your beautiful skin. “Yeah, baby?”
Your hands ran through his short blond fuzz, the texture relaxing you. Rafe always liked when you scratched at his scalp. It was like you knew how to make him melt into a puddle of mush at your feet.
“Can we not fight anymore?” you said, your voice tired and weary.
“We’re not. We won’t,” he whispered against your lips, planting a soft peck to them. “Don’t gotta worry that pretty little head of yours. Just relax, let me do the work.”
Visibly loosening your muscles, you let your head fall limp against the pillows as your boyfriend began to slowly pull his your shirt over your head. His mouth and palms made sure to leave nowhere untouched.
Rafe tended to pour all of his affections out when he had you like this. He found it easier to prove his adoration for you without words. He liked to do things for you, to make you feel good, to make you forget about how horrible he could be. It wasn’t on purpose, although sometimes he noticed himself using sex as a crutch. He needed to learn to use his words.
“I love you.”
It was quiet, almost inaudible. You repeated the words back to him as the pads of his fingers pushed your underwear to the side, collecting the arousal that had pooled there. Swirling his fingers momentarily, he plunged two fingers into you, shushing you as you writhed under him, the pleasure already too overwhelming for your exhausted mind.
Your grip on his head tightened, nails practically digging into his skull as you moaned out. He didn’t mind. In all honesty you could do anything to him and he would take it. He would take anything you gave him - whatever you thought he deserved.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his thumb adding to the mix as he nudged your clit with it. “Relax, baby,” he cooed.
It wasn’t often that Rafe got like this. Sure, he was soft with you most days, but he rarely spoke so gently with you. This was more intimate than you had ever been with him. The relationship was new, and you hadn’t expected him to have such an adoring side to him.
He didn’t stop after your first orgasm. Even as you clawed at his back, your moans echoing throughout the whole empty house. Despite your panting and closed lids, he only lowered himself onto his stomach as he continued holding your panties out of the way. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, watching as your juices dripped out of you, your cunt pulsating with each cold breath that escaped his mouth.
“Gonna let me taste you?” he asked, more to himself than anything. You hummed, hands bracing yourself against his shoulders as you whimpered at the sensitivity.
“Yeah… yeah,” you managed to croak.
It didn’t take long for Rafe to get back to it. He started off slow, which was new for him. He was used to being fast and rougher than this. This was all a strange experience to him, but he kept the patient pace as he noticed your breaths becoming uneven. “Yeah, like that?” he spoke into you, again more-so talking to himself.
Hands that were so used to being bruised and bloodied were now reverently holding your legs open for him. He liked having full access to you, knowing that he had the power to make you feel all this pleasure.
He found himself speeding up his movements, and he was so caught up in the moment that before he knew it, the vibrations of “I’m so sorry” reverberated through you like a mantra. Rafe couldn’t stop. Not when you came once more, his chin glistening and jaw cramped, not when he mouthed “forgive me” against your inner thigh over and over, his nails digging into your flesh as he pried you open - not even when you had already told him it was okay. Because he knew it wasn’t.
Sometimes he felt like he was repenting for his sins. Especially when he was on his knees for you, your cries and whimpers like a hymn. He only hoped you could offer him his salvation.
He found it easier to prove his adoration for you without words. He liked to do things for you, to make you feel good, to make you forget about how horrible he could be. It wasn’t on purpose, although sometimes he noticed himself using sex as a crutch. He needed to learn to use his words.
ok i’m rereading this and i’m absolutely obsessed with your tender characterization of rafe that feels so heart-wrenching and real. the way he can’t seem to articulate his words, the way he recognizes he’s more prone to violence than softness—but he does the latter just for you—it’s such a delicate and gentle moment between rafe and reader. he loves her, is devoted to her, but the consequences of his actions r catching up to him?? i love this version of rafe!! i cant wait to see more of it from u 🫂
i love you thank you so much. i honestly am so inspired by the way you take your time getting to know your characters and you really deep dive into their personalities and why they act the way they do. you and @nadvs are such amazing writers, and you are both so careful and intricate with the way you take the time to flesh out your stories. it’s done in a way that really conveys how passionate you are about your work - it definitely shows while reading any of your fics.
again thank you so much for this, i appreciate the time you took to read and reply to it🫶🏻
MASTERLIST (series) | Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ
Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.
Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs. Reader is hyper-independent, a people-pleaser, a smart mouth, stands on business, and has a mysterious past. Rafe is insecure, possessive, an asshole, and has mood swings.
"Are you busy?"
The phone call came at the stroke of midnight. Rafe had just gotten away from a lengthy discussion with his father regarding the open properties around Kildare and wanted nothing more than to crash out. But he answered without hesitation when your name flashed across the screen.
"No," he pauses. "Do you need me?"
You do, but you're reluctant to confirm that piece of information. Flattening your lips on the other line, you rub the back of your hand over your tired eyes as a prolonged silence engulfs the call.
But Rafe understands. With a firm I'm coming over, he disconnects the call to pick up his keys.
You've been home for a couple days now, having stayed at Tannyhill for a little over a week. However, with Sarah's return, you felt you'd overstayed your welcome and needed to part ways. Despite Rafe's protests, you insisted, needing to find your own space in the aftermath of everything.
He had hated the way you phrased it. That you needed a place without him.
When he reaches your driveway, Rafe discerns two silhouettes on your porch. Adrenaline spikes, assuming it was Aaron—and that was the reason for your distress call—but upon closer inspection, with the headlights of his car glaring in that direction, the clarity hits.
Maybank and Heyward.
His stomach twists at the realization that he wasn't your first recipient. That you went back to your roots before coming to him. Now, more than ever, Rafe has a bleeding need for some security, to be your first choice.
He doesn't like to be set in the backseat to a pair of Pogues.
Turning off the ignition, Rafe exits the vehicle just as Heyward and Maybank launch from your porch steps with rigid defense. Their eyes narrow at him in suspicion as he stalks up the long pebbled pavement.
"What are you doing here, Rafe?" Pope interrogates in lieu of a greeting.
Rafe scoffs, stuffing his hands into his pocket. "How is that any of your business, Pogue?"
JJ jumps in. "If you're here for Aaron—"
"I'm not," Rafe snaps, not liking any association with the loan shark, before admitting, "She called me."
A moment of suspense punctures the air before JJ disrupts it, shaking his head with disbelief. "Bullshit. Why the fuck would she contact a Kook?"
It's an insult, the way Maybank's lips curled with the title and Rafe huffs. He doesn't owe him any explanation and certainly won't give one. Stepping forward, Rafe attempts to enter your house, only for the two boys to block his path.
"Move," Rafe commands lowly.
Pope tries to meditate. "Look, I don't know what you're doing here, but she's been through some things and we don't want any more problems—"
Rafe doesn't bother listening to whatever else he has to say. He knows. He knows what you've been through and he's here because of it, not to add to it. But the accusation is thick on Pope's tongue, fueling his irritation. He attempts to shove past both of them, only for JJ to push back.
Shouting stirs you awake. That's a lie. You've been staring at the ceiling for the past hour, hoping it'll lull you to sleep, only for the act to be unproductive. When you start to hear sounds coming from outside, you know Rafe arrived.
Pushing past the screen door, you step out onto the porch to witness JJ and Rafe in the middle of a standoff.
Charged words thrown back and forth, you recognize the dark look behind Rafe's gaze as JJ keeps pushing Rafe's chest—one full of deep agitation, seconds away from snapping.
Your stomach flips with nausea.
"Back off, JJ," you announce sharply to the open yard, causing the trio to direct their attention to you. You briefly connect your gaze with Rafe before turning to the younger blond. "I called him."
JJ's hands drop from Rafe's chest, taking a step back, but there's a look of unsteadiness behind his gaze. Confusion spreads across his hard features while his mouth twists into an ugly scowl. "For what?"
"Does it matter?" You refute, avoiding his question. JJ cocks his head, only for you to add, "You can go home now."
JJ frowns, turning to Pope as they exchange a silent debate. When all Pope could give is a casual shrug, knowing it's your decision at the end of the day, JJ turns back to you.
"You could've let us stay," JJ reasons, throwing a harsh glance over his shoulder at Rafe. "What could a Kook do for you?"
"It's fine. He's my…" You trail off, unable to find the right words to label Rafe. Your initial ideas are too compromising. And Rafe doesn't want your relationship to be seen as complicated to the Kook public, since your interactions could circulate back to Ward. But here, in the sanction of The Cut, you know there's no intersection. No need for security. You shake your head with a tired yet reassuring smile. "It's okay. I appreciate you guys' help."
Rafe hates how you didn't say it.
With a heavy sigh, JJ nods. "Alright," he says, clapping his hands and signaling Pope to descend off the porch. They pair off as they head home and, sparing one last glance at Rafe—who's ascending up the short steps to approach you—JJ bids a final farewell. "Call us if you need anything."
Rafe's arm wraps protectively around your waist. "She won't."
You roll your eyes, shoulders relaxing from their rigid stance, as you watch their departing figures. Once they're no longer in view, you take his arm and tug him into your house.
The short stroll to your bedroom is mostly silent and Rafe takes inventory of your home for any disturbance. Since he ordered that cleaning service, your house is significantly cleaner. You had initially refused his charity but he refused to take no for an answer and you ended up with a grade-A cleaning company that polished your home from all the broken debris and dangerous hazards.
But that wasn't the problem.
When Rafe steps into your bedroom, it's an absolute mess. Pillows are skewed across the floor, your sheets wrinkled and tangled upon each other, and piles of your clothes are thrown together into a pile next to your closet. It greatly contrasts the environment outside your door.
"Shit," you mumble, embarrassment flooding through your body. You move from his touch to do some quick cleaning—throwing your pillows back on the bed, picking up dirty clothes, and tossing them into the hamper.
Abashment increases with each of your frantic steps, to the point that Rafe has to grab your elbow to stop you in place. "Hey," he says softly, lifting your gaze to his, "I don't mind."
You don't say anything. Fatigue pours into the very crevices of your bones. But despite the urge to be presentable, Rafe is a comfort. A clutch. And it's getting dangerous seeing how much you lean on him.
It's on the tip of your tongue to push him away. To tell him to go back home. But he beats you to it, glancing at the door.
"Where's your sister?" Rafe asks. "Are they okay?"
"They're fine," you answer, "They're sleeping."
You assumed Amara and Leilani would deal with the same troubles as you, but when you checked up on them, they were out like a light.
Rafe examines you carefully: the way you shift your weight from one leg to the next, the way your hands slightly tremble, and the clear indication of sleep deprivation from the darkened shades ringed around your eyes.
He understands now.
"And you're not?"
Your jaw locks before unwinding. "I'm sorry."
He wants to eradicate that phrase from your vocabulary.
"Why are you apologizing?"
"It's stupid."
"It's not stupid," he argues. "You have a problem and you called me. I'm here to help."
Rafe's words are adamant and warms your chest but guilt presses like glass against your heart. "Were you busy?"
"Doesn't matter."
You frown. But the look in his eyes is genuine and honest. You take a step back to separate from him, needing your own air. As of late, everything you own is his. "I…" You exhale a large breath, voice shaky. "I don't know. I don't know what's wrong."
"Is it because of Aaron?"
You hesitate before nodding once.
"Have you seen him?"
"No, and I think that's the problem." You expel another breath. "I'm on edge all the time. My chest feels heavy and tight and my head hurts." You pause, before choking out. "I'm just so exhausted."
Rafe closes the distance and wraps his strong arms around you as you sink into his chest. You inhale, taking in the faded smell of his cologne.
"I hate this," you mumble, balling the fabric of his shirt into fists. "I hate that I can't sleep. I hate that I'm always stressed. I hate that—" You cut yourself off, not wanting to reveal too much. Swallowing hard, you attempt to salvage your words. "I just hate that I'm like this."
Frustration oozes out of you and Rafe hates to see you in this state. However, he'll admit, having you vulnerable and open is a welcoming change. You're allowing him a chance to see a side of you no one else has the privilege to and he deeply treasures your trust.
He'll do anything to preserve it.
Rafe massages delicate circles into the small of your back, soothing the aches in your bones as you melt into his arms. "It's okay," he reassures with a sweet mumble, "I'm here. What do you need from me?"
"I just want to sleep."
"Then we'll sleep."
"No sex." You withdraw enough for him to meet your solemn gaze, "No touching. I don't want to do anything other than sleep."
"Okay." He agrees slowly, his voice is unsteady because of your accusatory tone.
"I'm serious, Rafe," you proclaim. "I know we like to mess around, but I'm too tired. I don't want to fuck tonight."
Rafe's expression is unreadable, stonewalling his emotions the moment those words slipped from your lips. Did you think he only sees you as a fuck buddy?
"I said okay," he snaps, a little sharper than intended, but you pretend not to acknowledge it. You misunderstand it as him being upset over the celibacy rule imposed tonight, but that wasn't the case.
You swallow hard, not wanting his aggression to roll over into bed. "Rafe," you begin, feeling guilty, "if you don't want to, it's fine—"
"I never said that," he cuts you off, not wanting the implication to be read that he doesn't want you here. He does. It hurts him that you think he sees you as nothing—when that's far from the truth. He just can't seem to say it. "I just..." His jaw tightens. "Let's just go to bed."
Your lips pull together into a thin line, wanting to address the issue, but deciding you cannot handle an argument tonight. Nodding, you separate from him and move to one side of the bed. Rafe does the same.
You thought Rafe would take some precaution to add distance between you but he doesn't. You can feel the overwhelming radiation of his body heat, the indication of his proximity in close range, and it causes your breath to be still.
You can't handle it. You need distance. You need space. It's too intimate otherwise, and you can't afford that.
Pulling yourself to the ledge, with your back facing Rafe, you inhale a deep set of breaths to soothe the tension in your body. To pretend you don't feel the heat of his gaze. "Goodnight."
He doesn't answer at first, before he reciprocates with a night and you close your eyes to sleep.
Rafe watches you. The first few minutes are normal, but as time passes, you can't seem to relax in your position. Twisting and turning, your eyes remain closed throughout. The only sound is the soft breaths escaping you to indicate your sleepy state—or, at least, the closest attempt at it.
His mind still lingers on your earlier words. Do you think he doesn't care about you? Beyond intimacy? Is that why you called Maybank and Heyward first?
Rafe never thought you had an issue with it. That you were perfectly content with the arrangement. But the accusation on your tongue gave a different interpretation. Do you want more? Or, is he driving himself insane with the idea of you being his and only his?
Lost in the spiral of his own thoughts, Rafe didn't even realize that you moved closer. Your back now facing the wall as one of your arms extends outward, draped across his chest.
He freezes. Rafe assumes it's an accident, something you'll retract in a matter of seconds. But when your arm reaches out again, seeking the curve of his neck, he realizes it isn't.
You want him.
Taking it as a sign, Rafe lowers himself to grab the underside of your thigh, pulling your weight onto him. The moment you're in his embrace, chest resting against his, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. And, in return, Rafe nuzzles into the open crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.
"No touching, huh?" He mumbles into the softness of your skin as a gentle taunt. But when there's nothing but the sound of shallow breaths and the emptiness of replies, Rafe realizes you truly fell asleep.
You reached for him unconsciously.
His heart races at the implication, before calming to a normal rate, matching the steady guided pace of your own breaths. His grip around your body tightens, squeezing the soft flesh because, at that moment, he doesn't ever want to let you go.
"You need me," Rafe murmurs the confirmation in the column of your throat, hoping the words would sink through. "And I need you too."
—
By morning, you're gone.
It shouldn't come as a surprise. Every time he spends the night, there's a brief hope that the outcome for the morning will be different. That you'll remain in his arms, sleeping soundly. It never happens. And despite the subtle ache in his bones from the weight of your body on top of his all night, it beats the ache in his heart.
Sighing, after washing up, Rafe exits your bedroom to discover you sitting on one of the stools. A leg propped on the flat seat, your chin rests on your kneecap while you're flipping through some old documents.
"Morning," Rafe says, falling into the space next to yours.
"Shit," you swear, nearly jumping out of your own skin, a hand covering your accelerated heart. You hadn't heard him coming. "You scared me."
"Sorry," he apologizes sincerely, his eyes scanning over your refreshed face. "You sleep okay?"
You nod, recalling the memory of this morning. Curled up on his arms, head buried in the curve of his neck, your body pressed against his. At first, you assumed Rafe had pulled you in, but that wasn't possible. He wouldn't go against your directive. It was all you.
The corner of his mouth rises at the recognition dawning on your face. Before he gets the chance to make some comment about your neediness, you cut him off. "Don't," you warn, feeling a rush of heat rising to your cheeks.
"I haven't said anything,"
"I see it on your face,"
He scoffs, but the smile remains. "You're right," he relents, leaning closer, shortening the distance between you until he's right before you. "I was thinking of it."
Your eyes catch him and the teasing glint behind his gaze, causing your breath to shorten. You expel a breath, trying to release some tension in your shoulders, before you clarify, "All we did was sleep."
"Yeah, but you slept on me," his voice drops a full octave, "Admit it, sweetheart, you want me. Why else would you want me here?"
You search his face, trying to figure out what he wants. What he's trying to get out of you. But you find nothing tangible. Refusing to put yourself in another position of vulnerability when Rafe has done nothing to balance the scale, you scale back, adding space. "I just—I needed someone I trust."
You don't acknowledge that his assertion is correct. That the one time you fell asleep peacefully was in his arms. Or, perhaps, it wasn't necessarily about trust but about him. Instead, you pretend it's something else, something vague and general, hoping one day it will.
"Someone," Rafe repeats. "Or me?"
You avoid the question.
And Rafe assumes the former.
Dropping your gaze to the files, the air stiffens into a palpable silence. Your fingers thread through the records, pretending to search for something, when all you can feel is the thumping of your heartbeat in your veins.
Rafe releases a sigh. The elation of his state quickly deflates after your rejection. Again. He doesn't know how much longer he can take before it truly destroys him. Deciding to shift the conversation elsewhere, he asks, "Do you want me to stay again?"
"No, it's fine," you shake your head, dismissing the proposition out of habit. Even though it would bring you peace, the rational side of your brain determines the distance necessary to protect yourself. Becoming too reliant on Rafe would add nothing but pain. "You can go home," you pause, considering how to lighten the mood, "I bet the mattress here sucks in comparison to your one-million thread counts, huh?"
There's a strain to your voice; a telltale sign. Rafe ignores your words and focuses on what he does best: reading your body language. With squared shoulders and an avoidant gaze, he knows your words are far from the truth. You just don't know how to ask for what you want.
So, he proposes a different question.
"But can you sleep?"
You don't answer.
"I'll stay then," he decides, as if he's reading an item off a menu. Before you get a chance to object, Rafe shifts closer, tugging the corner of a document. "What's this?"
Your mouth closes, shoulders slouching from how quickly he changes the topic. It almost makes you smile. Deciding it would be better than fighting it, you explain that you're reviewing your Sailor bank accounts to see what money you can spare without harming the business. However, the issue is that you can't seem to find any gaps.
Rafe's brows furrow together as he listens, asking permission to take a look at your statements himself. His eyes scan through the billing, before asking. "Why don't you sell the business and work elsewhere?"
"You're not funny," you declare, attempting to pull the document away, but his grip remains firm. His eyes are set on yours.
"I'm not joking," he declares. "It could help a lot. I mean, you'll earn more than what you're earning here."
He isn't wrong. At this point in time, you would profit more by working as a bartender than a business owner. But that's not the point.
"Sailor is my family's legacy," you explain, believing his question was not an attack on your qualification but rather from a strictly logical standpoint. "It and my sisters are the most important things in my life."
Rafe hums, and he doesn't add anything else. You don't know if he gets it. "Let me ask you something: why do you want Cameron Development so badly?"
He goes rigid. He's never been asked that question before. Never had to articulate his reasoning. It makes him uncomfortable to be interviewed—especially if it's to you of all people. "I don't know," he declares noncommittally, glancing at his lap, "I always assumed I would get it. I'm the oldest."
You shake your head. Not out of mistrust, but because you know him. Rafe isn't as simple-minded as the rest of Kildare likes to believe. There has to be more. "I don't believe that," you say gently, "Try again."
His expression morphs into a charming smile. A facade to hide. "Do I get something if I talk?"
You roll your eyes. "It's always sex with you, isn't it?"
His smile drops, but you don't pick it up. He shouldn't have said that, but it's too late. Your expression is easygoing and loose, a detachment to your words as if you truly believe and accept that perception of how he views you.
Instead of addressing his feelings, he tries to articulate what he meant before.
"I don't know," Rafe starts again, in a low mumble, his voice more vulnerable than it was moments prior. "Business was the one thing I got. I... I didn't excel in academics and I didn't like sports that much. But with Cameron Development, it was the one thing me and my dad could sit down and talk about and I didn't feel like a big disappointment to him."
He never said those words out loud before, and the confession sounds pathetic, but the way your eyes soften and your head nods along as you listen with no judgment, it gives him the confidence to continue forward.
"I... I get it, you know? The numbers don't scare me and the logic makes sense. It's the one thing I have going for me and to know that my dad is considering giving it to Sarah... It hurts. Like, she has everything and I can't even have the one thing I'm good at."
His voice cracks at the end, and his gaze has since dropped to the floor, hands messing and rubbing the calloused skin of the other.
You reach forward to cup the side of his face, and lift his head, meeting his sensitive gaze. "It isn't fair," you run the pad of your thumb over his cheekbone, trying to soothe the ache of his admission. "It truly isn't. I wish I could make it better for you."
Too gentle. Too loving. In the comfort of your touch, Rafe speaks before he can stop himself. "Sometimes I think if I have you, I'll be fine with the world."
Your breathing stills. Rafe did too. You don't know if you misheard him, or if he's implying something else, but before you can seek clarification, the doorbell rings.
"I'll get it." Rafe swiftly pulls away, moving to the exit. His hands clench by his side, teeth grinding, regret coursing through his veins at the mistake of letting his emotions overtake him back there.
He shouldn't have said that.
When he opens the door, without checking the peephole, JJ stands behind it.
"Oh, you're still here," JJ declares with a hint of bewilderment. "Didn't think she kept dogs past noon."
Rafe's already on edge from the previous conversation that he has little patience for the Pogue. Seconds away from slamming the door on Maybank's smug face, you appear by Rafe's side, stopping him and inviting JJ in. He steps into your living room, holding something in his hands.
"What's that?" You point to the crumpled note, before recognizing his nervous stance. JJ's bouncing on the heel of his feet, avoiding your gaze, and when you repeat your question, more firmly this time, he reluctantly holds the note out.
"Someone left this at your bar," JJ explains as you take it. Your eyes quickly scan the message, your heart sinking with every word you read. "It's a warning. If you don't... If you don't pay him back in full tomorrow, he'll do something to your bar."
Rafe's watching your reaction with a hardened look. His eyes keep sliding over to JJ, the Pogue being the messenger of the news—the one you sought help from before—and the blond feels the heat of his stare on him. Consequently, it forces JJ to grab your elbow and pull you off to the side, away from Rafe.
JJ begins. "Look, I know you don't wanna do it, but my dad knows a guy—"
"No."
"He's been through with Aaron before," he whispers back sharply, "It might be the only option you have."
"And get stuck in the same shit I had with Aaron? No," you declare firmly, reading the note again. It does nothing to soothe the heightened nerves in your body. The way panic is ricocheting inside your stomach like a ping-pong ball.
JJ says nothing, the absolute behind your tone quiets him. While you're preoccupied with another read-through, JJ glances back to where Rafe stands.
"I gotta ask," JJ starts again, lowering his voice so only you can hear. You lift your head from the note, meeting his curious gaze, with a raise of your brow. "Rafe? Seriously?"
While you're trying to figure out how to maintain your livelihood, JJ is concerned about your love life.
"Is this really the time and place?"
"I'm serious, what do you see in him?"
"Drop it, JJ."
"I just don't understand," he continues in a whisper, but his volume raises slightly, "I swear, you're a pretty girl. You can do 10x better than him—"
"JJ," you command sternly, all amusement vanishes. "Drop it."
"Fine," he stays, stepping back with both hands partially raised to his collar. He doesn't turn to catch another glimpse at Rafe, but instead, offers the same advice as he did before. "If you need my help, you know where to find me."
Rafe watches as the Pogue leaves, stepping out to your porch and closing the door behind him. But his breath remains ragged. He caught the last bit of JJ's hushed words, and as much as he wanted to be sensible, he didn't like it.
You're different than Rafe, he understands that. You have a support system, a list of other people, and sometimes—as much as he hates to admit—they are better than him. Less volatile. Less emotional.
But it feels like you're pushing him away. Placing him as a last line of defense for all your troubles. The insecure parts of him are roaring—louder than his rational thoughts can ever be—telling him that he's the last choice. The last option.
He can't help but wonder. If Leilani hadn't called him, would you have? Or would it be JJ or Pope?
Rafe rounds the couch to approach you, his hand circles your wrist holding the note. Your head lifts to meet his harsh gaze.
"You don't need his help," he declares gruffly, "I could've done it."
You blink. "What?"
"The note at the bar," he gestures to the crumpled paper in your hands, before dropping his to his side, clenching down to a fist. "I could've taken care of it."
"I... I didn't ask him. He did it himself."
Rafe isn't convinced. "And last night with Maybank and Heyward, that was all them too?"
His tone is sharp and accusatory, leaving you lightheaded as you stare at him. You're still wrapped up around the threatening note, but Rafe is somewhere else. A different topic. Another issue. You can't seem to gauge what type of response you need to have. And in turn, you give him silence.
His anger rises. "Am I just your second choice? Your fucking backup plan because those Pogues don't cut it?"
Your head is spinning, and you attempt to pull away from his grip but he tightens it. "Rafe," you start slowly, your breathing quickens, "What are you talking about?"
Are you being ignorant on purpose? Are you trying to drive him mad? His fury erupts, flooding all his senses.
"Them!" Rafe points to the door, where JJ left moments ago. "Last night. Everything. Did you ask them before you asked me?"
It's starting to catch up. "Are you serious?"
"I told you that we'll figure it out together."
"I—" Your throat burns. You can't believe he's letting his jealousy about your friends come at a perilous stage in your life. Exhaling a sharp breath, you meet his stare head-on. "They appointed themselves to that role. I never asked that of them."
After Pope discovered the break-in, JJ and him formed a pact to take it upon themselves to watch over you while you're home. They traded off shifts, entertaining themselves on the porch where they set up a makeshift couch and hammock to crash. You had tried to convince them you were fine, but they were stubborn. They wouldn't listen. And at the time, you appreciated the extra protection.
But it didn't work. You couldn't sleep. You still needed him.
Does he not get that?
Rafe scoffs, shaking his head with contempt, "You never ask for anything."
"Are you really trying to start a fight right now?"
"Are you making it a fight?"
"They're my friends, Rafe," you emphasize, "I told you that."
"I'm not talking about that."
"Then what is it?"
His jaw is set, resistance churning through his system to shut the fuck up, but he can't hold it in. He finds himself asking, half in plead, half in confession, "What am I?"
You weren't expecting that. Your lips part, but no words follow through. His hard gaze is on you, waiting for an explanation, but you don't answer fast enough. It's killing him. His next words are a shimmering calm, in a deadly whisper, "Do you think I only want you for sex?"
Your heart squeezes in your chest, taking all your air alongside it. You think you lost your ability to speak, but when you do, it comes out small. "Don't you?"
You're turning the question back onto him, and he hates it. He's trying to get the words out of you, to see where he stands, but neither of you is willing to take that step. It reduces him to silence.
You can't believe it. He can ask, but he can't answer. Frustration fills you, searing hot and explosive. You don't stop yourself from saying, "Because last I remember, whenever you had a problem, you came over to fuck." You snap, your emotions rising to a crescendo, "And when I asked you what we are..." You trail off, losing your voice. The sting of his label still hasn't passed.
But he knows what you're referring to.
"That's different."
"How?"
Rafe doesn't speak. All he knows is it's different. He has feelings for you. Before he refused to acknowledge it, now, it's bleeding into everything he touches. Everything he does. He just can't seem to say it.
"That was before."
Your brows pull together, your anger pulsating through your veins. "Before what? Before Aaron broke into my house?"
"No," he declares, his response is a knee-jerk reaction, but it wasn't the right one. Attempting to rectify, Rafe stammers, "Well, yes, but it's just... It's..."
Why can't he fucking tell you?
He's afraid of being first.
"It's pity?" You supply, not bothering to conceal the hurt in your tone. "Everything is just pity?"
"No!" He exclaims, but it isn't right. It still isn't good enough.
"Then what is it?" You demand, trying to get a hold of your emotions. But you're seconds away from screaming, or crying, or both. You rip your hand from Rafe's grip, taking a step back to conserve yourself.
His gaze falls to his empty hands, his emotions choking him. Every attempt at saying the right words causes him to shrink, feeling small, feeling like a child reaching for their parent's love, only to be pushed aside and dismissed. His walls are for protection, but it destroys as much as it save him.
Rafe decides to settle on something easy. "I'm your boyfriend."
"Fake," you correct.
"Does this feel fucking fake to you?"
You reel back. All your anger dissipates. All your resentment, hurt, and frustration disappear once those words leave his lips. And you're left with a burning clarity. Your chest constricts, your heart hammering. But you can't seem to answer him. You want him to say it first. "You tell me."
Rafe can't. It took all of him to admit such a thing.
You watch him with bated breath, but only to be disappointed again. His dark blue eyes are piercing, rich with emotions, but none of them are vocalized. None are honest. You can’t do this. You can’t go through another second of this uncertainty. You’re tunneling towards heartbreaking misery. So, you turn to leave.
But Rafe catches your wrist and pulls you back. His lips slam into yours, knocking the wind from your lungs.
He pours everything into this kiss; all his desperation, vulnerability, and truth. His action demonstrates everything his words can’t. And while you reciprocate with the same passion, reality grounds you, and you draw back, shaking your head. “Rafe—“
He kisses you again. Hoping it’s enough. Begging it to be. He can’t say it. He doesn’t know why he can’t fucking say it. He wants this to be enough.
You push back again, and this time, his arm wraps around your waist, trapping you in his embrace. You’re breathing hard as Rafe stares down at you while you’re looking at his chest.
He says your name. You refuse to look up.
He says it again. More firmly. You don’t acknowledge.
“Sweetheart,” he finally says, softening his words, and you find yourself crying. Tears crowd your waterline as you shake your head, refusing to be persuaded by the sweet sound of your endearment.
“No,” you choke out, slamming a weak fist against his chest. “Let me go. I can’t—I don’t—I’m not doing this.”
You finally tilt your head up to look at him. The way he stares at you with such tenderness. You can’t seem to discern it from pity. “I can’t.” You sob, “If this is how you’re playing me, I can’t keep doing this anymore. You’re breaking my heart.“
Then it finally hits him.
All your resistance. It was never rejection. It was the complete opposite. Coupled with the same fears he had; the same emotions he didn’t know how to express. He’s been so blind to it.
He should’ve known. He should’ve read it the same way he’s been reading everything else.
It finally gave him the confidence nothing else has.
“I fucking love you.”
You are completely still. You think you're hearing him wrong, that this is just a way of your brain deluding you and calming your irrational state of mind, but it's real. Your lips part, breathing shallow, all while you're staring back into Rafe's eyes.
He's afraid. Rafe doesn't trust his own instincts. Everything about you makes him question himself. And while he gained a fleeting moment of courage, he doesn't know if it will follow through. On the off-chance that, despite all this, all the signs he read, he was wrong and it will be rejection.
"Say it back," Rafe whispers in a plea. It's pathetic, but he no longer cares. "Say it back or I'm going to lose my fucking mind."
"You love me?" You breathe in a whisper, unable to move on from this moment. Rafe squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing thickly, before nodding once.
“I think I loved you since I first met you,” he confesses. “I just didn’t know it yet.”
“You’re not just saying that?”
Rafe bristles, “You think I go around telling people I love them?” He declares, studying your expression, trying to gauge your reaction, but it’s hard when he’s blinded by the crippling fear that you don’t feel the same. “You think I do this for anyone?”
“I don’t know,” you admit, “I just don’t want you to say something you don’t mean.”
“I do mean it,” he declares, his voice suddenly dry, as he finds your gaze. “I… I’m sorry for before when I said things I didn’t mean. I don’t want you just for sex, I don’t see you as just a fuck buddy. I’m… I’m in love with you, and it’s fucking difficult to tell you that.”
Your lips purse together, but you still don’t answer him. Don’t confess your own side. Instead, you ask in a meek voice, “Since the beginning?”
He huffs. He can’t believe he’s admitting so much today. Revealing things he swore he’d keep hidden behind a locked box. But when he finds the light returning in your eyes, trying to gauge more of his reaction, read his true meaning, finding comfort in his words, he’ll rip out his own soul to keep it there. “Since the beginning. When you called me out, when you patched me up, when you slapped me—“ That bit makes you let out a small laugh, “I don’t think I was going to meet anyone who challenges and accepts me the way you do.”
You don’t say anything for the next few moments. And they were the longest seconds of his life. Rafe had to speak, “And if it’s just me, if I’m the only person who feels this way, I’ll find a way to be okay with that—“
You cut him off with a kiss.
“I love you,” you breathe into his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I love you,” you jump, curving your legs around his hips as Rafe catches you, steadying you with two hands tantalizing skimming the curve of your ass. “Fuck, Rafe, I love you so much.”
His heart fills with your words. Your desperation clinging to each puncture. He grins into the kiss, before he deepens it, tasting you, stealing your air. Everything feels right. Feels good. When Rafe separates to break the kiss, he catches the residue smile on your face and the little daze behind your eyes. He snaps a memory of it and saves it forever.
But, just as it came, it slowly faded away. Reality quickly dawns on you, and your arms tightens around Rafe’s neck, reminders and deadlines creeping up your skin. Your confession comes out small. “I… I’m scared. With Aaron and everything.”
“Sweetheart…”
“I don’t have the money, Rafe,” your eyes connect with his. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
Rafe pulls you in, flushed against his chest as your head lays on his shoulders and his hand strokes your hair. It takes a moment for him to process, to remember the world outside of you. But, when he does, he whispers, “I’m going to take care of it,” his voice so low, it almost comes out as a threat. “I’ll take care of you.”
And he will.
IMPORTANT: if you want to follow my fics and updates, follow @zyafics-library and turn on notifications!
“But when he finds the light returning in your eyes, trying to gauge more of his reaction, read his true meaning, finding comfort in his words, he’ll rip out his own soul to keep it there.”
are you KIDDING??? this was so beautiful from start to finish. the pining, the fear of losing each other UGHHH. you genuinely never fail to amaze me with your writing.
➸ summary: rafe has to find a way to apologize after an argument ends in tears
➸ warnings/notes: fingering, oral (f!receiving), tears?, very slight religious imagery at the end sorry
word count: 1.3k
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IT WAS STUPID. So, so stupid. He just never knew when to leave something alone - when to swallow his pride and let the argument fizzle out.
Rafe was taught that backing down from a fight meant he was a coward. In his mind, ‘being the bigger person’ was admitting defeat. Even though he knew he was in the wrong he just couldn’t find it in himself to apologize. He kept going and going, until you were left a teary mess in his bedroom, gently wiping at your face so that he wouldn’t notice your sobs.
But he did. He did and he felt fucking terrible.
Making people feel like shit was all he was good at. He had never been in a serious relationship before - he had never cared about anyone enough to try. You were different. You made him want to be good, and thoughtful, and kind. However in this moment he was none of those things.
His mind was hazy as he knelt down below the bed. Rafe wasn’t good at this. He wasn’t used to saying sorry and making amends. His fists usually did the work for him, and obviously in this case, that wasn’t an option.
Promises and apologies died on his lips as he saw your frowning mouth and glossy eyes. He really hated himself in times like these. How could he hurt the only good thing in is life? All you were trying to do was help, and he threw it back in your face. What an asshole he was.
Fingertips brushing across your knuckles, he kissed them over and over. Plump, pink flesh tickled your skin as he left marks of love everywhere he could reach.
He was so careful as he laid you back, a stark contrast to the harshness of his words earlier on. Nothing was spoken as he finally reached your lips. His tongue that spouted obscenities and yells was now massaging your bottom lip as he slowly explored your mouth. It was never his intention to be mean. It just always, somehow, managed to happen.
Every touch of skin was a silent ‘sorry’. He held you like you would break at any moment, and when he lifted his thumb to wipe at a stray tear, you only sighed breathlessly in response.
“Lemme take care ‘f you,” he mumbled, buzzed head lowering to kiss down your jaw. “Show you how much I love you.”
All he needed was a nod from you, your voice still shaky from crying. You were so pretty, and he hated seeing your eyes so red and puffy. The only time you should be crying is when his head is in between your thighs, not when he was riled up and screaming at you for something that wasn’t your fault.
Brows pinched together, Rafe held onto your hip tightly as he continued trailing his lips across your throat. He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell you how sorry he was, that he would do better next time - but he knew it was no use. Ever since he could remember people treated him like a bomb ready to blow, and now he knew why. Now that he was the cause of your tears he finally understood why people were afraid of him. Nothing good came from being around him. You shouldn’t be wasting your -
“Rafe,” your whine interrupted his self-deprecating thoughts.
He lifted his head from your collarbone, a slight pop sounding in the silent room. He had barely noticed that he was leaving purple marks in his wake. Even when he wanted to be gentle, he managed to mar your beautiful skin. “Yeah, baby?”
Your hands ran through his short blond fuzz, the texture relaxing you. Rafe always liked when you scratched at his scalp. It was like you knew how to make him melt into a puddle of mush at your feet.
“Can we not fight anymore?” you said, your voice tired and weary.
“We’re not. We won’t,” he whispered against your lips, planting a soft peck to them. “Don’t gotta worry that pretty little head of yours. Just relax, let me do the work.”
Visibly loosening your muscles, you let your head fall limp against the pillows as your boyfriend began to slowly pull his your shirt over your head. His mouth and palms made sure to leave nowhere untouched.
Rafe tended to pour all of his affections out when he had you like this. He found it easier to prove his adoration for you without words. He liked to do things for you, to make you feel good, to make you forget about how horrible he could be. It wasn’t on purpose, although sometimes he noticed himself using sex as a crutch. He needed to learn to use his words.
“I love you.”
It was quiet, almost inaudible. You repeated the words back to him as the pads of his fingers pushed your underwear to the side, collecting the arousal that had pooled there. Swirling his fingers momentarily, he plunged two fingers into you, shushing you as you writhed under him, the pleasure already too overwhelming for your exhausted mind.
Your grip on his head tightened, nails practically digging into his skull as you moaned out. He didn’t mind. In all honesty you could do anything to him and he would take it. He would take anything you gave him - whatever you thought he deserved.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his thumb adding to the mix as he nudged your clit with it. “Relax, baby,” he cooed.
It wasn’t often that Rafe got like this. Sure, he was soft with you most days, but he rarely spoke so gently with you. This was more intimate than you had ever been with him. The relationship was new, and you hadn’t expected him to have such an adoring side to him.
He didn’t stop after your first orgasm. Even as you clawed at his back, your moans echoing throughout the whole empty house. Despite your panting and closed lids, he only lowered himself onto his stomach as he continued holding your panties out of the way. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, watching as your juices dripped out of you, your cunt pulsating with each cold breath that escaped his mouth.
“Gonna let me taste you?” he asked, more to himself than anything. You hummed, hands bracing yourself against his shoulders as you whimpered at the sensitivity.
“Yeah… yeah,” you managed to croak.
It didn’t take long for Rafe to get back to it. He started off slow, which was new for him. He was used to being fast and rougher than this. This was all a strange experience to him, but he kept the patient pace as he noticed your breaths becoming uneven. “Yeah, like that?” he spoke into you, again more-so talking to himself.
Hands that were so used to being bruised and bloodied were now reverently holding your legs open for him. He liked having full access to you, knowing that he had the power to make you feel all this pleasure.
He found himself speeding up his movements, and he was so caught up in the moment that before he knew it, the vibrations of “I’m so sorry” reverberated through you like a mantra. Rafe couldn’t stop. Not when you came once more, his chin glistening and jaw cramped, not when he mouthed “forgive me” against your inner thigh over and over, his nails digging into your flesh as he pried you open - not even when you had already told him it was okay. Because he knew it wasn’t.
Sometimes he felt like he was repenting for his sins. Especially when he was on his knees for you, your cries and whimpers like a hymn. He only hoped you could offer him his salvation.
➸ summary: when you accidentally witness something you should have never seen, your once perfect scheme to keeping your scholarship becomes jeopardized - yet, somehow, the very person who puts you at risk is the only one who can save you
➸ warnings/notes: college!au, enemies to lovers, class difference, muggle!au, slowish burn, mentions of past trauma, parental trauma/dysfunctional family
A/N: original storyline by Mona Kasten’s (2018) trilogy ‘Save Me’. inspired by ‘Maxton Hall’ dir. Martin Schreier & Tarek Roehlinger on Netflix. i do not take any credit for this story, it is merely a retelling with my own take on it. all characters are fictional and have nothing to do with the original publishing. all rights go to Mona Kasten and the creators of the show.
part one
word count: 3.2k
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IT WAS QUITE obvious that something had been bothering you these past few days. Ginny would start each morning with the same question – what did Mattheo say to you that day? There was no way of offering her any information without accidentally giving away Pansy’s secret. A part of you feels silly for keeping it, but a bigger part of you knows that there will be no chance of keeping your scholarship if she found out that you told someone. If you were a little pettier maybe you’d drag her down with you, expose her at the expense of your own future.
But you weren’t like them. You had morals that didn’t align with money and reputation. You would never dare stoop to the level of those rich pompous asses. So, each morning you would answer Ginny’s question the same, and today was no different.
“He wanted to change around some stuff with the committee. It was stupid.”
Ginny scrunched her eyebrows, her head tilting. She was a smart girl, and she knew you better than anyone so she knew something was up. She was determined to find out.
Jogging a bit to catch up to you, she grabbed your elbow. “But - hold on,” she said, pulling your arm to halt your movements. “That doesn’t explain why you were so pissed when you came back.”
She was right. That morning you came back with a sort of rage that she had never seen before. Even the fellow students who didn’t know you well could sense that something had seriously gotten under your skin. Usually, they would be loud and disruptive when you explained the plans to them, but they held their tongues that day.
You sighed, adjusting the strap of your bag, forgetting that the rip had gotten bigger when you dragged it away in a rush to follow Mattheo.
“Yeah. You know Riddle – he's a dick.”
Pursing her lips, Ginny decided to interrogate you another day upon noticing how you sunk into yourself.
“No, actually. I don’t.”
Across campus, Mattheo was being bombarded with questions of his own. Enzo wanted to know where he disappeared to these past few days, and Theo was wondering why his mind seemed pre-occupied. He was never one to turn down a hang-out that involved drinking, but recently he’s been alone – or with Pansy. They always looked to be deep in conversation, almost as if they were plotting something.
Little did Theo know, they were.
You were none the wiser as you took your seat next to Ginny. Pansy was sat one table away from you, opening up her notebook as her friend talked her ear off about something. His name was Blaise if you remembered correctly. It was as if she could feel your eyes on her, and she whipped her head to look at you, narrowing her eyes. You only shook your head in response, looking back to the front of the class. You were hoping to stay away from drama after the whole debacle with Riddle.
Class began without a hitch, and all seemed to be normal – that is until phones began to go off at lightning speed. The professor turned around angrily, ranting about how phones use was prohibited in class.
Each and every person in the room had their eyes glued to their phones. Everybody except you. You turned to your friend.
“What is it?” you asked, noticing the grave look on her face. She grimaced as she turned her screen towards you. There, in all of its glory, was a picture of your school records – beginning from the day you got your scholarship, to right now. It detailed your plea for a recommendation letter down to the statement that you would not have to pay one cent of your tuition due to your family’s lack of funds.
Your entire body went cold. Sure, everybody could probably guess that your family was not well off, but you didn't need the whole student body knowing you were poor, much less practically begging for a good word in with Oxford. It was humiliating knowing that everyone had their futures set with a click of their parent’s fingers while you had to grovel for some sort of acknowledgment from the university.
“Riddle,” you muttered, your breath fanning out in uneven sequences.
The chair scraped against the floor as you stood up, your bag clinging against the desk as you dragged it along with you. You gripped the leather strap tightly, marching down the hallway. He was known to laze around outside the library – never inside, of course. Every single strand of patience you had completely crumbled as you saw him from afar, that stupid grin plastered on his face.
His stupidly perfect face. He had it all – looks, money, status. What did he gain from doing this to you?
“Uh oh,” you heard someone say. “The missus looks mad.”
Mattheo clicked his tongue as he stood up from his leaning position on the wall.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” you asked breathlessly. Your hands were shaking as you wiped them off your skirt, the sweat producing fast on your palms. If he couldn't admit to his mistake you would go insane, no doubt about it.
“I don’t know what - “
His sentence was cut short as a sharp slap reached his cheek. A slap that surprised even you as you lowered your stinging hand down to your side.
“If you could think about anyone but yourself for more than one second, then maybe you wouldn’t be such a coward,” you spat. Mattheo lifted his head to meet your eyes, shock evident on his face. Even through all of this, he still managed to throw a smirk your way. He looked too proud of himself and you wanted nothing more than to knock him down a peg.
“Don’t look at me like that, Riddle.” You turned around, adjusting the bag on your shoulder. “Next time you pull something like that I won’t bother staying quiet about your little situation.”
His friends looked at Mattheo, confused. He only shrugged in response as he rubbed his cheek, watching as you stomped away, your hands balled into fists. If he wasn’t so desperate to hate you for rejecting his monetary offer the other day, he would’ve been impressed. Nobody would’ve ever dared speak to him like that, much less lay hands on him. You may soon turn out to be a pain in the ass – but even he had to admit, you had some strong nerve.
Ginny came sprinting after you, your books clutched in her arms as she hurried to return them to you.
“What was all that about?”
You opened your mouth to speak, but she interrupted you again. “Don’t give me the same bullshit you gave me this morning. What does he have against you?”
You gratefully took your books back from her. Taking a deep breath, you thought long and hard about your choices. You could reveal everything to her and put your education in danger – but the more you thought about it, the more you realised that it always was in danger. Slapping Mattheo Riddle wouldn’t come without some retaliation. In all honesty, you were doomed from the start.
“It’s not what he has against me. It's what I have against him.”
Upon seeing Ginny’s puzzled expression, you sighed, motioning for her to follow you. Arriving at an empty classroom, you plopped into a chair. In your attempt to keep everything in check, it somehow managed to make it all worse.
Ginny waited for an explanation. As much as you wished you could tell her everything, you also couldn’t find it in yourself to disclose such private matters about someone. Even if that someone was Pansy Parkinson – the girl who, only days ago, carelessly splashed your uniform with dirt.
“I... saw something I shouldn’t have,” you started. Picking at your nails you tried to decide what to say next. Were you really going to expose your classmate’s secret relationship? It was an immoral act, after all - Professor Sallow could lose his job, and truthfully, he should.
But then again it wasn’t your place, nor your business.
“It was a mistake, really. I never should’ve found out and – well, Mattheo tried to pay me off in return for my silence and I kind of... threw the money in his face.”
Scratching at her head Ginny sat beside you. She thought for a moment, then took a deep breath.
“So, you said no to his money, but you still won’t tell anyone about what you saw?”
Collapsing your head into your hands, you groaned. When she phrased it like that it really did sound stupid. You should’ve just taken the money and moved on. Instead, you had to deal with these spoiled rich kids’ wrath. If you could go back in time, you would take the money, no matter how painful it would’ve been to prove Mattheo right – that he really could pay just about anyone off to erase his errors.
“Yes?” you mumbled in between your fingers. “But now he’s clearly dead-set on embarrassing me to death.”
“You should just talk to him,” Ginny offered as she rubbed your shoulder. “Tell him you made a mistake and that you’ll take the money. I mean, he can’t exactly make sure you keep your word, so you might as well make bank and expose him.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No! That would be ten times more mortifying than what happened today. And anyway, I need to keep myself invisible. I can’t be involved in petty drama.”
Ginny stood up, humming. “Sorry to break it to you, but you already are.”
Eventually, Ginny left the room, and you were left to your own thoughts. Dropping your forehead onto the wooden table beneath you, you groaned yet again. What a silly circumstance to be in – and even sillier that it was bothering you so much. You weren’t going to let anyone ruin your chances at Oxford, especially not those who had their heads up their asses 24/7. If Mattheo was intent on making this year unbearable, then you weren’t going to make it easy on him.
He must have had the same thought because in that exact moment, the door opened yet again – and in waltzed Mattheo. His tie was loosened and his uniform jacket was resting on his forearm. Today couldn’t get any worse.
You began to stand up upon seeing him, not wanting to be stuck looking up at him as he spoke.
“What did you tell her?”
Huffing, you scratched at the leather of your bag. “What?”
“Weasley - the one with the bankrupt dad?”
“Are you aware of everybody's family business or is it only when it has to do with me?”
A dark look came over his eyes, and he took a step closer to the table you stood behind. He didn’t like when people had something to dangle over him. Not when it was something so fragile and life-ruining.
“What did you tell her?” he repeated.
You could’ve teased it for longer, dragged it on to increase his agitation. Maybe if you kept the anticipation going, he would snap and show his true colours – not that he already hasn’t. If you had a little more gumption, you would’ve tortured him for a while. The slap you delivered didn’t seem to be enough for him to leave you alone, and at this point, him leaving you alone was all you wanted. It would be the most beneficial outcome for both parties.
“Nothing.”
Mattheo pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m serious, Granger - “
“So am I! She doesn’t know anything. I wouldn’t stoop as low as to reveal personal information that has nothing to do with me. You should learn to do the same,” you said, interrupting what was presumably going to be an irrational out-lash.
“C’mon don’t be – it wasn’t like nobody knew! I had to do something to make sure you kept quiet.”
“So you decided to go on a whole power trip and snoop through my records? Do yourself a favour – leave me alone. That’s my price for silence.”
A quivering stillness fell in the room. Slight buzzing from the overhead lights punctured the tension, and you looked above you at the ceiling, focusing on the cracks and chipped paint instead of the man in front of you. Realistically, you knew it wasn’t a big deal - well, it was, but he was right. Everybody knew where you came from, how little money you had, how little you actually fit into this society. Yet it was the principle of the situation that bugged you.
Upon hearing no further qualms from Mattheo, you clutched your fragile bag and stormed out of the room. Today was supposed to be a good day. It was the night of the welcoming committee’s ball - the annual event where prospective students had a chance to visit the campus and see all that the college had to offer.
You’d be damned if you let that stupid boy get in the way of it.
EVERYTHING WAS PERFECT. Down to the lighting, music, and decorations - you felt that you and your classmates had really outdone yourselves. If this all went according to plan, maybe you could impress your Headmaster enough to give you a recommendation. A recommendation that you had yet to obtain ever since seeing what Professor Sallow liked to do in his spare time.
You shook away your thoughts as you greeted the incoming guests. The list wasn’t extensive, but in the small ballroom, it really felt like the whole town was here. If you focused too much on the numbers, it would almost feel suffocating.
There were tables stacked with information booklets, and even more tables full of volunteers from different classes who sat and explained the coursework and exams to parents. Finally taking a deep breath since the night began, your shoulders relaxed as you stepped away from the door to admire the scene before you. You had high hopes.
Headmaster Dumbledore trailed in, his eyes scanning and critiquing every inch and corner of the room.
“Congratulations,” came his voice beside you, his hands clasped in front of him as his eyes sparkled under the chandelier lights. “Tonight already seems to be a success.”
He was gone just as quickly as he had appeared, and in his place came Ginny and Harry. They were jumping excitedly as they pointed to the streamers and balloons propped up around the place, and Ginny mentioned how proud your sister would be if she was here.
Hermione was already in Oxford - her good grades and excellent reputation got her in without a hitch. You only hoped to be half as smart as her one day. Ginny’s brother, Ron had also gone off. He had graduated and begun working in his father’s company.
“Yeah. I think she would be,” you smiled.
By the one hour mark you were feeling pretty confident in getting that letter from Dumbledore. Everybody was having a good time, including yourself. Despite the running around and public speaking, you were quite enjoying the networking opportunity.
Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.
Your whole world came crashing down as the lights went off, loud gasps echoing around the hall. No big deal - you could find the back up generator and turn it back on.
Yet you had little time to do so as a bright, searing red LED flashed into your eyes, disco music blaring loudly as you sprinted around, trying to find Ginny. Or, really, anybody who could explain what was going on.
Bile quickly rose at the back of your throat as your eyes landed on the stage at the end of the room. Half naked men and women were dancing provocatively as the song continued, the bass vibrating in your chest. In this moment, you honestly wished the electricity going off was your biggest concern.
Hoping that Dumbledore had already left, you shoved through the crowd to reach the exit, wanting a better vantage point. At least if he wasn’t here, you could do some damage control before the parents began complaining. To your dismay, you spotted him slowly walking towards the podium of dancers, presumably ready to kick them out.
Of course, like all things in your life, it just had to get worse. Hearing a snicker from beside you, your head whipped in its direction. Mattheo was stood on the stairs, drinking from a wine bottle with his idiotic friends.
A slap wouldn’t do it justice anymore - you wanted to knock the lights out of him.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” you shouted over the music. “Was embarrassed me once today not enough for you?”
He only shrugged, passing the bottle to the blonde beside him. “Your little party was getting boring. Someone had to spice it up.”
If Dumbledore hadn’t have shown up, you honestly think you’d have caused a scandal. You already had it planned in your mind. Take the wine bottle and hit it over his head - or even push him off the bannister. All of those were the murderous thoughts that ran through your imagination.
“Riddle, Granger, I’d like to see you in my office.”
And with that, your wild, raging fantasy was broken, and you were filled with dread for the millionth time today.
Nothing was said as you walked back into the dark hallways, all the classroom doors locked and windows closed. It was eerie, and the anticipation of what punishment was to come clouded above you like a thunderstorm waiting to overcome you.
Blood trickled down your cuticles as you picked at your fingers, the ticking of the clock in Dumbledore’s office doing nothing to ease your nerves. Mattheo’s shoulder brushed against yours in the seat beside you, and it took all of your willpower not to scream and strangle him. For someone who had it all, he really was such a lowlife.
“…No more football, until you have completed your volunteer work.”
Zoning back into the conversation, your heart stopped. Volunteer work? Surely he didn’t mean working with you.
“Excuse me, sir, can you repeat that?”
“Mr. Riddle will be joining you on the committee. I’m leaving it up to you to make sure he does his part.”
Of course. Of course it had to get even more unbearable. You had been trying to get Mattheo off your mind and away from you for weeks, just for him to become another problem on your plate.
“Sir, that’s not fair! My father pays for everything in this school, you can’t just take me off the team,” the problem itself interjected.
“I’ll be phoning your father tonight. I understand your struggle, but you should have thought about that before pulling this silly ‘joke’.”
Leaning back into the chair, your eyes shut closed, the voices in the room becoming muddled as you tried to calm your breathing. You would’ve taken anything else - any other punishment that didn’t involve spending more time with Mattheo Riddle than you already had to.
Trying to reason with yourself, you declared that it really couldn’t be that bad. There was only 2 months left until the semester was over. You could survive that. You had to.
➸ summary: rafe has to find a way to apologize after an argument ends in tears
➸ warnings/notes: fingering, oral (f!receiving), tears?, very slight religious imagery at the end sorry
word count: 1.3k
————————
IT WAS STUPID. So, so stupid. He just never knew when to leave something alone - when to swallow his pride and let the argument fizzle out.
Rafe was taught that backing down from a fight meant he was a coward. In his mind, ‘being the bigger person’ was admitting defeat. Even though he knew he was in the wrong he just couldn’t find it in himself to apologize. He kept going and going, until you were left a teary mess in his bedroom, gently wiping at your face so that he wouldn’t notice your sobs.
But he did. He did and he felt fucking terrible.
Making people feel like shit was all he was good at. He had never been in a serious relationship before - he had never cared about anyone enough to try. You were different. You made him want to be good, and thoughtful, and kind. However in this moment he was none of those things.
His mind was hazy as he knelt down below the bed. Rafe wasn’t good at this. He wasn’t used to saying sorry and making amends. His fists usually did the work for him, and obviously in this case, that wasn’t an option.
Promises and apologies died on his lips as he saw your frowning mouth and glossy eyes. He really hated himself in times like these. How could he hurt the only good thing in is life? All you were trying to do was help, and he threw it back in your face. What an asshole he was.
Fingertips brushing across your knuckles, he kissed them over and over. Plump, pink flesh tickled your skin as he left marks of love everywhere he could reach.
He was so careful as he laid you back, a stark contrast to the harshness of his words earlier on. Nothing was spoken as he finally reached your lips. His tongue that spouted obscenities and yells was now massaging your bottom lip as he slowly explored your mouth. It was never his intention to be mean. It just always, somehow, managed to happen.
Every touch of skin was a silent ‘sorry’. He held you like you would break at any moment, and when he lifted his thumb to wipe at a stray tear, you only sighed breathlessly in response.
“Lemme take care ‘f you,” he mumbled, buzzed head lowering to kiss down your jaw. “Show you how much I love you.”
All he needed was a nod from you, your voice still shaky from crying. You were so pretty, and he hated seeing your eyes so red and puffy. The only time you should be crying is when his head is in between your thighs, not when he was riled up and screaming at you for something that wasn’t your fault.
Brows pinched together, Rafe held onto your hip tightly as he continued trailing his lips across your throat. He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell you how sorry he was, that he would do better next time - but he knew it was no use. Ever since he could remember people treated him like a bomb ready to blow, and now he knew why. Now that he was the cause of your tears he finally understood why people were afraid of him. Nothing good came from being around him. You shouldn’t be wasting your -
“Rafe,” your whine interrupted his self-deprecating thoughts.
He lifted his head from your collarbone, a slight pop sounding in the silent room. He had barely noticed that he was leaving purple marks in his wake. Even when he wanted to be gentle, he managed to mar your beautiful skin. “Yeah, baby?”
Your hands ran through his short blond fuzz, the texture relaxing you. Rafe always liked when you scratched at his scalp. It was like you knew how to make him melt into a puddle of mush at your feet.
“Can we not fight anymore?” you said, your voice tired and weary.
“We’re not. We won’t,” he whispered against your lips, planting a soft peck to them. “Don’t gotta worry that pretty little head of yours. Just relax, let me do the work.”
Visibly loosening your muscles, you let your head fall limp against the pillows as your boyfriend began to slowly pull his your shirt over your head. His mouth and palms made sure to leave nowhere untouched.
Rafe tended to pour all of his affections out when he had you like this. He found it easier to prove his adoration for you without words. He liked to do things for you, to make you feel good, to make you forget about how horrible he could be. It wasn’t on purpose, although sometimes he noticed himself using sex as a crutch. He needed to learn to use his words.
“I love you.”
It was quiet, almost inaudible. You repeated the words back to him as the pads of his fingers pushed your underwear to the side, collecting the arousal that had pooled there. Swirling his fingers momentarily, he plunged two fingers into you, shushing you as you writhed under him, the pleasure already too overwhelming for your exhausted mind.
Your grip on his head tightened, nails practically digging into his skull as you moaned out. He didn’t mind. In all honesty you could do anything to him and he would take it. He would take anything you gave him - whatever you thought he deserved.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his thumb adding to the mix as he nudged your clit with it. “Relax, baby,” he cooed.
It wasn’t often that Rafe got like this. Sure, he was soft with you most days, but he rarely spoke so gently with you. This was more intimate than you had ever been with him. The relationship was new, and you hadn’t expected him to have such an adoring side to him.
He didn’t stop after your first orgasm. Even as you clawed at his back, your moans echoing throughout the whole empty house. Despite your panting and closed lids, he only lowered himself onto his stomach as he continued holding your panties out of the way. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, watching as your juices dripped out of you, your cunt pulsating with each cold breath that escaped his mouth.
“Gonna let me taste you?” he asked, more to himself than anything. You hummed, hands bracing yourself against his shoulders as you whimpered at the sensitivity.
“Yeah… yeah,” you managed to croak.
It didn’t take long for Rafe to get back to it. He started off slow, which was new for him. He was used to being fast and rougher than this. This was all a strange experience to him, but he kept the patient pace as he noticed your breaths becoming uneven. “Yeah, like that?” he spoke into you, again more-so talking to himself.
Hands that were so used to being bruised and bloodied were now reverently holding your legs open for him. He liked having full access to you, knowing that he had the power to make you feel all this pleasure.
He found himself speeding up his movements, and he was so caught up in the moment that before he knew it, the vibrations of “I’m so sorry” reverberated through you like a mantra. Rafe couldn’t stop. Not when you came once more, his chin glistening and jaw cramped, not when he mouthed “forgive me” against your inner thigh over and over, his nails digging into your flesh as he pried you open - not even when you had already told him it was okay. Because he knew it wasn’t.
Sometimes he felt like he was repenting for his sins. Especially when he was on his knees for you, your cries and whimpers like a hymn. He only hoped you could offer him his salvation.
➸ summary: rafe finds himself wallowing in self pity, but it’s not until he sees you - a new face - that he starts to finally feel a stray puzzle piece click together
➸ warnings/notes: mentions of drugs/alcohol, mentions of being high
word count: 1.7k
————————
HIS MOTHER WOULD be so disappointed in him. That was all Rafe could think as he wiped the excess white powder off his nose. He met his own eyes in the mirror, the dilated pupils staring back at him with an expression he didn’t recognize. It didn’t feel like he was in his own body.
He sniffed before finally leaning up and running his hands through his hair. The party was in full swing, the vibrations of the music booming up through the bathroom tiles. It was his party and instead of being out there he was doing coke in his bathroom like a loser. He felt pathetic. The only way he could socialize with people was when he was high off his mind – his normal attitude something he wanted to hide away from others. He didn’t like who he was. Not when he was sober.
The couch dipped under his weight as he plopped down, head thrown back. Muscles relaxing into the cushions, he sighed in relief as he finally felt the effects hitting. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he pried his eyes open to look around his backyard, watching the guests dance and chat.
Usually, he’d be with Topper or Kelce, but ever since Sarah started dating Top, he’s felt the need to distance himself. He hated that he had to share his friends with her. He just wanted something of his own for once. It felt like everything he tried to do, Sarah did it better. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. That was all he heard coming from his dad’s mouth half the time.
Clenching his jaw, he sat up straighter as he saw her stumble by with Topper attached to her side. They barely spared him a glance as they headed upstairs.
Rafe just sighed and shook his head, deciding to go find a drink.
Instead of a nice cold beer, he found you. You were stood at the drink stand, looking around as if you had never been there before – and perhaps you hadn’t. Rafe didn’t remember ever seeing you around, however his memory wasn’t the best. Not ever since he started doing drugs every other hour of the day.
You were new. Definitely new. He would've remembered a face like yours. His eyes roamed across you, taking in your nervous demeanour as you clutched your jacket like it was a lifeline. When you met his eyes, you didn’t sneer or frown like people usually did. - you smiled. Someone actually smiled at him for the first time in what felt like forever.
So, naturally, he couldn’t help himself from approaching you.
“You look lost,” he said, his words clearer and more confident than usual. The coke was doing its job.
Fidgeting with your fingers, you let out a laugh. “Yeah,” you said, nodding, “I’m new in town. First party since I moved.”
Rafe barely contained his surprise as his eyebrows raised, his back leaning against the table. He looked relaxed, and to you, it seemed like he was always this collected – but Rafe knew it was all an act, all because of the high coursing through his veins.
“New? Well, I hope it’s meeting your expectations.”
Shrugging, you looked around. Everyone was busy talking to their own friends. Rafe was the first person to actually come up and speak to you.
“Yeah, ‘s alright,” you replied.
You were pretty. Rafe found himself unable to take his eyes off you as you stood there, looking so out of place. Something about the way your brows furrowed when you met his gaze made his stomach flip. Nobody had ever looked at him so softly. Not since his mother.
He cleared his throat, pushing down the emotions threatening to find their way back up.
“Yeah? Why’s it only alright?”
Ignoring his question, you grabbed a drink. “What’s your name?”
Of course you didn’t know his name. It was your first party on Figure 8 – you were new to the island – yet something about getting to have a fresh, clean slate with someone felt weirdly good. You had no expectations, no notions about who he was. To him, you seemed so innocent, too good to be true. All he would do is hurt you, but Rafe was nothing if he wasn’t selfish.
“Rafe,” he said, holding out his hand. His cold rings sent a shiver down your spine, the feeling of them a stark contrast to your warm skin. “You never answered my question.”
You hesitantly let go of his hand as you took a deep breath. Humming, you thought about your answer. There were many things you could say about this party, many reasons it could be better - but you settled on the easiest answer.
“I hate not knowing anyone here.”
“You know me.”
A smile grew on your face as you tilted your head at him. Maybe it was just because he was the first person you met here, but you felt a weird pull to him. Taking a sip of the bitter amber liquid, you tried hiding your grin as you looked away.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”
The confidence rushing through his body made him feel invincible. Everything he said came out smoothly, exactly how he wanted them to. Normally, he was a mess. His brain was always too scrambled, words coming out in a tangle of emotions - but you made it so easy to talk.
“Damn straight I am.”
He smirked, noticing the small smile you tried to hide. It made his heart beat faster.
“So, Rafe,” you said, tapping the glass as you tried to find something to do with your hands. “This your house?”
He nodded, a small gesture to tell you that you were correct. The way he watched you fumble with the glass made him wonder why you were so nervous. There was a moment of hesitation in his voice as he spoke next.
“Yeah. It is.”
Rafe found himself wanting to make you feel more at ease. He didn’t like that you seemed so uncomfortable. His hand twitched as he suppressed the urge to touch you, to pull the glass from your hands and make you look at him.
“You should put the glass down, you’re fidgeting,” he spoke without thinking. The words came out harsher than he intended, a stark contrast to his thoughts. Realising this, Rafe’s eyes widened in realisation. He was being too rough.
“I mean… you don’t need to, I-”
He swallowed, looking at you nervously. Rafe never felt this flustered before. The words were getting stuck in his throat as he tried to find a way to say he didn’t want you to think he was a dick. He shouldn’t have overdone the coke, his mind was beginning to go haywire.
You slowly stopped your tapping, looking at him with a smile.
“You’re okay,” you said, setting the bottle down. “Sorry if that was bothering you. I tend to do that when I get nervous.”
“Don’t apologize,” he spoke quickly, the words tumbling out faster than normal. He was acting like a loser. “It didn’t bother me… I mean, not really,” his words seemed to be stuck. You were making him a wreck. He was supposed to make you nervous. Not the other way around.
Clearing his throat, he tried to compose himself.
Why did he always have to be a dick? He could’ve just let you fidget. He knew better than anyone that sometimes you just needed to get some energy out of your body - especially in crowded spaces. He wished he had never said anything.
He always ruins everything.
“Why… why are you nervous?”
You looked down, adjusting the coat on your arm to sit more comfortably. It was sort of a loaded question. There were many reasons for your anxiety – one of them being the fact that Rafe was incredibly attractive, and the others being that you were around a crowd of complete strangers. Douchey, rich, pretentious strangers.
“Just… moving here. Having to make new friends all over again. Especially since college is starting soon.”
“College, huh?” he leaned next to you against the table, trying to force his cool, confident demeanour back into place. “What major?”
“Environmental science.”
You puffed out your cheeks as you let out a breath. You always felt silly telling people. Most expected you to do something like English or Arts. Truthfully, you were surprised you even got into the course – your grades were never great. “How about you?”
He almost laughed - environmental science. It was cute, it suited you. He could see you studying in his mind, a notebook in front of you with a plethora of diagrams to go with it.
“Business.”
You raised your brows. “Business? How come?”
He tilted his head, contemplating his answer. If he was being honest, it wasn’t his choice.
“My dad. He wants me to take over the company– y'know, family legacy and all.”
“You can’t say no?” you joked, propping yourself up to sit on the table. You swung your legs as you laughed lightly.
Rafe knew you were teasing, but he felt like such a wuss at the thought that he really couldn’t say no to his dad. Everything he did was to please him, and yet he still managed to be a massive disappointment to him.
“What would you choose, Rafe?”
The question surprised him, so much that he could only respond with a shrug. When did anyone ever ask him what he actually wanted? He thought for a moment. The way his name slipped from your lips sent goosebumps across his skin. He couldn’t even think straight as he finally answered.
“I don’t know. Maybe I’d like to do something with my hands, I guess. I’ve always been pretty good at building stuff,” he looked at you as you sat on the table, trying to ignore how it gave him a perfect view of your legs.
Your phone buzzed, and you checked it quickly before returning your gaze to the man in front of you. Hopping off the table, you adjusted your skirt.
“I gotta get going,” you spoke, trying to push down your disappointment. “But maybe one day you can show me how good you are with your hands.”
Rafe was taken aback by your sudden boldness. He watched as you left, a small smirk on his face. “Maybe I will,” he shouted after you.
You were full of surprises, and you made him feel things he’d never felt before. It was like you were the only silver lining of that party - the light at the end of the dark, hopeless tunnel he had wedged himself in.
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